Hockey Trumps Hate

Willmack for @hockeytrumpshate fest!

Domestic Fluff, Slice of Life, Color blindness, Miscommunication

2.8K Words

Macklin Celebrini/Will Smith M 12k Rule 63, Alternate Universe - PWHL

Will was so pretty that Mack wanted to die.

Dada would say she was being overdramatic.

Okay. Will was so pretty that Mack wanted to strap herself onto a rocket and launch herself directly at the surface of the sun, or run the Grouse Grind five times in a row or until she threw up, whichever happened first, or pick up this two star hotel room pillow and scream directly into its allergen free fake feathers. Better?

Read it on AO3.

Hung Up TK/NP. Explicit. 70k. Journeymen.

For as long as Nolan’s playing, this is just the way it needs to be. All about hockey, all about his team and his career and doing the right things to make the most of the chance he’s been given here.

The chance he spent two long years thinking was never going to come, and that he’s grateful for every single day of his life.

It means keeping his head down, and remembering he’s here for one reason and one reason only.

And that reason’s got nothing to do with his dick, and where it might try to lead him, if he’s stupid enough to let it—and it’s a moot point, anyway.

Because TK is obviously fucking—straight as an arrow, not interested in anything even close to, like.

Whatever Nolan’s body thinks is going on, whenever TK looks up at him from under the wide brim of his beat-up cowboy hat, with those shiny eyes and that crooked grin, cigarette hanging off his lip.

Thanks to @anonymouspinkturtle for the beautiful art, and to @linskywords and @sofrancescasocleanclean, my esteemed patronesses, for participating in @hockeytrumpshate and giving me a good excuse to keep on expanding the Journeymen universe.

Wyatt Johnston/Thomas Harley 3.1k | Explicit | Chapter 1/3

When Tom wakes up in the past, he's forced to re-learn how to navigate his relationship with Wyatt. They try to break his curse by any means necessary while Tom is on IR, but the line between business and pleasure quickly grows blurry. Eventually, Tom is forced to confront what he really wants out of their relationship, and just how far he's willing to go to make that happen.

Or: my take on the running "old man Thomas Harley" bit, written for 2025's @hockeytrumpshate event on @teex's behalf. Thanks to everyone involved for making this happen; I'm really excited to get this one finalized and posted!

Pairing: Claude Giroux/Tim Stützle Rating: Explicit Word Count: 11,186 Additional Tags: Past Brady Tkachuk/Tim Stützle, Past Danny Briere/Claude Giroux, Homophobia, Hand Jobs, 2025-2026 NHL Season, Age Difference, Getting Together Summary:

When Claude passes him in between drills, he taps his stick against Tim’s calves. “Good job,” he says, “looks like you found your winger.” Tim’s face does something complicated while Claude skates away, but he decides to wait until after practice to figure out exactly why his chest warms but his stomach drops. He can sit alone at his kitchen island with his meticulously crafted lunch and overanalyze what Claude said and the way he said it.

Okay I MEANT to have a graphic for the 'verse and maybe I will! Someday!!

But in the meantime please enjoy the first chapter of the Connor Bedard/Spencer Knight D/s fic I'm writing for @dixie12 as part of @hockeytrumpshate 2025:

The man held out a hand featuring a pair of crossed anchors between the thumb and forefinger and what looked like a set of letters across the knuckles. “Travis Konecny.” He grinned up at Nolan, eyes—dark, color impossible to make out in the low light—twinkling. “But I guess my reputation precedes me, if you knew to ask for me by name.”

“Patrick,” Nolan muttered, wiping his palm on his trouser-leg before reaching for Konecny’s. He cleared his throat and snatched his hand back as soon as Konecny’s grip loosened. “Nolan Patrick.”

“Well, what can I do for you, Nolan Patrick.”

Ignoring any bodily reaction he might have had to the sound of his name from Konecny’s mouth, he reminded himself of the task at hand. “Hear you’re the man to see about a spot on the Flyer.”

—

a fem!willy drawing i created for @hockeytrumpshate for @kingcameacallin !!!

The man held out a hand featuring a pair of crossed anchors between the thumb and forefinger and what looked like a set of letters across the knuckles. “Travis Konecny.” He grinned up at Nolan, eyes—dark, color impossible to make out in the low light—twinkling. “But I guess my reputation precedes me, if you knew to ask for me by name.”

“Patrick,” Nolan muttered, wiping his palm on his trouser-leg before reaching for Konecny’s. He cleared his throat and snatched his hand back as soon as Konecny’s grip loosened. “Nolan Patrick.”

“Well, what can I do for you, Nolan Patrick.”

Ignoring any bodily reaction he might have had to the sound of his name from Konecny’s mouth, he reminded himself of the task at hand. “Hear you’re the man to see about a spot on the Flyer.”

—