A genderswapped/girls in the NHL series. Possibly circling around an enormous fic about Sidney Crosby's adventures in being the first female drafted no. 1 in the NHL and also to play in a non-exhibition game, starting at about age 13 and moving to the present. Maybe I'll write it this summer, because it needs a lot of research. While that's on hold, this is mostly just girl!kaner/Tazer porn and, apparently, character stamps about playoff beards or the lack thereof.

Patrick had a letter written on his wrist when he was born, small and even in black pen-print. Well, technically it started to show up a day after he was born, like a bruise that takes time to settle in. Patrick doesn’t remember, obviously, but his parents will tell him whenever he asks, how small it was and how it just... faded in, a little ‘J’.

The one person Geno wants to build a family with already has one.

The thing is, Sid's filthy. Or he's pretty sure he would be, if somebody would just give him a chance to be filthy.

Geno had arrived in Pittsburgh looking every minute of the nineteen hour flight from Helsinki, plus however long he’d been in transit between there and his run from the KHL. Sid had been standing next to Mario, watching the new arrival expectantly, even though he didn’t think Geno was a threat. The other wolf had spent too much time negotiating on his own behalf to be allowed into another pack’s territory, and even more to be allowed to play with the team. But all the same, new wolves made Sidney antsy.

In an alternate universe where everyone is either a Dom, a Switch, or a sub, the NHL is one of the few major sports that allows co-dynamic teams. Sidney Crosby, Patrick Kane, and the other hockey-playing subs are happy of this fact, but dealing with the stress of being a professional hockey player on top of the stress of being a sub in a Dom-dominated world brings more complications then most of them expected.

Beyond that door is a boy Sid has skated with six times, and spoken to twice. He’s a year older than Sid is, and drugged out of his mind on Bonding agent.

On the government's classified mutant register—and on the NHL's records—Sidney is listed as Sidney Patrick Crosby, Nova Scotia, Canada: Class Two. Death visions, skin contact required.

On the one hand, it's pretty much the weirdest turn of events to ever hit the world in the history of ever. On the other hand, at least it happened during the off-season.

“Geno? Are you okay? Physically,” Sid asks, which is good, because Zhenya doesn’t think he can put into words how he’s feeling emotionally. He imagines saying, The person I’ve loved for ten years finally took me to bed last night, but it turns out he didn’t want to, and now I can read his mind. No, thank you. “Feel fine,” Zhenya answers. “Even head feel fine.” And suddenly he realizes how fucking odd that is: he was concussed, and the room is brightly lit – he should be hiding under a blanket right now. He narrows his eyes and asks, “Sid, why head feel fine? What happen to concussion?” Sid takes a halting step closer to the bed and says, “Our bond, it’s—it’s a healing bond.” “Holy mother of God,” Zhenya breathes. So. They’re definitely not breaking the bond, then.

Sid’s gotten pretty used to total strangers asking him what he’s trying to prove, or telling him he wasn’t raised right, and they always expect it to bother him. He doesn’t tell them he hears much, much worse on the ice. When shit gets even worse than usual—when a ref calls him a brat when he’s arguing a call, when another team’s goon tries to put him on his knees five times a game—he sits on the bench and presses down on his chest protector, feeling the shape of the captain’s ring on its chain around his neck, until he doesn’t feel like throwing up anymore. Sid’s never had a dom, not even for a night, but he has his team, and that’s enough. That’s more than enough.

Evgeni Malkin is thirteen when he soul bonds.

Zhenya checks everything one last time: the artificial slick goes in the pocket of his jeans, and yes, the bottle of wine for Sid’s collection is nestled in a wood box in the back seat. He’d actually gone out and bought cream cheese to make a cheesecake on autopilot before he’d remembered – food is an alpha’s courting-gift, not an omega's. He'd thrown the cream cheese out, and bought the wine the next day.

The one where Sidney gets left at the altar and takes Geno with him on his would-be honeymoon.

Zhenya is re-looping the hair elastic around Alina's braid when he becomes aware there’s someone standing in the doorway. He glances up, and his hands freeze in place. Sidney fucking Crosby is standing there, looking hesitant, with a half-empty water bottle dangling from one hand.

Magnitogorsk doesn’t hold much for him. He stares down the barrel of his future there: toiling away at a factory job, living and dying streets away from where he was born. He rubs the water-smoothed stone in his pocket, and thinks of the thunder of the waves. He knows that staying here will kill some essential part of himself. And so, he leaves. For PatriciaKoiFish, I hope very much that you like it :)

Jonny's not expecting his heat to come on so suddenly. And he's definitely not expecting to be in a broken elevator when it does.

Kissing and dentata.

"No," Beau says sternly. "Geno, I am not wearing that." "Boss's order!" Geno says gleefully. "Is Paul Martin jersey. Ginger d-man, very handsome. You like!" Beau takes the jersey and pulls it over his head reluctantly. He very much regrets accidentally telling Geno that he has a serious weakness for muscular redheads.

The problem is not that Zhenya's wolf knows what she wants. The problem is who she wants. (If he can't look Sidney Crosby in the eye without blushing it's going to be a very long season.)

Sid's hair is a thing. It's her thing, and she's always a girl even when she's a hockey player.

Sidney always dreamed of having a family someday. He just never expected it to happen when he wasn't even looking.

Sid is asleep when Geno comes crashing into the bedroom. Sid had been sleeping the sleep of the post-hockey season depressed, so it takes a few minutes for him to realize Geno is speaking and seems to think Sid is listening. “Wait, what?” Sid says. He pushes himself up onto his elbows and squints at Geno. “What?” “I marry you, I become American, yeah?” Geno asks, waving his hands in the air. Sid’s arms give in and he flops back to the bed, getting a mouth full of pillow. Sid has no idea what Geno’s talking about. They have a marriage plan, but it’s definitely not a right-now plan, it’s a years-down-the-road plan. He turns over and frowns up at Geno. “I’m Canadian.” (a response to the recent 'outlawing gay' nonsense in St. Petersburg).

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 blankets had pooled around Geno’s waist where he had propped himself up to look at Sid. His pale chest and the remnants of his marks from many months ago were visible under the warm glow of the lamp. They had mostly faded, but Sid could have sworn he was still able to make out the faint outline of rings--some the size of dinner plates--clinging possessively to Geno’s skin.