HELLO???? (Petey’s Ig Story 5.25.2020)

5-19-24 - SUI vs CAN

Damon & Nico ❤️

eller and his sexy neck guard blue jackets @ pens | 03.28.24

for the rarepair challenge: pat maroon/jeremy swayman + biting?

rarepair challenge // accepting

bite down (till you hit something)

672 words, M for suggestive themes.

Pat thinks he’s going insane. 

No… no, he knows he’s going insane. 

Like most hockey players, he’s got a bit of an oral fixation. His is relatively manageable, the mouthguard is enough to satisfy him, but he does sometimes just like to bite things. It’s probably related to his guard dog status, but whatever. He’s not hurting anyone. 

But when he joined the Bruins, and watched Jeremy stick his tongue out to drag his jersey up into his mouth, to bite it and lift it- god. God damn. The first time he saw it up close, he had to stop himself from saying ‘fuck’ out loud. It was hot, Jeremy’s tongue was flexible. 

But the later in the season they go, the more Jeremy’s routine gets to Pat. There have been teammates with routines that made Pat do a double take before sure- stretching and working a muscle set that looked… suggestive at best. He’s glanced, then kept his thoughts to himself. 

But holy fuck. 

The tongue… and the bite. The bite. 

It’s a random one that breaks the camel’s back. Pat keeps his thoughts to himself for the game, for the post-game media, the team getting undressed and redressed. But when most people have cleared out, Pat- he needs. 

“Sway,” He calls out. Jeremy’s head swivels, and when he sees who’s calling him, he smiles up at Pat. “Hey, bud, what’s up?”

“Why- why do you do that during warmups?”

“What, the twitches? It’s a goalie warmup-”

“No, not that- the, the tongue, and the jersey bite.”

Jeremy blinks, blinks again. “Oh. Uh, I don’t know, I just-”

“You know what you look like, doing that, yeah?” 

Jeremy blushes a little, light pink dusting his cheekbones, but he smirks. “I don’t do it because of that, but yeah, I know.”

Pat steps closer, and Jeremy looks up again, eyes wide. 

“You look like- fuck, Sway, you really do look like a dog when you bite your jersey like that.” Pat croaks, stepping closer again. Jeremy’s brow furrows and he glances around at Pat’s face. After a moment, the confusion clears. 

“They call me bulldog for a reason.” 

Pat huffs, and his eyes drop from Jeremy’s face to his neck. His teeth ache. He licks his lips, and Jeremy watches, suddenly transfixed. They’re close now, chest to chest with Jeremy’s back resting on the wall. Pat makes a low sound in his chest, something like a rumble, and Jeremy answers with a whimper. Pat leans down, and Jeremy leans up, expecting a kiss, but is disappointed when Pat just nuzzles his cheek. He rubs his hairy cheek against Jeremy’s, and brings a hand up to cup the back of Jeremy’s head and neck. 

He leans further down still, and pauses right before sinking his teeth into the soft, pale skin of the front of Jeremy’s neck.

Jeremy gasps wetly, legs going weak, and his head goes limp against Pat’s hand. Pat rumbles again, digging his teeth in a little more, and Jeremy keens. Pat can feel the sound under his mouth, in his teeth, and he presses Jeremy back into the wall. 

Pat wants- god, he wants. He wants to dig in, rip and tear and relish in the squeals and moans he knows will come from the throat he’s ravaging. He wants to let go and rub his face all over Jeremy’s neck- leave him covered in beard burn that he’ll feel for days afterwards. He wants to lick over all the beautiful pale skin he can see. 

He wants it all. But for now, he’ll settle for biting a massive bruise into the skin, stake his claim on the pretty goalie. He works his teeth in a little more, feels Jeremy whimper again, and finally lets go. He leans up and has to hold Jeremy up before he falls. The poor goalie is dazed, eyes distant and dark and hazy, chest heaving with each breath. 

“Bulldog, eh?” Pat asks. He watches Jeremy’s throat bob around a swallow. His teeth ache.

hi. i wrote duhaime puppy play fic. since he’s barking in public and getting called doggy.

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁'𝘀 𝗼𝘂𝘁 ; 𝘵𝘻11 ୨୧

➪ summary: pictures and text messages of her and her brother's best friend leak and she stays curled up in her room, not talking to anyone. so mason calls up her best friend and soon enough, trevor is on a plane to england

➪ warnings: things being leaked, crying, reader thinks her brothers hate her, crappy friends

➪ word count: 1.3k

➪ file type: fic - reupload

➪ sunny's notes: red, white, and royal blue is 100% the inspiration to this fic and yes i did basically copy the phone call and speech but its just too cute to ignore. i literally am in love with this movie. part two will be out tomorrow i hope! this would’ve been out earlier but i took a nap (shocking i know)

© sunflower-lilac42 ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

part two || tz11 masterlist || nhl masterlist || new taglist || navigation

Nothing was how it should be. They were supposed to be careful, they were careful. They were only seen together when it would make sense for them to be together; when he was in town for a game, when he was supposed to be hanging out with her brothers, or when he had a game against the Devils or the Canucks. And when they were seen together, they made sure everything was strictly platonic: no hand touches, stolen glances, nothing.

However, maybe they should’ve accounted for the fact that one, her friends were journalists, and two, her friends weren’t really her friends in the first place. They had a few classes together in college, back when she was still undecided, but despite that? They only found her interesting because of her last name and who shared it.

Somehow she was too predictable, her password was as basic as it got. It was the day Trevor asked her to be his girlfriend, they’re anniversary. It was the best day of both of their lives but now it was the root of all their problems. It wasn’t the biggest scandal on the dance floor, there were things much worse going on in the NHL and the world in general. No one would care about this besides the Zegras and the Hughes families and the girls who were too obsessed with hockey players and their relationships for their own good.

She was studying abroad in England this past year and she couldn’t help but fall in love with it. She had decided to extend her stay into the fall semester, not wanting to go back home. This sort of worked in her favor, she was 3,444 miles from Jack and Luke and 4,632 miles from Quinn. She was in a different time zone, country, and continent than them. All she had to do to avoid them was not answer her phone. 

She was good at that, blocking out social media and her phone as a whole. Growing up the sister of hockey players and her mom being who she was in the hockey world, she got used to the hate and backlash she got from not wanting to do hockey. Her phone was shut off and thrown into her desk drawer. Her friends tried to comfort her but were to no avail, she was too worried about what other people thought about it.

Not only had pictures of them been put out into the world but their text messages as well. However, she couldn’t remember a time she left her phone unattended. She hadn’t spoken to Trevor in two weeks, she hadn’t spoken to anybody besides her roommates in two weeks. She had seen a couple of articles and videos that were spreading, the one of Trevor’s interviews where he was addressing the situation was not only the biggest one but the most recent one. 

It was before the game, that the reporter had asked him about how everything in the media that was speculating had impacted him and his play. To which he responded with, “Y/n and I are together and have been since the beginning of the season. And whether people choose to support or hate it, isn’t my problem nor my business. We’re happy and hope everyone can support that decision and respect our privacy. I fell in love with a girl who happens to be related to my best friend. How is this affecting my mindset? I wouldn’t say it has, I’m still playling, and Greg still thinks I’m playing as best as I can and even better. I’m worried about her, that’s for sure. She hasn’t had the best track record with the media.”

He said a few more words, none of which mattered to y/n. She wasn’t sure if she cried more because of what he said or the situation. She curled up on the chair in the corner of the room, reading a book. Her friends looked at her sadly, they hated the fact that she had gone back to her reserved nature. 

Trevor on the other hand was acting like it wasn’t bothering him, he couldn’t hide himself from the media or anything really like she could. But, it was eating him alive. He didn’t know if she was okay or if something had happened or if she was ignoring him.  He was too desperate to know if he was okay so he attempted to reach out to all three of her brothers but he got nothing back in return.

It wasn’t until Mason walked into his room with his phone in hand, “I called her friend for you.”

Trevor looked at him with wide eyes, “What?”

“Thank me later.”

Her friend had been walking up the stairs to their apartment when she got the call from Mason, they had met when y/n and Trevor took them along on a trip to ensure that no rumors would start. She had practically run the rest of the way and bolted into the apartment. She walked over to y/n and handed her the phone.

She reached out for it and held it up to her ear, “Hello?”

“Baby!” 

Her voice stuck in her throat along with the sob that had been forming for a while. “Trevor? Oh my god, are you alright?”

“I’m hanging in there. Are you okay?”

She paused, “No. No, I’m not okay.”

“You know what, I’m coming to London tonight. Just hold on until I get there.”

“Hurry please.”

And just as he promised, 8 hours later he was standing in her apartment, opening his arms for her. She ran into them once she heard him call out and buried her head into his chest. Trevor sunk to the floor with her, his back pressed up against the wall, “It’s okay. I’m here. I got you.”

He could feel her body racked with sobs and he couldn’t help but start crying himself. He had torn himself apart these past two weeks as he waited to hear from her and knowing how much she had been in pain had hurt him. He picked her up soon after and carried her to the bedroom, laying her down on the bed. He crawled in next to her and wrapped his arms around her once more.

“Have you heard from your brothers yet?”

“Not a word. Not that I have checked my phone since the article came out.”

He frowned at her, tightening his hold, “Sometimes I wonder if part of their acceptance is just to forget it ever happened in the first place.”

This made him laugh a little as he pulled back to look at her. He moved the piece of hair that had fallen in her face behind her ear. His face changed when he realized that her small smile had turned back into a frown, “I feel so lost. They used to adore me, used to protect me, but now. It feels like they just wish I never existed.”

“Hey, they still love you.” She just blinked at him, “I’m sure if you looked at your phone they would just be wondering if you were okay.”

“I liked your speech, it was very put together.”

He smiled at her, “It made me very proud to be your girlfriend.”

“Hey, I’m always proud to be your boyfriend.”

She giggled and kissed his cheek, “You know what I mean you dork.”

“Speaking of boyfriends and girlfriends. Did you know Mason and Lia were dating?”

She perked up, “No! When did that happen?”

“Apparently-”

“Hey.”

The two turned and looked at Lia, “What’s up?”

“Your brothers are here.”

𝗠𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗲𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗧𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ୨୧

please message me if you didn't get tagged!

@toasttt11 @chiblackhawks @pucks-goals-penalties @dancerbailey3 @quinnylouhughesx43

© sunflower-lilac42 ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

forcefem cody ceci who's with me

Quiet

HRPF | Erik Karlsson/Kris Letang | 1.3K | Rating: G | Complete

Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, post loss fic for the soul

Summary: Erik comes home to a sleepy, sick Kris after the Pens' OT loss to the Lightning (and Erik's very large bff, Hedman)

Read on Ao3. Summary under the cut :)

Erik tries to make as little noise as possible as he maneuvers through the dark front hall, the wallpaper peacocks invisible now, just blurs lost in all the other grey. Lucky, Erik knows his way half-blind now, from all the other nights like this one, trudging home in miserable, tired silence. There’ve been too many nights like this one.

Sometimes the air is tight with tension, too. Those nights are better, for the way Kris will press Erik hard into the wall, the pictures rattling in their frames as he bites at Erik’s neck, Kris’s hot hands, so quick and clever usually, gone rough and bruising with not-so-buried fury.

There are no hands tonight, though, no choked-off grunts to break the quiet. Only stillness and smudgy dark lit only by the deck light, muzzy and dim through the pulled curtains, just enough for Erik to make his way up the stairs without tripping.

No other footsteps follow his, avoiding the creaking fifth step. No warmth of a body close in space. No deep, disappointed sighs to mirror his own.

Erik finds himself hurrying as he gets to the top of the stairs, overcome suddenly, the dark quiet now somehow worse than everything else tonight—the hush of the arena after the last goal sounded, the harsh bang of thrown gear in the locker room, the familiar low sound of Geno’s voice drifting over from his post-game, atoning for all their sins like usual. All of it burns and grates and sinks in Erik, always, and each game this season a little more.

But none of it compares to this, now, this dark, this silence, the space behind Erik—empty, like it hardly ever is.

The bedroom door doesn’t squeak anymore, not since Erik got out the WD-40 over the summer. He thinks of that day every time he enters their room—Kris’s dark eyes, his big hands, his beautiful, grateful mouth. His laugh when Erik offered to fix anything, everything, for the rest of their lives, if it got him a thank you like that.

There’s no reason for thank you’s tonight. Even if they’d won, Erik wouldn’t have expected one, not with how miserable Kris was when he left, with his stuffed-up nose and red, bleary eyes, and his poor, shot voice, saying, win for me or don’t come home.

Erik feels a pang at the joke now. He knows there’s some truth in it, knows how hard these losses weight on Kris. Hell, Erik knows he’s to blame, at least partly, for a good portion of them. They’ve all been playing like shit, but Erik more than others, some games, and it’s—it’s hard, to face Kris then. To lie in bed beside him, both of them tired with nothing to say to each other. Erik feels the apologies heaviest then, clawing at his throat, desperate to escape into the air—I’m sorry. I’m sorry.  

Read the rest on Ao3 :)

Hey I *clears throat nervously*

Wrote a thing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63479356

for the rarepair challenge: pat maroon/jeremy swayman + biting?

rarepair challenge // accepting

bite down (till you hit something)

672 words, M for suggestive themes.

Pat thinks he’s going insane. 

No… no, he knows he’s going insane. 

Like most hockey players, he’s got a bit of an oral fixation. His is relatively manageable, the mouthguard is enough to satisfy him, but he does sometimes just like to bite things. It’s probably related to his guard dog status, but whatever. He’s not hurting anyone. 

But when he joined the Bruins, and watched Jeremy stick his tongue out to drag his jersey up into his mouth, to bite it and lift it- god. God damn. The first time he saw it up close, he had to stop himself from saying ‘fuck’ out loud. It was hot, Jeremy’s tongue was flexible. 

But the later in the season they go, the more Jeremy’s routine gets to Pat. There have been teammates with routines that made Pat do a double take before sure- stretching and working a muscle set that looked… suggestive at best. He’s glanced, then kept his thoughts to himself. 

But holy fuck. 

The tongue… and the bite. The bite. 

It’s a random one that breaks the camel’s back. Pat keeps his thoughts to himself for the game, for the post-game media, the team getting undressed and redressed. But when most people have cleared out, Pat- he needs. 

“Sway,” He calls out. Jeremy’s head swivels, and when he sees who’s calling him, he smiles up at Pat. “Hey, bud, what’s up?”

“Why- why do you do that during warmups?”

“What, the twitches? It’s a goalie warmup-”

“No, not that- the, the tongue, and the jersey bite.”

Jeremy blinks, blinks again. “Oh. Uh, I don’t know, I just-”

“You know what you look like, doing that, yeah?” 

Jeremy blushes a little, light pink dusting his cheekbones, but he smirks. “I don’t do it because of that, but yeah, I know.”

Pat steps closer, and Jeremy looks up again, eyes wide. 

“You look like- fuck, Sway, you really do look like a dog when you bite your jersey like that.” Pat croaks, stepping closer again. Jeremy’s brow furrows and he glances around at Pat’s face. After a moment, the confusion clears. 

“They call me bulldog for a reason.” 

Pat huffs, and his eyes drop from Jeremy’s face to his neck. His teeth ache. He licks his lips, and Jeremy watches, suddenly transfixed. They’re close now, chest to chest with Jeremy’s back resting on the wall. Pat makes a low sound in his chest, something like a rumble, and Jeremy answers with a whimper. Pat leans down, and Jeremy leans up, expecting a kiss, but is disappointed when Pat just nuzzles his cheek. He rubs his hairy cheek against Jeremy’s, and brings a hand up to cup the back of Jeremy’s head and neck. 

He leans further down still, and pauses right before sinking his teeth into the soft, pale skin of the front of Jeremy’s neck.

Jeremy gasps wetly, legs going weak, and his head goes limp against Pat’s hand. Pat rumbles again, digging his teeth in a little more, and Jeremy keens. Pat can feel the sound under his mouth, in his teeth, and he presses Jeremy back into the wall. 

Pat wants- god, he wants. He wants to dig in, rip and tear and relish in the squeals and moans he knows will come from the throat he’s ravaging. He wants to let go and rub his face all over Jeremy’s neck- leave him covered in beard burn that he’ll feel for days afterwards. He wants to lick over all the beautiful pale skin he can see. 

He wants it all. But for now, he’ll settle for biting a massive bruise into the skin, stake his claim on the pretty goalie. He works his teeth in a little more, feels Jeremy whimper again, and finally lets go. He leans up and has to hold Jeremy up before he falls. The poor goalie is dazed, eyes distant and dark and hazy, chest heaving with each breath. 

“Bulldog, eh?” Pat asks. He watches Jeremy’s throat bob around a swallow. His teeth ache.