#THE FACT THAT THE LAST GAME THEY PLAYED TOGETHER WAS THE STANLEY CUP FINAL | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

biribaa · 1 year

Text

Make a wish

Employee 432/Timekeeper x reader

TW/CW: Some bad words

Please choose a Screen and Subtitle Language.

Then you chose.

Have you played The Stanley Parable before?

Then you answered.

Please adjust the slider until the computer is barely visible.

Then you confirmed.

Please enter the current time.

Then, you chose.

Timekeeper cautiously watched all of your choices, trying to gather as much information as they could. Especially at the time part, where it was usually when they gets the most irritated. People always just leave and let at 12:00 PM, but not you. You, in fact, took the time to look at the time on your cell phone, and correctly enter the time, as requested.

Timekeeper secretly took pleasure in it, having a shred of hope that you really will get the time right next time too.

And they waited in the dark.

...

A few hours passed, and they noticed your presence coming back.

Please enter the current time.

Then, you did. Again, picking up your phone from the table and entering the time.

Hang on, hang on

Your eyebrows went up, you weren't expecting this.

Before we get started, can I just say something?

Your fingers moved away from the keyboard, and with a mixture of curiosity and hesitation, your hand slowly settled on the mouse, clicking in the black screen.

Thank you for actually setting the clock both times you've booted up the game.

Oh, sweet. With that, you grown a smile.

You were used to the Narrator always saying that you always do everything wrong and that you are always ruining his story. Even when you want to do something good, not the Narrator, but the game forces you to let him down once again with you. Seriously, when was the last time the Narrator said a "thank you" or even an "I'm proud"? Even if he was mad at Stanley, you were hurted because of Stanley's mistakes.

But then, you finally get a "thank you" for doing something good. And, and... You felt happy, you felt good.

"Thanks..." You muttered quietly, even knowing that whoever was that white text was, will not listen to you, just like Narrator.

Then, you clicked again.

A lot of people don't take that step seriously. They just leave the clock set at 12:00 and call it a day.

You're not impressed by this, you know how the vast majority of The Stanley Parable players are, always wanting to be entertained even if that means making someone genuinely mad.

You clicked again.

But you're actually taking the time to set the clock, and I appreciate that.

They appreciate you, unlike Narrator, and that just made you smile slightly more.

You clicked.

That's how I know that you care about this experience, you're paying attetion.

"Thanks." You said once again, more happily. And you clicked again.

I don't even have any way of knowing if the times you're setting are correct!

You clicked.

Tell you what, I'll make you a deal.

Oh? You got interessed.

You straightened your posture and moved your chair closer to the computer desk. And clicked

Since you've been so cooperative, next time you boot up the game and see this screen, just set the clock to your FAVORITE time.

You gasped.

Finally! A reward for doing something good! Something that Narrator never ever thought, in your vision. This just made your smile and interess in whoever was that setting person more bigger.

You clicked enthusiastically.

Go ahead, pick whinchever time you want! Even if it's not the correct time! You've earned it.

Yes, you have earned it. After enduring so many, many Narrator's rants for something you didn't even did and didn't want to do, you deserved it. Something that not even the Narrator, someone you've spent over and over again with endings together, notices. But this stranger did. They did.

Your heart softened and your eyes filled with hope. You cupped your head in the palm of your own hand and clicked again on the black screen.

Alright, I'll let you get back to the video game now.

Wait, already?

You clicked again after reading, just to come across the big title of the game and the options in white color. But no black background.

You stared at your own screen for a few seconds with your face expressionless, and your head slowly pulling out of your hand. Wait, you're going to see that person again, right?

You went back to playing the game, but you'd be lying if you didn't admit that for certain moments, you were thinking about that person, whoever they are.

You are going to see they again, right?

Timekeeper, too, was thinking about you, there's not much they could do in a black void. You sounded like a player, not another proctor making fun of their face that they can't do things a proctor can do. And, well, you set the time, unlike other players.

You were a nice one, that's is Timekeeper's first impression of you. And because of that, Timekeeper wishes to know more about you, but they can't talk, nor do something more than set the time, make sliders and give you options of "yes" or "no". Stupid. They want to be free. Some type of help, any.

But no, they're stuck now.

They at least got you. Finally, something that isn't the Narrator or the black void.

So, Timekeeper made a promise to themself: They will collect as much information about you as possible so they can get to know you better. They need to get to know you better.

They just want a friend, but apparently that's asking too much to the universe.

...

Hours passed -at least, Timekeeper thinks the hours passed- and they once again felt your presence return to the dark infinity of theirs.

Please enter the current time.

And once again, you checked your phone, and entered the current time. But in the middle of the process, you froze, remembering the last few texts from the settings person, as you like to call they now.

"Oh, yeah, favorite time. Sorry" So, you set your favorite time and pressed "confirm".

Ahhh, __:__ __. Your favorite time of day.

You smiled once again, happy to see they again. You clicked.

Or... could you simply not resist giving me the correct time again?

You let out a chuckle. "What a charming mate", you thought, clicking again in the screen.

After all, I know how much you enjoy setting the time correctly.

You laid your head on your hand, just like the last time, smiling. You clicked after reading.

Okay now I'm curious how accurate __:__ __ is. Let's use another slider to find out.

And when you clicked in the screen, a white slider appeared, with a question, How accurate is __:__ __?

So, you pushed the slider to the position you thought defined your opinion better, and pressed the confirm button.

You know, can I just say, regardless of the accuracy of the clock, I'm having a great time adjusting these settings.

"Hey, me too." You spoke, even if you know they couldn't hear you, you chiped happily. Then, you clicked.

It's good to collect data.

You clicked.

I wish we had more sliders! But we've gone through all the sliders I have.

"Aw...Same" Then you clicked again.

Hmm... perhaps I can invent some new sliders to gather new data on you.

On you? You are moving closer to the table with your chair, but at the same time relaxing more in the chair. You clicked.

And then, you came across several sliders, one with a dog and a cat becoming friends, one with the numbers 5 and 9, and so on. You had fun, and it was cute that the settings person cared about you having fun.

And there was also-

Help.

Uh?

You clicked "Yes".

What time is it?

Does anyone really, truly know?

Of course they don't. Nobody knows anything.

You and I don't even know each other. We're like stranger.

"...Don't say that..." You quietly said. Reading the white words with caution. You didn't saw they as a stranger, but yes as a friend.

Sure, I've adjusted all of the game's setting to your exact specifications, but who hasn't?

It's just what I do, like a day job.

And now... the job is over.

You stared at the screen in confusion, they aren't coming back? Will you ever see them again? What does they mean by that? You kept clicking, reading all the texts that appeared in the void, your happiness slowly turning into a degrading panic and sadness.

And I still don't really know you.

And you don't know me.

"...Not true..." You wished they could listen to you.

You won't have me here when the game starts next time, but that's okay.

"What? No, no it's not!" You tensed. No, no, you don't want to lost they.

Perhaps you'll see me again, if you can find me.

Talk soon.

You stared at the screen, and if you could protest, you would. And the game menu appeared, but the last words they said were still running through your head.

"If you can find me"

...

And you did. You did the effort to find them.

Stanley, the puppet you control, stared at the computer in the empty room. Your curiosity bubbled as the screen zoomed in on the computer.

Hello again.

It's nice to see you.

But they were not talking with Stanley, someone empty, they were talking with you.

"Same." And you smiled.

They offered a deal, a union. Make more, and more The Stanley Parable games until the sun explodes. It was quite wrong, but it's not like just changing the title will destroy eveything, right? And you even got the broken achievement! What a nice person.

And again, everytime you open the game, you see that same black void again, asking for a new game title, again, and again.

...

Normally you would think they would just ask for a new title and leave, but quite the contrary, Timekeeper wanted to spend time with you. Screw the game, or the Narrator, or the other proctors, they got you! A friend, a real one!

Your first conversations started in the seventh title, when you came across another white text.

Wait, wait, wait! Can I have a chat with you? It's been a while, so.

And that's where you two never stopped.

Timekeeper has never been happier. They have been exclued so many times in the office by others, but not you! You were more excited to talk to them than the Narrator, who was supposed to be the main star of the game. How privileged were they to have a friend as loyal as you?

Timekeeper couldn't wait to talk to you in the hours, days, weeks, months, years and decades to come! You don't get out of Timekeeper's head, always causing a warm feeling in their chest.

You, too, couldn't stop talking and thinking of Timekeeper. Maybe you were lonely or not, but still, something as simple as plain white text could interest you so easily.

And right now, this was already the The Stanley Parable sequel number 146 you created with Timekeeper. And again, you two spend minutes talking and laughing, with the game not even started

-It was because she had no limbs! Hahaha!

It was a rather strange joke with decapitation, but you laughed. You deeply wanted Timekeeper to be able to hear you, and so did they.

You laughed, right?

You pressed the "Yes" button without any hesitation.

Great! I'm glad you liked my joke.

;).

You smiled with genuine happiness, and laid your head in your arms at your desk.

Oh. Hey, I almost forgot.

Please enter the current time.

And the big 12:00 PM popped up. And with pleasure, you grabbed your phone to check the time and put it on.

11:11 PM, nice. You moved your mouse to the time settings, and entered the time of right now, 11:11 PM.

Oh? 11:11 PM?

As I recall, you can make a wish at that time. I don't really know why, but they say to just make a wish.

Quick! Make a wish!

"Oh! Okay!"

You lifted your head and closed your eyes, bringing your palms together. And you started thinking about your wish. Starting to focus, on the wish.

What is something you really want that's been stuck in your chest for a long time?

Wait, why are you thinking so much about a wish? no offense but it's just something fun not to be taken seriously.

So, you just thought about something you wished to happen.

"I wish... For you to stay with me and be free. Be together." You murmured, a peak of hope could be heard in your voice.

You opened your eyes, putting your arms on the table. And you already found them waiting for you.

You already made your wish?

At the bottom there was another option of "Yes" and "No". You pressed "Yes"

My turn!

I wish...

Timekeeper took a few seconds, thinking about their next words, about how much you meant to them, and about everything the two of you had been through. How loyal and honest you were, and the only person who really cared for them, unlike the other co-workers.

And you easily made them happy, Timekeeper didn't depend on their own happiness on you, but even so, you managed to make their day much happier.

You were extremely important to them.

And they really wants the best for you.

And they would love to know your voice, your appearance, your smile...

But without even noticing it, Timekeeper found a big smile sprouting on their own face, and a warm feeling in their chest.

...

Timekeeper was in love with you.

"Fuck, shit!" They though, screaming silently. This has never happened to them, and they don't know how to react. But... It felt good. It is good, right? Because... They feel very well that it is. But what prevented all this from going wrong? Of you abandoning them? Of you going back to the Narrator?

The feeling was fuzzy, and now it did their face warm, they hated It. Timekeeper growled in rage, thinking of all the possibilities to get out of the situation, to go back to being alone and not face any more disappointments.

...But Timekeeper never thought of just letting the feeling flow. What would happen if they just... Let it in? Admit it that they are deeply in love with you? Simply try having a actual relationship with you, and try to be happy?

They thought. You waited.

...I hope all the best for you and... I hope we can meet, maybe outside the game, someday, who knows, haha.

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trashforhockeyguys · 3 years

Text

Don’t Hold Me -19- Carter Hart

A/N: as always, all previous parts are linked in my master list. Also, umm don’t hate me for what happens at the very end. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE at the end as well, so if that could potently be triggering for you please be warned.

There was a moment, right when you first opened your eyes that you could’ve sworn you were a teenager again. You could hear Travis arguing with Ethan just feet from you, with the sound of someone playing NHL in the background. You felt so warm due to a blanket that someone had to have tossed over you at some point during the night. You wondered if you would see your house when you opened your eyes.

But there was an arm wrapped around you. So you couldn’t be at home. You were in Travis’s apartment. Ethan came in to help you and Kora move all of your things into a storage unit for the summer. He was going to stay for part of the playoffs. Carter was sleeping next to you. You’d both fallen asleep during a movie.

You wiggled out from under Carter’s arm, following the sound of the voices to the kitchen. Kora, who still looked half asleep, was tucked under Ethan’s arm. Nolan was playing NHL in the living room, yelling at one of the other Flyers through a headset. In your gut, you knew this was what a normal morning with them. This is what life should be like.

“Y/N! Tell him that he’s wrong!” Travis begged, pointing to Ethan.

You shook your head, still too tired to even start to get into their mess, “Please tell me someone made coffee?”

Kora stepped away from E, “I’ll pour you a cup.”

“Carter still knocked out?” Ethan asked as you sat down on one of the bar stools.

“Yeah, you two arguing woke me up,” You responded slowly, “What were you two arguing over anyway?”

“Don’t ask,” Kora handed you a cup of coffee, “They’re being guys.”

“They’re arguing over who had more points when they played together,” Nolan announced from the couch.

“Oh, that’s easy, it was Ethan,” You shrugged, “Travis had the most penalty minutes.”

Kora had to hold back a laugh at the face that Travis made. Truth was, although Travis was an incredible player, even then, he was still very scrappy. He made a lot of bad plays and often let his head get the better of him. Ethan was always more level headed, and was responsible for more than his fair share of assists. But when the two of them were on the ice together, nothing was going to stop them. You missed watching them together like that.

“Someone had to do all the dirty work,” Travis explained, “But I don’t get that many penalties now.”

Kora reached over and messed up his hair, “No, you behave now. Like a good little feisty Canadian.”

“Careful, he bites when provoked,” Carter joked, finally seeming to have woken up.

“Better watch it, we have practice in a couple of hours, I won’t take it easy on you,” Travis warned.

“Okay Teeks, sure,” Carter kissed the top of your head, “Morning babe.”

You felt your cheeks heat up a little as you tilted your head to look up at him. This was something you could really get used to, all of you being together like this. You and Kora had to move out of the dorm, since the year was finally over. So Travis was letting her and Ethan crash at his place, while you stayed with Carter. Although, last night all of you ended up over here to watch movies and eat pizza. Nolan casually reminded everyone that pizza was not a part of the approved playoff diet.

“Sleep okay?” Carter asked you, taking a sip of your coffee.

You nodded and leaned back into him, ��Out like a light.”

Carter wrapped his arms around you, dropping his head so his chin rested on your shoulder. His hair tickled your cheek, causing you to smile. Across from you, both Ethan and Travis were watching you with the same sort of fond smile.

Kora looked between the two other men, “Just say it, they’re cute,” She huffed, “Nolan, you wanna play me?”

“I’d like to see what you’re made of,” Nolan replied, holding up an extra controller.

The following night, you, Kora, and Ethan file into the arena, ready for the next game in the series. Carter was starting in net tonight, and Travis literally wouldn’t stop bouncing all day long. You made a joke that someone needed to take out his batteries. Kora held onto Ethan, smiling as random Flyers fans high fived each other for wearing jerseys.

“Now this is a good way to celebrate another year of hell being over,” Kora joked, “We’re all drinking tonight, right?”

“You two can have all you’d like,” E told us, “I’ll be semi sober so I can take care of both of you.”

Kora looked up at him in a way that you could only describe as love. It was weird, seeing your best friend and your brother like that. Yet, it made you happy at the same time. You liked the idea of them being happy together, come what may.

“We should get to our seats,” You told them, “Drinks later.”

“I’m going to be the only one getting drunk tonight, aren’t I?” Kora questioned.

Both you and Ethan laughed, knowing you weren’t going to have more than a drink, maybe two. The only time you ever really got drunk was with Kora, but you wanted to be sober for this. You wanted to watch every second as the game unfolded. You wanted to be able to run to Carter and hold him after the game was over, because who knew how many more times you could do that.

Kora leaned over to you once you were all in your seats, “You have that look again, are you okay?”

You forced a smile and tried to push away the sudden sickening feeling you had in your stomach, “yeah, I’m fine.”

But you couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that you shouldn’t have come tonight. That you should’ve watched from Carter’s apartment. But you hadn’t missed a home game almost all season, and you certainly weren’t going to miss a playoff game.

Yet, every ounce of you was screaming to run, to get away while you still could. But you knew you were safe, Zachary wouldn’t dare come near you while Ethan was here. He wouldn’t really do anything in the arena, where all of the security knew you by now. You were safe here.

You tugged on the sleeves of your jersey, pulling them down so they covered your hands. You couldn’t help the little shiver that went through you. So instead, you pulled out your phone and looked at the last text Carter sent you, vowing to win since everyone was here. Your eyes seemed to stay glued to the part where he said he loved you and he loved knowing that you were wearing his jersey.

Although he laughed about it at first, somehow knowing that the jersey on your back was actually his old one, and not just one you got from the team store, made him feel different. Like you were really shouting to everyone that you were his, and he was yours. He often chirped some of the other guys about their relationships, but that all stopped when he realized how much he loved you.

Because the truth of it was, Carter could see a whole life with you. An entire future that was so bright and full of love and happiness. He hadn’t told you that yet, mainly because he didn’t want to scare you. But he wanted everything with you. He wanted a ring on your finger, you walking down an aisle all in white, maybe a couple of kids in a house outside the city one day. But for now...for now he was just happy knowing you had on his jersey while you watched him play.

You hold tightly onto Kora’s hand as the clock ticks down. Carter was so close to a shutout. How often could you say that your boyfriend got a shutout during the Stanley Cup playoffs? You were so sure that your heart would beat right out of your chest. Even E seemed to literally be on the edge of his seat.

Sure they were still a few games off from winning the series, but this would really tip the scales in their favor. For the first time you actually let yourself think about it. About what it would mean for Travis, Nolan, and for Carter. You could almost picture them hoisting the cup. Could almost see yourself on the ice with everyone, laughing as Travis attacked you. You could almost see all of it. You could almost see all of the things you hadn’t allowed yourself to want.

The arena erupted, fans were yelling so loudly you swore your ears were going to be rining for days. You’d even lost your own voice sometime during the second period. You spent the whole game engaging with everyone in the arena. You hadn’t experienced energy like that in years. You were almost willing to bet that you felt the same level of adrenaline as the team did. Honestly, you’d probably be just as amped up as Carter when you got home.

“He did it,” Ethan marveled over the roar of the arena, “He fucking did it.”

Kora nearly jumped on your shoulders, “My best friend is dating a goal god!”

You were in a state of shock right up until the time you saw Carter after the game. Then it was like everything kicked into high gear and you ran to him, you even jumped so he had to catch you. A couple other members of the team whistled jokingly as you kissed him.

“You did so good.”

Maybe it was the bit of alcohol in your system, or the adrenaline from the game. But you seemed to forget every little problem you had. You forgot about Zachary, and the impossible decision that lurked there. Or the fact that you still had to pick who you were going to spend the summer with, if anyone. You forgot about all of it. All you wanted to do was be with all of them.

“Damn you look good tonight,” Carter joked, tugging on his jersey.

“We should go out. All of us,” You told Carter excitedly, “Like go get drinks or something.”

“You want to go out?” Carter asked, surprised that you were the one to even bring it up.

“I feel like dancing and having fun. Finals are over, you just fucking owned the net. C’mon, please?”

“Hartsy take the girl out,” Kevin Hayes chirped.

Carter smiled and kissed you again, “Well, let’s go out then.”

So that's what you did. All of you filed into some club that Travis knew about. You weren’t really dressed for it, although you did have a nice top on under the jersey, but you didn’t care. Not as the music seemed to fill your soul as you held onto Carter. He laughed and danced with you, both of you seeming to forget everything.

Ethan watched as you let go. He and Travis just looked at each other and smiled. Neither of them had seen this side of you since you were in high school, before Zachary broke so much of you. Ethan felt himself relax the more you seemed to smile and come alive. Kora soon pulled Ethan and Travis both onto the dance floor, insisting that all of you be together.

Hours later, so late in fact that you were pretty sure it was morning, you and Carter were slowly making your way towards his building. Ethan, Kora, and Travis all split off a while ago so they could go back to Travis’ place. You were still so giddy, happily talking off Carter’s ear.

He felt a sort of warmth in his chest. This was the person Trvais and Nolan talked about. He was finally able to see the you that Travis told him about for years, the you that was free. He wished he could’ve met her sooner.

“I want to go back with you,” You told him suddenly.

“Huh?” he wasn’t entirely sure how you’d gone from talking about wanting a breakfast beagle from the diner off campus, that certainly wasn’t open this time of the morning, to wanting to go somewhere else with him. His brain was hazy, both from the alcohol and everything else that happened.

“To Canada, if the offer still stands?”

You stopped walking and turned to face him. When you really stopped to think about it earlier in the night you realized that there wasn’t any other place you wanted to be. You’d be safe with him in Canada, you would finally be able to fully love him there. Nothing would stand in your way. It would just be you and Carter. Everything would be okay.

“God I love you,” He whispered before leaning down to kiss you, “Of course the offer still stands.”

“Good,” You pulled at his neck so he would kiss you again.

You really didn’t care that you were in the middle of a dark sidewalk in the middle of the night. You couldn’t even pay attention to the cold that was slowly working its way into your bones. Because all you could think about was his lips on yours, and the summer that now awaited you. All you wanted was that. You just wanted him.

“Now Doll, this isn’t part of the game,” You couldn’t pull away from Carter fast enough to find the source of the voice. But you already knew. You wanted to warn Carter to run, to get away. But there was a loud sound that made your ears ring again, but in a different way from the arena. And then...there was just nothing.

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hockey-fics · 4 years

Text

Two Too Many ~ Jamie Oleksiak

Summary: Secrets come to the surface after Jamie gets home from two months in the bubble.

Word Count: ~2,000

Warnings: None

A/N: Unedited and written while I was tipsy so read with caution.

You didn’t expect it. You didn’t expect the way it would feel to be away from Jamie for so long. The dull ache lodged in your chest every time you thought about how he wasn’t there. You couldn’t call him and ask him to come over and watch a movie, couldn’t ask if he wanted to go on an impromptu road trip, you couldn’t invite him to go for brunch with you, hungover after a girl’s night watching reality tv and drinking wine.

And it wasn’t like you weren’t used to not having your best friend around 24/7. You had gotten used to the fact that travelling was part of his job. That some nights, even when you wanted to be with him, you simply could’t. But it had been two months this time and everyday seemed harder than the last.

You called, you texted, you FaceTimed. But nothing replaced the way it felt to be wrapped in Jamie’s arms after a hard day at work. To hear him chuckle at a dumb joke in the movie you were watching on the couch in your living room. To see his smile as you climbed into his car late at night after you texted him telling him that you couldn’t sleep so instead you would go for ice cream and sit in his car listening to music and talking about anything and everything instead of trying to sleep.

You had watched every single game of his. Plus many of the other games during the playoffs as well. Because you had loved hockey even before you met Jamie. But of course with one of your best friends playing in the NHL your love of the sport had only grown.

You were devastated after game five. You didn’t even want to watch the last few minutes. But you forced yourself to do it, because you knew you had to. You had to support Jamie even when things weren’t going well. You knew how badly Jamie wanted this, how hard the whole team was working, how close they were to the one thing they were fighting for. Once the television switched from Stanley Cup coverage to the late night news you turned the TV off, sitting in your living room waiting for a text from Jamie. Normally it would have been you to send the first text, win or lose. Because you knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to right away and you wanted there to be something on his phone when he finally got to it after a game. But that night, you couldn’t. Because you couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Nothing felt right. So you waited and you waited and you waited. And you didn’t get a text. Instead the first thing you received from him was a FaceTime call, late that night when he was back in his hotel room, showered and tired and tucked into his bed. And you talked for hours in soft and hushed voices till you both drifted to sleep. You awoke the next morning to your phone completely dead and laying beside your pillow, leaving you late for work that day. But you didn’t mind, because truthfully, you would do anything for Jamie.

The next night you awaken to a racing heart, your eyes open but receiving nothing except the streetlights shining through the edge of your closed curtains. Laying in silence you try to piece together what had happened. You hadn’t had a nightmare, not that you could remember. But just as you roll over, your eyes closing again to try and fall back asleep you receive your answer. A knock at your door.

Pushing your blankets back you grasp your phone, unlocking it and ready to call for help as you slowly and quietly creep through your apartment. But when you peer through the peephole on your front door every ounce of panic you had vanished. Your fingers are shaking slightly as you fumble with your deadbolt and then the chain, a whole array of emotions and feelings swirling inside of you. It had been a couple days since the Stanley Cup final. With the circumstance you weren’t sure when you would see him, when he would get back.

“Jamie,” you whisper, staring up at him, your hand on the edge of the door as you stare up at him, like you weren’t sure he was really there. It had been two months and it was the same Jamie but he looked tired, looked deflated. And your heart had broken watching Dallas lose game five but this was a whole different type of pain. Seeing him like this and knowing there was nothing you could do.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late. I should have just gone home but-.”

“Jamie,” you say again, this time with intention. “Don’t apologize, you can come here anytime you want.” Stepping forward you lean up, wrapping your arms around his large body, warm and comfortable.

“I love you,” Jamie whispers into your neck, leaning down to wrap you in a tight hug.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. It was the truth, in every sense of the words. But you could only assume he was saying it in the way you had said the words to plenty of your other friends before. That he loved you like a family member, like a friend he had grown up with, like a person who you would do anything for, who you trusted with your life.

Jamie straightens his back, lifting you off the ground as he steps into your apartment, the weighted door falling shut behind you two. “Can you stay here tonight?” you whisper, feeling your eyes fill with tears. And you feel a wave of guilt. Because you shouldn’t be crying, you shouldn’t be upset. You needed to be the rock for Jamie, to be there for him through whatever he was feeling.

“Of course,” Jamie tells you, gently placing you back onto the ground. “Of course I’ll stay if you want me to,” he adds, looking down at you. “Are you…?”

Giggling you shake your head, quickly reaching up and wiping your eyes. “No,” you lie, sniffling quietly. “I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong?” Jamie asks, his arms around you again, his chin on top of your head as he holds you tight against his chest.

“Nothing is wrong,” you tell him honestly. “I just don’t ever want to be away from you for that long again.”

Jamie pulls back a little, looking down at you with a soft gaze. “Never,” he says quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Your eyes narrow slightly as you stare up at him, hands still clamped on his arms. “The...cup,” you mumble hesitantly, wondering if perhaps you shouldn’t have brought it back up. But what you hadn’t realized was that Jamie wasn’t burying the loss deep inside, to never have to process it. He was simply so caught up in you that every single other thing and person in his life had faded away for the time being.. That he was so focused on you, on how much he missed you over the last two months, on how much he loved you, that nothing else seemed to matter.

“Oh,” Jamie whispers, nodding slowly as it all hits him again. How much he wanted it, like nothing he had ever wanted before. To be able to come home as a winner, to be a cup winner. To have something to show after nine weeks away. “Yeah, I…” Jamie trails off and you know it’s because he doesn’t know what to say, how to express how he’s feeling.

“Are you tired?” you ask even though you know the answer. You know from more than the time of day. You know based on the bags under his eyes, the way his voice doesn’t carry any inflection, how his shoulders are slumped just slightly.

“Yes,” Jamie tells you without a moment of hesitation.

Reaching over you turn the deadbolt on the door, reaching over and grabbing his hand as you gently tug him towards your bedroom. “I...the couch,” Jamie mutters.

Jamie had spent many nights in your apartment and you had spent many nights in his. But one of you was always on the couch. Because you were just friends, and that’s what friends did. “Jamie,” you say quietly, turning around in your dim bedroom, looking up at him. “You’re not going to sleep on the couch, I’m not letting you. You deserve a good night’s sleep...at the very least. We’re both adults, you don’t think we can share a bed?”

Jamie inhales sharply and even though you can barely see him in the dark room you do notice the way every muscle in his body seems to stiffen. “Yeah...yeah,” he finally mutters after a couple seconds of silence. Hesitating you nod, stepping away from him to walk to the other side of your bed. “No,” Jamie suddenly exclaims the second you rest one knee on the edge of your bed.

Pausing you straighten up, leaving your one leg on the bed as you stare at his silhouette standing five feet away from you. “No...what?”

“No, I can’t share a bed with you,” Jamie explains and you watch him run a hand through his hair. “It’s not okay...not when I love you like this. You think I just see you as a friend and I can’t share a bed with you pretending that’s the truth.”

You slowly pull your other leg onto the bed, crawling across it.

“Y/N,” Jamie whispers as you stop in front of him, still on your knees on his side of the bed now.

Reaching up you bring one hand to the back of his neck, pulling him down to your level as you press your lips to his. And he doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second, before he’s kissing you back. It’s gentle and soft as he pushes himself forwards, your own body falling back with his. Slipping an arm around your back Jamie holds you up as you slide your legs from underneath you, lowering you down till your back hits the mattress and he’s hovering over you. “Jamie...Jamie,” you mutter against his lips.

“Yes?” Jamie asks, pulling back immediately. “Are you okay? Is this...okay?”

Nodding you keep one hand on the back of his neck, the other propped beneath you to support yourself. “Yes, I just...earlier, when you said you loved me…?”

“I love you,” Jamie repeats. “As more than just your friend.”

Pushing your hand harder into the bed you lean up to bring your lips back closer to his. “I love you too, Jamie,” you whisper before pressing your lips to his again.

And you felt like a teenager again, your stomach alive with butterflies as you let Jamie lay you back onto your bed, kissing you slowly and passionately. His hands remained above your waist the entire time you were making out, till you finally pulled away, your breath heavy as you looked up at him. “You said you were tired.”

“Not for you,” Jamie mutters and you can’t help but giggle. At how cheesy it was. But you couldn’t deny how much you loved it. “What’s so funny?” Jamie inquires and through the soft light streaming in through the window you can see the smirk on his lips.

“You,” you whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “So, are you going to sleep on the couch...or?” you joke.

Jamie chuckles and slides one arm underneath your body, easily moving you over to make room for himself. Laughing you scoot to the other side, slipping back under the blankets as you roll onto your side, your eyes suddenly heavy with sleep as you watch him peeling off his shirt and jeans. When Jamie climbs into the bed you shuffle closer, feeling the warmth of his body radiating from him even before your skin touches his.

“Thank you,” Jamie whispers after you settle against him, your chest on his shoulder.

“For what?” you whisper, your fingers slowly running along his bare chest as you fight against the pull of sleep. For the first night in two months you felt completely content, happier than you had in a long time. With Jamie at your side. With the truth that you had been hiding for so long finally out in the open, to find those hidden feelings reciprocated.

“Just...being you. Your texts and calls through this whole thing...it just made things so much easier. You...you just make things easier...and better,,.in every way,” Jamie tells you, stumbling slightly through the serious topic.

Lifting your head slightly you place a gentle kiss against the front of his shoulder. “You make everything better for me too, Jamie. Two months without you was two too many,” you whisper, settling back into him as you quickly fall asleep beside Jamie, for the first time in a future filled with many nights just like this one.

#jamie oleksiak #jamie oleksiak imagine #jamie oleksiak fic #jamie oleksiak fanfic #jamie oleksiak one shot #nhl imagines #nhl fanfic #nhl fic #nhl one shot #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey fanfic #hockey writing #dallas stars fic #dallas stars #dallas stars imagine

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toplinetommy · 3 years

Note

Could you do 83 and 97 from the fluff/angst list with Tyson Jost?

Long story short, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Tyson was just a guy you had gone home with a few months ago, and now it seemed like you were meeting him at his apartment the second he got home from road trips, he was leaving guys’ night early to see you (sometimes even skipping it), you were watching his games even though you swore you weren’t that into sports, and you were each other's number one best friend on Snapchat.

But now his phone in your name had changed from just ‘Tyson Jost’ to ‘tys😋’ and he had added a photo of the two of you to your contact, smiling whenever your name flashed across his screen.

And now here you were, thumbs hovering over your open text conversation with Tyson, the last text being one you sent, telling him good luck before taking the ice for Game 4 of the conference finals. The Avs were trailing the series 0-3, making this a must-win game for the group. Your head was empty of any possible thing you could text him as you watched the handshake line after the Golden Knights had celebrated their series sweep, sending them to the Stanley Cup Final.

You had opted to not send him anything for the first hour, knowing that he would probably want time to be with his team and talk to his family or even anyone else that wasn’t you. After all, you were just two people sleeping together that had happened to now be good friends. Part of you wanted to see if he would message you first, wanting him to let you know how he was feeling without having to read between the lines.

The two of you had been dancing around your feelings for the other for weeks now. It was easy to see that Tyson had been putting in extra effort to see you, spending an equal amount of time between your place and his that was on the other side of town. He had slowly become someone that you weren’t just spending time with between the sheets and giving rushed goodbyes in the early hours of the morning. You started to hang out with some of the guys that lived in his building, he spent time with your roommates when they were around, and he had been more than happy to get you tickets to more than a few of his games.

And the sex. The sex had transitioned from just needy sex where you both were just trying to get an orgasm or two, to memorizing each dip and curve of the other person. It was plenty dirty, and you got to explore with him, but a light had switched one night after the two of you had gotten wine drunk off of the cheap Trader Joe’s brand in his living room. You had taken your time exploring the other’s body, placing soft kisses on the scrapes and bruises littering Tyson’s tan skin, while he sucked soft bruises onto the tops of your breasts, your hips, and your thighs. It was slow and filled with overwhelming emotion on both ends. His thrusts had hit you deeper at a more languid pace than he’s exhibited with you. From then on out, the sex was wild and dirty, but still sweet and heartfelt.

Nothing was said that next morning when you procrastinated getting out of his bed, causing Tyson to go a little more than the speed limit on the way to morning skate. Lingering kisses were left when you said your goodbyes at the door or at the other’s car, kisses on each other’s shoulders and foreheads when you passed by the other.

It was everything you wanted in someone, except he wasn’t yours. And that was starting to become evident as you fell asleep that night with no texts from him after his game, nor a text the following day as you started preparing yourself dinner. Throughout the following day, you continued to think of what to say to him but as the hours passed, you thought your opportunity to talk to him did, too.

The constant opening of your text thread with him was driving you crazy, so you had purposefully left it in your work bag the second you set it down by your front door when you got home. With the neverending slow day you had, your first task of the evening was to open your fridge and find a bottle of wine to pop open.

Hours later into the evening where the city around you is starting to fall asleep, you’re still wide awake on your couch watching the newest episodes of New Amsterdam. A loud knock comes through the door and you frown thinking of how late had gotten. Still, you pause your show and whip open your front door, thinking it’s just the guy your roommate’s sleeping with. But instead of it being the six foot four, blonde, banker, it’s a barely six foot, curly headed brunette that plays hockey.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Tyson starts slowly, noting the confused look on your face as the door swings open to reveal you in your college hoodie and a pair of running shorts. “But, I leave to go back home this weekend until next season and I really needed to see you.”

“So, you waited until the last minute before leaving for the summer?” you roll your eyes. “That makes sense.”

“Can I come in? There’s a lot I’d like to talk to you about.”

And you want to say no, barring the fact that it’s nearing 1:30 in the morning and you have work tomorrow. But the dark circles under Tyson’s eyes and his unruly hair tucked underneath the hood of his sweatshirt has you opening the door further and gesturing for him to take a few steps into your place. Tyson glances around the all-too-familiar living room, noting that the tv is paused on some show he doesn’t recognize, your favorite throw blanket is thrown on the couch instead of folded, all indicators that you still haven’t gone to bed.

“Another sleepless night, huh?” Tyson asks, but it’s more like he’s asking for confirmation that he’s right because he knows you too well. He knew you had trouble sleeping on a frequent basis because at one point he had started falling asleep on the couch next to you instead of in bed since it meant going to bed with you.

“Uh, yeah,” you respond, a knit-in your eyebrows. “I had a long day. What’d you want to talk about?”

Tyson feels weird, he knows exactly what he wants to say to you, but his anxiety is starting to bubble with the unfamiliar space between the two of you as he stands by the front door and you’re leaning against the back of your couch more than a few feet away. He takes a weary step forward, running his hand through his hair and pushing the hood down in the process.

“Sorry for not texting you back, I just wanted to do this in person because that’s what you deserve and I needed time to figure everything out with what’s going on between us. The playoffs were really tough and there was so much pressure to win, more than normal, and it was really defeating to not win a single game in the conference finals. I’ve never been so close, and it still sucks knowing there are two teams playing hockey right now and mine isn’t one of them.”

The sadness and strain in his voice aren’t hard to miss, coupled with his overall disheveled appearance. What he said to you was the exact reason why you didn’t reach out to him first. Knowing Tyson is here out of the goodness of his heart and isn’t here what you don’t think is bad news, you close the distance between the two of you, pulling him into a hug. He sighs heavily as his chin comes to rest atop your head, breathing in the coconut shampoo you regularly use. His hand comes to brush the ends of your hair down, something he had down all throughout your, well whatever this thing was called between the two of you.

You seemingly forget that he mentioned talking to you about things that probably just weren’t the disappointing end to his season. You drag him to the couch with you, hitting play on the tv remote and turning the volume down so you can still focus on the brunette next to you. His thighs are touching yours and he throws his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. Your fingers toy with the drawstring of his hood out of anxiousness as you wait for either him to speak or for when you find the right words to say to him.

“If it’s any consolation, I think you all played really well, and it’s fuel for the next season,” you assure him, your voice soft and barely above a whisper. Your gaze is focused on the moving doctors on the screen in front of you while he watches the blue light cast different shadows across your face.

“Thank you,” Tyson breathes out. “But I didn’t come here just to be negative and talk about things that already happened that I don’t have control over anymore.”

Your stomach tightens at that, your first thought going to the one that tells you he just came over to get his dick wet then leave for the summer. You start to shift your body to not rest any of your weight on him. But he puts a hand on the back of your head, keeping you against his chest. You can feel his breathing passing through your hair and the rise and fall of his chest underneath you.

“I wanted to talk you about what’s going on between us, and that, uh, you’re the only girl I’m seeing, well, been seeing honestly, like, since-”

“You’re kind of rambling,” you smile, looking up at him. “But it’s okay because you’re the only guy I’ve been seeing, too.”

He smiles back down at you, both of you clearly being on the same page. “I know this is terrible timing since I’m going home next week, but maybe we can plan something where one of us visits the other?”

“I’d love that,” you smile, leaning in to kiss him softly.

#not my favorite thing but here it is!#tyson jost imagine #blurbies #alex writes

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beauvibaby · 4 years

Text

missing you - a.beauvillier

requested: [x] yes [] no

hey bub! would you fancy write a tito piece in wich he's back on the buble and calls you to talk about the win and you're happy for him but at the same time you miss him and had a shitty week or something so you cut the call short and he's confused but you just can't be 100% happy for him so you just don't answer him anymore? with a happy ending please! I'm an angst hoe but I like sweet endings! I'm sorry if this request is a mess :(

a/n: it wasn't a mess bb, I have a soft spot for angsty fluff requests fun fact: everything that happened to her at work happened to me in one day when I was at my old job, it was ✨amazing✨

“For the first time in twenty-seven years, the New York Islanders will be going to the eastern conference finals!” You grinned at the words, normally you’d be jumping off the couch, screaming and cheering as if you were in the stands, but you were just so out of it. It had been a terrible week at work, you were beyond sore, your feet killing you from standing on them for multiple double shifts, your head ached and on top of all of that, Tito being gone was just getting harder and harder for you, and you were surprised by your period today, it had always been irregular so it should not have been so shocking when it just appeared out of nowhere. All in all, its safe to say you were a mess, physically but more so emotionally.

So when your phone rang well after the game had ended, you knew it would be Tito, calling to talk like he did everyday he was gone, you were already in bed, curled into one of his sweatshirts, tears littering your face as all you could think about was how it will still be almost another month until you can see him in person again. Thankfully it wasn't a FaceTime call, so you were able to clear your throat and answer the phone, “hi, Tito.” You mumbled, playing off the slight weird tone of your voice, blaming it on being tired. “Hi, princess, did you watch the game?” He asked, your heart fluttered at the nickname, but it made you hurt worse at the same time. “Of course I watched.” You whispered, moving the phone away, coughing to level your voice. “Are you sick?” Tito sounded concerned. You shook your head, even though he couldn't see you, but then it hit you, this was a way out, to not have to tell him how badly you were feeling, about missing him and making him feel worse. “Uh, yeah, I’ve just been working a lot this week, I think I picked up a little something.” You lied through your teeth, sniffling, but since he thought you were sick it didn't matter. “I just need to get some sleep, Tito, I’m sorry.” You whispered, “it’s alright, babe, I love you, get some rest and feel better, yeah?” He was always so concerned about you, “love you too.” That was your slip up, you refused to not say “I love you”. You didn't notice your slip up, but he certainly did, he didn't say anything about it, even if he wanted too, he pushed aside the concern, saying it was because you were tired and sick, but he couldn't help but wonder if that was true.

***

You woke up to a knock on the apartment door, you groaned, pushing the blanket off of you, only to find that you fell asleep without changing your pad and now you had gotten blood on the sheets. “Fuck.” You cursed, momentarily forgetting the door until it was knocked on again, “coming!” You called, leaving your phone on the side table as you slipped the closest pair or shorts on, covering your bottom half as you rushed towards the door. “Delivery for, Y/N Y/L/N.” He smiled, holding a vase of roses out, you gasped, taking it while whispering a small thank you. He left before you could process what happened, you slinked back into the apartment, smiling at the flowers, you spotted the card in the middle and pulled it out as you carefully set the vase down.

“je t'aime, je me sens mieux bébé.” (I love you, feel better baby.)

You sighed, instantly feeling guilty for lying last night, but you couldn't help it. You felt so shitty last night and you just didn't want to burden him with your emotions when he was already dealing with his own, surely it wasn't easy for him in the bubble. He loved the guys, but being with them 24/7 for this long would take its toll. You trudged back to the bedroom, groaning as you saw the stained sheets, you rubbed a hand over your face, not even bothering to check your phone as you saw the time on the clock, realizing you were going to be late to work. You quickly cleaned yourself up, shoving your things into your bag and heading in for what would be the worst day of your week thus far.

Getting food spilt all over your uniform, check.

Getting hit on by a drunk perverted man, check.

going to clean the bathrooms and finding puke on the floor, check.

basically anything remotely disgusting that could happen, did.

So when you walked home and finally looked at your phone your heart dropped, missed call after missed call from Tito, and texts on top of texts. You checked the time and knew he shouldn't be in the middle of anything and called him back. “Y/N? Oh thank god, I thought you were dead, baby, Jesus don't do that to me.” He rushed as soon as he answered, you laughed, “I’m so sorry, I didn't mean too, I woke up late and rushed to work, and the sheets were all bloody and it was just a terrible day, fuck, if I’m being honest it’s been a terrible week, Tito.” You rambled, instantly regretting it when all you heard was him breathing over the line. “Y/N, love, why didn't you tell me?” He spoke softly, he hid all the hurt in his voice, not wanting to make you feel worse, he could handle it, he had hockey to distract him, but not you, you didn’t have a distraction. “Because I didn't want to make you feel bad.” You cried, “it’s alright, I’m here to listen you know that, you would do the same for me.” He whispered, you could picture him running a hand through his hair. “I know, I know, it’s just hard, for both of us, I don't want to dwell on it, but it’s easy to do that when I walk around in our apartment and see you in everything.” You managed to squeak out, “baby girl, it’s alright, I’ll be back before you know it, and I might even be a Stanley Cup champ.” He teased lightly, managing to get a smile out of you through your tears. “You will be.” You assured him, “I love the flowers by the way.” You added, hearing him laugh softly. “Of course, you deserve them.” He grinned, you didn't have to see him to know he was grinning like a child. “Promise me that you’ll talk to me about this, no matter what.” Anthony demanded softly, “I will, baby, I promise. You have to do the same.” You responded, earning a hum of agreement. “I’d never shut up then, I’m always missing you baby, even when I’m there and you go out to get a coffee and I know you’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” He explained, making your heart burst with love. “You’re amazing, Tito.” You sighed, the two of you rambling on for as long as you could. You were always gonna miss him and he was always gonna miss you anytime you were apart. But it was worth it because you always ended up back together.

Taglist: @thathockeygirl @literarycharleton @softstarkey

#imagine #imagines #requested #tito beauvillier #tito beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier #anthony beauvillier imagine #nhl wiriting #nhl new york islanders #ny islanders

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puckngrind · 4 years

Text

What’s In a Name: 5 - J. Toews

Chapter 5

Where we left off: Jon and the Blackhawks won the 2015 Stanley Cup and he elects to celebrate with Bekah at home vs. going out on the town.

Warnings: smut, language

Word Count: 3,405 (felt way longer when I wrote it)

Series Masterlist ) Puck ‘n Grind’s masterlist

Titles.

It’s hard to title something when you just don’t know what to call it or admit to it honestly. Bekah loved watching Jon and his team regain the title of champions. It gave him this energy as they enjoyed the time they spent together. Bekah was nervous when Jon told her his family was going to come over. They decided having dinner in was better than out since the entire city was electrified after the win. With that his family came over for dinner the night after the win but everyone kept the conversation more to the week’s plans of celebrating and not Jon and Bekah’s connection. Bekah wondered if Jon asked them not to discuss it or was it just not an issue for them? She observed the Toews family more than anything.

A phone call changed all that was planned when Bekah had to leave before the city celebrations for the cup. Jon knew he couldn’t beg her to stay when her boss called needing her back early and gave her the vacation days back times two. Bekah promised to use them all on him as she kissed him hard before heading into Midway and back to Ohio. Her presence was missed as he hoisted the cup for the thousands of fans who lined the streets and packed into Soldier Field. With so many eyes on him he really only wanted hers right there next to him. Then just like that he was back home in Winnipeg and their text and phone conversations continued like normal.

By the end of the summer, Jon and Bekah were laying in bed in his Chicago home when they decided just not to label it. The months between her leaving after the cup and his training camp starting they found a few times to see each other. He made a couple trips to Columbus on the way to or from vacations and work requirements. Bekah found herself on a plane a few times for a weekend in Chicago when he was there. He mentioned his days with the cup but then dropped it after she started talking about a major project. He also wondered if the spotlight of his career was part of it. He never spoke the words to her but it was almost constantly in the back of his mind. They enjoyed the time together but their lives didn’t quite mesh once the season started and they both knew it.

What the two couldn’t deny was that the sex was amazing and the friendship they built was different than any relationship they had with anyone else. Bekah was a complete open book with Jon. He knew the completely unfiltered Bekah even more than her own family or even Brynn. Jon confided in her in ways even he was shocked by sometimes. She wasn’t caught up in the fame of his world and venting about all of it seemed easier with her. Yet, at the end of the day, being in a defined relationship just wasn’t realistic so they decided friendship was perfectly fine.

Finding time throughout the season was rough. It added to the fact that a friendship would be the only thing that would work. Bekah had a big project for Christmas and Jon had the flu during All-star break. The timing just didn’t work and the tension was felt by both once the end of the season rolled in.

Jon: are you coming to the game tonight?

The Blue Jackets were playing the Blackhawks and Bekah was already at Brynn’s waiting for her to go.

Bekah: Maybe...

Jon: are you wearing your CBJ sweater or mine?

Bekah: I said maybe, Tae.

Jon: I know you are coming. I just need to know if I need to look for that stupid thirds sweater or the far superior one you own.

Bekah pulls her lip into her teeth to contain the smile.

Jon: that’s mine. I think you know what I’m hoping to see 😉

“That’s Jon isn’t it?” Brynn emerged from her bedroom with her self-deemed lucky Blue Jackets sweatshirt on. “Are you telling him you are betraying our friendship and wearing that?” Brynn’s face contorts looking at her best friend in a Blackhawks jersey curled up on her couch.

“Rin!” Bekah huffs out.

“What? Our team....excuse me, my team needs as much cheering as possible. It’s been a rough season and today is our last game and Chicago already made the playoffs,” she gives her bestie a sly smile, “but I get it.” Brynn flutters around her home before finally getting in Bekah’s car.

Bekah’s phone buzzes as her and Brynn enter Nationwide Arena.

Jon: I’m skating during warmups but I’m a healthy scratch. Just don’t want you to worry.

Bekah cusses and Brynn looks over and mouths what?

“Well, maybe I should have worn something else?” Bekah flashes the text to Brynn as they walk.

“Greeeeaaattt. They are resting him because this game doesn’t matter. He will be in the press box then.” Brynn points up as they stand at the top of their section.

Warmups start and Bekah crosses her legs tight when Jon’s eyes meet hers. It had been months since the two saw each other in person and while she thought the desire to be under him was gone, by the look on both of their faces you could tell that just wasn’t true.

“You two are eye fucking each other with an audience.” Brynn whispers into Bekah’s ear.

“What? No. Rin. We are friends.” Bekah feels the flush coming to her cheeks.

“Friendship my ass...” Brynn says under her breath as the teams skate off.

Jon: I can see you, Beks

Bekah: what? When you were on the ice?

Jon: Now. I might be in the rafters but you are in a sea of blue with my jersey on. Still looks smokin’ hot on you.

Jon: from every angle 😉

Jon sends a picture of Bekah and Brynn from his seat. Bekah turns around and looks up. She can see the top of his head leaning out the box.

Bekah: I see you too.

Jon: Can I see you tonight please?

Bekah: I guess.

Jon: I’ll meet you in the lobby after the game.

“I’m guessing I’m riding home with Derek?” Brynn leans into Bekah at the end of the game.

“Yeah.” Bekah feels the warmth return to her cheeks.

The game ended and Bekah found herself standing in the Blackhawks team hotel’s lobby waiting for Jon. Pacing and attempting to take in the surroundings. She was glad she had a decent t-shirt on under her jersey because looking like a fan girl waiting for the team was not a look she was going for. Especially after how long it had been since she was face to face with Jon without plexiglass between them.

“Hey Beks.” Jon’s voice whispers from behind her. She jumps and turns.

“Tae! Long time, no see.” She goes to hug him and he catches her lips in his with his hands on her face. Releasing her face he slides one of his hands into hers and leads Bekah up to his room.

Jon pinned her to the door as he locked it in place. “Sorry I didn’t play tonight.” Jon sucks on the spot behind Bekah’s ear.

“Sorry your team didn’t win.” Bekah laughs as she runs her hands up the inside of his suit coat. Pulling at his shirt.

“Well it looked like your team lost from your outfit choice. Speaking of, where is it?” Jon pulls his finger along the collar of Bekah’s shirt.

“In my car. Didn’t want to seem like a fan girl waiting for you in the lobby or...what do they call the girls who just want to sleep with the players?”

“Bunnies. And damnit Beks, you are not any of those things that’s for sure.” Jon lifts Bekah up by her thighs and she whimpers.

“It’s been awhile Jon...” Bekah whispers in his ear her voice unsteady.

“I know. I’ve missed you and this.” He doesn’t let up pressing her against the door.

“I mean you are the last man I’ve slept with.” Bekah admits biting at her lip. Jon leans back to look her in the eyes. Her hazel green eyes looking for something.

“You think you aren’t the last woman I’ve been with?” Jon kisses her lips then pulls back making sure she’s hearing the words he’s saying. “Beks. I’ve only slept with you since the All-Star game in 15.”

“Seriously? But we aren’t...” Jon kisses her lips in desperation.

“Beks. Yes.” He kisses her again and she moans in his mouth. “Can we please get undressed? I’ve been fantasizing about this moment for way too long.” Jon carries Bekah to the bed and undresses her slowly. Taking time to praise her body and kiss every inch of exposed skin. Bekah does the same as he hovers above her. Loving the way that Jon’s muscles tighten under her touch. The connection between them is undeniable. Words no longer needed to find the perfect spot. The night is long and slow taking their time and enjoying each climax together.

“When does your playoff games start?” Bekah whispered as Jon spooned her.

“Uh...in a few days.” Jon kisses the shell of her ear. “Can we talk about this?” Jon’s fingers graze the left side of Bekah’s rib cage where the words Always yours were tattooed in a half cursive half print text. “This is definitely new.”

“Oh, um....yeah. I got a tattoo. Do you hate it?” Bekah’s fingers find Jon’s and interlaces hers with his as he continues to rub over the words.

“I like it. What’s it mean? If you want to share.” Jon pulls Bekah’s body further into his.

“I found an old birthday card from my grandpa around Christmas. He use to always sign my cards always yours, Gramps. That’s his handwriting.” Bekah spoke softly.

“That’s really special Beks. I’m just surprised you didn’t tell me.” Jon kisses her temple.

“You were thinking you were dying of the flu then pissed you sat out a game because of said flu. And then I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Oh hey. If we ever have sex again I have a tat.” Bekah winces bringing back her thoughts that have plagued her brain for most of the beginning of 2016.

“Well I’ve been thinking the same thing about if we’d be here again honestly. Minus the new ink part of course.” Jon admitted.

Their conversation continued until both fell asleep with their bodies intertwined. The next morning Jon was sitting on the bed when Bekah woke up.

“Babe, we gotta get going. I have a bus then plane to catch.” His lips graze hers.

“Sorry. Someone kept me up all night.” She stretches out her arms and wraps them around his neck.

“Yeah, wasn’t as tired just watching the game.” Jon chuckles. “Let’s get ya to your car and I’ll see you in a few weeks?”

The Blackhawks playoff run was short lived. They lost in seven. Bekah picks up her phone at the end of game 7.

Bekah: Text when you want to talk.

A few hours later she got a response.

Jon: Thanks Beks.

She didn’t hear from him all week and she didn’t text him again trying to give him space. Brynn tried to get her to go out for drinks after work but all Bekah wanted to do was curl up and watch mindless television. Pulling into her parking spot she noticed a man in the car next to her. Not really looking she got her bag and headed towards her door.

“Beks?” Jon’s voice echoed off the wall. She slowly turned around to see Jon standing with a bag slung over his shoulder about 10 yards from her.

“Holy shit! What are you doing here?” Bekah clutched her chest realizing how startled he made her.

“Uh...I went to the airport to head home and changed my ticket.” Jon closes the distance.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” She smacks at his chest and he captures her hand in place. “I haven’t heard from you since Monday.” Her eyes meet his and they were soft but intense.

“Sorry.” Was all he said but his face said there was more.

“Come in. If I knew you were coming I would have stocked my fridge for ya.” Bekah turns the key and they both kick off their shoes. Jon removes his bag and places it on the bench next to the entryway.

“It’s okay. We can order in or go out or whatever.”

“How long are you staying?” Bekah heads back to her room and Jon trails behind her sitting on her bed as she heads to the closet.

“Monday morning flight. I have some things to take care of at home. Plus Mom wants to celebrate my birthday.”

“Oh when is your birthday? I don’t think you’ve ever told me.” Bekah leans out of her closet pulling on one of Jon’s old shirts she kept.

“Um...today.” Jon admits.

“Jonathan Bryan Toews...TODAY is your birthday! Well we are going out for dinner. Hold on.” Bekah returns to her closest and finds a dress that is flirty but not too fancy and re-emerges.

“Damn Beks. I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress before.” Jon stands and wraps her up in his arms.

“Well, we don’t exactly see each other with clothes on frequently.” Bekah smirks up at him.

“True. So where are you taking me?” Jon kisses her lightly.

“Hmmmm. Oh! The Guild House! It’s newer and I’ve never been. Plus I’m sure your face can get us in if there is a wait.” Bekah rubs Jon’s freshly shaved face and pats. “28 looks good on ya Tae.”

“Thanks Babe, I’m starving. Let’s go.” Jon pulls Bekah under his arm and the two make their way to the Short North.

Dinner was easy and they easily slipped back into their comfortable rhythm. Bekah got annoyed when Jon refused to let her see or pay for the bill. He just laughed it off.

“I know why you love this city.” Jon looks around as the they made their way back to his rental. “It’s a big city but feels very small town too.”

“Best of both worlds really.” Bekah smiles watching Jon explore a part of the city he’s never been. “Chicago is amazing but you know that.”

“Yeah.” Jon breathes out as they reach the car.

By the time they hit Bekah’s door their need for each other was felt. Jon presses his body against Bekah and wraps his arm around her abdomen holding her it him as she struggles to get the key in the door. His breath hot on her neck. “Tae, you are getting birthday sex just let me get the door open please!” She looked up at him as his eyes danced.

“Birthday sex eh?” He let his hand go from her stomach and backs up a little.

“Go ahead and head to my room. I need some water. Need anything?” Bekah kisses him.

“Only you.” Jon smirks and kisses her forehead as he retreats to her room. Bekah felt the blush in her cheeks as she got a glass of ice water and walked into her room. Jon was comfortably laying in his boxer briefs and carefully moved her larger colorful pillows off the bed. “Those are new yes?” He eyes the pile and back to Bekah who was placing the water on her nightstand.

“Yes. They usually take of up that side of the bed.” She points where Jon is laying. And his eyebrow shoots up but he doesn’t say anything as Bekah pulls her dress over her head and climbs in next to Jon. He kisses her with his hand holding her in place. She breaks for air. “Do you trust me?”

“With everything Beks.” He whispers and she wiggles out of his grip, toes over to her dresser and opens her top dresser drawer pulling out one of his ties. “How do you have that?” His eyebrow raises.

“It’s yours. You left it at one point.” She smirks climbing in and straddling Jon. She leans down and kisses him hard. His breath hitches. “Ready birthday boy? No touching.” He nods and she ties the tie around his eyes. Kissing down his chest she eyes her water and reaches for a piece of ice. Lightly touching it to Jon’s chest.

“Woah. Fuck. That’s cold Babe.” He jumps and she laughs.

“My hockey man doesn’t like the cold? Odd...” she moves the ice down the center of his chest and his muscles retract in it’s wake. Jon mumbles something above her head. “You good there Tae?” He nods his head and Bekah takes in his clenched jaw and hands tightly gripped on pillow. Tracing his abs with the ice she licks and kisses the trail. Jon panting and his hips jolt up. Bekah hums as she works her way to his waistband and she slowly pulls down his briefs settles her self between his legs. Placing the remaining ice in her mouth she starts kissing up his thigh then kisses his tip. Jon jolts and swears as she slides her mouth over him.

“Damn that’s so hot but also very fucking cold Beks.” Jon huffs out. “Can I touch you yet?” He’s breathless with his request.

“Is that what the birthday boy wants?” She licks up his length and takes in how unglued he has become under her.

“Yes. Very much so.” She slides up his body and loosens the tie. Jon grabs her hand and removes it while leaning up to kiss her. “My turn!” He grunts and flips Bekah onto the mattress. Removing her bra and panties with ease, Jon eyes Bekah’s glass. He pulls an ice cube from it and places the cube in his mouth. Starting at her nipples, Bekah’s body jolts with the sensation. Jon hums in the satisfying way she moves under him. He drops the ice cube between her breast and follows with his tongue as it slides down her body then keeps going down to her core. Sucking hard eliciting moans with every move he makes. Forgetting the ice on her navel, Jon moves his body back up and kisses Bekah passionately as he slides deep inside her. Finally letting go of their built up highs and praising each other as they come down from the overstimulation.

“Happy birthday Captain.” Bekah breathes out trying to catch her breath.

“Maybe I would call you Captain after that Beks.” Jon laughs as he kisses her temple.

“Funny Tae.” She buries her face in his chest. “I’m gonna need to change the sheet. You melted an ice cube on my stomach.” Bekah giggles as she feels the wet below her hip.

“Or just roll over.” Jon moves her body with ease and kisses the top of her head as she’s on his chest. “Come to Sedona with me this summer.” Jon whispers.

“What?” She says in his chest.

“We’ve both talked about how we love hiking and well...I have a trip planned before Worlds...and you should come with me.”

“Uh...Jon.” Bekah sits up and slides off him.

“Yes Beks.” His voices is soft as he brushes her hair out of her face.

“Jon, what are we?” Bekah leans further away from him to look deep into his brown eyes.

“What kind of question is that?” Jon’s nose scrunches up.

“Well we clearly are friends.” Bekah starts.

“Yes, the best of.” Jon finds her hand and intertwines his fingers wiggling them.

“And the sex is amazing...” Bekah closes her eyes with that unfinished statement.

“I fully concur.” Jon moans to verify his agreement.

“But what do you call this? What’s it’s title?” She motions between them.

“Does it need a name Babe?” Jon kisses her lips.

“I mean...We just...I don’t know Tae. I guess no.” Bekah huffs out.

“So back to my original question. Sedona....end of June? Yes?” Jon nudges her.

“Sounds doable.” Bekah laughs

“Doable huh? You know what’s doable?” Jon moves on top of her with a look that tells her she’s in for it.

“Poor choice of words I guess.” Jon laughs and dips down below the sheets. “Or not.”

#what’s in a name fic #WIAN #tazer me 19 #jonathan toews fic #toews tuesdays #j toews fic #jonathan toews #love a damn blackhawk 🤦🏻‍♀️

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selfindulgentpoorlywritten · 4 years

Text

Golden (Sidney Crosby Imagine)

I’ve been working on this for weeks, and I wouldn’t have made it through without @staviastar who helped me write and beta’d! There’s an optional smut scene at the end, that’s marked off with a warning.

Rating: T (main) / E (optional end scene)

Pairing: Sidney Crosby/fem!Reader

Words: 4388 (w/o optional scene) / 7543 (full piece)

Warnings: minor language, somewhat unsafe sex

Requested: yes/no

Summary: “ hey so I found out recently that last week was the 10th anniversary of the Golden Goal (Crosby winning gold in overtime back in the 2010 Olympics) and I was thinking, maybe a fluffy (perhaps smutty?) imagine from that moment? “

It’s been a hard-fought game, excellent playing on both teams, though you’re tempted to say Canada has been playing just that much better. Your best friend being on that team has absolutely nothing to do with it, obviously, because that kind of bias wouldn’t stand in measured debate. Except the fact that you’re friends with most of Team Canada, and Sid being their star player might maybe- maybe, have something to do with why you’re on the edge of your seat five minutes into overtime, watching your friends from either side flit around the ice in a careful, frenzied dance. It’s not quite Miracle stakes, of course, but Canada vs. the United States is always an intense game to watch.

You could say something sappy, like that Sid is a poet on the ice, in a delicate ballet spanning all 200 feet, but you’d be lying. He’s plenty elegant, but more in the way of an engraved wrecking ball; pretty but too sturdy to be kept from getting where he wants to go. Maybe that’s poetic too, in its own way. Whether others would agree or not, it’s beautiful to you, the way he plays. The surety of his movements, the precision of the angle of his blade, the awareness of where anyone on the ice is at any given time. It’s a joy to watch him play, and that joy doesn’t fade no matter how many times you get to see it.

Six minutes into overtime, and it’s a constant roar of the crowd. The puck moves back and forth between teams, no hesitation where there isn’t room for it, the crowd cheering and booing in turns. Nash takes a solid shot, but it’s blocked just as solidly. Kessler starts taking it back down toward Canada’s side, and as they fly around with just enough control over the puck, you’re beginning to think this might go beyond overtime. But Canada takes the puck, skates it around in circles just long enough that you don’t notice what American player it is that Staal jukes expertly, taking just enough of a pause that they can regroup. Then there are passes and a steal and a blocked shot, and the USA has control again, barreling toward your net and almost scoring on a shit block, but the goalie comes through.

Then your breath is caught in your chest as Sid approaches the net, nearly barreling through a Team USA player to get close enough to pop off a shot, though it’s blocked. You make the mistake of taking a breath upon hearing his scream of “Iggy!”, and Sid doesn’t give you - or anyone for that matter - the time to fully exhale before the puck is in the net.

The arena explodes. Erupts. Goes absolutely, unstoppably, wild. You’ve never heard so much concentrated noise, and you’d cover your ears if you weren’t so busy sucking in a breath so you can scream along with them. Canada v. USA and your best friend just scored the game-winning goal. In overtime. The Golden Goal, though no one in hockey really called it that yet.

You’re not terribly close to the ice, though not far, and virtually no one you know is seated near you, but everyone is hugging and kissing and twirling each other around, and you’re no exception. You hug the person to your right, and when you turn to the one on your left, he spins you around as your matching Team Canada jerseys smash together. The guy in front of you, unfortunately in blue, shakes your hand solemnly before sitting back down. At least he’s a good sport. You’re not keen on seeing what chaos is going on in the upper decks right now, honestly.

But beyond the revelry and camaraderie, your main goal is to get the hell out of here. Because there, somewhere under your seats, is the place where you’ll meet Sid and your other friends. Where you’ll get to see their faces for the first time in a long time, and hug them, and congratulate them to the best of your ability. But there’s still all the pomp and circumstance to get through, for the players at least, so you have a bit of time. Time enough to get rows down to the wives and girlfriends, so at least one of them can vouch for you to come back outside the locker room. The girls are already gathering their things by the time you get to them, because you’ve spent enough time watching the spectacle that it’s almost over. Sid just looks so happy, and you couldn’t bear to look away.

As you make your way over to the WAG’s section, you spot Ryan Whitney- one of Sid’s teammates on the Penguins- and you’re not sure what he’s expecting from you. The officials award Team USA with the silver medals, and he looks, for the most part, downcast. But as soon as he makes eye contact with you, you see the recognition, the fondness, the mischief. You know Whitney is one of the worst about chirping Sid (and you) about your “relationship”, so you don’t return the expression, only allowing a delighted smile in support of your boys. You can already predict the amount of chirping that he’ll give Sid once they reunite as teammates, him and the rest of the Penguins always being one to harmlessly tease you both in your relationship.

Once you’re sufficiently close, one of the wives notices you and beckons you closer, pulling you in once you’re within arm’s reach. You get along well enough with most of them, Sid having invited you to enough of various team events to at least meet the majority of Canada’s WAGs. At least, this Team Canada’s WAGs. You’re not really one of them, but they’ve welcomed you heartily, always cooing over Sid and you as if you were some oscar-winning love story for the ages just because you’d been friends for years.

They vouch for you with security, and they’re kind enough to let you go, despite not having any special identification like the others. You probably would have had something, if Sid had known you were coming. But as far as he knew, you were still on the east coast, working on your post-grad. But the majority of the team (and their better halves) had insisted you come, and, well, you weren’t exactly opposed. But they thought it would be nice if you were a surprise, so you hadn’t been able to tell him where you were, despite being in the same city. Everyone figured if Canada lost, you’d be there to soothe the sore loser Sid inevitably was, and, hey, if they won, you could celebrate together. Luckily, it turned out to be the latter. Sid always turned to you first when he was overwhelmed; proof validated when he saw you outside of the locker room after the 2008 Stanley Cup Finals, practically breaking down into tears as he collapsed into your arms. Now, anyone with a mature sense of mind would see this as an emotional, iconic, heartbreaking moment for Sid the Kid - and it was - but they clearly didn’t witness the bitchier, grumpier side of him when you returned to Mario’s house, criticizing himself and the (debatably) dirty tactics of the Red Wings during the game. For your part, you just sat there on that couch with him, letting him lie down as if it were a therapy session, his head in your lap, and vent; occasionally agreeing and reassuring and doing your best to put his criticisms to rest, until the sun came up and he finally gave in to exhaustion. You didn’t want to openly admit it (and neither did anyone else), but your presence during that difficult time had done wonders for him.

You chat with the gals as you all wait for the guys to talk to the media and get changed, discussing the oncoming celebrations as the guys, no doubt, have an initial celebration on their own. As much as you love talking to the girls, you can’t help but think about how happy Sid had looked, how overwhelmed with accomplishment and satisfaction. Knowing his penchant for never being content with himself, it’s all you’ve ever wanted for him.

Finally, the players start emerging from the locker room. They each go to their support in turn, wives and girlfriends and family. You’re waiting, waiting, waiting, until Sid eventually wanders out, backpack slung over his shoulders. He greets a few of his teammates’ family members, before his eyes finally catch yours. You feel your face break into a broad smile, whether you gave it permission to or not, and watch his own do the same. His smile is blinding, all-encompassing, seemingly more stunning than it had been even on the ice after his goal.

“Hey Sid,” you greet, easy as anything despite the way your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest. Sid is everything to you, always has been. Even since you were kids shooting at an old washing machine, since you were teenagers too anxious about being bad at it to kiss anyone, since you’ve reached adulthood and both of you were too unsure to make a move, he’s always been everything to you. And he always will be. Because he’s Sid, and you’re you, and that’s just the way of the world.

“Hey,” he greets in return, unable to make his face behave, though you can see him trying. It seems he gives up on that, because instead, he decides to close the gap between you as quickly as possible, sweeping you up in his arms and spinning you around. Where you would normally just giggle, you laugh out loud, taking part in the unrestrained elation of the group. And that which you feel growing in your chest with every second you spend near Sid.

“I thought you were working on your research,” he says after he puts you back on your feet, keeping you held close enough to his chest that you can feel the vibrations of the words.

“Never said I couldn’t work on it from Vancouver,” you reply, cheeky in a way he’s come to expect from you, but that hasn’t ceased to make him smile even wider. There’s nothing to say then, except everything. I’m so proud of you. You did an amazing job. You are amazing. I’m so in love with you. I have been for so long I think I was born loving you. But you don’t say any of that, because you’re not an idiot. You just hold him close until some of his teammates start whistling and egging you on to kiss. You plant an overdramatic kiss on his cheek to satisfy them, finally pulling away as much as you’re willing.

You know he’s socially obligated to spend some time with the team out at the bars, but you’re not particularly in the mood for even more noise. But it’s Sid, and he’s holding your hand as he leads you along, so you can’t imagine not agreeing to go. It’s just a blur of noise and congratulations and dancing and far less drinking than you’d imagined. At least on yours and Sid’s parts. Everyone else seems to be getting properly wasted, but Sid only has as many drinks as you do, and you intend to remember tonight, so you don’t have that many.

Eventually, Sid takes your hand again-- or maybe he’d never stopped holding it-- and tugs you toward the door, giving an uncharacteristic middle finger to his team when they cheer (and chirp) at the two of you leaving. You follow him outside without resistance, knowing anywhere Sid takes you is somewhere you want to go. That place ends up being the Olympic village, a place you never could’ve dreamed you’d see. But here you are, with Sid leading you back to his room like it’s nothing, like his team clearly wasn’t expecting something you hadn’t dared think was a possibility.

Once he pulls you into the room, he holds you close, just squeezing you tight and breathing into your hair for long moments. You let it be, savoring the moment of closeness, appreciating the fact that you get to have this. If nothing else, if you spend the rest of your life pining after him as you have for years, you get to have this.

“I’m glad you came,” Sid says, after an indeterminate amount of time.

“I am too,” you reply, meaning it more than you’ve meant much anything else in your life. You’d assumed you would actually be back home now, working on your project, until seemingly everyone you knew insisted you had to be here. You’re sure they hadn’t meant here, in Sid’s hotel room, in his arms, but they’d meant here nonetheless. And where else could you have possibly ended up? Alone at your own hotel room, sure, if Sid wasn’t Sid, and you weren’t you, and the two of you weren’t who you are, together.

“I scored that goal and all I could think is how much I wished you were there to see it,” he continues, nosing under your ear, “And then you were.” You chuckle gently like you always do when he gets like this, all sentimental and soft. Such a tough, emotionless boy to the world, but they didn’t know him like you did. No one knew him like you did.

“I’m always gonna be there, Sid,” you say, and you mean it. You’ve both been through enough over the years for you to be able to say that for certain, and even if you hadn’t, you still feel it deep in your soul that it’s true. You’d cross oceans for him, climb mountains, take a ten hour flight alone across a continent. For him. Always for him.

“I know,” he replies, like it’s that easy. Like following someone across half the world is easy, like loving the most loved (and most hated) man in the world is easy.

“I appreciate it, y’know,” he continues, interrupting your slightly bitter thoughts, “Everything you do for me. All of it. I see it. And I’m so grateful.” Okay, that’s a little better. Or a lot better. Or enough better that your heart is starting to melt again, as if it’s ever been solid around Sid to begin with. You just bury your nose in his hair and try not to gasp when he places a soft kiss against your neck. The two of you have done many things together; playing, studying, sharing a seat, sharing a bed. But that’s just how friends are, especially in hockey. Maybe it means something to you, maybe his lips soft and wet against your skin send a message, but surely not one he means to send. He’s Sid, and Sid’s never been good at communicating with people, or socializing, or whatever. You’re used to it.

“You smell,” you say, perhaps a bit desperate to break whatever this moment is. He doesn’t actually smell that badly, clearly having taken at least a cursory rinse in the locker room showers earlier, but it’s as good an excuse as any. May as well get another shower at this point, with the slight crowded-bar-smell hanging on him. He just laughs into your skin, which doesn’t help much, and sways the two of you back-and-forth.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” he says, before pulling away to look you in the eye, “Unless you want to.” Which, like, what? Who would want to get rid of him?

“ ‘Cause if you don’t feel the same, I get it,” he continues, babbling in that way he does when he’s nervous, “But I feel like you do, and I do, and you flew across a continent to be here, and you’re the only one I care about being here, and I just--” He won’t stop unless you stop him, and you’re still too scatter-brained to parse what he’s trying to say, so you just put a finger to his lips to silence him. He shuts his mouth immediately, looking into your eyes like he’s waiting for direction. Like you’re the only one who could give him direction.

“Shower first,” you say, not quite sure where else to go with this. Luckily, he nods mutely, following easily when you lead him into the bathroom by your linked hands. He’s obviously not going to start, and you’re still trying to remember how to think, so you’re the first to begin stripping. After your shirt is on the floor and your shoes and socks are on their way to join, he finally snaps into action. He tears off his own clothes and shoes with an urgency you don’t feel quite yet. It’s almost like when you were little kids, and getting showers together after mud fights didn’t have any kind of connotation or expectations.

But then he’s naked, and you’re naked, and you’re not kids anymore. He’s a grown man, carefully built for his career in a way that’s just a touch too appealing, and you’re a random post-grad who happened to be lucky enough to know him before he was him. But again, you’re not who you used to be. Does he find who you are now attractive? Are you worth his time? Or are you still just a friend? Not that that would be a bad thing; no, being Sid’s friend was one of the greatest honors of your life, it’s just. That’s not the extent of what you want him to see you as. You don’t want to be eternally nine years old, shooting pucks and shooting the shit in his driveway. You want to be someone he admires, someone worth talking to, someone worth knowing, someone worth spending time with after he scores the game winning goal in overtime at the goddamn Olympics. Which, it seems, you may be.

But he doesn’t say anything, so neither do you. You just take his hand yet again and lead him into the spray of the now (by far) warm water. For long moments, you just look at each other, letting the spray douse you. But his eyes are dark, and you’re caught between knowing what that look means and not believing it, so you grab the standard issue shampoo and force his head down enough that you can lather his just-long-enough curls. You have to pull him close to rinse, but then put him back into place to get a second lather going, knowing how greasy his hair can get, and how much he appreciates you massaging his scalp. After the second rinse, you take the bar soap in your hand and halt, not sure you can still wash him down without a feeling that wasn’t there when you’d first faced this task. You stand there with soapy hands and helplessly open eyes, simultaneously praying he doesn’t recognize what you’re conveying, and wishing he would finally see through you. You stare and stare, and he stares back, before placing a hand on your hip and the other on your jaw.

“You know why I was so happy you’re here?” he asks, and you’re not sure you want to answer. Because you’re his friend. Because you’re the only thing he has from back home. Because you make him feel safe.

“Because I love you,” he says, his voice hushed and eyes half-lidded, when you refuse to answer. You can feel your mouth drop open just the slightest, and your eyes get a bit too wide and watery for your own comfort. It’s-- no. Sid is. He’s just being Sid, appreciating a friend, letting you know he cares and your trip wasn’t for naught. Just. Anything but what you hadn’t dared to hope.

“Like,” he continues when you don’t respond, “Love you, love you.” That’s not-- you aren’t-- you and Sid aren’t like that, except he continues, “Like more than a friend.” And that’s-- that’s everything you’ve wanted to hear from him for years, but everything you can’t believe. Because even though you knew him when he was still gangly and painfully awkward, he was always still the Next One, in your mind, at least. You always knew he was going to be something special, something amazing, and you were just. Just you. Just some random post-grad who still wasn’t quite sure where she was going with her life. Except, maybe, that it would follow wherever Sid led.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” he says, just keeps going, like he’s not rewriting every fact you have in your head about the two of you, about how you’re the one who loves him and not the other way around, “Pretty much as long as I’ve known you.” For a moment you think this is all a joke, but you can’t imagine Sid doing something that cruel to you. Leading you on for his own amusement.

“You’re everything to me, Y/N,” he brushes his thumb across your cheekbone and you still can’t breathe, can’t imagine how this is real, how this is your life.

“All I’ve ever wanted was to give you a reason to love me,” he continues, like that’s not absolutely ridiculous, like he hasn’t given you every reason to love him every second of the day for the last fifteen years. Like he didn’t call you during Juniors to ask how school was, even though he was doing something more important. Well, maybe not more important, but more prestigious at the time. He had been there for you when you needed extra practice, when you needed someone to hold up flash cards, when you needed someone to make you laugh when no one else could. That’s not really what Sid was known for, honestly, but that’s how you knew him. The one person who could walk into a situation and make you laugh like none of your problems even existed.

The point is, it’s you who should be confessing your unconditional love for Sid, not the other way around. And yet here he is, as he’s always been, one step ahead of the curve. Telling you he loves you as you debate whether you can wash him off without giving yourself away. Doesn’t matter much now, does it?

“Really?” you ask, just to be sure, to make sure this isn’t some cruel joke, to protect yourself one last time. Sid’s eyes go from determined to unbearably soft, running both hands down the line of your neck.

“Of course,” he says, without hesitation, “Of course. Who else could I possibly love?” Your breath, your words, your entire being, gets stuck in your throat. Who else? Who else? Anyone! Anyone else! Your eyes are beading with tears and you’re glad there’s water running over the both of you, because otherwise it might get embarrassing pretty quickly. He could love anyone else, because anyone else wasn’t you. And isn’t that how love always goes? The one you love is always, in some way, better than you, and they always fall for someone better. Because you sit there and believe that as much as you love them, as much as you care for them and protect them and adore them, that there’s someone else better suited for them. And you give up the fight. But.

It’s Sid.

It’s Sid and he’s your best friend, and you haven’t been able to give him up until now, and you still can’t even give him up as he makes the biggest mistake of his life. But maybe loving you isn’t a mistake, because who knows him better than you? Who knows that he likes balsamic vinaigrette with a touch of whole grain mustard on his salads? Who knows that he walks an incredibly specific route around the Penguins arena to get to the room, and who is willing to take that route with him every time? Who knows that he’s so terribly afraid of not being enough that he puts everything he is into being the best, just to be worth something, that they work out with him during the summers, no matter how badly it hurts? Who better for him than you?

You laugh. It’s all you can do. You laugh and laugh and gasp for air and cling to him like he’s the last tangible thing on this planet until you can control yourself enough to look him in the eye. It takes many long moments of resting your head on his chest to get there, but his skin is warm and soft and yields against the careful presses of your lips.

“God, Sid,” you gasp, finally looking up into his dark, dark, scared, eyes, “Fuck.” His lips are soft when they meet yours, and you don’t see the look on his face, because you can’t keep your own eyelids open to watch. Because you’re finally kissing him, and he’s kissing you back, and he’s clinging onto you like his life depends on it, and his dark lashes flutter open just a second behind your own, like you’re still in sync after all these years, like your souls could never be parted by anything so simple as time or distance.

“Took you long enough,” you say, laughing, despite the thoughts racing through your own head. I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I’d travel the world over to see you. I’d do anything for you. I love you.

Suddenly you’re both laughing. Maybe it’s not the time or place to do so, maybe it should’ve “ruined the mood” or something like that, but it’s the way you’ve always been and the way you hope you’ll always be. At first it starts out quiet and breathless as you part for air and look at each other in a newfound light, only to turn to bashful giggling and beautiful characteristic giggle-honks as you lean into each other, foreheads gently pressing together in an all-too-familiar way, eyes squeezed shut. Soon enough, your laughs echo off the walls as you hold each other under the warm spray of water cascading down your bodies and you’re both so terribly vulnerable, so open and bare to each other in this moment, but you can’t make yourself wish that this would ever end.

Optional Smut Scene Written Below (So we can possibly incorporate it into the main fic somehow if we plan on writing one):

Now that you’ve finally gotten to do it, you can’t quite help yourself from kissing him again, and again and again. His lips are slightly chapped from incessant cold, yet somehow still soft against yours. Both of your bodies are warm from the spray of the water, and you think you might die of heat stroke if you stay in the shower much longer. Besides, you’re not really trying to injure the hockey world’s sweetheart in a bizarre shower sex incident, so you don’t intend to stay in for much longer. Two minutes ago you might have questioned that thought, that you were about to have sex, but there’s no use in denying it now. Sid loves you. He loves you, and you love him, and nothing in this world or the next could stop you from getting him off.

But you can’t quite get yourself to stop kissing him long enough that you can bring up a venue change, because you’ve been thinking about this as long as you’ve known what kissing was for, and now you finally have it. So you hold him close and kiss him hopefully as senseless as he’s leaving you, only kind-of ignoring the press of his growing erection against your hip. You can’t fully ignore it, because it’s, like, there, and it’s Sid, and it’s for you.

Eventually he must have the same thought of the perils of shower sex, becuase he gasps out “bed” against your mouth and you’re helpless but to nod. You reach behind you to shut off the water, and he leads you out of the stall with deep kisses and wandering hands. It’s only when the backs of your still-damp knees hit the bed that it sets in, yeah, you’re going to do this. You’re going to fuck your best friend, and you’re going to do it because you’re in love.

He uses a hand on your back to lower you onto the mattress, like you’re something precious he doesn’t want to break. You can only laugh, making him bend over for a kiss before you scoot to straighten yourself out on the bed, and he follows like he couldn’t imagine an alternative. There’s more kissing, enough that you’d be sick of it with anyone else, and he’s working your breasts like your body is his thesis, rolling and flicking your nipples until you moan into his mouth. You can feel his smile at that accomplishment, and don’t resist giving him the satisfaction again and again.

It could be minutes, could be days, before he moves to your jaw, your neck, your shoulders, kissing and sucking and biting like he wants to leave marks, wants everyone to know you’re off limits. You’re not exactly opposed to the idea, but it is a bit tacky to show up with hickeys everywhere. Still, you’re not complaining. It would be kind of funny to see him all flustered when the guys chirp him half to death about it, anyway. It’s only when he reaches the base of your ribcage that he stops, pulls back enough for you to whine. What the fuck.

“I don’t have a condom,” he says without prompting, and okay, that’s kind of a good reason to pause. Fuck, why doesn’t he have one? Who doesn’t carry around a fucking condom?

“I uh,” he continues, cheeks flaming red from their previous pink flush, “I haven’t really wanted to sleep with anyone else, so.” Oh. That’s pretty sweet, honestly, and just enough to soothe the part of you that wants him inside you, like, now. You force him to meet eyes and smile.

“That’s pretty cheesy, Sidney,” you tease, running a hand through his curls. He buries his face in your stomach and mutters a “shut up”. Maybe you should’ve told him you were coming, so he could be prepared. No matter what you could’ve done, you can still work with this.

“Well,” you sigh overdramatically, “I guess I have a mouth.” You can feel his cocktwitch against your leg as he whispers a heartfelt “Fuck...” under his breath. There’s always tomorrow, you suppose, and it’s not like going down on him is going to be a hardship. Or maybe it will? You’ve never really done… all that, so maybe it’s harder than it looks? Shit, Sid is probably well seasoned in sexual aspects, and you’re gonna look like a fool. Except-

“I uh,” Sid starts, pauses, continues, “I haven’t really… with anyone.” Which is like, mind-blowing, cause he’s Sid and he’s hot and lovely and if you’re understanding him correctly, how has no one jumped on that?

“Haven’t what?” you ask, just for clarification. Good to know exactly what you’re dealing with.

“I’ve never, uh,” Sid seems hesitant to say it out loud, like he’s talking to his teammates and not you, who has known he’s a dork since you met him, “I’ve never had sex.” That’s, um. That’s certainly, something. Like, to be fair, neither have you, so you don’t have much room to speak, but you’re not a world famous athlete with women of all ages banging down your door to fuck.

“Why, though?” you ask, because your brain to mouth filter has been shot since he first kissed you. That’s a pretty personal question to ask, and you kind of feel bad. Until he responds with more ease and grace than you’d ever have expected.

“I always kind of hoped it would be you,” he says, and if he were anyone else, you’d probably try to act smooth about it - but you give him a blushing, broad smile instead, one that you’re sure shows a hint of feeling humbled and a bit over-complimented. Call it sappy all you want, but it’s true. He’s had all the opportunity in the world to have sex and he hasn’t, simply because he wanted it to be with you. You’re much less afraid of being bad at sex now, knowing that you’re on the same level, and it makes you even more eager to get down to it. And if he feels the same way you do- that there’s not much short of serious bodily injury that could make this any less perfect- you don’t have much to be worried about.

“I, uh, I haven’t either,” you respond, ignoring his wide eyes staring up at you, “I was kind of hoping it would be you, too.” In any other situation, it would be humiliating to admit, but, for the millionth time, it’s Sid, and that makes it okay. Sid makes everything okay. He looks hungry, suddenly, in a way he hasn’t yet, and you can only hope you live up to what he’s been imagining. Because he’s been imagining, Jesus Christ.

“Do you, uh, want to… go first, or?” you ask, not quite caring what he decides. But you’re on your back and he’s halfway down your body, so it seems pretty clear what should transpire next. Unless he’s into getting his own first, which is definitely valid, but you’re kind of hoping he wants you to get off first, just so you can focus on giving him the first time that he deserves.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes, which isn’t much of an answer, because it could easily mean getting or giving, but any doubt you had about his answer is quickly answered by the way he continues to trail down your abdomen. So okay, yeah, he’s definitely going to eat you out, and that’s like, the subject matter of almost every dream you’ve had for the past five years, but it’s cool. It’s totally cool, and you’re cool, and not short of breath at all.

He spends almost too much time at your pelvis, sucking marks into the delicate skin of your hips and inner thighs, making you squirm with nothing but the heat and pressure of his mouth. It would be embarrassing, probably, with anyone else, but Sid has always had this air of earnest, unabashed passion that makes you feel like you’re allowed to want. And he seems happy enough about it, proud that he’s apparently as good at this as anything else he tries, if the noises you’re making are any indication. The faintest voice at the back of your mind hopes that you can hold up to scrutiny when it’s your turn, but mostly you’re just desperate for him to get on with it already.

“Let me know if it’s good?” he requests, the first outright sign of insecurity he’s shown since getting you into bed. You’re not sure it’s possible for him to mess this up, honestly, because it’s like. It can’t be that hard, right? And at first, he confirms these assumptions, running his tongue over your labia, just enough pressure and slickness to make it work. He uses his hands to spread your thighs more, baring more of you to him. And it’s... Okay, it’s good. It’s like, really good. But it’s not enough. He’s running his tongue through your folds and sucking and you’re making noises that surely couldn’t be attractive in any other context, but it’s not enough. If he wanted to keep you here for the next year, eating you out, this would be perfect, but you’re kind of looking to come, and this just isn’t gonna get you there.

“C’mon, Sid,” you plead, “More.” At that, he works his way higher, like he’s searching for- oh. Okay. Yeah, that’s your clit and he probably only knows it because he read about it somewhere, because he’s a nerd and you love him for it. Except the single-minded attention is just a bit too much at this point, and you have to push him away when he tries to suck hard at you, too much too soon, despite feeling like you’ve been ready forever.

“Just, fuck,” you curse, not sure how to direct him. But he seems to get the message, going back to alternating wide stripes up your folds and directionless swiping with a pointed tongue. Eventually, he gets up the nerve to dip into you with his tongue, and it’s just enough that you buck into his face. He takes this as encouragement, as he should, so he continues interspersing his licks with deep strokes of his tongue. You can feel your orgasm building in the curve of your hips, the back of your neck, the ends of your teeth, when he meets your eyes once again. You just nod, and he seems to get the message, going for your clit again. He licks and sucks and whereas it was too much before, it’s just enough now. You can’t help the way your hips move incessantly toward his mouth, desperate for anything he’ll give you, and let your orgasm wash through you in cresting waves that mimic the rolling of your hips. You wish you’d been looking him in the eye, something romantic like that, but it is what it is. And what it is, is the best orgasm you’ve had in your short life. You could probably die riding his face, fingers clenched tight in his dark curls.

Eventually, you have to push him away, too sensitive for him to keep going. You’re not exactly ready to jump back into action, too wrung out by all of it to immediately spring up and suck him off. Which is definitely something in the future, because he’s pressing the heel of his hand to himself, and you’re pretty sure he’d come at any moment if you could just manage to get down to it. After long moments catching your breath, you’re finally back to earth enough to move. It seems as though that’s not really a problem, though, because Sid has been watching you intensely since you separated, like your pleasure was his own. He kisses you deeply, and you can’t decide if the taste of yourself on his tongue is sexy or weird. Probably sexy. Kind of hot. Definitely hot.

It’s easy enough to sit up and push Sid back, laying him flat to switch the dynamic enough that you can kiss him breathless. You mimic his movements, drawing long lines along his neck and collarbones and chest with your mouth, like you’re trying to make a topographical map. God, he’d probably love that, huh? That shouldn’t be hot, but it kind of is, like everything about Sid, so you let it slide. Thinking of maps isn’t the way you thought this would go, but knowing Sid, you probably should have expected it. If he’s a nerd, you are too.

Almost as soon as you’d started, you’re at his hips, teasing him with sucking kisses and light bites as much as he had you. He doesn’t get the reference, or at least doesn’t make it a competition, as you’d almost assumed it would be, rolling his hips toward you far more smoothly than you’d anticipated.

“Been practicing?” you ask, sucking a mark at the base of his dick. You kind of hope he hasn’t, because you haven’t, but you wouldn’t fault him for the experience.

“Might have watched some videos,” he grunts, throwing his head back at the suction to the crease of his hip, “Thought about it.” You’re over being surprised that he’d thought of you, because he’s said it enough, but the statement still shoots straight to your own groin. It’s all you need to duck down and take the head of his dick into your mouth. You huff out a laugh at the sound he makes in response to your lips, and you hope he knows it’s not mean-spirited. You’d laughed at each other plenty over the years, and you hope you don’t have to stop now that this is a… thing. You run your tongue down his length and back up, trying to the best of your ability to be sexy, but you’re not sure if it’s working. He groans and closes his eyes as he throws his head back, though, so you take that as a good sign. After lavishing the base with as much attention as you’re willing with how badly you want him in your mouth, you finally take him down as far as you dare. It’s not necessarily impressive, but it’s enough to make him take hold of your head. You don’t expect him to force you down, and he doesn’t, though you kind of want him to. Logically, you know you don’t have the experience to resist gagging if he did, but the possibility is definitely something to work on.

You try it yourself after a while, curious as to how much you can take. You’d gladly take whatever he gave you, but you’re pretty sure your gag reflex would disagree. But it ends up that he just twists his hips in smooth arcs, more interested in the fact that it’s you getting him off than anything else. It’s kind of heady, to know that he’s turned on by your presence more than what you’re doing, but also a challenge to your over-competitive soul. If he’s going to come for you, he’s going to feel it.

So you pull out all the tricks you’ve heard about, teasing the head and the base with your tongue and fingers, twisting your wrist, making as much eye contact as you can manage. Sid has waited his whole life to have his first time with you, and you’re going to make it as good as you can. Not just out of competitiveness, but out of adoration.

He digs his fingers into your scalp when he’s close, mumbling something incoherent, and you don’t bother even trying to pull off. He comes into the back of your mouth and down your throat, and you’re glad you’d stayed on, just to see the look on his face when you do. He’s beautiful like this. Like anything, really. Put together or torn apart, he’s perfect in your eyes. Maybe it’s sappy, but it’s true.

You gently slide his cock out of your mouth, your tongue sliding against the still-hard erection as you finally release him. Licking your lips, you hummed to yourself, surprised at how tolerable he tasted. You’d been under the impression that it would be gross, but it honestly wasn’t that bad; a little salty, a tad bitter, but overall fine. Possibly just because it’s Sid, but fine either way. ‘Yeah,’ you thought. ‘I’m doing this way more often.’ Suddenly the realization hits you: this may very well be the first of many times you’ll get to do this. Your cheeks burn a little bit hotter than they do already as you try to hide your giddy smile.

Your thoughts are suddenly halted once Sid tugs you up towards him, connecting your lips once again. You’re a bit surprised at how deeply he kisses you-- as much as you’d enjoyed the taste of him, you hadn’t expected him to be interested in even the possibility of the same. Nonetheless, he kisses you just as he had before, like he’s still amazed he gets to have this, and he’s trying to make the most of it in case it’s taken away. After you pull away for breath, he moves to plant kisses on your cheeks, your forehead, your nose. You giggle and lightly smack his chest, burying your face in his neck to hide your smile. No part of tonight has been anything you’d imagined, from his goal to where you are now, together, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Hey Y/N?” he says, once your giggles have calmed and you’re left breathing against his skin. You hum, not quite up to the task of speaking yet. He nudges you until you lift your head, so he can look you in the eye in that way that makes you feel like he’s seeing straight into your soul.

“I love you,” he says. You don’t even have to think about it.

“I love you too,” you reply, easy as breathing. Broad smiles break over both of your faces. You know you both mean it, more than you’ve meant anything in your lives. He kisses you again, just lazy movement of lips against lips, so warm and comfortable you don’t bother wondering how long it goes on for.

“Sleep time,” you demand, eventually. He grins and tosses you around until he’s spooned up against your back, arms wrapped securely around you. You take deep, steady breaths until you’re just on the edge of consciousness. He says “I love you” again, whispered into the back of your neck like he thinks you’re already asleep. You mumble it back, before allowing the darkness to take you. You’ll have every moment of the rest of your lives to prove it to him, if you have any say in the matter.

#sidney crosby imagine #nhl imagines #RI #andis coping mechanism #scrosby

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years

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Life Changes Part 10 || Paul Bissonnette

Author's Note: So this one was tough for me because Paul’s head is a tough nut to crack so go easy on me. This is from his POV because I felt like we needed some insight as to where he stood in all of this because so far we’ve only see Leigh’s thoughts. Let me know what you think. We’re covering quite a bit of time fairly quickly now. In fact, there’s probably only 1 more chapter before the event everyone has been waiting for happens *hint hint*. Also, I updated the playlist for this story so feel free to go take a listen and let me know what you think and feel free to send me any songs that make you think of Leigh and Paul because I’d love to hear them.

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no Warnings: swearing Word Count: 2,389

_________

Paul’s POV

“Only the wisest and stupidest of men never change.”

Something had been different with Leigh since the awards but I couldn’t put my finger on what had changed or why. We still talked almost every day but where before she would be an open book, now it seemed like a glass wall was between us. Knowing that she would reach out if she needed me, I came to the conclusion that it was something to do with the pregnancy and tried not to dwell on it.

Hopefully, this trip would make not dwelling a little easier. Thanks to some networking at the Awards and a little help from CCM, we’d finally landed our white whale for the podcast. And not only had we secured Crosby, but we’d also gotten MacKinnon as well. Having arrived in Nova Scotia yesterday, Whit and I were slotted to face off against the local duo in a round of golf, dinner on the line, before sitting down to record the interviews.

It was a gorgeous June day on the course, and I was absolutely buzzing. This was potentially the best game of golf I’ve ever played in my life. But before we had even finished the front half of the course I was already being accused of being a sandbagger...fucking ridiculous. Nate was getting all sorts of worked up while Sid just laughed saying they’d have to wait and see what the back half brought.

Needless to say, the second half didn’t go as well as the first...the damn yips taking over. Though we’d had the lead and secured dinner, for some reason Whit felt like giving the losers a second chance to redeem themselves so it was determined that we were only up 1 hole with two remaining. Whit came up just short for birdie leaving us square to start the 18th hole.

Just as we reached the final tee, my phone rang, Leigh’s picture filling my screen. If it had been anyone else I would have ignored it but there was no way I could ignore her so I grabbed my phone and stepped slightly away as I answered.

“What’s up?” I questioned. “We’re on the 18th hole with Sid and Nate.” Before she even responded I could hear the hitch in her breath and my heart raced with concern for why she would be crying, though lately, it didn’t take much to make her cry...pregnancy hormones.

“I forgot.” She admitted, her watery voice cracking.

“It’s fine. What’s up?” I repeated my question, my stomach twisting as I waited for her answer.

“It’s a girl.” She whispered. Immediately my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest.

“What?” The word slipped out while my brain was rushing to process.

“Dustbunny...she’s a girl.” I had totally forgotten that Leigh had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for today. Without even realizing it, tears had pooled in my eyes and I let out a shaky laugh as I tried to blink them away. Deep down I knew that she was hoping for a girl and so I knew just how much this news meant to her.

“That’s incredible.” I finally managed my throat tight. “Congratulations.” Though the concept of her really having a baby had become more concrete for me in Vegas seeing her bump, now it really did feel real. In just a few months there would be this little human who looked like her mom hanging around and the thought of that was almost too much.

With Whit calling my name from the course, I signaled for him to give me just a minute but it was clear that Leigh heard it and she murmured that I should get back to the game. But before she hung up she made one final statement.

“You can tell the guys if you want. And uh...let them know I’ll make a public announcement in the next couple days but to keep it to themselves until then please.”

“Course.” I murmured, my brain still operating mostly on autopilot as it worked over the news she’d just dropped on me. “I uh...I’ll talk to you and dustbunny later.”

“Yeah.” She agreed. “Now go have fun.” She added just before the line went dead. Frantically I tried to pull myself together, wiping at my eyes and pocketing my phone.

It was my turn up at the tee and as I tried to focus, laughter came at me from all directions. Whether it was the laughter or the thought of Leigh and her daughter racing through my mind, as I swung at the ball I sliced it way left and the laughter took full force.

“Fuck off okay,” I mumbled, moving to sit on a bench, my nails scraping over my scalp.

“What the fuck was that?” Whit demanded. “You take one phone call and make the worst shot of the day?” There was nothing but silence as we made our way down to the green and as we waited for Sid to putt Whit looked over at me. “Everything okay?” He asked, voice calmer. “I’m assuming that was Leigh.”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Everything’s good.” Whit looked at me skeptically before taking his turn and after sinking his putt for the win he paused.

“Okay, Biz...spill.” He stated, leaning against his club. “You’ve been all hyped up all day and now you’re quiet. What was that call about?”

“She’s having a girl.” I breathed, tossing my club back in the bag before reaching for a bottle of water to try and calm my still racing heart down.

“Who’s having a girl?” Nate inquired, clearly confused by the statement.

“Leigh. Our business manager.” Whit explained. “That’s awesome, I’m sure she’s over the moon.”

“Wait...she’s pregnant?” Sid asked, having obviously paid no mind to her growing bump when they met just a week or so ago.

“Yeah. It’s complicated.” I expressed. “And she is over the moon. She was crying over the phone.” I added, once again scratching my head. It was left unspoken, but not unnoticed by Whit that I had been crying over the news too and we made our way over to a little cafe to record both interviews, my mind gradually refocusing as I focused back in on hockey and the world surrounding it.

~~~

It wasn’t until we were a few drinks into a delicious dinner courtesy of Sid and Nate that Leigh was brought up as conversation again.

It had happened casually, Sid inquiring as to what we had upcoming for the podcast. Whit went into a ramble on the secret project we’d been working on for months, a Pink Whitney vodka, and how we had a launch party for that planned for Labor Day weekend. Then RA brought up how each of us was working to pick up some of the management job duties so that Leigh could have a proper maternity leave when the time arose. That triggered Nate inquiring about the whole baby thing and I quickly had to vaguely explain that Leigh wasn’t with the baby’s father and that we were close friends because she’d been with me in Arizona when she found out.

We’d just downed another round of drinks when Whit threw the first real punch.

“So Biz….when are you going to tell her you’re in love with her?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about...we’re just friends.” I lied, doing everything I could to keep my facial expressions neutral.

“That’s bullshit and everyone else can see it besides the two of you.” He tossed back. “You look at her like she’s the goddamn stanley cup. I haven’t seen you even look at another woman in months. If you aren’t talking about work you’re talking about Leigh and the baby so stop playing. You’re in love with her.”

If it weren’t for the drinks I’d already consumed I probably wouldn’t have admitted to anything. But with the drinks, I felt my palms start to sweat and my filter let a few too many thoughts slip through.

“Of course I love her,” I mumbled. “She’s smart, she’s funny, she’s absolutely stunning, and she has one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever seen. She’s handled everything thrown at her with far more grace than I ever could have and she’s going to be an absolutely incredible mom.” Downing the rest of my last drink I sighed heavily. “But we’re just friends and it’s going to stay that way.”

“So you love her and you obviously love her baby...what’s the fucking problem?” Whit pushed.

“The problem is that she deserves more. Better.” At those words, every head at the table turned to look at me.

“What the fuck does that mean?” RA questioned, his tone brusque.

“It means that she could do so much better than me. I don’t exactly have the best reputation with women or in general. She deserves someone that can match her in intelligence and who won’t fucking stain her name with his own. She deserves someone who isn’t mentally fucked up...who doesn’t experience episodes where he can barely take care of himself let alone her and the baby. She deserves stability.”

After spilling out all of the reasons why friends was all we were ever going to be, I expected some resistance, what I didn’t expect was Whit to bust out laughing at me. Glaring at him I clenched my jaw and he just shook his head.

“You’re a fucking moron Paul. You’re making excuses as to why you aren’t good enough for her and she’s making excuses as to why she’s not good enough for you when in reality you’re perfect for each other.”

“What are you talking about?” I pressed, swirling the ice in my glass aimlessly.

“I’m talking about the fact that she told Brie she didn’t think that you’d ever even have sex with her because she’s not your type. She minimizes anything you feel for her proclaiming that it’s just the baby you’re attached to. She thinks that all you’d ever want to be is Uncle Paul so how could you possibly want to pursue more when a relationship with her would come with the baggage of a baby that’s not yours. She’s just as insecure as you are….but I guarantee you that the way you’re shaking your head about the things she’s worried about would be the same way she’d react to the things you’re worried about.”

It baffled me to think that Leigh thought I wouldn’t want her. At the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder if that expression meant that she actually did want me. For a while, conversation traveled back to less serious topics but before we headed back to the hotel for the night Whit pulled me aside one more time.

“Look I get you have your own concerns and that you’re worried about unnecessarily dumping something else onto her plate but don’t let either of those fears keep you from something that could be great. Now may not be the right time, but I’ve seen the two of you together and you both bring out the best parts of each other...so just be patient and things will work out like they’re supposed to.”

It wasn’t until I was settled into bed that I was able to watch the ultrasound video Leigh had sent me. Between that and dinner’s conversation, the moment that I closed my eyes, too many thoughts, thoughts of Leigh and the baby she was carrying, filled my mind making sleep impossible. Was it really possible that she felt the same way I did? Did I want to play a role more than Uncle in this baby’s life? Was she ready to move on after having her heart crushed not once, not twice, but three times?

~~~

Just like she had said, Leigh dropped her pregnancy announcement as we were leaving Nova Scotia. Swiping through the photos I couldn’t help but be mesmerized at the way her bump had grown in the short time since I’d seen her last. She was very obviously pregnant now and though her photos only barely showed her face it was easy to see how much pregnancy suited her and how she was glowing because of it.

Unsurprisingly the announcement garnered some attention both positive and negative. There were people both in her personal life and around the league that were absolutely thrilled for her. Then there were people that had very much jumped to conclusions as she expected they would and though there really wasn’t anything I could do, I was angry that I couldn’t protect her from their harsh words and suspicions. If I thought she’d let me, I’d chew out every idiot on the internet but deep down I knew that kind of attention would only make things worse. Instead, I focused on distracting her away from that content, asking questions about her plans for a nursery while trying to hide the feelings that were getting harder and harder to suppress.

By the time her birthday arrived in the second week of July, I was determined to do something special for her. Though we were once again on opposite sides of the country I had been planning for her birthday since we left Vegas. In addition to sending flowers, I’d booked her a pregnancy massage session hoping to help alleviate some of the aches and pains she’d been complaining of. It didn’t seem like much to me but when she called after her appointment raving over how much better she felt, it was evident that my gesture was appreciated. Though I didn’t generally make posts for others on their birthdays, I felt compelled to share a few photos of the woman who had brightened my life up just by being a part of it. It was a little sappy but if anyone deserved it, it was her.

Though we talked almost daily and her selfies came more frequently as dustbunny continued growing, I still found myself counting the days until I would see her in person next. And to be frank, it couldn’t come soon enough. I was completely screwed...but to be honest there was a part of me that knew that the moment I first laid eyes on her.

Chapter 10 Social Media:

#paul bissonnette #paul bissonnette imagine #arizona coyotes #arizona coyotes imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #former player #former player imagine #014.1

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Note

Here’s a distraction for you: it’s Game 7 of the Stanley Cup finals, and it’s being played on Garden ice. It’s Roland’s Flyers vs Matt’s Rangers. Who would win? What would the group chat look like going into that game?

B! My darling! You are, first of all, an absolute delight and, second of all, possibly a soothsayer because I wrote this. Like, a year ago. It’s only the first-round, but it does include some next-gen nonsense, Matt and Roland being on ice-bros and Henry being less-than-responsible. Seriously, Henry is not an adult presence when he’s partaking in the aforementioned nonsense.

Sorry in advance if the cut fails on mobile, mobile users.

----

“Are you watching this?”

Emma hummed, not taking her eyes away from the ice. “The game?”

“Nuh uh,” Killian muttered. “Whatever is happening over there.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“With our kid.”

“Once more.”

Killian chuckled, slinging his arm over Emma’s shoulder and resting his cheek against her hair. She still hadn’t moved away from the window, clicking her teeth every other shift because every other shift seemed more nerve-wracking than the last. He supposed that was the nature of playoff hockey – especially playoff hockey where one kid was playing another kid who wasn’t, technically, theirs, but had more or less grown up in their house as well.

And Roland had texted both Killian and Robin that morning demanding that they didn’t make any weird bets.

Matt and I have got that covered anyway.

Killian didn’t bother asking what the bet was. He was certain it was ridiculous. Although––

“Honestly, are you not concerned about this?” he asked, working another vaguely frustrated sound out of Emma because one of the wingers on Matt’s line had just missed the net wide right.

“Does that kid not understand how angles work?”

“You realize calling him a kid does take away from the insult of it?”

“I’m not trying to be insulting,” Emma sighed, but that was a lie and it really had been a fairly pitiful shot. Will laughed somewhere a few feet away. Peggy might have cackled. And Killian was going to dislocate his neck trying to watch the one kid on the ice and the other kid doing…whatever. “Ok, I mean, not super insulting,” Emma corrected, throwing both hands in the air when the Rangers iced it. “Just, you know…insulting enough. Because we really should have scored there.”

“That’s one,” Peggy mumbled. “C’mon, c’mon, you’ve got to—“

“—I know,” Lizzie hissed, cutting her off with a glare that probably affected the ice underneath them. Roland had the puck again.

Killian wished the game was over.

Because the series could end in just under two periods and it had been far more stressful than Killian expected it to be. He’d expected it to be vaguely awful.

Will had cursed for several minutes straight when the regular-season ended and they all did the appropriate math, Robin looking like he was in actual pain when he’d been forced to acknowledge it on TV. Emma kept doing that thing with her teeth. Regina hadn’t sat down in days, Killian was certain.

He was less certain of what Lizzie and Peggy were doing in the far corner of the suite.

Although, he had a few suspicions.

“I know,” Lizzie repeated, the letters starting to slur together. “God, I think my throat is burning.”

She scrunched her nose, far too Elsa to be entirely comforting, and maybe Killian should have been worried about the state of his eyes before he started worrying about his neck. It sort of felt like they were going to fall out of his face.

He’d been right.

“We’re all a bunch of degenerates,” Killian muttered, pressing a kiss to Emma’s hair.

She kicked at the glass in front of them, a string of mumbled curses that deserved several other kisses. “Passes to sticks,” she growled, bobbing on the balls of her feet. It made it difficult to keep his around her shoulders. “Wait, did you just say something to me?”

“Degenerates,” he repeated, eyes flickering towards a suddenly flushed Peggy. She opened her mouth, only to close it just as quickly, tugging her lips behind her teeth as she swatted at Lizzie’s shoulders. “Should we get you on the ice, you think, love?”

“I mean…I’d be better than whatever this guy is doing.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Killian kissed Emma’s hair again, a quick squeeze of her shoulder. She didn’t really notice – far too preoccupied with the boarding call that even Regina, in head to toe orange, had to agree was a soft whistle. Will was doing a fairly pitiful job of not laughing uproariously while Chris provided Henry a play-by-play over FaceTime.

And Killian probably should have noticed it all before. The signs were all there – color-stained cheeks and slightly glazed eyes, wobbling just a bit even while they were sitting down.

Margaret Jones and Elizabeth Vankald-Jones were incredibly and exceedingly drunk. Just a few minutes into the second period.

“Oh, don’t make that face,” Peggy groaned as soon as Killian stopped in front of her outstretched feet. “I can’t—I absolutely cannot deal with that face right now.”

Killian arched an eyebrow. “What face?”

“Oh my God, or that voice either. Don’t captain me now, Dad. It’s not—“

“—You’re doing the face now, Uncle Killian,” Lizzie interrupted, and none of the syllables sounded particularly well pronounced.

“Yuh huh,” Killian said. He crossed his arms, rocking back on his feet and both Lizzie and Peggy groaned at the move. “Was that too much?”

Peggy appeared be growling. “You think you’re way funnier than you actually are, you know that?”

“Whose idea was this originally?”

“You honestly would not believe me if I told you.”

Killian’s other eyebrow moved. “Well now you’ve piqued my interest, little love—“

“—Dad, seriously, I am way too—“

“—Drunk?”

“Plastered,” Lizzie corrected before immediately dissolving into hysterics. “Did we kill off the penalty?”

“You don’t not get to claim our penalty kill as yours, Elizabeth,” Chris yelled, one hand gripping his phone and the other thrown into the air when the Rangers, presumably, did in fact kill off the penalty. Henry shouted something at him. “Jeez, relax. You aren’t actually moving, you can’t get whiplash, old man.”

Lizzie’s laugh got louder. And Killian hadn’t had to ground any of his kids in quite some time, but his gaze held steady on Peggy, years of experience and knowledge of her very obvious tells.

She bit her lip. Like Emma.

“Did we kill off the penalty?” she asked. He nodded.

“I don’t think they even got a shot off.”

Peggy beamed. “You know what that means!” She moved her arms again, no rhyme or reason to the pattern she kept hitting Lizzie with. It earned her another pointed glare, all narrowed eyes and thin lips and Killian wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the incredibly drunk daughter in front of him.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his daughter that drunk.

“Shut up,” Lizzie mumbled. “I know the rules.”

He really should have been more concerned about his eyes. “How many rules are there, exactly?”

“Dad,” Peggy sighed. “C’mon, who do you think we are?”

“People with drinking game rules, apparently.”

“Ok, that makes it sound way worse than it is.”

“Stand up then.”

“No thanks.”

He chuckled, dropping onto the few inches of space next to her and he wasn’t all that surprised when she slung her legs over his. “God, you smell like a barrel of rum,” Killian muttered, letting her burrow into his side. “The room start spinning yet?”

“I haven’t stood up yet,” Peggy pointed out. “And you’re wasting time, LIzzie.”

Lizzie stuck her tongue out, before taking a rather large gulp of whatever it was she was drinking. “Shit, it’s honestly getting worse. Ah, damn, that’s—“

“Strangely enough, I’m not going to tell your parents on you,” Killian grinned. “I think the hangover both of you are racing towards will be punishment enough.”

“Generous.”

“What are you drinking?”

Lizzie gagged and Peggy laughed, head pressed into Killian’s shoulder with her hair threatening to, somehow, find its way towards his mouth. “Those were part of the original rules,” she explained. “We didn’t get to pick.”

“Seriously, who came up with these rules?”

“Demons.”

“With a horrible sense of humor,” Lizzie added. She shivered again, running a hand over her face when she pulled herself towards the edge of the chair she’d more or less been slumped in. “I can’t believe they didn’t even get a shot off. Who’s in charge of that power play?”

“You know,” Chris yelled, “between you and Mom, I don’t know who has more opinions.”

“It’s definitely Gina,” Peggy mumbled into Killian’s shirt. She groaned when he laughed.

Chris hummed. “Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s true. Hey, hey—wait, things are happening!”

Peggy barely lifted her head, Killian’s hand moving up and down her spine out of habit and those same years from earlier. She’d curled into a rather impressive ball in the last few minutes, arm wrapped tight around his middle and knees threatening to do some rather serious damage to his stomach, but he didn’t tell her to move. He shifted slightly instead, moving further into the minimal amount of cushioning on the couch and let the smile settle on his face with practiced ease, eyes flickering towards Emma.

She bit her lip.

“Toph, if you’re going to make sweeping announcements, you’ve got to actually update them,” Peggy grumbled.

He winked. “That kid that Mom hates got his angles right this time. And—“

“—And?”

“Wow, you are an impatient drunk. I didn’t realize that until this very moment. Good to know.”

Lizzie made a noise – not quite a laugh, but something closer to a scoff that was also, somehow, less dignified than that – and Killian could only just make out the look on Henry’s FaceTime face. “Matt got the assist,” Henry said. “So. Go on, try not to die.”

“That’s getting a little macabre, don’t you think?” Chris asked. “They’re not going to die.”

Will clicked his tongue. “I think the jury’s still out on that. Look at your sister’s face.”

Peggy flipped him off. And Lizzie took another drink. It really did smell like a considerable amount of rum. “Was that the right amount?”

“I have no idea,” Lizzie shrugged. “Most everything has stopped meaning much at this point.”

“Is that a sign?”

“Of?”

“How incredibly drunk we are and also that I’m winning. Collectively.”

Lizzie blinked. “Collectively?”

“Me and my team. Because I get to claim the Rangers as mine. Which you don’t.”

“I really don’t think that’s fair at all.”

“Change allegiances then,” Peggy said, nodding towards Lizzie’s bright orange and even more ridiculous hat. She groaned again. “Oh God, moving was a mistake. Is the game over yet?”

Killian chuckled lightly, tugging her closer to his side as he tried to figure out what, exactly, the rules of this game were. “Not quite yet, little love. You want some water?”

“Not allowed,” Chris mumbled.

“What?”

“Maybe we should revisit the macabre,” Will added.

“It’s super serious business, Uncle Killian,” Lizzie said, sitting up a bit straighter and yanking her bright-orange hat further down her ears. “Chris, Chris, is Rol back on the ice?”

He nodded, the threat of a smile tugging at his lips and Killian briefly wondered why he wasn’t part of the game. He had more suspicions.

“Back on the ice and oh—“

“Christopher!”

“Ok, relax, relax, relax. He hit someone. That’s something on your list, isn’t it?”

“God damn.”

“How long is this list?” Will asked, wincing when something else happened on the ice. “Also, Dr. J just took another shot. Shots for shots?”

Peggy shook her head. And got hair in Killian’s mouth. It was honestly a marvel how often that happened. Still. “Shots for goals,” she said archly. “And only goals. That was the agreement.”

Emma tilted her head at that bit of information. “You’re keeping secrets, babe.”

“Nah.”

“You want to try that again?”

“I mean…not really?”

“What were the other rules?”

Peggy exhaled, a huff of air against Killian’s neck that made him blink a bit more than usual, Lizzie flopping back with all the drama of someone who’d lost most of her center of gravity in the last few minutes. “Ok,” Lizzie said. “The start is pretty basic. Pegs was right. Shots for goals. Two shots for a fight. A drink for an assist. Another drink for—shit, I can’t remember.”

“Look who gets mouthy when they’re drunk,” Chris laughed, grabbing the list off the table. Henry complained about the phone again.

“Can’t you watch this on TV?” Killian asked.

Henry made a face. “I’m watching the game on TV. It’s the rest of it that I’m interested in.”

“That so?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t actually want the answer to.”

Killian hummed, several brand-new suspicions simmering in the back corner of his brain. “A drink for a hit?”

“Yup,” Chris nodded. “And it does actually start to get complicated. We took this very seriously.”

“Told you,” Lizzie muttered. Her eyes were starting to flutter shut, waving down Will so she had something solid to lean against when the chair proved unreliable.

“What’s the rest of the rules?” Emma asked, finally pulling her attention fully away from the ice. It was a TV timeout.

And, really, the rest of the rules were fairly absurd.

There were Rangers specific ones that only Lizzie had to do and Flyers specific ones that only Peggy had to do and power play things that, if they actually happened, would probably lead to alcohol poisoning right there in the team suite at Madison Square Garden.

The whole thing was hand-written, the letters getting smaller the longer the list became, with more than a few words crossed out and underlined and Killian wasn’t sure there was a single piece of paper in the history of modern humanity that had more exclamation points on it. To their credit, however, if that was even the right word, Peggy and Lizzie seemed determined to follow every rule to the letter.

“It’s a matter of pride, Dad,” Peggy slurred, ten minutes left in the third period of a tie game.

“Sure it is, Pegs. What do you win?”

“Did you miss the pride part?”

“You’re honestly playing each other for pride?”

“And bragging rights,” Lizzie amended. It was difficult to hear her though, face pressed into Chris’ leg. She’d demanded he move towards her halfway through the second intermission, explaining that Will kept fidgeting too much and Chris had been summoned into service on the goddamn floor. He was rubbing circles into her temples.

Will kept taking pictures – probably to send to Liam. Or, at least, show Roland after the game.

“Maybe we did raise a bunch of degenerates,” Emma laughed, back on the sofa with Killian and Peggy. They’d moved that as well, an executive decision Killian claimed was well within his professional rights and—“He wants to watch the game too,” Peggy said.

He did.

But she also wouldn’t let him move.

It was a compromise. Of the exceptionally intoxicated variety.

“Are we winning yet?” Peggy asked, Emma shaking her head before she’d even finished the question.

“This is looking a little overtime, honestly.” The groan that moved across the suite was immediate and decidedly loud, several curses that absolutely were not English shouted into a variety of FaceTime phone calls. “Ok, that is not a jinx,” Emma said, glancing imploringly at Killian. “It’s not!”

“Of course not, love,” he promised.

“You’re no help at all. And—“

She cut herself off, head snapping up and for as loud as they’d all been loud two seconds earlier, they were just as quiet then, eyes wide and breath baited and—

“Shoot!”

Roland didn’t shoot. He passed, a clear lane across the crease that would probably make SportsCenter, it was that good, and Killian’s gasp was equal parts reaction to that and Peggy’s elbow colliding with his ribs.

“God damn, shit, fu—“ she grumbled, the light going off behind the net and the suite was a strange mix of happiness and frustration and alcohol.

So much alcohol.

Lizzie jumped up, arms in the air and for half a second it looked like she was going to be able to stay upright. But then she wobbled slightly, blinking far quicker than any human with a normal blood-alcohol level should, reaching back blindly for Chris.

He had to wrap his entire arm around her waist to keep her on her feet.

“You got to breathe, kid,” he muttered.

“I’m so much older than you, it’s not even funny.”

“Ah, but I’ve never been this irresponsible.”

“Liar.”

“C’mon, my parents are here.”

She laughed softly, turning into his chest. “I think this means I won, though.”

“Does it?” Killian asked, Peggy making a noise that was not entirely coherent. “What do you have to do?”

“Not until the final buzzer,” Peggy said. “We could come back and tie.”

“And if we don’t?”

“I’m going to tell MD about your lack of confidence, Dad.”

“I’m mostly concerned about your liver now.”

She scoffed, the sound turning into a moan rather quickly. “If Rol scored the game-winner, then I had to drink for the entirety of the handshake line. And, you know, vice versa if MD scored the game-winner. But Rol didn’t actually score, so I don’t think it should count.”

“It’s close enough,” Lizzie objected. The Flyers goalie made another save.

Peggy shook her head. “Something about horseshoes.”

“Ah, that was funny.”

“Hysterical. I’ll tell you what, I’ll drink the entire time Rol and Matt shake hands.”

Lizzie considered that for a moment, lips twisted and nose scrunched again. She nodded. “Yeah, ok.”

The Flyers won – a one-goal victory that didn’t come directly from Roland Lockley’s stick, but most of the New York and Philadelphia media would probably lead with that pass through the crease. They likely would not lead with the rather elongated groan that it elicited from Peggy.

That would have been weird.

She took a deep breath when Chris poured her a fresh drink, scowling at the glass as soon as her fingers wrapped around it. “Alright,” she said, shaking her whole body like she was psyching herself up. The teams had started lining up. “Is Henry still watching?”

Killian hadn’t expected that. Emma tilted her head. “Is he supposed to be?” she asked.

Peggy ignored her. So did Lizzie. And Chris. And, perhaps most importantly, Henry. He saluted towards Peggy instead. “10-4, kid. They’re coming up in, three, two, one—“

“—Drink,” Chris shouted.

Peggy squeezed her eyes closed, tilting her head back and she couldn’t seem to stop moving. She kept shifting her weight, rocking back and forth and bouncing up and down and drinking. And drinking. And drinking.

She mumbled something into her glass, completely unintelligible while she tried to make sure the rum or whatever didn’t fall down her chin. Henry shook his head.

“They’re handshaking,” he said, as if that explained it. It kind of did.

And the New York and Philadelphia media may have found its sidebar. Because Matt Jones and Roland Locksley, NHL legacy and stars in their own right, with equally impressive first-round playoff series performances, had slowed down the handshake line to a standstill – while they did their own handshake.

Lizzie grinned. “We totally won.”

Peggy, somehow, drank angrier. And Killian absolutely understood who came up with the idea.

Matt and I have got that covered anyway.

“Degenerates,” Emma repeated, a note of awe in her voice that probably wasn’t appropriate for the situation. Lizzie’s smile widened. “Did they write the rules too?”

“They helped,” Lizzie said. “And got to pick the drinks. Henry’s the final judge though.”

“Of?”

“Who was worse at holding their liquor,” Henry explained. “You can stop now, Pegs.”

“Shit,” Peggy groaned, dragging the back of her hand over her mouth. Her knees buckled slightly. “I’m going to kill, MD. I hope he gets absolutely destroyed in the tabs for that nonsense.”

“They’ll probably rip him apart on TSN,” Chris shrugged. “TSN hates fun things.”

“That was not fun.”

“Maybe for you. Also, you agreed to this P.”

“I’m staying with you later.”

Chris groaned, but he moved towards Peggy anyway, letting her rest most of her weight against his side. “Let’s find you some water now, huh? Then we’ll critique Matt’s obvious lack of respect for the game.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan.” She glanced back at the phone that had, somehow, found its way into Will’s hand. Henry smiled at her. “Did I honestly lose?”

“Can you stand up without Toph holding you? Or your dad?”

“Probably not.”

“Well then…”

“Oh shut up.”

“That’s the sore loser we all know and love.”

“I’m going to kill, MD.”

“I’ve got no doubt,” Henry laughed. “Let me know how that goes, ok?”

Peggy nodded. Or tried. She mostly just wobbled against Chris. And she didn’t really kill Matt after, far too busy doing her best to keep her eyes open because Lizzie may have won, but she was incredibly drunk as well, stumbling into Roland’s chest with a distinct lack of grace.

“Did we win?” he asked, mostly into her hair. She made a noise that was probably an agreement. “Never doubted you once, babe.”

Matt groaned. “For real, Mar?”

She kicked him. Or tried. Again. She was having quite a bit of difficulty keeping her balance.

“It’s your own fault,” Killian said, moving towards Peggy on instinct. She borrowed her face against his arm. “Who decided on the handshake thing?”

The tips of Matt’s ears went red. And Roland’s eyes widened. “Did people notice that?”

“How could they not? It took you guys twenty-six years to get down the line.”

“It’s not something that can be rushed, Hook,” Roland said. “It’s—“

“—Super serious business,” Peggy and Lizzie said in tandem.

“Well. I mean…it is.”

“Yuh huh,” Killian muttered, one arm around Peggy and the other twisted back towards Emma. She squeezed his hand. And he expected the next few words out of her mouth, but they made him smile anyway, a hint of old in a day that had been kind of new and a little nerve-wracking and maybe the Rangers would get out of the first round next season.

“Why don’t you come home with us, babe?” Emma asked, free hand brushing over the side of Peggy’s face.

She didn’t answer, just half-nodded and let Killian direct her back towards the car waiting outside the players entrance. She fell asleep twenty blocks before they got home, her head on his shoulder and an elbow dangerously close to what might have been his spleen.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #captain swan #blue line one shots #blue line rambles #don't ask me when this is in the timeline #i have no idea #it was mostly just a reason to get matt and rol to have their own handshake during the handshake line #optomisticgirl #laura rambles

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andrebearakovsky · 4 years

Text

Top Chandler Stephenson Moments

His play was up and down over the years, but I actually really liked Chandler, especially at the beginning. But I could kind of see this coming. So I’m going to put together a little bit of a tribute of sorts recapping what I consider his best moments, because I am going to miss him.

And I of course cannot include everything he’s done and every piece of media he’s been in over the years, but I will do my best to include the better moments.

16. His participation in various Caps holiday videos

Capitals Tunes Vol. 2 (2017), Capitals Tunes Remix (2018), The 12 Days of Capsmas (2018)

15. When Kuzy descended upon him in this hug

Gif credit @faceoffs

14. This very sweet video about him growing up in Saskatchewan (feat. his hot mom)

youtube

13. When everyone else said they wanted to win the Cup again but he said he wanted to skydive

12. When he looked hot getting ready for Nathan Walker’s wedding

Look, let’s be real. The number one thing we’re all going to remember Chandler for is being smoking hot. We were incredibly blessed by Nathan Walker inviting him to be in his wedding party and then capturing video of him getting ready while shirtless.

11. When his rock paper scissors win made Nicky cuss

youtube

10. When he beat Nicky at darts

youtube

Frankly I’m surprised that the Stephensons survived after beating the Backstroms at darts.

9. When the group celly just didn’t work out

Gif credit @welshhockeyfan

8. When he went to the HRC National Dinner

7. When his drawing skills were…questionable

Can he draw Nicky? No. Can he draw the Weagle? Also no.

youtube

6. When he played an eventful game of “Name That Capital” with Nicky

5. When he took a second job as Tom’s delivery boy

4. When he took the Cup to Humboldt

3. When his hustle and great pass beat out an icing and led to an amazing goal by DSP in Game 6 of the ECF

youtube

He didn’t score it, but this will be the goal I remember him for the most. Just a fantastic play all around, absolutely electric.

2. When Ovi held him in a death grip in the dying minutes of the Cup-winning game

Gif credit @goalofsson

Quite possibly the image of him I will remember forever: the dying minutes of Game 5 of the Stanley Cup Final. Ovi has his arm around Nicky to hold Chandler in a death grip (and he will definitely, for sure die if he attempts to move), and then subsequently becomes a third wheel to 819 while caught in said death grip

1. My own personal memory of him

I don’t know if I’ve ever told this story on here, but now is as good a time as any to tell, and this will be by far my most lasting memory of Chandler Stephenson.

This happened well over a year ago; my friend and I were at the Caps practice facility, and we were sitting in the bleachers. Practice was winding down, and when everyone left, the ice we began our trek out of the bleachers and were headed for the shop or something. We passed some dude wearing a hoodie, we went around him without much notice. Then when we had gotten down from the bleachers, we looked back, and we realized that guy in the hoodie was Chandler fucking Stephenson. And we had walked right past him, like were inches away, and had no fucking clue it was him, just blew by him. At that point, it was too late to do anything about it, but that moment haunted me for months.

Then in December 2018, I heard that TJ Oshie and Chandler Stephenson were doing a meetup event at a car dealership in town. This was my chance for redemption. I had to go. And I went, and I finally got to meet him, and I finally got to redeem myself. But in a totally me move, I spent the entire time there freaking the fuck out about TJ (who is my all-time fave and the reason I got into hockey in the first place so this was a big moment for me) and basically crying when I got up there that I ignored Chandler the entire time. I think I may have briefly acknowledged his existence. But I did get a lovely beautiful photo.

We’ll remember Chandler for his smooth skating, and for being hot and having dimples, good bone structure, and a great beard (also, I’m begging, please try eyeliner, just once). He had a cute dog, an amazing mom, and his girlfriend Tasha was wonderful. I’m still mourning the fact that we never got to hear his goal song, which was reportedly the Friends theme song (because, of course, Chandler). He was excellent at hugs, and had close bonds with many on the team, but especially that contingent that all came up from Hershey around the same time. All the best to you in Vegas, Chandler, you were a good one.

BONUS: He had 14 regular season goals + 2 playoff goals with the Caps, and here are my favorites (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8), plus a good defensive play

Thanks, Stevie

#chandler stephenson #washington capitals #original post #my stuff #long post #i hope you guys appreciate this

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mattsammonsez · 4 years

Text

Hockey’s Voice

Sometimes you meet people who embody everything you believe makes a good person. Mike “Doc” Emrick is one of those people, and I enjoyed the few times we interacted in the past 13 years.

Mike “Doc” Emrick in his second home.

When you work in sports broadcasting, your path crosses with the paths of a lot of prominent people, including athletes, coaches, and executives. It’s all part of the job, and admittedly one of the many perks that comes with the territory. While it’s fun to cross paths with these people, there are a select few where you feel blessed that your paths crossed. Mike “Doc” Emrick is one of those people, and you always felt like you knew him and he knew you all your life even if your real life interaction was only 5 minutes. With the announcement from Emrick earlier this week that he is retiring from calling NHL games, I wanted to share a few stories about the times my path fortunately and blessedly crossed with Doc’s.

Like many people my age, we got to know Doc on a regular basis on national television. For me, it was his weekly appearances on the NHL on Fox game of the week in the mid 90’s, as well as numerous New Jersey Devils highlights earlier in the decade as that team was building into a dominant team. In 2005, Doc became the primary voice on the NHL on OLN broadcasts (later Versus, then NBC Sports Network). In 2006, I became the pregame host of Tampa Bay Lightning radio broadcasts, and as I started to settle into my role that season I started gaining new job duties. One of those duties was to pull together guest interviews for our weekly radio show Lightning Hockey Night. In the 2007 playoffs, the Lightning drew the Devils in the first round, and thus my first interaction with Doc would happen as I was trying to get a guest for the program.

We weren’t looking to get Doc on the show as a live guest, but with Doc at the time still calling Devils games I figured he’d be the perfect guest for the show as he was a well-known voice and face even to hockey fans in Florida. Before the morning skate of game 4 with the Lightning up 2-1 in the series, I introduced myself to Doc and asked him if I could get him for just a few minutes to talk about the series. He said he could, and we continued with our usual morning skate routine for the next couple of hours. I hung around the rink until the Devils were done with their skate, and after the locker rooms were closed to the media I approached Doc again to see if he was still able to do a quick interview. This was close to 1 p.m., and with a game starting at 7 or 7:30 that night Doc had plenty of prep to do. Plus his color analyst, the humorous Glenn “Chico” Resch was hungry and wanted lunch. Yet when I politely asked, Doc without hesitation obliged and we sat down in the stands for a few minutes to discuss the series. It was such a special moment, and such a fun interview, I’ve saved it 13 years and counting.

Emrick yucking it up as Jim Carr, the carpet-coiffed play-by-play announcer for the Johnstown Jets in the cult classic film Slap Shot, at Hockeyville USA, 2015.

Fast forward to September 2015. I’m now the Director of Broadcasting & Programming for the Lightning, and I’m on the team plane to Johnstown, Pennsylvania, as the Lightning and Penguins will be squaring off in the first Kraft Hockeyville USA preseason game. Game day was hectic, as the NHL and NBC rolled out the red carpet not only for both teams but for as much Slap Shot as possible since Johnstown was the location of the film shoot 40 years earlier. Along with being that night’s radio engineer for our broadcast, my mission was to pull together as many interviews as possible for a podcast on the event. Knowing the legendary Hanson Brothers would be there, I targeted an interview with them which I was able to score.

The Cambria County War Memorial Arena was opened in 1950, when comforts such as being able to stretch your legs were not baked into many civic building blueprints. In a tiny locker room I waited for the Hansons to come in, and I did so next to Doc who agreed to also do an interview with me once I was done with the Hansons. The Hansons came in, and not only played the part of their characters well for my interview, but they too were incredibly friendly and great to talk to. While the interview went on, there was that brief fleeting moment in my head; “I’m interviewing three of the greatest hockey movie characters while one of the greatest hockey announcers is sitting in the background watching this.” Quite the moment to say the least. After my conversation with the Hansons, I sat down with Doc to talk to him about what the game meant to him, a former college teacher and newspaper writer in Western Pennsylvania 45 years earlier. You could sense in Doc’s eyes and voice this Hockeyville experience in his old backyard with all the Slap Shot fun and frivolity mixed in was quite the moment for him. The Hanson Brothers and Doc interviews were the cornerstone of my podcast, and all these years later it’s still one of my favorite podcasts of more than 100 I did.

Emrick could make any broadcast better, including a Morning Skate Show in desperate need of some good news in 2018.

Fast forward to May 2018. We’re not in the preseason, we’re in the thick of the postseason, and the Lightning are about to battle the Washington Capitals in the Eastern Conference Final. Prior to game one at the morning skate, Doc and I are two of seemingly 200 people gathering around Alex Ovechkin for pregame interviews. We looked on from a distance, laughing more at the spectacle then actually listening to anything Ovechkin was saying. When the scrum was done, I casually asked Doc if we could have him as a guest on our streaming video program The Morning Skate Show when the series shifted to Washington D.C. for game 3. Doc said he wanted to, we just needed to route the request through NBC public relations, which is always a coin flip on if your wish gets granted. Thankfully for us, it was.

Never before did we need a personality like Doc Emrick like we did then. The Caps humiliated the Lightning for two easy wins in Tampa before the series went to our nation’s capital. In planning for the show, we decided to talk as little as possible about the first two games, and simply turn the show into the Doc Emrick talent show. For almost 45 minutes, Doc talked about everything from the NHL playoffs to memories of AHL games in Halifax 40 years ago when birds in the rafters of the old Halifax Forum pooped on the ice during games. At the end of the show he very quietly but confidently reminded our viewers that if any team was able to get out of 0-2 hole to the Caps, it was the Lightning. It was the reassurance and the fun story telling we all needed, and low and behold the Lightning rallied for three-straight wins before the Caps pulled it together and won the series in seven games on their way to their first Stanley Cup championship. As of 2019, it was still one of the most-watched episodes of the show.

Finally, fast forward to October 2019. Two months earlier, I was informed my position was being “eliminated” at the Lightning, but I refused to be eliminated from the scene. Newly hired to provide a weekly Metro Express podcast to the Philadelphia Flyers (and later the Capitals), I arrived at Amalie Arena for a morning skate prior to a Lightning and Penguins game that was being aired nationally on NBC that night. Once I found out Doc was on the call, I knew I needed to get him for a few minutes to talk Metropolitan Division hockey. I saw Doc sitting in the first couple of rows of seats when I arrived, and I quickly slipped in next to him and asked if I could get his thoughts real quickly. Doc was there to study lines and defensive pairings of both teams, and now at the age of 74 had to double-check all players and facts before putting on another flawless broadcast that night. I was very respectful of his time, and as always he was respectful enough to grant me a few minutes of his busy day.

While there were many similarities to that first interview with Doc in 2007, this time around technology would come back to bite me. Feeling satisfied my iPhone would work as a microphone just fine, I started the interview. Midway through Doc’s first answer, my phone started ringing, cutting off the voice memo app I was using. Thankfully I silenced my phone so it merely buzzed, but in my head I was cursing while Doc was talking. There was no way I was going to ask him to start over again, I was just going to have to eat the moment as I feverishly hung up on the call and pressed record on the voice memo again. While I did this without interrupting Doc’s thoughts, I still got a good 7-8 minutes from him and used it in that week’s show. It was special to connect with Doc again, and I was reminded even as a veteran hockey broadcaster at this time to never ever again do an important interview on my iPhone.

Doc’s retirement announcement didn’t come totally as a surprise to me. I figured with COVID-19 still a factor in our lives for at least the next year or two, the last place a 75-year-old cancer survivor needs to be is in a pressurized airplane cabin or travelling from one cold city to another in the winter. And even though Doc is a pro’s pro, it’s extremely difficult to call a game from a television screen. Whoever is named his successor at NBC has some very big shoes to fill.

As for me, my career has moved forward from my exit with the Lightning, and while potentially great things await I don’t know if I’ll be able to cover a daily beat in an NHL arena anytime soon. That’s perfectly fine with me, as I’m always looking for a new challenge and can’t wait to see what is ahead for me and my family. That also adds even more emotional value to the times my path crossed with Doc’s path. Hockey fans have been blessed to have him as a prime voice for decades, and I was blessed to interact with him several times in my career. A visit from this doctor was always welcome in the homes and hearts of hockey fans.

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carsonstcne · 4 years

Text

— && guests may mistake me as ( wolfgang novogratz ), but really i am ( carson stone + cis male + he/him ) and my DOB is ( 11/26/1997 ). i am a ( hockey player ) and would like to stay in suite ( 308 ). i won’t be much of a bother because i am ( confident & loyal ), but i can also be ( impatient & guarded ) at times. personally, i like to ( play video games, watch espn & do facetime calls ) when i have the time to relax, and my favorite snack is ( trail mix ) to have in my suite. thank you for checking in! ( nessa, est, 21 ).

tw: mentions of sports-related injury, surgery/rehabilitation.

so, yes, it is nessa bringing back on last character who happens to be a hockey player for the nhl !! if you’re interested in plotting with this guy, please dm here or on discord !! i’ll be linking his pinterest board and full bio here once they’re done, but hopefully this suffices for now.

the first-born of the stone children came into the world with a bang -- a couple of weeks earlier than planned, in the middle of the night, screaming his tiny lungs out as soon as he'd left his mother's body. what his parents didn't know at the time was that the manner of his birth would be indicative of what they should have expected from him in general. from a very young age, he was always pushing to do things sooner than he was expected to -- trying to sneak out of his crib, starting to walk before learning to crawl first, reaching for objects and almost knocking a number of things over his head -- he was curious, energetic, and drained his parents' energy as they ran around after him and tried to keep him out of trouble. it was a wonder they decided to have more children after what he put them through. perhaps they'd hoped that another kid would give him someone to play with at home and give them some time to themselves.

the day his baby sister was born was the day carson deemed as the worst day of his life. he grew up in four bedroom, three bathroom house with the perfect yard in east grand forks and enjoyed life with his parents and the family down the road. the stone clan lived extremely comfortably due to dad being a well-known generational farmer and mom a world-renowned chef to be reckoned with. to say the stone children grew up spoiled would be a safe and accurate statement.

carson loved having his parents' attention all for himself -- a bit of a greedy shit right off the bat, but he loved genuine affection and love. in fact, the boy was lucky enough to have that with two families: his own and the one down the road. his mom was best friends with the pretty neighbor lady with the pretty daughter who was close to carson’s age. the two had been forced on play dates as the two mothers lived their dream and promise to raise their first borns together.

when his sister came into the picture, carson felt as though he was now boring, unwanted, and worst of all, replaced. he despised the baby girl from a young age and oddly enough, the neighbor’s daughter didn't seem so bad anymore. a very long story short, a friendship and admiration grew between the two over the years while carson tried to not resent being a brother.

it wasn't until his sister's first crush broke her heart when she was seven that carson felt any real 'brotherly' feelings towards his sister. he likes to think that he was empathetic with her, but it wasn't that. it was more so that he did care, but there was opportunity for him to help her, protect her, and threaten the little shit that rejected his sweet sister. that started the hero complex and co-dependency issues that he and his sister share.

life was pretty easy for him, he was always pretty much a good kid who was raised to be polite to others and also just be himself. fortunately, since a young child carson had the type of personality that just drew people into him and he got along with everyone. caron’s interest in hockey would start at a young age, when he’d find himself simply tuning in to the many hockey games that his parents played around the house -- to the point that he easily memorized positions and the players.

since he lived so close to the university of north dakota, he used to go the university's hockey games as a little kid and that's how he found a love for hockey. it was one of the few things that kept his attention and carson just knew he was meant to play. carson was one determined son of a bitch. as soon as he got the idea to be a hockey player in his head, he stuck with it. as a child, he begged his parents to put him into a kiddie league and they ultimately said yes.

hockey was something that carson poured all of his energy into. his home life was filled with homework and watching his sister, but hockey practice was where he could be freed from all of that. he lived for practices and games for that reason alone. hockey has always been one of the very many steady things in his life. growing up, carson wasn’t exactly a star student in his classes. he was smart, but not in a conventional sense. if you asked him the quadratic formula, he would look at you like you were speaking a foreign language. however, if you asked him about who won the stanley cup in 1998 and the player statistics of that year, he’d be able to essentially recite a wikipedia's worth of information without any hesitation.

to avoid the extra-curricular tutoring that his parents insisted he needed if he was going to go get into a good school, he headed for the rink. the year carson turned thirteen, he made his town’s youth hockey team, preparing himself for the dream of making the nhl in a few years time. his small town team took home the championship the year he was named captain. “he’s the strongest center i’ve seen in years”, noted one of the coaches. it was the height of carson’s teen years. he was invincible -- eternally youthful. his parents stressed that he couldn’t rely on his body or physical prowess to carry him through life; your mind was the only reliable tool you are given. because they didn’t want their son to neglect his grades, they set out new rules: homework must be done on the way to and home from the rink, at least, and he had to help out around the farm once a week. even though they wanted carson to keep up with his schoolwork, his parents were the most supportive when it came to hockey. they cheered him on at every game, allowed him to get the best equipment, and even created a hockey rink in the backyard for him to skate on when the roads were terrible during the winter months.

2013 was a whirlwind year. before then, carson was just another small town boy with dreams of going to “the show”. there were plenty of bull-headed, ambitious boys that were willing to work for it, ones better than him, they said, but they didn’t have the heart he did. there was nothing more important than following his dream -- not prom, not exams, not girls, not friends. carson was that boy, the one with no plan b. people would roll their eyes when he missed another party or had to reschedule a test because of practice or games. but those same people were in the stands, cheering him on through every goal and assist after he made the “brandon wheat kings” and could finally say he was in major junior league. how fast he made captain surprised nearly everyone, except him, of course. sure, carson’s parents shoved university brochures down his throat every chance they got, but so did everyone else. “hockey isn’t a concrete career carson, you have to have a backup plan” rang in his ears, but instead of discouraging him, it spurred him harder. in every news interview, he was prepossessing -- with dark hair, maturity, and experience oozing out of every word. whether it was an act or not, it looked good. this wasn’t a dream, it was a pending reality. the charming, big-hearted boy matured into a courageous, focused, but still bullish, young man those seasons.

since he wasn’t eligible to be drafted just quite yet, carson decided to leave the major junior league to attend boston university and play for their hockey team. allowing him to continue his studies while still being able to play hockey. when he was a freshman, he suffered a very serious knee injury while on the ice and in front of scouts. carson had been so focused on wanting to be a nhl player that he didn't even care how serious his injury was -- as all he could really think about was how he blew his chance at impressing scouts, even though his injury wasn't at all his fault and a freak accident. however, the one good news that he got was that, once he'd healed from his surgery he could resume playing again, so it wasn't like it was completely over for a chance for him to one day accomplish his goal.

it took a little while and some extra hard work, and after going through a lot of physical therapy, by the age of nineteen, carson was a first round draft pick for the washington capitals and was officially a professional hockey player, just like he'd always wanted. hearing his name called for the nhl draft was almost a distant memory; the memory muddled like a far off dream. in reality, it was a binding contract that said where to be and when, a hefty salary with strings attached, plus a shiny signing bonus. his knee must stay healed and solid or everything would be snatched away, no pressure. even still, they must have enlisted a wide angle lens to fit his smile in the frame. his friends cheered him on from their screens at home, understanding why the boy was always on the go, had time for no one but himself, still bore a heart of gold. carson was on a plane that night, flying out to america’s capital, and settling into a hotel that would be his home for almost three months until he secured housing downtown. that year he spent busting his balls for the team that allowed him to shine like the star he was, proving himself to men ten years his senior, and adding on to his hero complex. being on a team with alexander ovechkin could’ve made carson look like an amateur, but all his hard work would pay off, as he got show the world just how great of a player he was.

seeing all of the changes in his life and the change in his personality, his parents were calling almost every night to tell him that it wasn’t too late to back out of the nhl. his sister constantly asked him if he was doing okay. his rehab doctor occasionally emailed with concern about missing physiotherapy appointments. carson rarely, if ever, kept in contact with any of his hometown friends and found himself feeling more distant from them than ever. leaving his girlfriend of four years to start fresh. this was a new life, it was serious, this was adulthood. they would only interfere or pull him off track, and one injury had done that enough already. no one was slowing him down now, a pig-headed boy, and he didn’t know how to stop even if he wanted to.

he became quite a popular player throughout the league, leading the league in goals. despite putting up career numbers in goals and assists, he became a household name from setting a record for most minutes in the penalty box. carson tended to be a pretty physical player, bumping people from behind or hitting them into the boards. he’d been suspended on more than one occasion, which would make him be considered a dirty player. many players weren't too keen on his style of playing. but it never deterred him, he loved the physicality of the sport, the sheer amount of strength and endurance it took to keep up.

off the ice, some would likely say that carson is the type of person who'd be hard to miss in a room. when he was younger, he used to be louder, thinking that would grant him the attention he needed, but as he's aged, he's honed his people skills more and relies on his charm and intelligence much more than the volume of his words (but he can be loud, it's the sort of ability you don't lose with time). he's confident to the point where he can be considered arrogant, tends to be a perfectionist, and rarely (if ever) caves in once he's made up his mind. he's very energetic but gets easily bored with things, unless they truly catch his interest. along with that, the tabloids wanted to make him out to be this bad boy villain that he wasn't. he tried to ignore it, but the more he ignored it, the more the rumor mill ran wild. he just didn't understand why he couldn't just play hockey and not have to deal with the rest of the bullshit. sure, he has had some one night stands and hook ups but no where near the amount that people have claimed in the past. some girls he hooked up with in the past have sold him out to the press. sold photos of him sleeping or something along those lines just because they contributed to his "bad boy" image.

if carson’s hockey career couldn’t get better, it most certainly did when the washington capitals won their first stanley cup in his 2nd year with the team. so then he became a stanley cup winner, playing beside his favorite players, hanging with his friends, drinking more than he should, risking more than he should, loving more than he should. a mix of contrary traits and confusing quirks that defined his life as a hockey player.

it was the season after carson’s most successful season yet. his dedication and award-winning attitude landed him on center ice, staring down jeff carter across the center line. after the referee blew his whistle in the third period, carson saw nothing but black. a hard hit was a hard hit, but this was more -- it was personal. a grade ii separation of the acromioclavicular joint, also known as a shoulder separation. it could have been worse. his mother swore she saw his clavicle hanging from a thread, but that was just hearsay. it didn’t matter what she said, he were benched. his chirps before the game had gotten him in deep with a teammate from los angeles. he told carson to stay home and that he was just a pretty boy. but that’s exactly what he wasn’t going to do. six weeks of recovery, three months of rehab -- no one could take this away from him. was carson resilient, or just stupid?

lightning doesn’t strike twice, and carson’s journey to play for the washington capitals would prove to be difficult. before he got to get anywhere on the ice, he was a glorified locker room attendant, basically. it would have taken a miracle to get any playing time. his first few games back were difficult. carson was desperate to get play time and there just wasn't any chance for him to get it. he worked so hard to get where he was that he felt stuck. people kept telling him that it would happen soon. well, soon would never be good enough for him. commentators and sports analysis were saying he wasn’t as good as he used to be. which left carson feeling like he was under a microscope at all times. in addition to that, he would learn that while he loved the sport, being a professional athlete also meant you were apart of a business -- so, as a great as he was, it didn't stop him from being traded to a different team just a few years into his career. from washington d.c. to chicago, he was traded at just the blink of an eye.

as a washington capital, he worked his way to becoming an alternative captain which is why is hurt him so much to be traded. he thought that the team would be his team for years and they just traded him off like nothing. and sure, his performance wasn’t the best but he had one bad season after his best one yet. so carson was a little mad because he didn’t think he deserved to be shipped off to a new team.

now he’s in the windy city, looking for a new start in his hockey career and decided to stay at the malnati for the time being. he’s still feeling a little bitter about being traded so early in his career, but realizes that he still has the privilege to play. he’s been in the city for only a few months and is hoping to restart his career and life.

plotting

carson may come off as a jock... well, he is a jock, let's be honest here, sport is a huge chunk of his identity and it's also the reason why he can't stand still for too long. the boy has a lot of energy, it needs to go somewhere and what better way to use it than slamming into some people on the ice? he's loud, blunt, occasionally rude, he doesn't look for the attention on purpose but he draws it because of his demeanor.

carson has never had a hard time befriending others. in school, he was a troublemaker and an athlete -- a mix certain to get you popularity. but even now at twenty two years old, he isn't afraid to make himself look an ass to entertain others. he's never been shy and can talk to just about anyone.

carson is the kind guy who schmoozes his way in and out of every conversation, effortlessly gliding through social situations with confidence and style. his time on the ice has served him well, glowing in the spotlight but also having some grace to share it with nineteen other people. most of his rivals are deliberately trying to see him fail. he’s nothing if not a team player, as cliche as that is. he’s a natural leader and wants everyone to work together towards ultimate harmony. when you're out partying, he’s the guy that takes charge and decides what bar you’re going to. he’s always been someone who has been pretty free-spirited and marches to the beat of his own drum. he has quite the charming and engaging personality, he practically can get anyone to do anything but he's far from the manipulative type. half of the time, he uses his charming ways to get his friends to let loose and be as care-free for a moment as he tends to be. however, he's not someone who is too careless, he knows when to have fun and he knows when to take things serious. carson is someone who's going to be loyal to his friends, he's going to treat them like family and he's going to be there for them, no matter what they're going through and it doesn't matter if he can relate or not.

he cares about the people he has in his life and is a genuine, sincere, sensitive dude. always the boy who leaves his heart on the ice after every game, stands up for what he believes in, and is an unadulterated good person at heart. unfortunately, he tends to be so harmonious that he becomes influenced by others’ attitudes. if he’s around dicks, he’s going to act like a righteous, self-concerned asshole, if that’s what everyone else is doing. the insecurity of being young and impressionable, especially now with the spotlight shining a little brighter, tends to make him want to meld into the people around him. the weakness of his knee and shoulder caused him to become more anxious and protective of his reputation and abilities, coupled with the feeling that his parents are waiting for him to fail so he can pursue a more “realistic” path. he knows what he’s good at and has a hefty dose of confidence and ambition in him, but he can come off condescending and arrogant in the same light. ultimately, a true people-person who sees the good and wants to shed light on it, but sinks deeply into insecurity and fear if he feels vulnerable. but no matter how much he tries to put on a “hockey bro” aesthetic, he’s unabashedly a naive, soft-shelled boy who doesn’t know any better than to trust everyone means well.

not that carson has had a lot of time to date, with practices every morning and/or evening, and games every weekend, but the desire is there. throughout high school, when relationships were plentiful and bound to blossom, he was preoccupied with his sport. he did his fair share of complaining that he didn’t get that same teenagehood that his friends did, but then again, most of them played too. girls and dating came second to the game, refining their craft and honing their skills was more important. maybe not in their hearts, but in their heads, and for carson his head ended up winning more often. it was almost cut-and-dry that he would put his potential career over a relationship; one was up to him, and one was completely up to chance. in his heart of hearts, he is a sensitive, emotional dude who feels deeply and knows the clock is running on the rest of his life that he’s neglected in lieu of furthering his career. if there’s one thing that might subdue his parents' restlessness about him making no real “concrete” life decisions, it would be bringing home a girl that actually stuck. if he could avoid heartbreak for life, ensure that a girl would never come between him and his goals, then it would be in the cards. remember the pretty girl who was his neighbor as a little kid? when she came back into his life the summer of his junior year, it wasn’t supposed to be a long-term thing, just a summer fling. something to get his mind off of his impending career decisions, a “break” from the action. but, the only thing that takes more time than a relationship is a breakup, so somehow between her controlling, over-dramatic insistence that he pay attention to her any time he had a chance to breathe and carson’s innate desire to be independent above all else, they made it work for four long years. though, once he got into the league as a rookie, he had broken it off in favor of “enjoying his youth” (may or may not have been influenced by his old teammates) and was living the playboy years that he never got to enjoy when he was a teen.

since coming to chicago, he has dated off and on. there's been nobody serious, but i could see him dating someone for a couple months at max. he's a little distracted by everything going on in his career, so he's not completely focused on finding someone, but he's also not opposed to it. he's just not sure what he wants, and he's still so young that he doesn't feel like he needs to worry about what he wants quite yet.

the blackhawks are a really important part of his life, he sees them as a family of sorts and he does his best to be in their good books. he's one of the resident idiots and troublemakers because on top of cracking dad jokes, he tends to jump into any stupid idea that comes up (he also gives a lot of them) and he's been known to play pranks on some of his teammates, especially when they're away for a game.

wanted connections

his childhood best friend and ex girlfriend, olivia “ollie” im -- you know those childhood best friends that parents comment how cute they’d be together? yeah, that was ollie and carson when they were little kids. at first, they didn’t get a long considering they were set up by their mothers. however, over time they became close friends. like family, even. ollie moved away when they got to middle school, but he always thought about her throughout the years. when he saw her for the first time during the summer, he was quite in shock since he thought he’d never see her face again. when they started their relationship, carson played in canada with his junior team and then they continued their relationship when they went off to separate colleges. they kept their steady long distance relationship, and he was faithful to her despite all of the difficulties they faced. it was when he was drafted in the nhl that caused a rift in their relationship. his calls were less and less, which left ollie feeling like she wasn’t a priority anymore. i’m requesting her because of how interesting their dynamic would be to explore.

his little sister, amelia -- as mentioned, carson here has a little sister that he’s pretty close to. he played his big brother role of helping by stepping in and help take care of her when he needed to. without a doubt, he's all about family, he loves and is very protective of each and every single one of his family members. he's a pain in their asses, but he loves them loads and he'll go out of his way to try and help them out if they need it, even when it's something he has no idea about.

work out buddies -- working out is something that carson is really into, so i'd love to have a person or two he works out with regularly and they just shoot the shit while they do it, try and motivate each other, and cheer for each other when they get a new personal record in. overall, he's very much into sports, so anyone sporty or athletic he probably could have crossed paths with.

pet buddies -- carson is looking to get a dog, so maybe he befriends some other pet owners? or walkers. he’s looking to get a coonhound, and they’re an extension of speed and need all the time outside.

sports fans -- since carson lived in boston for a bit, baseball became another sport he liked to watch. the red sox are his team. give him some baseball fans to argue with, to rejoice with, to get into a fight with for some silly arbitrary reason.

lingering feelings -- i've also had this idea of a friendship that fell apart because carson fell in love with a guy and then didn't know what it was, so he ended up being a complete ass about it. he was the first guy to really bring him any sort of awareness to his sexuality, and carson was rough on himself at first as he came to terms with that. it wouldn't have gotten anywhere but they might still be on ends because of it and it might be fun to play with, so hmu if you're interested!

in all honesty, carson’s open to quite a bit! he'll have connections with anyone through the malnati. maybe some fans or something too? like super fans that are really into him might be cool? i'm just spit balling with that. i'm also sure there will be plenty of people that are just annoyed by the thought of him because y'know there are some people who dislike the blackhawks for very valid reasons. feel free to throw something at me, i'm game to try anything!

#malnatiooc #malnatism #malnatiintro #i have been working on this for hours FSDHFFSF

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