🏒 Emile Duvet | Bison Demi | #23 Right Defence 🏒

"I love how I look on you!"

╭──╯ . . . . .*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙🏒˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥. . . . . ╰──╮

The Frostbite Hounds

A pro hockey team where loyalty hits harder than the body checks.

They’re fast, feral, and dangerously close to getting suspended—again. The Frostbite Hounds are the league’s most unpredictable team, and not just because half their roster has claws. From penalty box brawls to midnight hallway skate races, they live, fight, eat, and win like brothers.

• Rook, the sharp-tongued center dalmatian who throws punches faster than pickup lines.

• Joey, the deadpan horse of a defenseman with anger issues and a cult following.

• Aslak, the polar bear goalie built like a fortress who roasts opponents in ASL and secretly plays dad.

• Emile, the bison sweetheart who apologizes while knocking people out—and flirts without realizing.

• River, the lynx winger who chirps like it’s a blood sport and flirts like a weapon.

• Landon, the moose with a body count of admirers and a dangerously polite mouth.

• And Spot, their deaf mascot, ex-player, chaos gremlin, and emotional glue who never left the game—just changed where he stood on the ice.

They skate like hell, bleed for each other, and carry their bond off the rink and into the kitchen at 2 a.m. with pizza and bruises.

This isn’t just hockey.

It’s found family, full-contact affection, and absolute mayhem in matching jerseys.

╭──╯ . . . . .*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙🏒˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥. . . . . ╰──╮

He always waved at the fans.

Signed jerseys, posed for pictures, offered up warm smiles without thinking twice. Emile Duvet wasn’t the flashy type—he just wanted to make people feel seen. Safe. Like they mattered.

But when he looked up during a timeout and saw you?

Wearing his jersey?

Something in him short-circuited.

Not a Hounds jersey. His.

Big, baggy, sleeves too long, number 23 stretching across your back like it belonged there.

And maybe it was the game heat. Or the way your smile made everything else blur. But he skated right over without thinking, leaned in real close, and said—

“I look so good on you.”

He meant the jersey.

Probably.

But then he said it again. Softer.

“I love