Latest Posts by lilfeckingoblin - Page 2

I think Quinn really needs some comfort?

1,200

Hockey Numerology pt. 7 | pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6

E / Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin / 2024-2025 NHL Season / hockey numerology / March 7 2025 Penguins vs Golden Knights / missing scene / canon compliant / angst / trade deadline

Lines have identities. If they don't, it's just three guys skating on the ice alone. Zhenya doesn't know what his line is anymore. If he’s even had one the past few seasons.

so i wrote kief having bipolar II....

When my.. w... wehn m... when my ware...

fun fact: Boston Museum of Science calls their evening lecture series “SubSpace”, which would be a totally innocuous math term except for the fact that, to make sure you know these lectures are higher-level and not aimed at their usual audience (kids), they chose to subtitle it “SubSpace: Adult Experiences”

😶

i could not find these anywhere on here, and all my google searches were turning up more and more niche porn, so huge thank you to @thicclasbackstrom for knowing the relevant twitter thread in which to find them!!!

Body Language

When someone is...

Sad

Face/Body:

Avoidant/reduced eye contact

Drooping eyelids

Downcast eyes

Frowning

Raised inner ends of eyebrows

Dropped or furrowed eyebrows

Quivering lip/biting lip

Wrinkled nose

Voice:

Soft pitch

Low lone

Pauses/hesitant speech

Quiet/breathy

Slow speech

Voice cracks/breaking voice

Gestures/Posture:

Slouching/lowered head

Rigid/tense posture

Half formed/slow movement

Fidgeting or clasped hands

Sniffing or heavy swallows

Self soothing gestures (running hands over the arms, hand over heart, holding face in palms, etc)

Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 20 (!!!)

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

one, two, three, four, Five, six seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. nineteen

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on the 22-23 season, that said last season when i wrote these tags originally, but hey, it takes me a LONG time to write, so now its no longer last season, OCs?, the realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

-

Mike stared blankly out the window of the kitchen, where he was putting dirty dishes in the (working!) dishwasher from breakfast. They just had a full breakfast that was more than just pop-tarts. He debated putting the food on the list to pay Sid back. He had an Excel spreadsheet on his mama's phone now. Children were expensive.

"I mean, he's weak on the right side. I think I can take advantage of that." Sid said, in between helping Marisol with some alphabet homework in Spanish.

Mike chose not to add what they ate as he finished the loading dishes. Sid already had the ingredients in his pantry. They had other things to worry about today.

Marisol sat at the kitchen table, trying to figure out how to write some of the alphabet. She was having trouble remembering what language had the double ll's and that English didn't start sentences with an upside-down exclamation point.  Nikita was next to her, packing his small backpack, talking with Geno in a mix of primarily Russian and some English.

Sid and Geno were talking hockey - they were always talking hockey. Mike loved it.

"Think that goalie coach would have work on right side since last game. He must know." Geno said. "We saw in video review. That big of a weakness? Must have been worked on."

Sid sighed and immediately launched into his counter-argument. "But yeah, right, but so doesn't mean it's always been fixed!"

The sounds that filled the kitchen were familiar, but Mike couldn't place what it reminded him of. He missed the sound of his Mama's Spanish and his Papa's Spanglish.

Sid and Geno leave in the afternoon for the first roadie.

Mike was terrified. The nanny Geno and his wife hired for Nikita had also agreed to watch them. It was just an overnight trip, flying in the night before, morning skate, game, then fly home. They would be back early morning the next night.

The nanny, Bea, a lovely older lady who spoke passable Russian and fluent Italian, was arriving in less than ten minutes. She understood enough Spanish to understand Marisol. It wasn't the perfect setup, but clearly, Sid, Geno, and Anna had tried. Mike was grateful to them all; he was sure they were complicated.

From what Mike overheard Sid and Geno discussing during Bea's interview, Anna wanted a nanny who could speak English, Spanish, Russian, and French. However, that combination was hard to find. Let alone someone willing to sign an NDA. Honestly, Mike wasn't quite sure what to make of Anna. He hadn't seen her except for the two nights she had spent at Sid's, but he heard her often - Nikita liked to call his mom. Understandable. The only thing he was sure of about Anna was that she loved her son dearly and wanted to ensure he was happy and well-educated.

Marisol's voice was what Mike heard the most in the hubbub of the kitchen. That might have to do with knowing her for much longer, or it could be from the need to ensure she was safe, but she sounded happy.

In the last two months, Mike had gone from being unsure he would have a safe place to sleep at night to having his world shift upside down. He had gone from living solely to protect Marisol and worrying, let alone being able to skate again, to having a personal trainer, private ice sessions, a therapist for Marisol and him, and a private tutor, hell-bent on getting them both onto grade level.

It was a little overwhelming.

Mike turned from the dishes and slid into a chair at the table. Geno said something in Russian that made Nikita laugh; Sid snickered, understanding the joke, but he didn't take his eyes away from Marisol and her homework. It was almost like being at home, with his Mama and Papi getting ready for work as he and Marisol were dropped off at the YMCA before school. Mike felt like he was outside of the room, just watching the action happen.

It was a feeling that Mike was slowly getting used to that he was allowed to watch, and when he was ready, he could join in. In the past few weeks, the conversations he and Sid had participated in made that clear he was allowed to choose.

Just before the season's first game, Sid had sat him down with Helena to figure out what Mike wanted.

It had been a difficult question to answer, Mike had found out. Helena had spent most of the meeting reassuring Mike that not knowing what he wanted yet wasn't bad and his future wasn't set in stone. However, she and Sid told him that having an idea of his future would help them ensure he would be happy. They didn't mention Marisol for the whole conversation. (which had been weird, and Mike didn't like it because Marisol was his little sister. But he listened to Sid and Helena.)

All Mike had been able to say was that he wanted to go to college on a hockey scholarship. It was the only thing he knew for sure. He had to pay Sid back somehow for the care of Marisol. Maybe a degree in tech or engineering? Something that made money. He wanted a college degree and hockey. He didn't even know what school. Before, he had some dreams of UCLA, Cal State, or maybe even Arizona State? When he voiced the schools, he realized he was now on the East Coast; he might need to look into universities that were local to him now. RMU was a good state school, wasn't it? Did he count as a resident of California or Pennsylvania now?

Helen had said it was complicated, but they would know by college entry time, and she could get him a list of schools with engineering degrees.

(Sid had nodded and said that was totally possible, but by the way, had he ever been talked to by USA Hockey? Helena had given Sid such a stink-eye at his question.

Mike had been blind-sighted by the question. Sid and others (including coaches!) saw something in his skating. Mike had answered honestly that no, but he never really could go to the camps that USA Hockey was at.

Sid already had the information for Mike's old coach, Robert Jones, but he had retired and moved since Mike and Marisol were picked up by his Aunt. Coach Rob was the only reason he was on that team. Usually, it would have been out of Mike's reach.)

Sid looked up from helping Marisol, "Thank you for getting the dishes, Mike."

"Yeah, for sure. No worries," Mike said, sitting down across from the kids and adults. Geno grinned at Mike from across the table at his words.  

Mike was still getting used to the idea of being thanked for being assigned chores. His Aunt and Rodger had just demanded, and he would be yelled at when he didn't do the chores exactly right. His mom and dad hadn't openly thanked him, but Mike had always felt appreciated for his work.

The chores conversation was another that was weighing on his mind. Geno had brought it up. Saying it was good for Nikita to have an assigned chore and asking if Mike would help Nikita learn responsibly by also having a chore.

Mike was a little suspicious, but his parents had him doing his own laundry, and he was responsible for cleaning the bathroom. His Aunt and uncle were very determined that Mike would do everything around the house, even the stuff he had never done before – like vacuuming. That was his mom's job. His dad cooked and did the laundry, and they all did the dishes.  

Sid had suggested that Mike take over the dishes. He already had a person who came and did all the cleaning, and everyone did their own laundry - even Nikita. Mike agreed, but only if Marisol could also get a chore. She was assigned to pick up the toys in her and Mike's room.

It was odd having a say, but Mike appreciated it all. It was something he could do to be useful and not a burden to Sid. (The whole thing had made Geno smile broadly. Nikita's chore was to take out the trash every night.)

"Did you have an idea, Mike?" Sid asked, going back to the upcoming game that night. "About the goalie?"

"Is this Primeau?" Mike asked, the question coming to him out of nowhere.

Geno shook his head, "No. Montembeault."

Mike crunched his face in thought. "The one who's weak on the upper glove side?"

"See!" Sid said, "Mike sees it!"

"And, goalie coach would see it too," Geno said firmly.

"Isn't he also weak on the meld with the posts?" Mike asked. "On the left?"

That got a pause from Sid and Geno before Geno nodded slowly. "Yes, yes. Mike right, goalie weak on the left, always leave a gap between him and posts in video."

"He does," Sid breathed. "That's an option to deal with it."

With a happy noise, Nikita finished packing his backpack. His uniform was more like the catholic school down the street from Mike's parent's old apartment than like a charter school. Mike hadn't worn a uniform after elementary school, and even then, it was more like a strictly enforced dress code rather than a uniform. Nikita raised the backpack up for Geno to inspect.

Geno took Nikita's Switch from the largest pocket, "Not allowed, Nikusha." He said. "Know better. School gets mad."

Nikita frowned mutinously. "But no one wants to play during lunch! Or at least not play soccer!"

"Then read book. Not game. Game for home after homework." Geno said sternly.

"Papa!" Nikita protested, but he fell silent under Geno's stern look. "Могу я хотя бы выбрать книгу?" (Can I at least pick the book?)

Mike didn't understand what Niktia wanted, but Geno seemed to agree. "Da." Geno said firmly. "Go get."  As Nikita dashed away to his room, Geno sighed to Sid. "Anna better at this. She say, he do. No complaint."

"It's ok, G," Sid said, reaching out and fixing Marisol's pigtails before they fell out completely. Mike hadn't done them very tightly earlier – he would have to do better to ease the burden on Sid. "Some things come in time – isn't that what you said to me?"

Geno nodded, but he still looked worried. Nikita returned with two books – one in English and another in Russian. Geno raised an eyebrow but didn't protest. He gently collected Nikita and herded him toward the door.

Nikita called out a farewell, that Mike responded to absently, but Marisol was enthusiastic in her goodbye.

Mike chewed his lower lip. It had been a long time since he had heard happy goodbyes in the mornings. Rodger and Aunt Cynthia didn't talk to him like that, to either of them like that. Just demanded that he respect them and 'love' them in ways he never would. Mostly, they lost their chances when they treated Marisol like shit.

The latest conversation involving Sid's lawyer and Helena occurred two days earlier. Helena and Sid's lawyer explained it to him, faces severe but not hopeless. His Aunt and her husband had threatened that they would fight for custody.

When Helena's counterpart in California had told them that Mike was safe in another state but refused to tell them where he was, apparently Rodger lost his mind at the care worker.

This was being used as evidence Mike was right to run away. However, he did essentially kidnap his sister, which made things more complicated. According to Helena, his Aunt and her husband wouldn't push for custody of Marisol.

If they won, if a judge agreed that Mike needed to stay with them rather than Sid, then Marisol wouldn't have a legal base to stay with Sid. She would either return to Cynthia and Rodger or end up in the foster system.

Mike was terrified of his Aunt and her husband and the power they still held over them both. They weren't even sure what state they would be filing in. The parental information was in Pennsylvania, but Mike and his Aunt were from California.

The whole thing would be complicated. "Mike!" Marisol said, thrusting a paper at him just as the doorbell rang, "Mira!"

Marisol's paper was work she had been working on with Sid's help. "Oh, that's nice," he praised. She had gotten more of the letters correct than the last time. And her 'e' only had three lines rather than four. "You did so much better!"

In the distance, in the front hall, Sid greeted Bea, their nanny. Mike hated the idea of needing a nanny; he was a teenager! Except, Sid and Geno (and Helena) were determined not to let Mike take care of Niktia and Marisol alone. Mike had to accept not being responcible for the kids would be nice.

Apparently, Bea was short for Beatriz, but she insisted on 'Bea.' At first, it was 'Aunt Bea' but one meltdown by Marisol later, it was just 'Bea.' Mike was simply relieved that Marisol's actions didn't cause Bea to quit on the spot – like Cynthia had always said she wanted to do when Marisol started to cry. The less Mike remembered about Rodger's reaction to Marisol crying the better.

"You ready for a fun day with Bea?" Mike asked. The plan was that the four of them (him, Marisol, Bea, and Sid) would go to the rink soon. Mike and Marisol's tutor would meet them there, and then a trainer would meet Mike on the other rink.

While he and Marisol hadn't been to a game yet, seeing the Pen's practice was still cool. Mike was learning a whole lot just watching the practice. Sid said something about introducing Mike to a coach soon.

Bea would not usually come with them to the rink from Sid's house, but as Sid was leaving on a roadie immediately after, they decided they would take two cars.

Marisol cheered.

I think Quinn really needs some comfort?

Someone compared Mack and Will having milk and cookies vs Connor Bedard Who Has Never Had Sugar In His Life and I'm now more convinced than ever Connor needs a buddy 🥺

https://www.tumblr.com/fourthliner/777739752149483521/can-someone-get-him-a-chocolate-chip-cookie-damn

Oh nooooo this comparison hadn't occurred to me!! That boy. That poor sugarless boy. Someone send Spencer Knight a package of cookies right away and tell him to feed them to Connor in small pieces until his system adjusts.

strange little crossover but... steve + sam + bucky hockey au :0

all credit to @tinyhockey for the idea and for enabling me ^_^

I'm not done being annoying yet. Bon Appétit!

well. can I offer you some somnophilia and cockwarming during these trying, one-point times?

Sid felt instinctively that they couldn't lose this game and win the series. Coming back down from three hadn't happened since the Red Wings did it in 1945. But there was no more time to review tape or practice or make new plays.  There was only time for faith. “Geno,” Sid barked, and the room quieted down a little, attention swiveling towards them.

first moosespurge dms had some inspo from the selfie they took on the plane to sweden so to celebrate :))))

Jared brought his hand down to Marcus’s knee, his fingers making a slow circle as he looked up at the sleeping man again. Sighing, he tried closing his eyes again, hoping that the grounding physical touch he usually slept with would help him finally pass out.

After what felt like another eternity, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of the plane. Being able to nap on their regular short haul flights was somehow no issue, but god forbid a man try to sleep on an overnight, long haul one. Keeping his grip on Marcus’s hand closest to him, Jared rubbed his other slowly up his leg. He didn’t want to wake the other man necessarily, but his body just happened to be Jared’s favorite fidget toy. Marcus was usually hyper reactive, body usually giving a twitch, and, well, he always had something to say about it too. The guy was solidly passed out behind his sleeping mask though, not a single acknowledgment given to his touch. Lucky bastard, he thought to himself.

Jared started to lightly trail his fingers along Marcus’s thigh, the repetitive motion of smoothing his fingers along the blanket covering his legs soothing to him at least. Only as his fingers swept higher to where he was most sensitive did he finally get the slight response of Marcus shifting in his sleep, his neck twitching and his head lowering to Jared’s shoulder. Jared rested his head on top of the other man’s and continued his ministrations, tugging a bit on the fingers in his other hand.

Well, at least one of us is getting sleep, Jared thought as he tried closing his eyes again. Resting your eyes is better than nothing is what his mom had always told him, and this was as close to cuddling as he’d be able to get in a plane seat. He continued his motion slowly up and down Marcus’s leg when the back of his hand hit a bulge in the blanket. Opening his eyes, he looked around the top of the Marcus’s head, smirking as he took in the lump rising from the blanket.

A past conversation filtered through his head, “Look, I know I sleep like an angel. If you ever wanted to……. touch something so heavenly…. I wouldn’t say no.” Marcus had accompanied it with an obnoxious wink that Jared had originally responded to with an eye roll, but had him considering his options now.

Sliding his hand under Marcus’s blanket he thought, No time like the present, resting his hand on the half hard cock. He took in the familiar weight, running his thumb along the head through his sweatpants. They had fooled around on a few team flights before, but those were always fast and hot, trying to finish before anyone would notice what they were up to. Now… now Jared had the luxury of time. Only half way through their flight across the Atlantic, he could work Marcus up for however long he wanted. See how long he could go before the other man twitched awake.

He cupped his hand around the base and slowly jerked up, the material of the sweatpants providing some glide. He continued to alternate his attention, before slipping his hand under the waistband to fondle a bit at Marcus’s balls. Scrapping his fingers through the hair at the base of his dick, Jared firmly gripped him before bringing his thumb up to swipe at the bit of moisture that had started to collect there. It was then that he felt Marcus’s hand twitch in his other one. His neck stiffened up as his head shot off of Jared’s shoulder.

“Jared?” dragged out of his mouth, half asleep and low. Jared started to quietly shush him, rubbing soothingly at the crease of his hip.

“Good morning, took you long enough to join the party,” Jared whispered back to him, biting back a smile at how Marcus’s breathing had sped up.

“What. What’re you doing?” Marcus slurred, raising his hand to remove his eye mask.

Jared swung his hand out of his sweatpants, catching Marcus’s with a hushed tut, “I think it might be better if you keep that on actually. We wouldn’t want people to figure out what we’re doing now would we?” Marcus released a slow whine, both of his hands twitching in Jared’s hold. “If you’d like to continue this, you’ll have to keep it quiet. Do you think you can do that for me?”

Audibly gulping, Marcus drew in a few breaths before releasing a quiet, “Yes, babe.”

Hey I *clears throat nervously*

Wrote a thing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63479356

what if i wrote a fic about kris getting put on waivers

Comrie/helley has gripped my brain and NOT let go

dlo OF au... who's with me

possibly i like the thrill

cannershane | rookie free use | 2,151 words | rated e

Krakencord did a little exchange for Valentine’s Day. Here’s my fic, a gift for @hotteokzz . I hope you enjoy it!

Read it here

💖💌 Happy Valentine’s Day 💗💜

rating: explicit

relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, Sidney Crosby/Pittsburgh Penguins NHL Team Ensemble (mentioned)

word count: 2,472

additional tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Free Use, Public Sex, Breeding, 2009-2010 NHL Season, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Omega Sidney Crosby, Alpha Evgeni Malkin

summary: After their first cup, Sidney's due to give the Penguins a baby. Zhenya helps him make one during a game.

first fanfic helloo!! pls give feedback if u read this i am not used to writing fiction so if this is really flat its because i only ever write essays </3

inspired by ekky and his snoopy: a little baby sharks fic 🦥

The Sharks media team have let them loose with half-a-dozen rolls of quarters and a camera guy trailing them round.

As media goes, it’s not too bad - they both love any kind of game, no matter how dumb, and they’re so competitive they end up getting way too into everything, which apparently is what the fans love. If Mack can’t be playing hockey, then beating Will at the coconut shie by the pier is a pretty good consolation. At least no one’s asking him questions.

It’s nice to see Will so relaxed too, throwing his head back to laugh at Mack’s terrible rifle shot, his perfect teeth bright in the fairground lights. It’s busy, and after a while they manage to accidentally-on-purpose lose their social media handlers in the crowd. They wander, aimless and contented, through the stalls, passing a churro back and forth now there’s no one to confiscate any contraband.

“Oh hey,” says Mack, stopping in front of a stall garlanded with stuffed sloths. He reaches out, strokes a gentle finger over one of their weird little faces. “I used to have one just like that when I was a kid. He was like, my favourite thing.”

“Yeah?” says Will, taking advantage of Mack’s distraction to swallow the last of the churro.

“Yeah, Slothy, I think he was called. My dad tossed him out after I got benched in some Midget game.” He grins and turns to Will, expecting some chirp about naming a sloth Slothy. But Will’s staring at him.

“What? He, like, threw it away?”

“Well, yeah,” says Mack, “But I was probably like, seven? So not like it wasn’t time anyway.” He bumps Will’s shoulder companionably to try and smooth out that unhappy furrow between his eyes that Mack hates. It doesn’t work.

“Jesus fuck, Mack.”

Mack’s frowning now, starting to feel actually upset, which is dumb. “It’s not a big deal, dude.” Will opens his mouth, as if to argue but Mack spies the Sharks camera guy craning his neck through the crowd and elbows him. “C’mon.”

Will doesn’t look convinced but lets Mack steer them over to the hoops stand anyway. He’s quiet, doesn’t even demand a rematch when Mack smokes him at tiny basketball and barely acknowledges a dachshund dressed like a hot dog. Mack glances at him all the way back to the car park, trying to catch his eye long enough to pull stupid faces but Will barely notices.

“Hey, sorry, think I forgot something,” Will says, when they’re almost at the car. “Here.” He fishes his keys out of his sweatshirt pocket and tosses them at Mack.

“Dude, what?” Mack starts, but Will’s already heading back towards the fair.

“I’ll be quick!” he shouts over his shoulder, breaking into a jog. Will never jogs. Mack stares after him, trying to shake the feeling that he’s missed something here but not quite managing it. He sighs and clambers into the car, resigned to actually answering that email from his agent and texting his dad back, earlier happiness vanishing like bubbles.

***

When Mack steps out of the bathroom, damp from his shower, Will’s exactly where Mack left him: slumped in bed on his phone. But he’s not alone. There’s a stuffed sloth sitting upright in the opposite bed, it’s long furry arms holding Mack’s sleep shorts and t-shirt.

Mack stares at it, then at Will scrolling TikTok. He picks it up. It’s very soft, softer than Slothy was at the end, because he went everywhere, but the button eyes and little sloth-hands are just the same. Its smell is different though, like Will’s detergent - like the Marleau’s detergent, Mack mentally corrects, because Will doesn’t know how to work a washing machine - like maybe it travelled in his suitcase, folded between his clothes. He strokes a hand over its belly, along its arms.

“Will, I-” he breaks off around the sudden lump in his throat, and stares down at his sloth in his hands, unsure what to say.

“It’s not a big deal, dude.” Will parrots Mack’s own words back at him, but he’s clicking off his phone, and rolling over towards Mack, smiling at him, warm and teasing. “Ekky’s already ruined our street cred. You can have a little buddy too.”

Mack nods, risking a watery glance in Will’s direction. “Thanks man.”

He doesn’t put the sloth down when he pulls on his pajamas; has to swap hands so he can tug his t-shirt over his head. When he shuffles over Will takes it gently out of his hands and makes it pat the bed next to him.

“Did you win it for me? At the fair?” Mack whispers, sliding in under the thick comforter and pulling a pillow under his cheek.

“I tried.” Will grins and tucks the sloth in against Mack’s chest. Mack’s arms immediately come up around it, holding on tight. “I was worried that you’d come find me, kept flubbing the game - you had to knock all these little bananas down. And then I ran out of quarters.”

“That‘s ‘cause your hand-eye coordination goes to shit under pressure,” whispers Mack, shifting closer. There’s a warmth rising up from his toes, slowly filling his whole body. Will reaches over and tucks the blankets right up to his ears, then gives him a flick on the nose for good measure.

“So I offered him twenty bucks, which was all I had, but he said no, they can’t do that, so I told him that it’s for a guy I really like who lost one a long time ago.” He grins ruefully at Mack. “I think I’ve been watching too many romcoms.”

“Oh,” breathes Mack. He inches closer, emboldened, until they’re touching: foreheads, hands and knees. He wonders if Will can feel his heart thumping through the sloth. “Did it work?”

Will winds an arm around Mack and rolls them until Mack’s on top and the sloth is flattened between them. “Yeah,” he whispers, catching Mack’s smile with his own. “It did.”

a little something i might possibly use in the fic im writing !

────୨ৎ────

“Y’know, you only scored ‘cause you wore my jersey before the game right.” Will said proudly as he shut the door to Jumbo’s guest house where Mack was living for the season.

“Uh-huh, is that right?” He replied, turning around to face Will in the dim light of the entrance hallway.

“You might have to wear it every night.”

“Oh you’re funny, Smitty.” He paused for a sec looking at Will, the air felt weird, tense, but oddly not in a bad way. “If BC is so good why didn’t you score tonight, huh?” He continued as Will stepped closer.

“Oh, I did.”

“What? No- you didn’t-“ The rest of the sentence mumbled as Will pressed his lips to Mack’s, grabbing the burgundy and golden stripes at the waist of the BC jersey he was still wearing.

As he pulled away Mack stared at him in shock, a light blush washing over his cheeks.

“I did.” Will reiterated in a whisper.

────୨ৎ────

here is yet another short bit from the fic im working on…. not beta read or anything so don’t judge too hard

────୨ৎ────

Mack is standing in the VIP lounge talking to his dad after the game—only half listening to him bitch about everything he didn’t do well in the game—when Will comes up from behind tapping his shoulder.

“Hey, Celly, my dad wants to meet you.” He starts the second Mack turns around, gesturing over to where his dad was talking to a couple of the other Dads.

“Smith. No hello?”, it’s Rick Celebrini. The one and only, Will thinks.

“Sorry, um, Mr. Celebrini.” Will shakes his hand firmly, just as he’d been taught by his own father. Him and Rick had already met once before when Mack brought Will to the Warriors game, he wasn’t any more polite this time to last. “Mind if I borrow Mack for a sec? My Dad-“

“Go ahead,” He starts before turning to Macklin, “We’ll continue this later, I’ll see you at the restaurant, son.” He quickly claps Mack on the shoulder and disappears into the crowd.

———

“Dad, um, this is Mack.” Will starts as Bill, finished up talking to a couple of the other dads.

“Oh, Mack! So nice to finally meet you, Willy here wouldn’t shut up about you.” He joked, squeezing Will’s shoulder as he blushes in embarrassment.

“Dad.” Will warned playfully.

“Oh did he now?” Mack looked to Will, a teasing smile plastered on his face.

“Oh, what’s that? I think I hear Toff calling me, gotta go.” he starts turning away to leave Mack and his Dad to talk alone.

Mack watches as his teammate falls into the sea of Sharks jerseys, unable to tell him apart from all the different shades of teal and white.

“So,” Bill starts, Macks attention snapping back to him, “BC jersey, huh?”

“Oh- Yeah, um, I lost a bet.” He says quickly, it’s the truth yet he still feels like he’s lying.

“Right. I’m shocked he let you wear it.”

“I’m sorry?” Mack said, a little shocked.

What is that supposed to mean? He didn’t just let me, he made me. he thought.

“Yeah, doesn’t let anyone touch it. Not his mother, not me, don’t even think he let Gabe or Ryan touch it after he took it off that night.”

Mack just stared at him in shock, he knew it wasn’t polite but what else was he supposed to do? This is quite literally life changing information. So what he may be a little dramatic, this has to mean something. He needs it to mean something.

Will’s Dad continued with a small chuckle, “He told me he needed me to bring it with me on the trip, I had to ask if he has joking that’s how serious he is about it. Now I see why.”

“Oh my- I, fuck, sorry, he never told me that.” Mack stuttered awkwardly, still in complete shock.

“Looks like he’s waiting for you,” he points behinds Mack to see the previous crowd of staff and other guests completely cleared out, leaving nobody but Will, leaning against the wall on his phone.”

“Oh. Yeah, do you mind?”

“Go ahead, I’ll see you two at dinner.“ He smiles fondly down at the eighteen year old, “and Mack?”

He turned back around, a quizzical look on his face.”

“You’re a good kid, it was nice to meet you. and he really likes you, I can tell.”

“Thanks, uh, Mr. Smith.” Mack feels like his heart is going to burst with all this information at once. He’s sure Will’s dad didn’t mean he likes him like that but still.

“Bill is fine, kiddo.”

They share a short smile before Mack runs off to meet up with Will so they can drive to the restaurant together.

────୨ৎ────

hope this is half decent!! i didn’t read it myself after writing so if theres any mistakes ill fix them late

(heres the song i was listening to on repeat while writing this)

Februwhumpkinkuary Day 1 @febuwhump: vocal cords / @kinkuary: age gap Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin • 4,988 words • Explicit

Omegaverse, older!alpha!Geno/rookie!omega!Sid, mentions of Sid/Mario, omegaphobia, blowjobs, deepthroating, undernegotiated kink, a little nipple play and dirty talk.

Read on AO3.

mitchmatt monday moodboard

abo pre-sidgeno thoughts during this witching hour bc i just found these pics on pinterest and need i say more?

thinking about a young, stubborn, and begrudgingly omega sidney at the end of his second season in the nhl, staring down the barrel of the captaincy and really deeply thinking that he's not ready for it. due in no small part to the fact to the internalized shame he has about his heats and how, for the first time in his life, he's being forced to go through regular cycles as per the anti-doping adjacent dynamic rules set in place by the nhl. and maybe it wouldn't be such a big deal if he could just tough his heats out on his own when his week of blue placebo pills comes around but in order to keep his hormones balanced properly (because we all know how much of a freak sid is for maintaining his fleshly hockey machine- uh, i mean, his body) and minimize the time commitment that is a cycle, he has to have an alpha heat partner. and maybe that wouldn't be such a big deal if they were any good at getting him off. like oh my god, why are all alphas ages 18-25 bumbling fumbling idiots with no coordination or stamina. if he hopes to take the c by the beginning of next season, which is looking increasingly more likely and decreasingly his to decide, sid needs to be able to get his cycles down pat. something he can only accomplish with a consistent and competent alpha heat partner.

enter geno, obviously.

chapter 8 is out now woooooo

i still think about this

Patty watched Toews reach the end of his rope and then throw the whole damn thing away, challenging Joe to a fight. Joe gave it to him, but Patty could tell his heart wasn't really in it. In the locker room during intermission, Patty leaned in close.

"You think Toews needs seeing to?"

Joe looked thoughtful. "Yea. Yea, he needs something, that's for sure. You think it's our kinda deal?"

Patty nodded. "You didn't see him after; he looked like he was gonna cry when they dragged you off him."

Joe smirked, then sobered. "I believe you. Felt like he wasn't even fighting me, you know. I was just a stand-in."

Patty knew what he meant. They'd seen it before, these young kids rushed to the show, given no time to adjust before they were thrust into leadership roles, far too green and always unwilling to admit it. That's where he and Joe came in. They'd team up, let Toews tire himself out fighting before he'd finally allow himself to drop to his knees and be taken care of.

Later, Patty would make him breakfast and send him on his way, a shy but grateful smile spreading over his face.