Pourquoi ne m'aimes tu pas?
title : Pourquoi ne m'aimes tu pas?
pairing : Matt Bradley / Braden Holtby ; Brooks Laich / Sasha Semin ; Nicklas Backstrom / Braden Holtby / Mike Green ; Alex Ovechkin / Semyon Varlamov ; Semyon Varlamov / Mike Green ; Alex Ovechkin / Sasha Semin ; Jason Arnott / Sasha Semin ; Matt Bradley / Michal Neuvirth
rating : pg-13 to nc-17
words : ~1,500
1. Write down the names of 10 characters.
2. Write a fic of fifteen words or more for every prompt, using the characters determined by the numbers. Do NOT read the prompts before you do step 1.
Note : I did read the list first. Then I slapped my 10 players into a random order-ifyer and ended up with a whole lot of ridiculous. This is being written because I haven’t posted since July and because I’m bored.
Warning : Parts of this are grotesque.
01 | Brooks Laich
02 | Jason Arnott
03 | Nicklas Backstrom
04 | Matt Bradley
05 | Semyon Varlamov
06 | Braden Holtby
07 | Michal Neuvirth
08 | Alex Ovechkin
09 | Mike Green
10 | Sasha Semin
First Time, 4 and 6 [Bradley//Holtby]
It’s a precarious situation they’ve gotten themselves into. There was nothing subtle about the way Braden was hitting on Matt when they were at the bar, but he wasn’t quite expecting to be assaulted in his own car on the way to drop the very intoxicated goalie off at his house.
It doesn’t matter how many times Matt tells him he’s married, how long he’s been married, or even that he is, for all intents and purposes, straight- Braden sucks cock better than anyone Matt’s ever been with. And that’s saying a lot because he’s too shit-faced to untie his own goddamned shoes.
They don’t quite make it to the bedroom. Actually, judging by the sensation of hard tile bruising his knees, he’s pretty sure they didn’t even make it past the kitchen floor. It doesn’t really matter either way because Braden’s tighter than anyone he’s ever fucked and they could be in the hall where anyone could walk by for all Matt cares at this point because it just feels so damned good.
It isn’t just how good Braden feels around his cock- it’s the muscles of his back rippling under Matt’s hands and the way his panting moans vibrate deep all the way into his chest. It’s something different than he’s used to and although this is the first time, Matt’s already hoping it won’t be the last.
Angst, 7 [Neuvirth]
Watching Tomas play, Michal sees what the team’s been missing all along. The veteran goalie doesn’t mess around- he moves quick and efficient, doesn’t second guess himself, never loses the puck. It makes him jealous even though he knows Vokoun has the advantage of experience.
The longer he sits on the bench, the more Michal retreats into himself, his mind going to places he hasn’t thought about in a while. As much as he wants to believe Vokoun is just a temporary fixture on the team, he can’t help but wonder if this is his fault- because he isn’t good enough, hasn’t tried hard enough, hasn’t done all he can possibly do.
Stop after stop after stop, Tomas hasn’t let in a single puck in nearly twenty minutes of constant fire and the uneasiness growing in Michal’s gut is turning into a black and burning hatred for the other goalie.
Somehow, Michal wonders if this isn’t actually the beginning of the end.
Alternate Universe, 1 and 10 [Laich//Semin]
The first thing Brooks notices is the accent.
“Welcome to Russia Dolls, I’m Sasha. Can I help you?”
Then it’s his brilliant eyes and the fact that he’s got powdered sugar smeared across his nose. He’s got an awkward smile and a scar on his lip, but that doesn’t detract from his beauty in the least.
“Yeah-” Brooks pauses for a moment because he doesn’t actually remember why he came into the pastry shop to begin with. “I- ah- I need a cake.”
Sasha grins, one side of his mouth cockeyed.
“Is boring, isn’t it?” he says, reaching into one of the cases behind the counter with a small fork and stabbing at a small square of chocolate. “Why not try this instead? Is not cake, Russian dessert.”
Brooks might be a bit dense at times, but he can tell when someone’s putting the moves on him and pastry chef or not, Sasha isn’t someone you just turn down on a whim.
Threesome, 3, 6, 9 [Backstrom//Holtby//Green]
At first, Nicklas thought this was a bad idea. A horrible idea, in fact. He and Mike are complicated enough without throwing a goalie shaped wrench into bed with them. But Mike insisted and Braden seemed willing and in a two against one situation, Nicklas has the resolve of an ice cube in a pot of boiling water.
But now that Braden’s sandwiched between them, head buried between Mike’s thighs while Nicky’s pushing steadily into him until his hips grind up against his ass, Nicky can’t help but reasses his previous evaluation. It might actually be the best thing that’s happened to them since deciding to fuck in the first place.
Hurt / Comfort, 5 and 8 [Ovechkin//Varlamov]
Erm... so ... there's nothing actually comforting about this. LOL.
It’s been awkward these past couple days. Usually, a player moves as soon as he finds out he’s traded, but it’s summer and Varly’s got a couple things to take care of first.
And being the supportive captain he is, Alex feels obligated to offer a helping hand in the move to Colorado.
“You don’t have to do this, you know?” Semyon grunts through the couch they’re maneuvering through his doorway, “We’re practically enemies now.”
As sincerely wounded as Semyon sounds just saying the words, Alex can’t help but roll his eyes.
“Just cause we’re gonna be on different teams doesn’t mean we can’t stay friends,” Alex huffs back at him, “You're coming to Moscow this summer, aren't you?"
Semyon's silence speaks louder than anything he could possibly say.
Crack, 1 [Laich]
“Five, Niner, Six, Six. Kappa, November, Whiskey. Out.”
The phone line clicks.
Brooks doesn’t write it down- it was committed to memory before his informant even had a chance to hit the end button. From here, it’s just a matter of locating the coordinates and making the bust.
A muffled groan draws his attention to the heaped mess that used to be one of his target’s underlings. Brooks doubts the guy will ever worm his way back into street life, if he even makes it out of here alive.
“I’ve just got a couple more questions for you,” Brooks tells him, pocketing his phone, “You wouldn’t happen to have a map on you?”
The man gurgles a reply that Brooks can’t really understand, but he’s got a feeling he’s just been insulted and that just isn’t acceptable.
What should be a loud ringing gunshot is muffled by the silencer on the end of his Beretta followed by the dull thump of a body hitting the floor. He should have known better than to think any part of this was going to be easy.
Horror, 8 [Ovechkin]
WARNING : This is gross. This is a zombie warning. You have been warned.
The locker room smells like death, literally, and there’s a disturbing sort of gnashing slurp coming from the showers. If someone’s alive in there, Alex needs to know who it is. And if they’re not quite...
Alex doesn’t allow himself to second guess. He lifts a skate from Hendricks’ old spot- it isn’t as if he’s going to be needing it anymore- holding it by the boot and wielding the blade almost like a set of brass knuckles.
Each step towards the showers is a step closer to madness, not knowing if it’s someone he knows in there, someone he might have to kill. Alex closes his eyes and takes a steel breath- there’s no going back anymore. It could be his mother in there, or Sasha. At this point, it doesn’t matter because nearly everyone he’s already known is dead regardless.
Nothing could have prepared Alex for the sight of Mojo picking apart his dead teammate. Well, technically they’re both dead, but Mojo is quite obviously animated enough to be digging his fingers into Alzner’s skull right where his eyeballs should be.
The urge to wretch is overwhelming and Alex can’t tell what’s worse- the fact that there’s practically nothing left of Karl’s face or that the wet crunching sound is Marcus gnawing away at one of his fingers with rotten teeth.
Alex makes some kind of sound, probably because he feels the contents of his stomach rising up to his throat, and Marcus, or what used to be Marcus, snaps up to stare at him faster than Alex can even blink. He drops the skate.
Baby fic, 5 and 9 [Varlamov//Green]
I'm sorry to disappoint, but when I posted this, I totally forgot I left this blank and I'm just too fucking lazy to fill it in.
And no, I'm not really sorry because I might have left it blank on purpose because I didn't know what the fuck to write.
Dark, 2 and 10 [Arnott//Semin]
There’s something a little more than just fucked up about Sasha. Everyone knows it, but not everyone is aware of it, if that makes any sense. Alex knows it better than most even though he’d rather he didn’t. He’s painfully intimate with the darkest parts of Sasha- the side he keeps carefully hidden from public eye and the only time it emerges is when they’re alone.
But now there’s someone new, someone different with his own dark side that’s just begging to take Sasha and twist him into something more warped than he already is.
Alex remembers the first time he saw them together- when Jason had him pinned in his hotel room, forearm against Sasha’s throat pressing harder than Alex ever dared try, no matter how much Sasha begged. There was nothing gentle or sweet about the gesture, only a cold hardness in Jason’s eyes when he leaned in to tell Sasha exactly what he wanted to hear.
“You’re worthless,” Jason hissed, “A fucking failure. I can’t even stand looking at you.”
Since then, Alex has watched as the Sasha he knows slowly fades away. They don’t go out anymore like they used to and even though Sasha might laugh along with all the lewd locker room jokes they’re all used to, Jason’s shadow is always right there behind him- his smile fading into the older man’s black eyes.
Romance, 4 and 7 [Bradley//Neuvirth]
So. .... I couldn't think of anything for this one either. If anyone has any ideas, go ahead and comment them and I'll give it a try.
XDDD sorry~
pairing : Matt Bradley / Braden Holtby ; Brooks Laich / Sasha Semin ; Nicklas Backstrom / Braden Holtby / Mike Green ; Alex Ovechkin / Semyon Varlamov ; Semyon Varlamov / Mike Green ; Alex Ovechkin / Sasha Semin ; Jason Arnott / Sasha Semin ; Matt Bradley / Michal Neuvirth
rating : pg-13 to nc-17
words : ~1,500
1. Write down the names of 10 characters.
2. Write a fic of fifteen words or more for every prompt, using the characters determined by the numbers. Do NOT read the prompts before you do step 1.
Note : I did read the list first. Then I slapped my 10 players into a random order-ifyer and ended up with a whole lot of ridiculous. This is being written because I haven’t posted since July and because I’m bored.
Warning : Parts of this are grotesque.
01 | Brooks Laich
02 | Jason Arnott
03 | Nicklas Backstrom
04 | Matt Bradley
05 | Semyon Varlamov
06 | Braden Holtby
07 | Michal Neuvirth
08 | Alex Ovechkin
09 | Mike Green
10 | Sasha Semin
First Time, 4 and 6 [Bradley//Holtby]
It’s a precarious situation they’ve gotten themselves into. There was nothing subtle about the way Braden was hitting on Matt when they were at the bar, but he wasn’t quite expecting to be assaulted in his own car on the way to drop the very intoxicated goalie off at his house.
It doesn’t matter how many times Matt tells him he’s married, how long he’s been married, or even that he is, for all intents and purposes, straight- Braden sucks cock better than anyone Matt’s ever been with. And that’s saying a lot because he’s too shit-faced to untie his own goddamned shoes.
They don’t quite make it to the bedroom. Actually, judging by the sensation of hard tile bruising his knees, he’s pretty sure they didn’t even make it past the kitchen floor. It doesn’t really matter either way because Braden’s tighter than anyone he’s ever fucked and they could be in the hall where anyone could walk by for all Matt cares at this point because it just feels so damned good.
It isn’t just how good Braden feels around his cock- it’s the muscles of his back rippling under Matt’s hands and the way his panting moans vibrate deep all the way into his chest. It’s something different than he’s used to and although this is the first time, Matt’s already hoping it won’t be the last.
Angst, 7 [Neuvirth]
Watching Tomas play, Michal sees what the team’s been missing all along. The veteran goalie doesn’t mess around- he moves quick and efficient, doesn’t second guess himself, never loses the puck. It makes him jealous even though he knows Vokoun has the advantage of experience.
The longer he sits on the bench, the more Michal retreats into himself, his mind going to places he hasn’t thought about in a while. As much as he wants to believe Vokoun is just a temporary fixture on the team, he can’t help but wonder if this is his fault- because he isn’t good enough, hasn’t tried hard enough, hasn’t done all he can possibly do.
Stop after stop after stop, Tomas hasn’t let in a single puck in nearly twenty minutes of constant fire and the uneasiness growing in Michal’s gut is turning into a black and burning hatred for the other goalie.
Somehow, Michal wonders if this isn’t actually the beginning of the end.
Alternate Universe, 1 and 10 [Laich//Semin]
The first thing Brooks notices is the accent.
“Welcome to Russia Dolls, I’m Sasha. Can I help you?”
Then it’s his brilliant eyes and the fact that he’s got powdered sugar smeared across his nose. He’s got an awkward smile and a scar on his lip, but that doesn’t detract from his beauty in the least.
“Yeah-” Brooks pauses for a moment because he doesn’t actually remember why he came into the pastry shop to begin with. “I- ah- I need a cake.”
Sasha grins, one side of his mouth cockeyed.
“Is boring, isn’t it?” he says, reaching into one of the cases behind the counter with a small fork and stabbing at a small square of chocolate. “Why not try this instead? Is not cake, Russian dessert.”
Brooks might be a bit dense at times, but he can tell when someone’s putting the moves on him and pastry chef or not, Sasha isn’t someone you just turn down on a whim.
Threesome, 3, 6, 9 [Backstrom//Holtby//Green]
At first, Nicklas thought this was a bad idea. A horrible idea, in fact. He and Mike are complicated enough without throwing a goalie shaped wrench into bed with them. But Mike insisted and Braden seemed willing and in a two against one situation, Nicklas has the resolve of an ice cube in a pot of boiling water.
But now that Braden’s sandwiched between them, head buried between Mike’s thighs while Nicky’s pushing steadily into him until his hips grind up against his ass, Nicky can’t help but reasses his previous evaluation. It might actually be the best thing that’s happened to them since deciding to fuck in the first place.
Hurt / Comfort, 5 and 8 [Ovechkin//Varlamov]
Erm... so ... there's nothing actually comforting about this. LOL.
It’s been awkward these past couple days. Usually, a player moves as soon as he finds out he’s traded, but it’s summer and Varly’s got a couple things to take care of first.
And being the supportive captain he is, Alex feels obligated to offer a helping hand in the move to Colorado.
“You don’t have to do this, you know?” Semyon grunts through the couch they’re maneuvering through his doorway, “We’re practically enemies now.”
As sincerely wounded as Semyon sounds just saying the words, Alex can’t help but roll his eyes.
“Just cause we’re gonna be on different teams doesn’t mean we can’t stay friends,” Alex huffs back at him, “You're coming to Moscow this summer, aren't you?"
Semyon's silence speaks louder than anything he could possibly say.
Crack, 1 [Laich]
“Five, Niner, Six, Six. Kappa, November, Whiskey. Out.”
The phone line clicks.
Brooks doesn’t write it down- it was committed to memory before his informant even had a chance to hit the end button. From here, it’s just a matter of locating the coordinates and making the bust.
A muffled groan draws his attention to the heaped mess that used to be one of his target’s underlings. Brooks doubts the guy will ever worm his way back into street life, if he even makes it out of here alive.
“I’ve just got a couple more questions for you,” Brooks tells him, pocketing his phone, “You wouldn’t happen to have a map on you?”
The man gurgles a reply that Brooks can’t really understand, but he’s got a feeling he’s just been insulted and that just isn’t acceptable.
What should be a loud ringing gunshot is muffled by the silencer on the end of his Beretta followed by the dull thump of a body hitting the floor. He should have known better than to think any part of this was going to be easy.
Horror, 8 [Ovechkin]
WARNING : This is gross. This is a zombie warning. You have been warned.
The locker room smells like death, literally, and there’s a disturbing sort of gnashing slurp coming from the showers. If someone’s alive in there, Alex needs to know who it is. And if they’re not quite...
Alex doesn’t allow himself to second guess. He lifts a skate from Hendricks’ old spot- it isn’t as if he’s going to be needing it anymore- holding it by the boot and wielding the blade almost like a set of brass knuckles.
Each step towards the showers is a step closer to madness, not knowing if it’s someone he knows in there, someone he might have to kill. Alex closes his eyes and takes a steel breath- there’s no going back anymore. It could be his mother in there, or Sasha. At this point, it doesn’t matter because nearly everyone he’s already known is dead regardless.
Nothing could have prepared Alex for the sight of Mojo picking apart his dead teammate. Well, technically they’re both dead, but Mojo is quite obviously animated enough to be digging his fingers into Alzner’s skull right where his eyeballs should be.
The urge to wretch is overwhelming and Alex can’t tell what’s worse- the fact that there’s practically nothing left of Karl’s face or that the wet crunching sound is Marcus gnawing away at one of his fingers with rotten teeth.
Alex makes some kind of sound, probably because he feels the contents of his stomach rising up to his throat, and Marcus, or what used to be Marcus, snaps up to stare at him faster than Alex can even blink. He drops the skate.
Baby fic, 5 and 9 [Varlamov//Green]
I'm sorry to disappoint, but when I posted this, I totally forgot I left this blank and I'm just too fucking lazy to fill it in.
And no, I'm not really sorry because I might have left it blank on purpose because I didn't know what the fuck to write.
Dark, 2 and 10 [Arnott//Semin]
There’s something a little more than just fucked up about Sasha. Everyone knows it, but not everyone is aware of it, if that makes any sense. Alex knows it better than most even though he’d rather he didn’t. He’s painfully intimate with the darkest parts of Sasha- the side he keeps carefully hidden from public eye and the only time it emerges is when they’re alone.
But now there’s someone new, someone different with his own dark side that’s just begging to take Sasha and twist him into something more warped than he already is.
Alex remembers the first time he saw them together- when Jason had him pinned in his hotel room, forearm against Sasha’s throat pressing harder than Alex ever dared try, no matter how much Sasha begged. There was nothing gentle or sweet about the gesture, only a cold hardness in Jason’s eyes when he leaned in to tell Sasha exactly what he wanted to hear.
“You’re worthless,” Jason hissed, “A fucking failure. I can’t even stand looking at you.”
Since then, Alex has watched as the Sasha he knows slowly fades away. They don’t go out anymore like they used to and even though Sasha might laugh along with all the lewd locker room jokes they’re all used to, Jason’s shadow is always right there behind him- his smile fading into the older man’s black eyes.
Romance, 4 and 7 [Bradley//Neuvirth]
So. .... I couldn't think of anything for this one either. If anyone has any ideas, go ahead and comment them and I'll give it a try.
XDDD sorry~