Eric Bittle becomes the first openly gay professional hockey player when he's signed by the Seattle Schooners after graduating from Samwell. A series of stories that chronicle how he manages newfound fame, judgment, and a secret relationship with his former college captain.

Bitty knew about the hockey gods, of course. But he didn’t exactly believe in them. Hockey players could be quite superstitious indeed, making their own rituals in routines. Now he’s on a pro team. He’s in the big show. The Schooners have made the playoffs. And playoffs…are a different creature altogether. For even if you don’t really believe in the hockey gods... ...they believe in you.

After the combine, Jack drives herself out to a strip mall north of Boston, parks in front of the little nail salon that nobody else knows that she knows about. When she has the choice, she keeps her nails like this—long, just this side of sharp, painted a deep red. ... (She fights for what she has. She has to.)

(2019) ... Jack isn't himself. He seems so miserable that Connor wants to smooth it out of his system, somehow, as if it's a physical thing. ... “If you... wanted something.” Connor asks. “Would you ask me for it?” “I’m working on it,” Jack says, so quietly that Connor almost misses it.

The text just says, hope you’re doing well, when Jack sees it in the preview screen. That’s why he opens it. A week past his surgery, the well wishes have slowed to a trickle, but he’s still getting a sporadic few messages per day. Some of them, like this one, are from numbers he’s forgotten to save over the years. So he opens it. Only. It’s not just a text message – there’s that, the text he already saw. But also, above that... a nude.

There's more than one reason that Jack wanted to go first.

“Does it hurt?” Conor asked quietly. And, shit, now he had to look. Scott forced his gaze down and saw them—spurs of bone splitting his knuckles. It wasn’t just swelling from the few punches he’d thrown. That was bone. This was happening.

"Being a star athlete changes you." And just when you think you're done, you become the face of an expansion team. Playing a winter sport in a desert. OR A (Dragon)Flower in the Desert

Being a star athlete changes you.

"How about," Connor says, real low and warm, dangerous and tempting. Jack's stomach drops straight through the floor. "I'll let you blow me, and we'll worry about labels later."

“Uh, so when you said you could help me, did you mean…” Connor thinks that he understood Leon alright, but making sure is probably a good idea. Leon looks a little sheepish. “Not to sound super cocky or whatever, but I’ve been told I’m pretty good in bed. I could show you a thing or two. If you want.”

"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.

When Tom Wilson hits Brian Dumoulin a little high and knocks him out of the game, he knows he should apologize. Tom Wilson has a unique way of saying sorry.

The Flyers always have a way of making Kris lose control. Kris has been Sid's sub for years now, and he's seen it happen time and again. A night like tonight calls for some creativity in punishment.

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.

Sex bonding for chemistry has never been fun for Kris. He’ll take a knot, but he’s not going to beg for it. He’s not going to roll over and make it easy. Kris may be an Omega, but he’s an alpha in bed. Lucky for him, he finally has a D partner that understands.

Once you play your first NHL game, your captain gets to take your virginity. That's the way it's always been. It's tradition. How can John say no to tradition? How can John say no to Sidney Crosby?

Pierre-Luc Dubois normally hates losing. He loses the hockey game, 7-2 against Pittsburgh, and that sucks. He loses his fight against Crosby, and that really sucks. He loses his dignity on the Pens' locker room floor, and... Maybe that doesn't suck as much as he thought it would.

70 days. If they do their job well, that's how long the Maple Leafs will be in the bubble for; far too long to neglect dynamic interactions. Hell, Mitch starts feeling antsy after a week if he doesn't have someone kneeling for him. The NHL hopes to bring in professionals, but until they can get approved, the Leafs are going to need to turn to teammates for their dynamic needs. This could go wrong in a hundred different ways. But then Mitch sees who he got paired with, sees their shared kinks - feminization - and thinks, maybe it could also go very, very right.

Coming to development camp is – it’s a lot, it’s everything. It’s exhausting and exhilarating in equal amounts, and it’s the best thing Lucas has ever been a part of. And then there’s the other thing. Well, things. The piercings.

He's Hank's. The whole team is.

The Washington Capitals part of the D/s AU.

“That was so good,” Willie tells him, and he gets that heat in his stomach again. "You're so good."

Just because Shea and Steve had spent the night together a couple, okay a bunch, of times didn’t mean that Shea could just… affect him like that. Steve had had plenty of casual-play arrangements with Doms around the country, and none of them could ever… Besides, Steve couldn’t kneel right now, not with his knee fucked up, and that meant he couldn't sub.

Paul didn't say anything before Borts was traded. Paul didn’t need to worry before then. Well. Paul’s a worrier; it’s not like he can just stop. Even though James is in Nashville, with Doms on his team to look after him, Paul can’t help but worry about him. It’s really not a surprise that he worries about the subs on his own team, too.

Every guy in the NHL lived hungry during the season, and they were all running on empty now.

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.)

"You can't skip a heat," Dicky says. "If you could I'd schedule mine for bye week and the offseason every time." "It's like, some pills to delay it, for game day, and then to make it happen faster, after," Miro tries to explain. "I took those once," Tyler calls from inside the trainer's room, where he's getting an ice pack strapped to his hip, "during the 2013 playoffs. They're a fucking trip, but they do the trick. Better make sure you've got an alpha who can handle it."

"We've got a special request tonight," the PR rep says, clipboard in hand. The way she says it, you can hear the implied capital letters: Special Request, the publicly friendly way to say some fans shelled out a lot of cash to watch you fuck.

Nate looks away, shifting his weight between his feet. “Uh, it’s a contract,” he says. EJ stares at him for a moment. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” he blurts out once he’s done staring because that’s the only reasonable explanation for this. Nate looks up at him, confused and weirded out at the same time. “I’m not,” he says. “It’s for you,” he adds. In which the NHL requires subs over the age of 31 to be collared, and EJ finds himself in a tough spot.

Everyone’s always known Jonny’s a dom.

"The bond's fucked up, boys," Jamie says. There are nods around the room, from all the vets. "We gotta fix it." He says it like it's a general statement, like collectively they're all going to do something to fix it. Jason knows it's really directed at him.

In any case that's old news now. Roman is in Europe and Miro isn't assigned to anyone anymore. He chose to be with Roope, and Roope is a possessive kind of dom. He hasn't brought anyone else into their bed in the year they've been together, and Miro is okay with that. He likes belonging to Roope. But it's not like he never thinks about it. And today, he's thinking about it.

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.

"You know how every summer you joke about how I should collar you, for the league rule?" "Yeah?" Sid shoots a sideways look at Nate, but Nate is just sipping his beer, not looking back. "What if I took you up on that?"

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.

On June 26, 2015, Connor McDavid is drafted to the Edmonton Oilers. A few days later, he finds out that his new team is cursed. Things get complicated after that.

Mitch’s heart is freezing over. It takes him exactly one year, seventeen days, five hours, and thirteen minutes to notice.

nice hatty, the text says. No capitalization, no emojis, nothing. Jack doesn’t even have the number saved in his phone. Originally that was out of pettiness, but what it actually means is Jack has Connor McDavid’s number memorized without even having tried. Apparently that’s what happens after a year and change of seeing it pop up on his lockscreen. It’s not even like McDavid texts him that often. Once they’d gone three months without speaking. Which is fine. They’re not really friends, exactly. They are sort of coworkers, and they have eaten each other’s cum, but they’re not, like, friends.

If Connor was a good person - if he was a Good Simple Boring Canadian Boy - he wouldn’t watch his best friend get fucked by his older brother.

Some things in life are certain. Roses are red, violets are blue, Connor McDavid excels at hockey and he really—really—doesn't like sex.

MycroftexMachina

“Most of the time, curses aren’t specifically or intentionally cast,” Alex explains. “It takes a lot of supplies, and time, and energy to set a curse. Most magic carriers won’t do it; it’s not worth it.” “If it’s not a curse…” “It’s a mutated spell.”

“Shower again.” Alex says, popping the top off his bottle and taking a long pull. He stares Dylan down while he does it, and fuck. That's not playing fair. “Why?” Dylan asks, because fuck, they need to talk about whatever is happening here. “Because I told you to.”

But then Jordie puts his weight more heavily on top of him and something switches, and it’s like all the fear is draining out of Jamie’s body. His arms and legs and stomach go calm and floaty. Jordie’s heavy, but Jamie doesn’t feel the weight anymore. It just feels so good.

This mission isn't going anywhere close to plan, and Mace is never again trusting Obi-Wan when he says it will.

“So, like, a couple of the guys here know, now,” Alex says. “About our whole --” he waves his hand absently. Our whole soulbonded thing. You know, casual, is what's not said, but Dylan can fill in the blanks pretty well.

Dylan and Alex agree to be in a promo video for the Winter Classic. There's... a lot of footage that had to be cut out.

Dylan can argue all he wants, but Alex is pretty sure it will work.

“Did, uh,” Jamie asks, “did this ever happen when you played this game with Brownie?” “Nope,” Tyler says.