It must happen during the Stanley Cup locker room celebration. Sid walks in, and sweeps the Cup up over his head amongst an eruption of champagne spray. Sid is so brilliantly, incandescently happy that he doesn’t even notice that not all the joy he feels is his own.

"What are you saying?" Johnny says slowly, because this sounds like she's trying to pick him up, which is impossible, because if Kaner has one concrete rule, it's ‘anyone but teammates.’ "We can help each other out here," Kaner suggests, crossing her legs in her too-short skirt. "That's all. Two friends helping each other out in a dry spell. You're free to do whatever. It wouldn't be a big deal."

Lots of people watch Geno. Like most people, really, at least let their eyes linger for a few seconds. For starters, he’s six foot three with a penchant for thick-soled combat boots and carefully sculpted hair arrangements that together can easily add 5 inches to his overall height. Then there’s the eyebrow ring, the purple streak through his dark hair, the smudged eyeliner, and typically, the tightest pants Geno can pour his fabulous if-he-does-say-so-himself ass into. All of those would be enough, any given day, to make people stop and stare. But today he’s also the guy most of North America watched in Prime Time last night, kicking ass and taking names as he as he swiped the Men’s Singles Gold from the clutches of that whiny fucking sore loser, Plushenko. So. Yeah, lots of people are watching him, but Sidney Crosby is not lots of people. He’s Sidney fucking Crosby.

Bitty is in Annie’s, bent over his textbooks and wondering, not for the first time, why he decided to take French as a language (oh yes, it’s because so many old recipes are written in French, he’s going abroad there to study food history, can’t wait for the summer; half of fall and then winter semester until he goes, but that doesn’t help him now does it) , when he hears someone clear their throat. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” Oh boy. Eric doesn’t even bother lifting up his head. “Sorry, not a girl and not interested.”

Geno is too injured to go to the 2017 All-Star Game, which would be bad enough if that wasn't also the weekend of Sidney's scheduled heat. Luckily, Alex Ovechkin is more than willing to help Sid through it.

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.

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

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.

“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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.”

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.

This is a not fic, born from a conversation @itsybittle and I were having about (of all things) a BDSM porn Teen Wolf fic idea involving Jackson/Stiles/Lydia that revolves around the idea of what would have happened if Jackson had stayed in Beacon Hills instead of leaving for London. This not fic is pure fluffy kid fic. Because that’s what porn produces evidently: fluffy kid fic (I lie, when I try to write porn, what it produces is about three days worth of world building as @itsybittle​ can attest from that time I tried to figure out kinky BDSM Frozen Elsa/Hans and spent all my time world building and talking geo-politics). Anyway, this started like this: itsybittle: ALSO FIC IDEA itsybittle: Single dad bitty and his son have a YouTube channel and his son does this sport interviews

“I didn’t fuck Mitch,” Dylan hisses into Connor’s ear, squeezing Connor’s hips tightly. Connor’s right on the edge when Dylan presses his lips to Connor’s ear and whispers, viciously, “But I wanted to.”

"So you're gonna take me to prom, huh," Dylan says, testing the words out in his mouth. "Which one?" "Not McDowell's," Connor says, like he's given it a lot of thought. He probably has. Jesus. "Ideally we'll still be in the playoffs, so we won't have time." "Ideally," Dylan echoes, and takes another bite of burrito to calm himself. Whatever, it's not like prom's a huge deal to either of them. They could go as buddies. People do that. "What should I wear?" If anything, Connor just grins wider.

It was just supposed to be a summer fling. An admittedly strange summer fling, because most casual hookups don’t come with ropes and gags and pet names. But still just a summer fling, because Kris Letang isn’t the kind of guy that wants a relationship. At least...he wasn’t that kind of guy. Now he’s not so sure.

Brandon kneels because it’s what he’s supposed to do. It’s part of being a rookie, it’s part of belonging, it’s part of hockey. So he kneels. (In which Brandon Saad falls in love. Twice.)

Sometimes you just need to drive across Canada with your girlfriend, your girlfriend's girlfriend, your girlfriend's girlfriend's boyfriend, and a couple of dogs.

When the lights come back on after the Pride Tape presentation and the boys start to stir, Connor looks at Ebs, sitting on the floor in front of him, and he says, without thinking, "Is this about me?" Everyone within earshot freezes.

MycroftexMachina

The way to a hockey player's heart is through his wings, and the way to a goalie's heart is through his bower. Or: five times PK saw Carey's bower, and one time they saw someone else's.

Zhenya is curious. Now that he’s seen Sid at a vulnerable moment, he can’t get the image out of his mind.

When it had first happened, body melting into this new form right there in front of all the guys, he’d demanded an answer from Jonny. “Did you see this coming?” A five first times fic.

Jon is not used to wanting anything, much less something he might be allowed to have. 

Anora isn't accustomed to misjudging people.

A Snow White AU that got more than a little bit out of hand.

"Stay with me," Tim asks in a rush. "I... Bruce can't lose you again. I need to know you're alive and well." Jason scoffs. "He nearly killed me, I don't think he cares." "Doesn't matter. I think he cares, so I'm offering you a deal. Come to my place. Sleep, shower, get something to eat. Maybe stick around for longer. Just stop... Stop staring at the ground like you're thinking about jumping without a line."

“Bakugou?” Bakugou shuffled on his feet, hovering over Kirishima and looking at the ground with stormy eyes. He glanced up to glare at Kirishima, a silent dare to call him out on his odd behavior no doubt. Kirishima forced himself not to tense. Whatever Bakugou wanted, he was about to show him and Kirishima had to get this right. Bakugou was all about showing and not telling. Kirishima nearly bit his tongue to keep in a squawk of surprise when Bakugou suddenly dropped to his knees next to him, shuffling forward until he could press his forehead to his thigh and hide his face against Kirishima's leg. Kirishima opened his mouth, questions on the tip of his tongue, and he barely managed to catch them before they could be given voice. Bakugou was trembling minutely, his entire frame so tense his muscles were twitching under Kirishima's gaze. “Just. Don't say anything,” Bakugou muttered, hands clenching in his lap tightly. “Please,” he whispered, a short choked sound.

Bakugou sleeping in the common areas like it’s no big deal seems to give everyone else permission to be just as bizarre, and little by little Kirishima starts learning things about his classmates he never knew.

In which Aizawa brings an extra kid to mountain training camp, leaves his sleeping bag at school, and ends up sharing a futon with Yagi Toshinori for three agonizing nights before everything folds.

Keigo has known since he was a child that his soulmate is going to hate him. He knows he is one of the unlucky few who have a mark displaying pain, instead of love. That he’s got his tragedy inked onto his body for all the world to see. Why else would he have the shape of a large hand wrapped around the base of his throat? Keigo's not expecting his soulmate to care for him, he's not expecting to end up caring for the League of Villains, and he's definitely not expecting a happy ending. He's wrong, on all accounts.

“You must never reject an alpha’s advances, or they will force them. Or direct them elsewhere and sully your name with whores and bastards,” Alicent explains to him, in the days following Aemond’s first heat at the age of 12. Explaining his added duties, his unexpected new place in society. “After enough times an alpha may let you prepare with oil. But at first you must endure the mating bite, and then the pain of every encounter after.” Or: The world teaches Aemond what it means to be an omega. And then, with much time and healing, his new husband helps him unlearn it.

"He doesn’t feel jealous. He’s happy for them, truly. He doesn’t want to replace Mal, or be him, because that would imply… no Mal. If anything, he wants to be there. With Alina. With Mal. “Oh,” Nikolai lets out, blinking. If any of the guards heard him, they say nothing, know it’s not any of their business if the king has just had some kind of epiphany. He shakes his head at himself because of course, of course he wouldn’t fall in love with just one person. If Dominik could see him now, he would roll his eyes and tell him, “really, you didn’t figure it out before? You gave him your compass, didn’t you?”"

Curly-Brow hisses, “What, exactly, am I supposed to have them do?” The guy looks at Zoro and adds, “Amputation via sword?” “Clerical, scribing, changing bedpans? The world’s your fuckin’ oyster and they,” Dr. Old Man thrusts a wrinkled thumb at them, “are your fuckin’ problem now.” Luffy takes this moment to wave and bound right up to the nurse with a chirp of, “Hi! I’m Monkey D. Luffy and I’m gonna’ be the Pirate King. Sorry about your roof.” The nurse stares at Luffy for a solid five seconds, unblinking. Nami whispers despairingly, “Oh my fucking gods.” The nurse turns back to Dr. Old Man and asks, “Am I allowed to submit this one for a psych eval?” -- In which Sanji is the crew's doctor and not their cook. This changes remarkably little.

Around ten in the morning, Nami signals that they’re approaching an island. At noon, the Thousand Sunny docks in a bay full of white sand and sunflowers with rusty yellow petals. At one, it’s safe to say all the Strawhats have scattered around the island on various errands or explorations. By two in the afternoon, everything changes. "Luffy?" He speaks without speaking. "Sanji?" Luffy answers without answering. "What the fuck—", Zoro curses without cursing, and suddenly all three of them—all /one/ of them—is knocked flat on their ass on the ground.

They’d arrived at the island of Mae to catch the end of a brutal, bloody conflict between the island natives and a band of thugs from further inland. After helpfully settling the conflict, the townspeople of Mae offer to throw the Strawhats an island-wide party complete with food, dancing, music and free credit at the best brothel their town has to offer. Wherein Sanji smokes a questionable substance prepared by a local devil-fruit user and gets a little bit hornier (and a little bit looser with his inhibitions) than he ever intended to be around a certain swordsman.

Tyler Seguin is a very good wedding planner. Which is why he’s not freaking out that Jamie Benn of the Dallas fucking Stars is sitting in his office.

Sebastian thought that the Flower Dance would be the worst part of his day. Then he gets dragged into a conversation he wants no part of and brings up something he wanted to forget. It was then up to Sam to pick up the pieces.

Sam is feeling pretty good so far. His jean jacket is freshly washed, he’s got his favourite red-yellow shirt on (he thinks it contrasts nicely with the blue-green of his eyes). His hair has enough gel in it to withstand even the fiercest windstorms. He’s put deodorant on three times already and he’s wearing enough body spray to bring tears to his mother’s eyes. Gotta smell good, just in case things go according to plan. Today is going to be the day he declares his feelings to Sebastian. He’s ready.

Sebastian takes his problems and a confusing gift to the lake for some Frog Therapy, and things go a little wrong before they go a little right.

Seb tries to help Sam defeat a particularly difficult level of a video game. He is a complete little shit about it. He gets what he deserves.

Elliott has already turned the corner by the time he recognizes the slick noises in the air. Heat rushes his face, breath catching in his throat as he finally sees the farmer. The man is standing at the fence surrounding his processing equipment, sunlight streaming down between the leaves of the surrounding fruit trees, face slightly flushed as he murmurs something soft to the body beneath him, fingers knuckle deep as their voice breaks on a moan that floats in the air like dandelion fuzz on a breeze.

jaskier has three things: an unstoppable libido, a limitless imagination, and the continent's sexiest traveling companion. sometimes, this leads to certain accidents. they become a little less accidental over time. or: five times jaskier accidentally orgasms because of geralt, and one time he comes very much on purpose.