A writer from Alex's past outs him in an essay. What's a guy to do but marry his former best friend?

“Think the storm did it,” Sasha tells the kids over lunch the next day. Andre got last place in their morning skate shootout contest, so he’s paying. “Did what?” Willy says through a mouthful of sushi. Sasha points at him with his chopsticks. “Your powers,” he says. “Snowzilla comes, suddenly everyone’s mutants? Something happened there, no other explanation.” Latts strokes his chin. “Didn’t the Flash get struck by lightning or something? It’s not totally crazy.”

“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.

A wolfborn on an airplane was either unbearably reckless or a hockey player. Most of the time, both.

“So,” the first reporter asks, pushing forward in the scrum, “did you know about Alex Ovechkin?”

Alex loves his kids, he really does, but he also might kill them. That is, if they don't put him in a goddamn early grave first. (Cop bribing, theft of public property, and how to photoshoot your dick properly in order to seduce a teammate: all part of a captain's responsibilities to his rookies.)

This is an AU about a dick piercing.

In which alternate universe Boston had 4th pick and Washington had 5th pick in the 2006 draft, and in which alternate universe the NHL is kind enough make accommodations for players’ personal circumstances. For instance, to allow Washington to pick Alex Ovechkin’s absolutely true, definitely not fake, 100% not-made-up fiancé to come play for the Caps. “You what,” Alex says. “Alex Ovechkin’s who?” —and its aftermath, through the years.

“You can’t be picked if you’re married," Nicky says, like it's obvious. “I’m not married,” Alex replies. “You’re marrying me,” Nicky says, his jaw set. “You haven’t proposed."

It’s a game. It’s a game to see how loud he can be and not have anyone but Nicky hear him, a game to see what he can do without anyone but Nicky noticing.

Sid is almost 18 when he moves to Pittsburgh for a job--and the gay scene.

It’s going to be a big deal, his mother had told him, and Nicklas had listened. His mom’s not an idiot. It’s going to be a big deal, she’d promised, if and when you find them. It’s going to be more than you thought it would, and if and when you know it, you’ll know it for sure.

Hockey is hockey, and politics is politics. There are kings of the game, and there are kings in their crowns and robes, and there isn't usually much in the way of overlap. Things change every day, though, depending on how you look at them. -- In which there is a small tragedy, a great success, and a lot to learn about someone Sasha thought he knew awfully well.

Either way, there was someone or something to blame for the fact that Jack ended up sending Connor Fucking McDavid a dick pic. Perhaps it was the universe as a whole.

im gonna puke, he texts Zach, keeping an eye on the entrance to the kitchen. does he not wanna fuck you, Zach replies immediately, followed by, have you seen his dick yet

“So you’re boyfriends?” Connor and Dylan exchange a glance, and then Dylan says, “That’s not quite the word I’d use.” (Or: 5 times Dylan and Connor technically told the truth about their relationship.)

It’s not - it’s not a thing. Really. Not a thing-thing, at the very least. He doesn't think it can be a thing if you only think about it and don't act on it, excepting that one time when Connor was straight up nailing him to the bed. He reasons that it certainly can't be a thing-thing if you've never even talked about it with your not-boyfriend. Dylan resolves to figure his shit out and have less hyphens involved in his life. (or: Connor McDaddy)

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

Jack Eichel has 99 problems and Connor McDavid is... well. More of them than he thinks. In which Jack hates Connor McDavid, who he's never met, quietly pines after the cute girl he always sees in the gym, and has no idea that these two things are related.

In its early stages, this project appears to be achieving the initial goals, and has greatly expanded the availability of samples for study across a broad range of disciplines. Inspired by metamorphosis by ionthesparrow.

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

Jack has already secured Dylan to the bed when Connor walks in. Jack slipped him an extra key card after practice. It’s the perfect entrance.

“It feels really good,” Leddy says, almost sheepish. They’re all eating lunch at Nick’s house after training, and Leddy still keeps looking around like someone could overhear. “It's a fucking trip, like - tentacle, eggs, but. It's good. I don't know.”

All Leon wanted were some easy recipes, and instead he got this guy, this – Matthew Tkachuk, alias tkachukycheese, YouTube channel owner by bi-weekly afternoon and dietician who works a lot with school classes by normal profession. Matthew holds up a potato peel broken in two pieces. “And just remember, if it doesn’t work out perfectly, that’s fine. It’s all about practice and trying and enjoying the process. Perfection isn’t a prerequisite for being liked. Just look at the Oilers."

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.

Dylan’s breathing too hard when Zach picks up. He says, “Hey, I miss you.” “Not for sex reasons, obviously,” Zach says. “What is going on there?”

Nicklas drapes his towel over his shoulder. “Looking for a ride?” “It’s nap time,” Alex says with a shrug. “So we should nap.”

“I didn’t even have my dick out, what’re you freaking about,” Tom says, which is probably not the best way to ease his roommate into his sexual proclivities.

Matt finds Mitch doing what every young omega does when he goes into heat after forgetting to take his suppressant—taking a cold shower.

They meet at the rink when the team starts gathering for training camp, and Taylor quickly learns two things. One, that Nico is absolutely as nice as he seems on TV and via text. The second is that Nico is an alpha.

Connor knew that some people started dating before they got their soul marks at twenty-four. He just never expected those people to be anyone he knew.

Jack has tried deflection, dismissal, and flat-out denial, but nothing seems to be able to dissuade the media from the McDavid-Eichel rivalry narrative, which is why he agrees when Connor suggests trying a new tactic: pretending to be friends.

He wouldn’t know how to explain in any way that would make sense. Sometimes a monster fucks me in my dreams, and it leaves bruises. Sometimes I think I like it too much. That would definitely go over well.

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.

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

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.

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.”