Sometimes, when a player is having relationship trouble of some kind, he wakes up in bed with a retired player who wore the same number. In theory, the retired player gives some advice.

"It can't get any worse," said Nicklas Backstrom in an interview before the first round of the 2018 playoffs. He should have known to be careful of the jinx something like that could bring, but now it's there, and Nicke and the team are determined to get rid of it by any means necessary.

Beau was willing to bet that a lot of people's weird superstitions started out like his. Something that had been a dumb bet or stupid competition in college or Juniors, but then fuck if they didn't score that night. So it became a thing, and since enough of them have weird fucking things they'd rather not get chirped about, it just becomes normal. All that said, Beau probably could have braced himself a little better for the inevitable, which was Flower pausing in his rapid-fire and unintelligible conversation with Tanger to grin like the cat that had caught the canary and ask, in the most delighted tone possible, "Sunshine, are you wearing panties?"

The first time Nicke sees a mature pair of player wings in person—not pre-downs, not rookie wings, but a full wingspan—it's the April before the draft, and he's in a dressing room in Latvia, trying not to be star-struck by his own teammates. Or: The NHL gives you wings.

“You,” Alex says, pointing at him. “Me,” he continues, pointing back at himself. “Married.” “Oh,” Nicky says. “Oh.” [It doesn't go any smoother after that.]

When your love for someone or something changes, you get love fever. When you get love fever, you usually get a love rash: a nasty, persistent itch in the shape of flowers or birds or your lover's hands. Alex has always noticed that Nicky doesn't get love blisters, just like he's noticed how Nicky fumes after losses, and prefers lasagna to ziti, and likes his girlfriends to cut his hair. He just assumed Nicky was one of those lucky people, the ones who don't get the rash.

Nicky generally considers himself a fairly competent, attentive person, so the fact that it’s taken him years to figure out that Alex has been essentially dating him is...disappointing. And also exhilarating.

Nicky scores a hat trick, and gets an orgasm. Or three.

What is supposed to be a special night for them takes a seemingly nightmarish turn. (AKA the one where Nicky grows tentacles.)

There's no word in English rude enough for “holy shit, my long-term life partner turns into an angry crow once every ten years,” but there fucking should be.

Nicklas Backstrom knows that Alexander Ovechkin is his soulmate but they never talk about it.

Five people (well, technically six) who already knew Sasha and Nicky were together and the one person they surprised.

It isn't, Alex reflects inanely, the fact that Nicky isn't wearing his cuffs. They aren't even cuffs but magic-infused braided and inscribed leather bracelets, one on each wrist—Nicky pushes them up his forearms during every game. No, it's Nicky's anguished face when he takes them off.

A writer from Alex's past outs him in an essay. What's a guy to do but marry his former best friend?

“Think the storm did it,” Sasha tells the kids over lunch the next day. Andre got last place in their morning skate shootout contest, so he’s paying. “Did what?” Willy says through a mouthful of sushi. Sasha points at him with his chopsticks. “Your powers,” he says. “Snowzilla comes, suddenly everyone’s mutants? Something happened there, no other explanation.” Latts strokes his chin. “Didn’t the Flash get struck by lightning or something? It’s not totally crazy.”

“Best baby need best jersey,” Alex says blithely, which doesn’t actually answer the question. It does, however, tell Nicklas whose jersey it is, and sure enough when Alex lifts it up to put it back in the bag Nicklas can see the 8 and the 'OVECHKIN' emblazoned on the back. or, nicklas finds himself responsible for a baby. alex approves.

A wolfborn on an airplane was either unbearably reckless or a hockey player. Most of the time, both.

“So,” the first reporter asks, pushing forward in the scrum, “did you know about Alex Ovechkin?”

Alex loves his kids, he really does, but he also might kill them. That is, if they don't put him in a goddamn early grave first. (Cop bribing, theft of public property, and how to photoshoot your dick properly in order to seduce a teammate: all part of a captain's responsibilities to his rookies.)

This is an AU about a dick piercing.

In which alternate universe Boston had 4th pick and Washington had 5th pick in the 2006 draft, and in which alternate universe the NHL is kind enough make accommodations for players’ personal circumstances. For instance, to allow Washington to pick Alex Ovechkin’s absolutely true, definitely not fake, 100% not-made-up fiancé to come play for the Caps. “You what,” Alex says. “Alex Ovechkin’s who?” —and its aftermath, through the years.

“You can’t be picked if you’re married," Nicky says, like it's obvious. “I’m not married,” Alex replies. “You’re marrying me,” Nicky says, his jaw set. “You haven’t proposed."

It’s a game. It’s a game to see how loud he can be and not have anyone but Nicky hear him, a game to see what he can do without anyone but Nicky noticing.

Sid is almost 18 when he moves to Pittsburgh for a job--and the gay scene.

It’s going to be a big deal, his mother had told him, and Nicklas had listened. His mom’s not an idiot. It’s going to be a big deal, she’d promised, if and when you find them. It’s going to be more than you thought it would, and if and when you know it, you’ll know it for sure.

Hockey is hockey, and politics is politics. There are kings of the game, and there are kings in their crowns and robes, and there isn't usually much in the way of overlap. Things change every day, though, depending on how you look at them. -- In which there is a small tragedy, a great success, and a lot to learn about someone Sasha thought he knew awfully well.

Either way, there was someone or something to blame for the fact that Jack ended up sending Connor Fucking McDavid a dick pic. Perhaps it was the universe as a whole.

im gonna puke, he texts Zach, keeping an eye on the entrance to the kitchen. does he not wanna fuck you, Zach replies immediately, followed by, have you seen his dick yet

“So you’re boyfriends?” Connor and Dylan exchange a glance, and then Dylan says, “That’s not quite the word I’d use.” (Or: 5 times Dylan and Connor technically told the truth about their relationship.)

It’s not - it’s not a thing. Really. Not a thing-thing, at the very least. He doesn't think it can be a thing if you only think about it and don't act on it, excepting that one time when Connor was straight up nailing him to the bed. He reasons that it certainly can't be a thing-thing if you've never even talked about it with your not-boyfriend. Dylan resolves to figure his shit out and have less hyphens involved in his life. (or: Connor McDaddy)

Mitch keeps it to himself most days, the fact that he carries around Dylan’s handprint.

Jack Eichel has 99 problems and Connor McDavid is... well. More of them than he thinks. In which Jack hates Connor McDavid, who he's never met, quietly pines after the cute girl he always sees in the gym, and has no idea that these two things are related.

In its early stages, this project appears to be achieving the initial goals, and has greatly expanded the availability of samples for study across a broad range of disciplines. Inspired by metamorphosis by ionthesparrow.

the slow slide of what life was, into something else Inspired by where nothing stays buried by addandsubtract.

Jack has already secured Dylan to the bed when Connor walks in. Jack slipped him an extra key card after practice. It’s the perfect entrance.

“It feels really good,” Leddy says, almost sheepish. They’re all eating lunch at Nick’s house after training, and Leddy still keeps looking around like someone could overhear. “It's a fucking trip, like - tentacle, eggs, but. It's good. I don't know.”

All Leon wanted were some easy recipes, and instead he got this guy, this – Matthew Tkachuk, alias tkachukycheese, YouTube channel owner by bi-weekly afternoon and dietician who works a lot with school classes by normal profession. Matthew holds up a potato peel broken in two pieces. “And just remember, if it doesn’t work out perfectly, that’s fine. It’s all about practice and trying and enjoying the process. Perfection isn’t a prerequisite for being liked. Just look at the Oilers."

Connor McDavid and Dylan Strome are going to the Toronto Maple Leafs together. Even if they have to get married about it.

Brady only realizes how sore he is when Kevin slaps his chest, both of them coming off the ice after practice.

Dylan’s breathing too hard when Zach picks up. He says, “Hey, I miss you.” “Not for sex reasons, obviously,” Zach says. “What is going on there?”

Nicklas drapes his towel over his shoulder. “Looking for a ride?” “It’s nap time,” Alex says with a shrug. “So we should nap.”

“I didn’t even have my dick out, what’re you freaking about,” Tom says, which is probably not the best way to ease his roommate into his sexual proclivities.

Matt finds Mitch doing what every young omega does when he goes into heat after forgetting to take his suppressant—taking a cold shower.

They meet at the rink when the team starts gathering for training camp, and Taylor quickly learns two things. One, that Nico is absolutely as nice as he seems on TV and via text. The second is that Nico is an alpha.

Connor knew that some people started dating before they got their soul marks at twenty-four. He just never expected those people to be anyone he knew.

Jack has tried deflection, dismissal, and flat-out denial, but nothing seems to be able to dissuade the media from the McDavid-Eichel rivalry narrative, which is why he agrees when Connor suggests trying a new tactic: pretending to be friends.

He wouldn’t know how to explain in any way that would make sense. Sometimes a monster fucks me in my dreams, and it leaves bruises. Sometimes I think I like it too much. That would definitely go over well.

John’s fingers press inside, cool against Dylan’s tongue, the inside of his cheek. John’s skin tastes like beer, and Dylan doesn’t know why he’s letting this happen, but he just – is. John’s other hand is on his forehead now, and Dylan slowly wraps his lips around the fingers in his mouth.

This all felt so familiar to Justin. Inspired by it wrecks who it pleases by addandsubtract.

Sometimes he wakes up sucking on his fingers, rutting his hips into the bed. He’ll be right on the edge of coming, the wet head of his dick trapped between his hips and the sheets, but he can’t, he can’t, not without – not without something pushed up inside, something stretching him open.