Welcome to the 2026 Sidney Crosby/Nathan MacKinnon Prompt Exchange!
This year, due to popular demand, we’re going to be hosting the exchange in a prompt challenge format! That means that instead of the previous Secret-Santa-type gift exchange format, creators can choose the prompts they wish to create a work for freely from the pool of submitted prompts.
Come join the fun and sign up here!
SCHEDULE:
Sign Ups Open: June 5th (TODAY!)
Sign Ups Close: June 28th
Prompt Claim Deadline: July 5th
Pinch Hit Window: July 5th-September 26th
Works Due: September 26th
Collection Goes Live: October 3rd
Author Reveals: October 10th
Want more information? Check out the RULES and FAQ on our AO3 profile here!
oooh i got almost kiss + blood/injury. pairing mackleno?
Ryan’s face throbs. He had to get a couple of stitches on the inside of his lip late in the second period, but the adrenaline had carried him through the rest of the game. He’d barely even felt it at the time.
Half his mouth has swollen since then and he can’t stop tonguing at the gash, tasting copper between the stitches.
He’s feeling it now.
At least he didn’t lose any teeth. And the Caps had scored what turned out to be the game winning goal on the resulting four minute high sticking penalty he’d drawn. Ryan would have rather scored it himself, but he’d been busy getting his leaking lip sewn shut. Anyway, he’d been back out there for the third period. Will had looked resigned about it, but Celebrini had cracked his stick in half against the Sharks’ net when Stromer scored the empty netter, icing the game.
Ryan loves winning, but he really, really hates losing. There’s a difference. Will loves to win too. But losing doesn’t get to him the way it gets to Ryan. The way it gets to Mack.
That’s why he’s not sure if Mack’s going to show.
He’d messaged Ryan hours before the game.
if you wanna say hi quick after the game ill come find you outside the visitors locker room
That was before Ryan’s team had beaten his. But after Ryan had gone to dinner with Will last night, some uptight place in Los Gatos that had been a pain to Uber to. Mack hadn’t come. Ryan wasn’t sure if it was because Will hadn’t invited him or what exactly the deal was there, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ask.
He dutifully waits in the hallway anyway, mindlessly scrolling Instagram reels on his phone with the volume turned down low so he can listen for approaching footsteps. If anyone catches him here, it’s not really – like, he’s allowed to stand here. He just doesn’t have a good reason for it.
And he feels fucking stupid the longer Mack keeps him waiting.
He’s about to give up and retreat back to the visitor’s locker room when the shuffling sound of slides on concrete echoes down the hallway. Ryan slides his phone into his pocket. About fucking time.
“Dude, why are you standing out here?” Mack says the second he’s within earshot.
“Uh, because you told me to meet you here?”
Mack rolls his eyes. “I meant—” Grabbing Ryan’s wrist, he drags him down an adjacent hallway. They’re tucked away from the main concourse here, which makes sense, yeah, but—
“If I had been standing here, you wouldn’t have seen me,” Ryan points out.
“And neither would anyone else. Unless you don’t care if your teammates know you’re meeting up with me?” There’s a challenge in Mack’s voice that makes a little thrill run through him.
Ryan licks his lips. Then winces. God, his mouth fucking hurts.
He doesn’t have time to chase the thrill, the challenge, the implication of Mack’s words before Mack is crowding in on him, his eyes fixed on Ryan’s fat lip. “Jesus,” he says. “That hurt?”
“What do you think?”
Mack carefully inspects the damage. Ryan holds himself very, very still when Mack traces a fingertip carefully over the swelling. Then he hooks his fingers around Ryan’s lip, tugging at it to see inside his mouth.
“Wha'th’fuck?” Ryan mumbles, his bottom lip caught in Mack’s grip.
Mack ignores him, busy examining his stitches. It stings, the way Mack’s pulling on his lip, even though he’s clearly trying to be gentle about it. His gaze is so focused. Ryan honestly thinks Mack’s going to stick his fingers in his mouth, feel his stitches for himself. He tries to keep his tongue out of the way so Mack can see. Swallows the spit pooling in his mouth before it spills over and he drools all over Mack's fingers.
Mack finally lets his lip go, carefully petting over the swollen curve of it as it settles back into place. Ryan can’t help swiping his tongue over his stitches again, then over the spot Mack’s fingertips just were.
He can’t taste anything but blood.
Woozily, Ryan says, “Don’t tell me it was a bullshit penalty either. You fucking see the damage.”
“You put your face in the way of Dickie’s stick, of fucking course you’re gonna get hit with it.”
Unbelievable. “Yeah, sure, next time I’ll just let him beat me to the puck. Save myself some stitches.”
Mack suddenly grins at him. “No, you won’t. You’d never. You want it too bad.” He sounds – approving? Proud?
“You’re right,” Ryan says. His lip throbs in time with his heartbeat. It’s a dizzying feeling. “I’d never let you beat me.”
Nodding, Mack agrees, “You’d make me earn it.”
Ryan’s not sure if they’re still talking about hockey. “We, uh. We don’t have a lot of time. I gotta be on the bus in—” He pulls out his phone to check the time. Fuck. Why didn’t he message Mack last night? It would’ve been safe enough after dinner with Will. They could’ve—
Mack’s eyes are on his mouth again. He presses his fingers to Ryan’s chin, smears them along his jaw. He’s not quite cupping Ryan’s cheek but it’s – the way Mack touches him is so bold. Like he’s got every right in the world to do it.
Ryan's not stopping him, so. Maybe he does.
He can feel Mack’s hot breath against his lips. It’s going to hurt, he thinks, when Mack kisses him. He braces for it instead of pushing Mack away.
“Hey,” Will’s voice echoes down the main hall. Ryan and Mack both freeze. “Have you seen Mack? Delly said he went this way.”
Silently, Mack shuffles closer, pressing Ryan up against the wall, covering him with his body. He holds a finger up to his lips. Shh.
Like, no fucking shit.
Ryan can’t make out whatever answer Will gets – just a murmuring male voice. Older. A staff person, maybe, or one of the Sharks trainers.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll try the training rooms. Thanks.”
They wait, still as statues, until the echoing footsteps fade away. Ryan can’t look Mack in the eye or he’ll break into helpless, desperate laughter. Even the sobering thought of Will catching them like this, at having to tell him the truth because what lie could possibly explain it, isn’t enough to calm him down.
It’s possible that the way Mack’s pressed up against him, so close to what Ryan’s wanted since the Caps’ plane touched down in San Jose but still not what he’s truly craved, has something to do with Ryan's inability to control his spiraling emotions.
Only after it’s been dead silent for a minute or two does Mack finally step back.
“Wow, you think I’m dumb for waiting in the hall, but you can’t even sneak away without one of your teammates noticing,” Ryan complains, mostly to cover up the fact that he’s sporting a semi. He is really not going to have a fun bus ride to the airport if he cannot get this under control in the next five minutes.
“How was I supposed to know Delly was watching me? And whatever, we would have gotten caught if I hadn’t made us move here,” Mack argues. He’s very busy not making eye contact and fixing his hair, which Ryan hasn’t touched, so Ryan thinks maybe he’s not the only one struggling with the situation right now.
“Shit, I really – I can’t stay. I have to get back to the locker room,” Ryan says, miserable, checking his phone again. It’s fucking shit they have a back to back in Anaheim tomorrow. The guys are going to be eager to get out of here.
Something like regret flickers across Mack’s face. “Yeah, no, and Will’s going to keep looking for me until he finds me. I should really—”
Ryan nods. They were never going to have time for anything real after a game anyway. It was stupid to think—
He checks that the main concourse is clear before heading back towards the visitor’s room. He only makes it a couple of steps before Mack calls after him.
oooh i got almost kiss + blood/injury. pairing mackleno?
Ryan’s face throbs. He had to get a couple of stitches on the inside of his lip late in the second period, but the adrenaline had carried him through the rest of the game. He’d barely even felt it at the time.
Half his mouth has swollen since then and he can’t stop tonguing at the gash, tasting copper between the stitches.
He’s feeling it now.
At least he didn’t lose any teeth. And the Caps had scored what turned out to be the game winning goal on the resulting four minute high sticking penalty he’d drawn. Ryan would have rather scored it himself, but he’d been busy getting his leaking lip sewn shut. Anyway, he’d been back out there for the third period. Will had looked resigned about it, but Celebrini had cracked his stick in half against the Sharks’ net when Stromer scored the empty netter, icing the game.
Ryan loves winning, but he really, really hates losing. There’s a difference. Will loves to win too. But losing doesn’t get to him the way it gets to Ryan. The way it gets to Mack.
That’s why he’s not sure if Mack’s going to show.
He’d messaged Ryan hours before the game.
if you wanna say hi quick after the game ill come find you outside the visitors locker room
That was before Ryan’s team had beaten his. But after Ryan had gone to dinner with Will last night, some uptight place in Los Gatos that had been a pain to Uber to. Mack hadn’t come. Ryan wasn’t sure if it was because Will hadn’t invited him or what exactly the deal was there, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ask.
He dutifully waits in the hallway anyway, mindlessly scrolling Instagram reels on his phone with the volume turned down low so he can listen for approaching footsteps. If anyone catches him here, it’s not really – like, he’s allowed to stand here. He just doesn’t have a good reason for it.
And he feels fucking stupid the longer Mack keeps him waiting.
He’s about to give up and retreat back to the visitor’s locker room when the shuffling sound of slides on concrete echoes down the hallway. Ryan slides his phone into his pocket. About fucking time.
“Dude, why are you standing out here?” Mack says the second he’s within earshot.
“Uh, because you told me to meet you here?”
Mack rolls his eyes. “I meant—” Grabbing Ryan’s wrist, he drags him down an adjacent hallway. They’re tucked away from the main concourse here, which makes sense, yeah, but—
“If I had been standing here, you wouldn’t have seen me,” Ryan points out.
“And neither would anyone else. Unless you don’t care if your teammates know you’re meeting up with me?” There’s a challenge in Mack’s voice that makes a little thrill run through him.
Ryan licks his lips. Then winces. God, his mouth fucking hurts.
He doesn’t have time to chase the thrill, the challenge, the implication of Mack’s words before Mack is crowding in on him, his eyes fixed on Ryan’s fat lip. “Jesus,” he says. “That hurt?”
“What do you think?”
Mack carefully inspects the damage. Ryan holds himself very, very still when Mack traces a fingertip carefully over the swelling. Then he hooks his fingers around Ryan’s lip, tugging at it to see inside his mouth.
“Wha'th’fuck?” Ryan mumbles, his bottom lip caught in Mack’s grip.
Mack ignores him, busy examining his stitches. It stings, the way Mack’s pulling on his lip, even though he’s clearly trying to be gentle about it. His gaze is so focused. Ryan honestly thinks Mack’s going to stick his fingers in his mouth, feel his stitches for himself. He tries to keep his tongue out of the way so Mack can see. Swallows the spit pooling in his mouth before it spills over and he drools all over Mack's fingers.
Mack finally lets his lip go, carefully petting over the swollen curve of it as it settles back into place. Ryan can’t help swiping his tongue over his stitches again, then over the spot Mack’s fingertips just were.
He can’t taste anything but blood.
Woozily, Ryan says, “Don’t tell me it was a bullshit penalty either. You fucking see the damage.”
“You put your face in the way of Dickie’s stick, of fucking course you’re gonna get hit with it.”
Unbelievable. “Yeah, sure, next time I’ll just let him beat me to the puck. Save myself some stitches.”
Mack suddenly grins at him. “No, you won’t. You’d never. You want it too bad.” He sounds – approving? Proud?
“You’re right,” Ryan says. His lip throbs in time with his heartbeat. It’s a dizzying feeling. “I’d never let you beat me.”
Nodding, Mack agrees, “You’d make me earn it.”
Ryan’s not sure if they’re still talking about hockey. “We, uh. We don’t have a lot of time. I gotta be on the bus in—” He pulls out his phone to check the time. Fuck. Why didn’t he message Mack last night? It would’ve been safe enough after dinner with Will. They could’ve—
Mack’s eyes are on his mouth again. He presses his fingers to Ryan’s chin, smears them along his jaw. He’s not quite cupping Ryan’s cheek but it’s – the way Mack touches him is so bold. Like he’s got every right in the world to do it.
Ryan's not stopping him, so. Maybe he does.
He can feel Mack’s hot breath against his lips. It’s going to hurt, he thinks, when Mack kisses him. He braces for it instead of pushing Mack away.
“Hey,” Will’s voice echoes down the main hall. Ryan and Mack both freeze. “Have you seen Mack? Delly said he went this way.”
Silently, Mack shuffles closer, pressing Ryan up against the wall, covering him with his body. He holds a finger up to his lips. Shh.
Like, no fucking shit.
Ryan can’t make out whatever answer Will gets – just a murmuring male voice. Older. A staff person, maybe, or one of the Sharks trainers.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll try the training rooms. Thanks.”
They wait, still as statues, until the echoing footsteps fade away. Ryan can’t look Mack in the eye or he’ll break into helpless, desperate laughter. Even the sobering thought of Will catching them like this, at having to tell him the truth because what lie could possibly explain it, isn’t enough to calm him down.
It’s possible that the way Mack’s pressed up against him, so close to what Ryan’s wanted since the Caps’ plane touched down in San Jose but still not what he’s truly craved, has something to do with Ryan's inability to control his spiraling emotions.
Only after it’s been dead silent for a minute or two does Mack finally step back.
“Wow, you think I’m dumb for waiting in the hall, but you can’t even sneak away without one of your teammates noticing,” Ryan complains, mostly to cover up the fact that he’s sporting a semi. He is really not going to have a fun bus ride to the airport if he cannot get this under control in the next five minutes.
“How was I supposed to know Delly was watching me? And whatever, we would have gotten caught if I hadn’t made us move here,” Mack argues. He’s very busy not making eye contact and fixing his hair, which Ryan hasn’t touched, so Ryan thinks maybe he’s not the only one struggling with the situation right now.
“Shit, I really – I can’t stay. I have to get back to the locker room,” Ryan says, miserable, checking his phone again. It’s fucking shit they have a back to back in Anaheim tomorrow. The guys are going to be eager to get out of here.
Something like regret flickers across Mack’s face. “Yeah, no, and Will’s going to keep looking for me until he finds me. I should really—”
Ryan nods. They were never going to have time for anything real after a game anyway. It was stupid to think—
He checks that the main concourse is clear before heading back towards the visitor’s room. He only makes it a couple of steps before Mack calls after him.
2087
turnnoffyourmind
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jacobvanloon
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