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Yeah so basically the summary is that Argentina usually beat their opponents - with the exception of a few teams - but England have won 25/31 (I think) games against them, Argentina winning 5, and 1 being a draw. They're not too happy about that. But this time on top of that loss, they're not happy bc England was being 'disrespectful' bc they were celebrating in their locker room. That last part was what was reported at least.
BUT both teams received 4-5 yellow cards and were antagonising each other so neither were saints in the game.
Having Nikita Zadorov take over the Bruins social accounts is just superb and makes me think of the olden days when they regularly did such player takeovers
This Twitter header even suggests that other takeovers could happen in future (let Jeremy Swayman do it next!)
And he called Belle Fraser "ball" and now she's jokingly running a poll asking if she should change her name to Ball
[2.3k]
Pairing | Benji Hunt x afab!reader
Summary | A rough day at the rink brought Benji and y/n’s feelings to the surface.
Warnings | Friends to lovers, comfort angst, fluff, making out, swearing, slightly suggestive near the end but no actual smut.
Authors Note | If you’re seeing this for the first time, Benji is my hockey oc for Operation Fictional Men Do It Better and if you search that tag, you’ll find other people’s oc’s that are part of the universe! *Trainers = sneakers.
Benji knew he wasn’t alone the moment the front door of his apartment clicked shut. He slipped his trainers off, brown and worn next to ones in much better condition. Shoes that weren’t his but familiar. A thick jacket hung on the coat pegs, next to where he hung his hat - the brown one with a bear engraved in the leather logo. And if the small scattering of her clothing items weren’t enough, his TV played muffled sounds from down the hall, getting louder the further he walked in with the weight of this life adjustment slowly alleviating from his shoulders.
The NHL wasn’t an easy adjustment, he’d come straight from university, from a country where hockey wasn’t funded to the extent the NHL was, where the schedule wasn’t as intense and most importantly, he’d come to a country completely different to what he was used to. They may both speak the same language but the culture couldn’t have been more different and trying to fit in with the team had been one of the hardest things he’d ever faced. Even now, in March, where playoffs were approaching fast, he felt the pressure looming over him, the pressure to not be the weakest link in fear of straight up being outcasted and rejected from the guys completely. Or perhaps he was overthinking it, he would never know. He would never say anything either, for all the team had to know was that he defended the goal and was willing to throw himself into the lion’s den for them, even if it meant he risked the penalties or ejection, the message it sent was important.
With the main lights off, his place was lit with the warm glow of the traffic cone with fairy lights wrapped around it, propped up on a make-shift side table made from suitcases - the solid exterior kind and small-ish. The flip-flop fairy lights hung from under the large window, illuminating y/n’s face softly while she cuddled his cat, Angel, and a beer can open on the coffee table. Benji’s decor choices were supposed to be temporary but as time moved on he thought they added personality, and y/n didn’t seem to mind either, never mentioning it and at the end of the day, she had known him long enough to know that no matter what excuse he gave, it was his personal style and cosy spaces were his ideal place to be. It was probably why he hated the size of his apartment so much, it felt too big but all the other options were too far from the rink so having her fill the space ever so slightly never bothered him.
“Hello stranger.” Benji said, his voice deep and gravelly, dragging his feet along the floor until he flopped onto the sofa next to her, sinking down into the cushions, “I gave you a key for emergencies, not to drink my beer and suck up to my cat.”
She knew he wasn’t irked one bit, not with the way his lips were slightly upturned in the corner, or how a sliver of a chuckle breathed through his nose to see Angel stretch and fall back asleep. Sitting up straighter, she crossed one leg underneath her, facing him with an elbow resting on the back of the sofa, jaw resting in her palm as her eyes panned over him. It wasn’t the first time she’d done that and every time he felt her doing it, like he could feel her presence in whatever room they were in and feel her eyes laying upon him - not in that unsettling way that made his stomach drop, but a way that made his heart race slightly, a good kind of thumping in his chest, she was paying attention to him and him alone. She liked the way his damp hair flopping over his face, the layers forming small waves and always flicked outwards from the wind. The way his expression always fell stern and slightly annoyed and anyone who didn’t know Benji presumed he was irritated but only the ones closest to him knew he just looked like that. To piss Benji off would be an unclassy achievement.
“Well hello to you, Tetsurō. Not my fault my family has people over.” She purred the name, the smirk on her face loud enough that he didn’t need to look at her to know it existed. “How’s it going? Y’know, with the playoffs approaching.”
“Oh God.” He groaned hearing the name. He never heard anyone outside Japan and his family use his middle name. He never told anyone his middle name, or maybe he did mention it thinking she’d forget, or maybe she’d read the postcards from his grandparents on his fridge but it was something he’d get to another time.
He adjusted his seating, sitting up and turning to face her back, arm slung over the top of the sofa while words bundled in his throat, thinking carefully on what to say, or how much to let out, “I didn’t think it’d be easy…but I also didn’t think it’d be this hard. I don’t know what I expected. Well, I knew the game would be different, but all the media is exhausting.”
He loved the sport, he really did, but he was not one to find fondness being in front of the camera often. Sure, he didn’t mind a video or two for the socials page but almost a full day of interviews plus media content sucked the energy out of him faster than the sport itself. However, he found it flattering that Hawks fans enjoyed the videos with him in.
“How do you cope with it?” She asked, reaching out to tuck his hair from his face, heat rising to her neck as his gaze locked onto hers, eyes searching hers for anything.
Benji didn’t cope, not that he was aware of. He couldn’t think of any kind of way he did, he went through his days on some sort of autopilot.
She knew he was deep in thought, she knew he was trying to come up with something, it was written over the way his tongue ran over his top row of teeth. Her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb caressing his cheekbone, feeling how he melted into her touch and listening to how he exhaled like he’d given up on trying to battle himself.
In a low, gravelly tone, sincere words dripped like honey from his tongue and he spoke, “You make it easier.”
It began to occur to both of them right there that the relationship between them was more than they thought. More than simple friends or something along the lines. There was a found comfort in each other, they didn’t have to talk to be happy, they could simply sit in silence and the world would feel right. But Benji didn’t just open up to anybody, there was a wall one had to pass and he was damn good at keeping people on the other side but her? Somehow she’d wiggled her way through the crevices and he’d let her stay.
“You’re cute.” She cooed, pouting teasingly.
“Only when I want to be.”
He cracked a smile, a faint one but she noticed his lips curling up in the corners, felt his face heat up too. His stomach flipped and flopped, a giddiness blooming in his chest and he knew exactly what that feeling meant. Her hand soft and kind against his cheek and he nuzzled into her palm, his eyes fluttering close as he lay a delicate yet risky kiss to her palm.
“Oh, so you try with me?” y/n could only tease him when he looked so sound, like his mind was at peace, only if temporarily but it was like her soul sensed his. “Big bad Benji has a soft spot for me?”
Groaning, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pulling her body across the sofa and closer to him, looping his arms around her waist with a touch secure enough to flush her face hot and sliding her body onto his lap. He couldn’t say that he’d thought about the action, it came more instinctively, from a place of yearning but having her straddled over his lap with her hands pressed on his shoulders, kneading at the muscles unsubtly with noses almost brushing and breaths tangling lit a fire under his arse. The push that they’ve perhaps needed.
Suddenly the whole mood switched from something sweet to insatiable. As if the red string of fate was tugging them together, two magnets attracting because no matter how much they thought about their friendship, neither made any effort to move.
His eyes searched hers before he spoke deeply, the TV nothing but a background noise to fill the air, the breeze from the window gentle but refreshing, acting as a coolant in the atmosphere between them as Benji’s hands settled on her waist. Fizzling in her stomach rose through her chest as his fingers drew small circles over her top.
“Stop calling me that,” he half-joked, his smile still prominent and the words just fell from his mouth, “but maybe.”
He said it so genuinely with his hands running along her waist, sinking back into the sofa cushions, his tongue wetting his lips while her eyes watched, flickering between them and his eyes. So close she felt his breath fanning over her, her heart hammering in her chest as the words became lost in her throat, a thick lump in the base as she restrained the urge clawing away inside of her. But it was him who took the risk. It was Benji who leaned in slowly, lips ghosting hers, one hand jolting her nerves awake as it glided up her spine to lay his palm flat between her shoulder blades, holding her close to his chest until the gap closed entirely. He pressed his lips to hers with hesitation, caution, but gentle and they moved with hers languidly. Shivers ran down his spine as she threaded her fingers through his hair, her nails scratching his scalp pulling the deepest of hums from his throat while her hips began, little by little, to grind on his lap. A kiss had never felt so good before, never ignited such a hunger in him, or such a consuming warmth in his chest that felt so right and oddly relaxing before, like his mind was just melting the longer they remained connected.
When they pulled away with small pants, her heart almost dropped to her stomach at the sombre gaze in his eye. Not the kind of glossy eyes that screamed regret, but the kind where his eyes seemed to sink into themselves, retreat back into some sort of shell he’d restricted himself to…like he didn’t think he deserved what she gave him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered, leaning back in but hungrier, connecting her lips to his again where Benji didn’t push her away. “You have no idea how loved you are.”
She ran her tongue across his lip, feeling his jaw open, his hand pushing her further into his chest and hips adjusting upwards into her, his moan rattling in his throat as she lapped her tongue against his with ease. Soft hums coaxed from their chests as their heads nodded in a rhythm, indulging in the taste of beer on her tongue and how Benji’s body melted like putty the more his mind emptied of thoughts that once continuously tormented him, telling him he didn’t deserve to be shown such an affection. The noise outside became nothing but a buzz, saliva building in the corner of their mouths but the way he kissed her with such hunger made everything else seem irrelevant. Her stomach whirred, fluttered through her core and legs, restlessness sparking as her hands sliding from his hair and along his jaw, down his shoulders and chest until just her fingertips teased at his stomach, feeling the ridges of his abs as a groan vibrated from his throat.
He loved that. Loved being touched like that, perhaps a little too much.
Y/n’s hands abruptly wound around his torso, fingers gripping the back of his t-shirt and Benji - gracelessly, taking his time to get the position comfortable - flipped their bodies over, her back hitting the cushions beneath him, one of his elbows perched beside her head while his other hand slipped beneath her top. Heat flushed to her face but she never parted with him, rolling her hips up to meet his, anticipation destroying any ounce of rationality left in her. She was running on pure adrenaline, pure ecstasy from how he’d changed the situation entirely. Benji, sweet, quiet Benji was pressing her into the sofa cushions and kissing her like she'd never been kissed before.
But he didn't take it any further. In fact, his chest bubbled too much to and when he pulled away slowly, her eyes fluttering open, he planted a small kiss to her cheek before burying his face into her shoulder. Her grip loosened on his t-shirt, her hands changing to lay flat against his back and soothing along his spine, letting their drive fade away without disappointment because sometimes intimacy came in just a closeness between bodies - a comfort even after getting heated. Sometimes sex wasn't always needed to feel close to someone. Sometimes all someone needed was the reassurance that someone was in their corner, loving them unconditionally.
the difference to me, by the way, when it comes to sidney crosby’s acts of goodness and kindness versus nico hischier’s, is that i believe sid is aware that he is choosing to do good or kind things because deep in the recesses of his mind exists an abacus on which he is tallying the worth of his soul and he is always fighting in the spiritual trenches to keep that thing in the green. there’s a sort of self-awareness to sid’s kindness and generosity, like a gently smug kind of layer deep down underneath it where he knows he’s just bought himself one more opportunity to grab an opposing player by the knees and spin-launch them into the boards like mario does to bowser. every time he screeches at someone on the ice with a cracking voice that they’re being a pussy or steamrolls into an early-twenties player for no reason but the crime of being gen z he knows he has to go out into the world and perform a miracle. this has nothing to do with his public perception btw he does not care what the world thinks of him. it’s all for his private and meticulously kept internal abacus.
nico, however, does good and is kind because the concept of behaving another way does not seem to ever register in his mind. he is being the best nico he can be. he believes everyone around him, even jack hughes, is both trying their best and also proud of everything they try. even jack hughes! if nico wasn’t a hockey player his chosen career would be like a guy who listens to 911 calls and dispatches himself to them. he’d be a guy who holds the nose of the plane steady during turbulence. he’d be a professional guy who squeezes your hand once and tells you how brave you’re being at the dentists or the doctors. and he’d mean it. he does think you’re being brave. he thinks everyone is being brave. even jack hughes
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