McDavid sits back up. "Is this what your head is like all the time?" he demands. Jack shrugs. "Sometimes I think about hockey," he says.

Geno’s ready for his rut. Sid isn’t.

“I need a favor,” Connor interrupts. That does not make Dylan feel any better. If Connor has to drive them halfway to Guelph to even ask, it must be big. “Of course,” says Dylan at once. Connor frowns at him, sidelong. “Don’t say that before I tell you what it is.” Well, that’s not ominous at all. “What did you do, murder someone and need help hiding the body?” Dylan tries to chirp. Connor’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

Connor McDavid comes out on a Saturday. It is raining. He tangles his hand in Aaron Ekblad’s and says, “Does anybody have any questions?”

Dylan misses it, at first. (In which Dylan doesn't realise that he and Connor are a thing until he does.)

“Bet me I can’t sleep with ten prospects before the draft,” Dylan says.

Jack Eichel: Omega, and pissed off about it.

“I love being an omega,” Mitch says. He’s trying to stick his hair up into soapy spikes as Auston watches him tiredly from the other end of the bathtub. “I don’t have to do things I don’t wanna do and people take care of me. What’s not to like?” He pauses. “Plus, heats are sick.” “Really?” Auston asks, mind racing. Maybe it’s not too surprising. Mitch adores being taken care of, likes being babied and coddled; given gifts and affection. Marty got him a four foot stuffed bear from the cinema arcade a few weeks ago and his whole face lit up when he received it. "You like heat?" “Yeah,” Mitch says, and pats all his hair down before wading through the water, bending over Auston and bumping their noses together. He's smiling all sweet but Auston still feels like prey. “I really like it. You just lie there and take it and it feels so good ‘cause your body wants it so bad.”

How to Survive Your First Year in the NHL When You've Been Appointed the Next One: a guide by Sidney Crosby, currently being field-tested by Connor McDavid. Support and occasional sarcastic remarks provided by Dylan Strome.

“Tater thinks I’m pretty,” Eric blurts out, and Jack chokes as he’s taking a sip of his drink. “Maybe wrong word,” Alexei tries, reaching out to squeeze Eric’s shoulder, “You handsome, but face is soft. Is nice face. Uh, you okay, Zimmboni?” “Yeah,” Jack coughs. His eyes are watering. “You’re right. Bitty is pretty.” “Is rhyme!” Alexei yells, excitedly, and offers his champagne bottle to Jack. “Drink for rhyme.”

Auston chuckles. “You must be really fucking demanding in bed.” “Yeah, I probably would be,” Mitch says. “Would be?” Auston repeats.

"Hey, so," Tyler says when the marks on his ass have faded to a gross yellow-green. "Next time, you wanna make out first?"

“I’m gonna be a groomsman,” Mitch says, then flops dramatically into the chair across from Auston, grabs Auston’s glass of whiskey, and takes a long sip. It burns as it goes down, and he makes a face. “Again.”

“What happened?” Sid croaks to the nurse. “Can I play hockey?” She pauses where she’s fixing the heart rate monitor on his finger. “The doctor will be in to see you in the morning,” she tells him. “It’s good you’re awake, sweetheart. Your alpha was very worried about you.”

Dylan Strome is a late bloomer.

Jack invites Bitty up for a visit while he's training in Toronto over the summer. To the utter surprise of nobody who's ever met him, Bitty spends a lot of time baking.

A viral pandemic takes the world by storm, transforming the infected with new anatomy and instincts and forcing Sid and Ovi together -- even though Sid's in love with and committed to Geno. Needless to say, it gets complicated.

Out of every one hundred thousand births, less than one hundred are the result of male pregnancy, the box says. Connor’s either very lucky or very unlucky, it seems.

Connor mutters "I thought you didn't like me," out of the corner of his mouth. "I don't," Jack says. Connor's staring at him. "But you knew," he says. His words might be generic-- gave him a time and place, maybe, but not person. But Jack's weren't. Aren't.

"I, uh, basically want Eichel to blow wide-eyed girl!McDavid's mind. And for him to be kind of a dick about it." Connor's attempt to buy herself a vibrator is thwarted, but there's still a happy ending.

Connor’s experienced some weird fan interactions since he’s joined the NHL, but nothing surprises him quite as much as when a little girl raises her hand during a fan Q&A and asks him if he’s married. Not because it’s a particularly outlandish or rude question, but because his first instinct is to say “Yes.”

Nicky quickly typed 'Need to reschedule, the children need me tonight' before re-pocketing his phone and turning to an expectant André. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m going to go home and cook us dinner,” Nicky started, and André made an excited noise. “And you,” Nicky continued, “are going to bring Tom over to my house at 8 and we’ll all spend some time together.” A guide by the two dads of the Washington Capitals.

There's a tumblr post that's literally all about 'things your OTP could do that make people think they're married if they aren't' and instead of writing one, I wrote them all. OR, Dad and Papa are a perfect, healthy, happy couple. But, they're not a couple at all.

Having babies gives you dad power. Dad power helps put hockey teams on the road to Sir Stanley. Sid sired a herd of little Penguins before Pittsburgh won its Cup. Toews might as well be running a Blackhawks baby factory. Now it's Ovi's turn. If only someone had told him that impregnating your fuckbuddy might make things a little weird.

At 27, Sidney's divorced, sharing custody of his daughter with his ex-wife, and has a reputation for renovating historic homes. He's just doing what he loves, but an audition tape he doesn't remember submitting to HGTV lands him a job offer in Pittsburgh. A few years later, it brings him the client that will change his life.

Patrick doesn’t think before he takes the screenshot.

For the record: Travis does hook up. A completely normal amount, even.

The girl on Tinder is typing again. why don’t you show me how good you are with a cock Tyler coughs and drops his phone. That’s—wow. He did not expect her to go there.

Auston’s ex-girlfriend didn’t need to warn him off. He’s never met a girl who was so obviously, so completely, so spectacularly out of his league as Mitch Marner.

It's a stupid thing to care about. But it seems like every time Dylan sees Alex with a teammate, he’s putting his hands on their back to dig the tension out of them. And for whatever reason, he never does that with Dylan.

Dylan snorts. “Nice game you have going on there,” he calls. Kaner looks up, startled. “Huh?” “The gay chicken.” Dylan raises his cup to them. “Nice effort.”

It’s okay to be a wolf in the NHL now. That’s what everyone tells Dylan, anyway. To Podfic: "I Love the Riddles That You Speak" & "Race Like Falcons to Crash and Burn"

So, no, Connor doesn’t hate being an omega. Honestly, Connor wouldn’t think about being an omega much at all, except for how everyone else treats him because he’s an omega.

Edmonton brought Milan in for a bunch of reasons, but one of them was this: when Connor eventually went into heat, Milan would, too.

Tom's not sure he's ever felt quite so vulnerable.

written for this prompt on the sinbin: Alpha!Dougie/Alpha!Svech, knotting; Svechnikov discovers alpha-on-alpha knotting porn and can't stop thinking about it. Fortunately, Dougie is there to help. (Svech as the one being knotted please!)

There is a fucking primer. Dylan doesn't quite know what to do with that.

Jake does a pretty good job ignoring his stupid fucking thing for his rookie until one pregame he sits down in his stall to lace up and his eyes land on the whiteboard on the opposite side of the room where the month’s heats and ruts are scheduled; zero in on Joel’s name next to a scribbled 1/27 - 1/29.

ack says, "We've talked about this so much I'm not even sure it turns me on any more." Connor pulls up at a red light. "Liar," he says.

"The last snap is Dylan’s dimly lit bed, one long skinny leg stretched toward the end of the bed and one bent at the knee. Call me when you’re home. Connor doesn’t drop everything, but he also doesn’t put his dishes in the dishwasher." In which Connor and Dylan talk on the phone.

Connor McDavid is not the next, next one. He's the only one. For Dylan and his super chaffed dick. (A story about awkward relationship conversation, feelings and the sheer amount of blackmail material Alex DeBrincat has on McJesus and Baby Stromer.)

Leon can have little a maladaptive coping mechanism, as a treat.

"I kissed McDavid and then we won a game," Jack blurts out. He flexes his hand nervously. There's a suspicious silence on the other end of the phone line, but Noah is probably not laughing at him. Out loud.

“Is this like, a weird see it and believe it thing?” Connor asks. “I don’t-- we weren’t making out in front of you guys at the draft for a reason. That would have been really rude.”

The first time Connor sees him, in person, he’s wearing a backwards hat and holding a Frappuccino. He looks eighteen and very much not like a member of the undead.

The program finally starts and she can’t stop herself from grinning stupidly when she hears his voice. They ask about her and she leans forward, listening avidly. “We’re very happy to be together for the next eight years,” he tells them. Connor punches the air. “Hell yeah we are,” she tells the screen. “Have you guys just been texting each other happy faces emojis constantly?” Sid asks. “Yeah, lots of kisses,” Leon says and Connor freezes.

Dylan Strome goes to Edmonton to deal with, like, a lot of stuff. Mostly Connor, because they're apparently bonded, or whatever.

In which Connor is terrible at being an incubus, Dylan has all the answers, and Jack finds himself falling for not one, but two, Canadians.

Society is weird in that there’s not a lot of words for someone who you love and do a lot of dating-things with and are committed to but you’re not actually dating. OR: Five times people misunderstood Connor and Dylan's friendship, and one time someone didn't.

“Why can’t I just use your witch?” whines Connor, head resting on the kitchen table while Hallsy shuffles through a manila folder labeled “curse shit.” “She just rubbed foxglove on my wrists and told me not to have sex,” says Hallsy. “It was not very helpful, and also did you know that foxglove is poisonous?” “Yeah, if you eat it,” says Connor.