Kaner apparently starred in a porno at some point in his life. Jonny becomes very, very invested in watching it. Repeatedly.

Contrary to popular belief, weres don't actually need alphas. Patrick never had one, since he's the only person in his family with the gene, and his parents didn't push him into finding one. Alphas make their betas better; they keep them calm and level, they support them, they guide them. Without an alpha, betas are perfectly fine. They're just better with one.

Kaner comes into his veela heritage on his 24th birthday. Shenanigans and surprise feelings ensue.

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.

In this rewriting of history, Sid gets an experimental treatment for his concussion that has some rather unusual side effects. Geno helps him out. There are complications.

Tyler thought things would be different in Dallas. He just had no idea how different it could be.

“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.

Jonny doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to be doing this, but there’s a contract, there are rules, and he’s got as little of a choice as Patrick does.

“Sid, need you to pay attention to me,” Alex says firmly. “You have bond crisis. You sick, Sid. Very sick. Need somebody to touch you to stop you being sick.” “I didn’t know you could get sick from being lonely,” Crosby mumbles. Zhenya makes a noise that sounds like he’s been punched. “I guess it makes sense, though.”

Sid growls. He can’t help it. It’s wrong. Malkin is whimpering and crying and struggling against his restraints. His scent is all fear and chemicals and something deeper, something dark and oppressing. Sid thinks it’s anger but it’s too bitter to try and get a proper read on.

Beau has a good feeling about this season.

“You’re an investment,” Pat had told Sid over and over. “You’re a talent, and we’re not letting the league freeze you out for this.” The NHL demands omegas be bonded to play. Sid, unwilling to lose hockey, agrees to enter into a bond with the Penguins' draft prospect Evgeni Malkin. It does not go as they planned.

Andre walks in on something he couldn't have imagined in his wildest dreams.

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.

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

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.

There’s an honor system to it: don’t pick too far below your weight class unless you’ve got an excuse, or too far above unless you’re trying to make a statement; if you’re going to pass or whine about it too much, be prepared to pay for it next time; if you’re going to be a dick, the guy you’re picking better deserve it.

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

Nolan shouldn’t be excited. He really shouldn’t. Most guys who have been in the league for a while don’t treat it like a big deal. It sucks, sometimes, depending on the team you get sent to and whoever got first star for them, but Nolan’s already been told that the Stars are pretty decent. Still, nobody ever seems to look forward to being chosen, but that hadn’t stopped a thrill of excitement from zipping up Nolan’s spine when the Stars team rep had called his name.

"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.

"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.

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.

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.

He feels something touch his foot, his ankle, but when he looks down nothing is there. It’s tadpole season, and in the shallows, around the reeds, they skitter about beneath the surface.

After scoring his first game winner, Tyler takes care of all the Bruins, and by take care we mean blow jobs. Afterwards, Marchy takes care of him and his poor come-swollen belly.

The NHL draft entry class of 2006 are the new best and brightest, and they have to do what the best and brightest have always done: go to an isolated swamp in the Canadian wilderness, let the hockey gods have their way with them, and incubate the next generation of gods in their bellies.

As part of the CBA all players who sign a ELC are required to grow tentacles. Nate's not really that sure why, and mostly he just wishes the damn things would behave. Although he does kind of like the ways they misbehave. He doesn't get why Jo has to make such a big deal out of it. (It's basically just tentacle porn)

Every player must spend a little time offering their body to the will of the gods.

"I just wanna see it," Noah says.

Dylan is his brother. Ryan loves him, and it’s ordinary. One slip doesn’t mean anything. The complicated dreams he’s had since the trip are rare. He has it under control.

Sean’s thought about it before. Lance - or anyone, really - just pushing him down and taking. How he’d just let it happen. How he’d want to just let it happen. But he shouldn’t, and he can’t ask, and so instead he thinks about someone easing his shorts down over his ass and pushing two slippery, anonymous fingers inside him while he sleeps.

Sid draws the short straw after the loss.

Connor knows what happens during the offseason.

He’d been trying for ages not to go down this route, to ignore his instincts telling him this one, this one is perfect

Carter Hart and Cale Makar end up on The Seattle Kraken. The Demon that controls the Kraken wants a body to possess and it's not the only thing it wants.