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bqstqnbruin · 6 months

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Ghost of You

Hello hello I'm here with a fic that might make you upset oops

This was inspired by some of @laurenairay's 1.5k follower celebration fics and Ghost of You by Five Seconds of Summer

Shoutout to @kat-hearts and @wyattjohnston for reading through this and editing/giving suggestions for this because they're amazing and then I'm tagging @matthewtkachuk and @raysofcrosby just to annoy them

Word Count: 6701

Warnings: Alcohol, Swearing, Mean

Flashbacks are in italics

_________________________________________

You told yourself it would never get serious. It was just supposed to be fun.

Yet, there you were, sitting on the floor of your bedroom feeling like you had your heart ripped out. Your friends told you not to date him, not to get close to him, that there was nothing good that could come from being with him. He wasn’t at the point of wanting to commit to anyone. You thought you wanted the same.

He was just supposed to be a hookup.

There was no reason why a fucking social media post should be bothering you the way it did.

Fuck it. You had time off work banked, you had a car with a tank at least half full of gas from what you remembered, and your mom had just complained that she had hotel points she was going to lose and practically begged you to take off her hands, and you had always wanted to go to Vail, your friends telling you how much fun they had the last time they went without you.

What better way to get over someone than by just running away from everyone else?

Your phone was lighting up every few minutes with texts in the group chat, the one that didn’t have him in it, calls from your friends, his teammates, all of them worried about where you were and why you weren’t answering. You were glad someone was worried about you, but you couldn’t pull yourself together long enough to answer their calls or look at their texts without breaking down into that horrible, gut-wrenching sob, the kind that drove you to the point of dry heaving.

Cale told you he liked you. He told you that he felt a way about you that he didn’t know how to put into words. He looked at you and said he could see himself with you for a while when he hadn’t thought that about anyone, at least not in a long time.

He didn’t have to tell you he was seeing other girls and that he needed space. He didn’t need to send the text telling you that he thought it would be better for both of you if you didn’t want to talk anymore because he didn’t want to lead you on. He didn’t have to let you believe that everything he had told you was true, letting you fall for him the way you thought he was falling for you.

You turned your phone on Do Not Disturb, your lack of ability to know where you’re going and which way you’re heading barring you from turning off your phone completely. All you could do was grab the bag you packed for the weekend, fill up your car with gas, and hit the road for the hour and a half road trip to the hotel in Vail.

You take one last look through your apartment, the normal “what if I left this plugged in/on and it caught on fire?” panic setting through you in the minutes before you want to leave when you notice the coffee cup sitting there on your kitchen table.

Cale spent his first night at your place not long after you started seeing each other. You weren’t even really sure if what you were doing was considered dating by the day’s standards, just knowing you were somewhat ‘together.’ You two were out late at a bar with his teammates and some of your friends the night before, Cale insisting on walking you back to your place to make sure you were home safe, not worried about practice the next morning for once in his life.

The two of you spent the night talking, your laptop perched at the edge of your bed, Cale with his arm pulling you close while your head rested on his chest, his heart beat making you tired with the steady rhythm. You didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until his alarm was going off that following morning, the two of you entangled in each other and neither of you wanting to move from where you were.

“You have to get ready for practice,” you whispered, feeling his arms pull you closer when you didn’t think that was possible.

“I have time,” he murmured against your forehead, a light kiss placed there that made you melt in ways you didn’t know you could.

“I’m not going to be responsible for you being late,” you tell him, trying to pull away. You had to start getting ready for your day, too, his alarm only making you do it much earlier than you had planned. “Plus, I need coffee.”

Cale mumbled something again, you managing to get yourself free of him, turning around to see his arms still reaching out for you to come back. “No, stay here,” he whined.

“Cale.”

“Please?”

“I’m making coffee.”

You laugh to yourself as you hear him calling for you, the coffee pot coming to life and the smell of the drink filling your nose, when you feel Cale’s arms snake around your waist, planting soft kisses along your neck and working his way up to your jaw. You turned your head slightly towards him, his grip tightening as his lips find yours. You turn your body completely to face him, your back arching against the counter as he kisses you harder, a smile on his lips as they make their way back down your neck, your hands making their way to his hair as a small groan leaves his lips when you give it a slight tug.

“I don’t want to leave,” he tells you, another kiss planted on your lips.

“You have to, though,” you lament, the coffee behind you finally ready. You turn around with his arms still around you, reaching for the cabinet where you keep an unnecessary amount of mugs that are almost never used. “Which one do you want?”

You held in front of him the two most ridiculous mugs that you had, knowing that the laugh about to come out of him would easily be your new favorite sound. One mug was made in the shape of a bulldog’s head, something your dad claimed he got when he was visiting a friend at Georgetown, but there’s no way a university with that much intelligence would sell something like that, the other one something that had to be given at a retirement party or a memorial service or something, an old man named ‘Randall’ plastered on it in various states of adulthood with the dates 1960-2020 written on it.

“You know, Serina told me about these,” he starts, holding back more laughter and referring to your best friend. “But, she really didn’t do them justice.”

“Whichever one you pick is yours , the unofficial ‘Cale’ mug of my apartment.”

He laughed, kissing you again in a way that made you want him to keep doing it forever. “I guess I’ll take Randall?”

You meant to throw out the mug, donate back to the thrift store that you got it from a few years ago since Cale was the only one in your apartment who was allowed to use it. Every time he was over, it was out on the table. Every time he left, it was in your dishwasher to be cleaned for the next time he was coming. You didn’t even remember putting it on the table.

You swallow hard, putting the mug in the corner of your kitchen where a pile of his stuff that you didn’t want to look at already sat.

Your phone lights up, one of your friends using the ‘notify anyway,’ feature that made your blood boil. You didn’t want to talk to anyone. They all had your location, they could see where you were.

Driving was your least favorite thing to do, avoiding it at all costs, so the fact that you even thought you were going to take a road trip by yourself on the premise of ignoring everyone you could talk to, was baffling. Just you and your thoughts with only the road to distract you.

The little tv screen on the gas station started talking to you, one of those stupid commercials that probably didn’t pay their actors enough making more noise than any car on the street. The commercial couldn’t bother you as much as what you forgot was in the back seat of your car, the Stanley Cup playoffs sweatshirt Cale gave to you sitting there, slightly faded and probably incredibly dirty having rarely been washed, staring back at you like it was taunting you.

The night before the game, Cale was a wreck. He was in his hotel room in Boston, he called you panicking, pacing back and forth on the hotel carpet. “What happens if we lose?”

“Then you come back and win game seven at home,” you tried to reassure him.

“What if we lose because of me?”

“Has that happened before?”

“No specific examples that I can think of come to mind, but what if I blocked them out because of the trauma?”

You bit your lip, finding it weirdly endearing that he was this nervous about the game. You knew how much was riding on this, the Avs down 3-2 in the series, meaning this was win that game and force the even more nerve wracking game seven, or lose and hope for next year. “While that is totally valid,” you started, “In the time that I have known you, you have not been the reason the team lost a game.”

“What if-”

“Cale,” you cut him off, “I get that you’re nervous, but you know the best way to go to sleep before a game is to be calm.”

“Easier said than done,” he huffed.

“I know. What can I do to help?”

He stays silent for a minute, the pacing finally stopping. “Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly.”

“I wish you could be here for the game tomorrow.”

You felt your heart break, knowing that the one thing he apparently wanted was the one thing you couldn’t give him. “Cale,” you breathe out.

“There’s a flight from Denver to Boston tomorrow morning that would get you here before we’re done with practice.”

“You’re looking at flights for me?”

“If you want to. I’d pay,” he offered.

“Cale, I can’t let you do that,” you started. You weren’t together. You were just supposed to be hooking up, and the fact that he was about to pay how much money for you to get on a flight to see him halfway across the country was something you didn’t do for someone you were just hooking up with. You hadn’t even been to one of his games yet. Only some of his teammates knew you two even knew each other. “I can’t get the time off work with this short of notice unless I have a doctor’s note.” He had to know it was a lie, you feeling a pinch in your chest when the silence on the other end of the line went longer than you had wanted it to. “I’m sorry.”

He cleared his throat, finally, your heart breaking with the sound. You knew he was disappointed. You wanted to make him feel better, but this was too much right now. You still hadn’t even had the conversation about what you were to each other. “No, no, I forgot, sorry. It’s fine.”

“Cale-”

“Hey, I gotta get going,” he tells you, hanging up on you before you can say anything else.

You weren’t wrong, were you? It would have been amazing to fly out on short notice to see a game where your favorite team won the cup. To be there with a player you were dating? Even better. But you weren’t dating him. You liked him, sure. What’s not to like about this perfect guy, an incredibly sweet person who you feel lucky enough to know, your heart skipping a beat whenever his name shows up on your phone screen, when you hear your friends or coworkers mention his name in conversation, only a few of them knowing that you were seeing him in any capacity.

You had the sudden urge to call him back, tell him that you weren’t going to say fuck it to work and that you would be there waiting for him when he was done with practice. Your finger hovered over his name in your call log, the outgoing call could show up on your screen in a matter of seconds if you just pressed the button.

You couldn’t do it.

That would be something you did if you were his girlfriend and you wanted to go see him in one of the biggest games of his career. You would do it if what you had with him was serious, or you at least knew for sure how you felt about each other, you knew where this was going. You had no answers and now was not the time to find them out when the guy you needed the answers from was busy pacing back and forth in a hotel room and probably on his way to vomiting.

The next night, you were with your friends in a shitty bar watching them, the black and gold logo at center ice mocking you as the score was 4-0. The camera panned over Cale, the bar too loud to hear what the announcers were saying, but you knew it wasn’t good. They were saying the exact things Cale was worried about the night before, that he wasn’t playing his best and that it was his fault they weren’t winning the game. There was minimal chance of recovery for them at this point, and while it wasn’t impossible, Boston had done it before, the Avs hadn’t to your knowledge. The game looked like it was about to end, a shutout loss for the team in the game that could have kept their hopes alive.

The camera flashed back over to Cale, his mouth covered by his glove as he fought back tears. This was supposed to be their year. It was supposed to be them winning the cup.

You left the bar before the game was fully over, the image of Cale in tears enough to make you do the same. You shouldn’t be this broken up over a boy you weren’t seeing. There was no need to be this broken up over him.

You started walking home, the air cooling down as it got later in the night. You felt your phone vibrating, expecting it to be one of your friends asking you where you went.

Cale’s name flashed on your phone, your heart racing. You were afraid to answer it. What were you going to do if he was crying on the other end of the call, if you could hear the guys in the background also upset. You weren’t sure you could take it.

You reluctantly answer, letting out a weak hello in anticipation of him being upset.

“You should have been here,” he said, an angry tone in voice that you weren’t expecting.

“What?”

“You should have been here,” he repeated, his voice breaking ever so slightly. “I spent the entire game wishing you were here, that I could look up to the box and know you were there even if I couldn’t see you, and it fucked me up. We lost because of me. We lost because you weren’t there.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you spit, “I told you I couldn’t come. How is it my fault I can’t just leave my job?”

“You should have been here,” he tells you a third time, his voice raised this time, “Up in the box with all the wives and girlfriends.”

“I guess I would have to be a wife or a girlfriend to be there, then, huh?” You hung up before he could say anything else, a sob escaping your body that you didn’t even know you had in you.

Cale spent the rest of the night trying to reach you, texting, calling, dming on social media, any form of communication you ever had between each other was being used by him while you ignored him.

How dare he blame you for the team losing the game. He wasn’t the only person on the team, and he wasn’t even on the ice for three of the goals. It wasn’t his fault they lost, and it definitely wasn’t yours, either.

You fell asleep angry, your phone never ceasing to be lit up by Cale’s constant attempts to reach you. He had family he could call, someone else he could contact. Anyone besides you, the person he was hooking up with in a way that wasn’t supposed to be serious.

You woke up the next morning, unsure if the pounding was from the brutal hangover made worse by your bad mood, or if someone was trying to break down your door. You get out of bed, sure to mention a few expletives while you make your way to your door to find Cale standing on the other side, eyes bloodshot and his face looking pale.

“I’m sorry.”

You stood there, staring at him, trying to process him being there in the first place. You clench your jaw, trying to stay with the same attitude you had the night before. “You should be.”

You invite him in, Cale finding his way to your couch. You sit on the opposite side, trying to position yourself as far away as possible. “That was unfair of me,” he started. You sit there, waiting for him to continue. “I shouldn’t expect stuff like that from you when we aren’t, you know,” his voice trailed off.

He should just say it to you, tell you that you weren’t actually his girlfriend. You wanted to hear it from him, even if it was going to rip your heart out in the process.

“I like you, Cale. A lot,” you told him.

“I like you, a lot, too,” he said, shifting himself so he was sitting right next to you. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close to kiss the side of your head. You wanted more from him, more than just the confirmation that you liked each other. You had been playing this game for more than a month now, that stupid hook up turning serious when you weren’t supposed to get this close.

“I brought you something,” he broke the silence that had fallen between the two of you. He pulls the sweatshirt off his body, the one that he had been wearing for the last month and a half or so, the one that was for the playoffs that each player got. “You keep stealing my sweatshirts when you stay over, I figured I would give you one, instead.”

That fucking sweatshirt. You jump when the pump clicks off, momentarily forgetting that you were outside a gas station at that very moment. You could just throw the sweatshirt out, the trash right there between the pumps. You take the sweatshirt out of your backseat, standing there in front of the trash can longer than you probably should. You couldn’t throw it out. You pop your trunk, throwing it behind your bag that was sitting there waiting to be in a hotel room with you, relaxing and far away from everyone.

What else did you have to do besides drive to the hotel at this point? You check your phone one last time before you hit the road, the notifications not stopping as your friends start to panic when they watched you leave the house, your ‘Find My Friends’ feature showing them you were at the gas station.

‘I’m fine, just need to get away,’ you send them, not wanting to give them anymore.

You scroll through the rest of the notifications, your mom the only person who really knew where you were going. You see a notification from Nate, one of Cale’s teammates and one of Serina’s best friends, a missed call for the first time in who knows how long.

You try to ignore the notification, that one sticking out to you more than the rest. Plugging in the directions to the hotel, you finally start driving towards Vail.

Everyone around you was beyond shit faced. The Avs were about to start training camp, the last party someone thought to throw at one of their houses before they had to get back to work after the previous season. They were out for blood, but first they were out of alcohol.

It was a surreal experience to be the most sober person in a room. You weren’t able to operate machinery or make big decisions in any capacity, but you at least were sure you were going to remember the rest of the night.

You were sitting on the couch by yourself, scrolling through your Instagram feed, trying to ignore the fact that Cale was on the other side of the room, flirting with some girl one of the other guys brought.

He had the right to. You still weren’t exclusive, still not calling each other anything more than the person you were hooking up with. You weren’t seeing anyone else, but you hadn’t told him that. You didn’t even want to ask if he was seeing anyone else. That was only going to lead to you being upset. And while you’re drunk, you shouldn’t be upset. Because when you’re upset and drunk, you were bound to make a stupid decision.

No matter what was on the screen in front of your face, you couldn’t help but look up at Cale. You knew he saw you. You knew you were right in his line of sight. You had caught him looking over at you a few times already, a stupid smirk on his face that made your blood boil. He knew what he was doing.

Motherfucker.

“You called?” Nate said, plopping down next to you with such force your phone falls out of your hands and onto the floor. When you look at him confused, he continued, “You said, ‘motherfucker,’ so I made a bad joke.”

“I didn’t know I said that out loud,” you admit.

Nate laughed, loudly, or at least, loud enough to make the heat rush to your cheeks, and enough for Cale’s attention to finally turn to you for more than a second. The smirk on his face immediately turned to a scowl when he saw Nate, probably sitting too close to you for his own comfort.

“So what’s up with you and Cale?” Nate asked. You shrug, hating that you had to have this conversation yet again after having to have it with your friends who knows how many times. “He’s not your boyfriend, though, is he?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Not at all.”

A sickening smile grew on Nate’s face, his arm snaking away around your waist. “Is this ok, then?” he whispered.

You could see Cale’s face getting red from here, watching Nate flirt with you like he was. Nate knew what he was doing. The entire team knew what you and Cale were up to, there’s no way he didn’t know. “Yes,” you said.

Nate got as close to you as he could, pulling you so you were practically sitting in his lap. “What about this?” he asked, his hot breath tickling your neck.

“Yes,” you told him again, turning your head to face him, his lips tantalizingly close to you. You glance to the side, Cale’s entire body now turned towards you and Nate. You didn’t want to kiss his teammate, which was where it looked like this was going, but if it made Cale feel anything about you, you were sure it was worth it.

Before you could process what was going on, Nate’s lips were on yours, moving fast in the way that Cale’s always did at first, that urgency and hunger that he had for you showing with how he couldn’t wait to have your entire body touching his.

He wasn’t Cale, though. He was Nate, not Cale.

The only thing going through your mind was that he wasn’t Cale.

You pull away just as fast as Nate had pulled you in, managing to get out of his grip and got off the couch as fast as you could. You ran to the nearest door you could get into upstairs, your heart racing as you searched to see if you were the only one in the room. You couldn’t have someone in there watch you break down over a guy.

You waited in the room for what felt like forever, the stupid drunk part of you thinking that Cale would come through the door to see you. Or at least Nate would check to make sure you were ok.

Neither of them came.

You felt like you were already driving for hours, when it really was just twenty minutes alone with your own thoughts. How were you supposed to get away from everything when it seemed like everything you saw reminded you of a fucking guy?

Your music wasn’t enough to keep your thoughts away from Cale, every one with lyrics about being in love or about feeling like you weren’t good enough. Why were those the only two moods you felt?

Your stomach starts to make noises, suddenly remembering that you hadn’t eaten anything since the afternoon before at work, wondering how well you could navigate the roads of whatever small town you were driving through at that moment to find food. You reprogram your GPS quickly, a diner about five minutes off the exit of the highway. You weren’t even sure what you wanted, you just knew you had to have something.

A waitress comes over to where you sat down, ordering a burger and fries since it was the only thing you could comprehend as something you’d eat while you tried to figure out why the place seemed vaguely familiar.

Diners had a weird place in your mind. They were the place where you went at 2 in the morning with your friends after a drunk night, where you went for cheap food and lots of it for breakfast at noon or later after a drunk night, or where you got something quick to eat before getting drunk that night. You could probably count on one hand the number of times you had been to a diner where alcohol wasn’t involved at some point around going.

Cale had texted you that night that he wanted you to come over. You did, because of course you did. You wanted to see him, and apparently he wanted to see you. You spent the night together, waking up with his arms wrapped around you, his bare chest pressed against your back and his breath tickling the back of your neck. Every time you woke up like this, you couldn’t help but feel like you could fall for him harder than you already did, like you could be with him more than you already were.

Cale stirred awake, mumbling something against your neck after pressing a sweet kiss against your skin. You turn over, stretching and yawning as he finally released you from his grasp.

“Wow,” he said, his raspy voice making your heart skip a beat. He stared at you for a second before continuing, “You are beautiful.”

You didn’t know what to say to him, leaning over to him to kiss him as the only response you could think of. You wanted this to be more with him.

“Hey, can we,” you started, not entirely sure where you were going to end up.

“Let’s get breakfast,” he said before you could finish, jumping out of bed and throwing a shirt on. He handed you one of his sweatshirts, it hanging on you and hugging you with his smell. You still had the sweatshirt he had given you up in your apartment, sitting on your bed and afraid to wash it because you didn’t want to lose that scent.

He drove you outside the city, a small diner that you had never heard of. Everything was shockingly blue, the seats, the tables, the walls, you were sure the lighting also was as well.

“How do you know about this place?” you asked him as you slid across from each other in the booth, confused as to why he would bring you here, of all places, when there were plenty of breakfast places within walking distance of his apartment,

He shrugged, reaching across the table to take your hand in his, his thumb aimlessly tracing the back of your hand. “I found this place my first year here. I come here when I want to get away from the city but can’t really get away for any meaningful amount of time. It’s kinda special to me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Him taking you to a place that was special? That had to mean something, right? “I’m honored, then,” you blushed. He had never really taken you anywhere in public, not without your friends or his teammates. Was this a date?

“I’ve taken some of the guys here, too,” he told you, releasing your hand to look through the menu. “Nate’s favorite thing, surprisingly, is the banana walnut french toast.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of his teammate known for having an incredibly strict and almost grossly healthy diet, having something that sounded so sickeningly sweet with a cinnamon maple syrup and whipped cream on it as the menu description told you.

Your mind jumps back to that night with Nate, wondering in that moment what he was doing, who he had woken up next to, where he was spending the morning of his off day.

Would you have gone further with Nate if Cale weren’t right there? Would you have had anything with Nate at all if Cale weren’t there?

That’s why the diner was familiar to you: Cale had brought you here plenty of times since that day. It was your breakfast ‘date’ place, even though he never actually had an answer for you when you tried to ask him if they were dates. He avoided the question at every chance, never wanting to commit to anything more than that.

A couple sitting at the other end of the diner, sitting on the same side of the booth, sharing a plate of fries and looked at each other as if no one else existed around them.

You hated them.

You and Serina somehow ended up at a restaurant downtown that you had never been before, and from the looks of the menu, it made sense why you weren’t there ever. It was way more expensive than any other place you had ever been, even a simple salad being more than what you were really willing to spend on a bowl of lettuce.

“Why are we here?” you whispered to your friend, slightly mad that she would bring you here without telling you where you were going first. She had to know you would never have agreed to a place like this if she told you ahead of time.

Serina gives you a look that told you she’s up to something, something that you were sure you were going to hate. “You’ll see.”

“What does that mean?”

“Can you relax? This is supposed to be a nice treat for you.”

“Oh, so you’re paying?”

Serina scoffed, your anxiety spiking instantly. “No.”

“Well I can’t afford this and I don’t think this is a great treat if I’m expected to pay.”

“No, you’re not paying.”

“Well the only other option is something illegal, and neither of us would survive in prison if we commit a felony.”

“I don’t think skipping out on our bill would land us in prison.” The entire time, Serina didn’t look up from her menu, your heart racing and the prospect of what she had planned. Her phone lit up on the table, a call from someone you couldn’t make out showing on her screen. “Oh, hey, I’ll be right back.”

Before you could argue, Serina was gone, the phone to her ear and you left alone in a place you didn’t want to be. You start looking around; you could just get up and walk out the door. Serina took her bag with her, so it was just you at the table and your waiter or waitress hadn’t even come over to you yet. It wasn’t illegal to sit at a table for a little bit. They willingly lead you there.

“Hey,” you heard from behind you, a hand placed gently on your shoulder that still made you jump.

You turned to see who it was, expecting it to be Serina rejoining you at the table. “Nate?”

The burger came, no one on the other side of you like there was that night, the couple across the diner still mocking you without them realizing it. You hadn’t expected Nate to show up, for him and Serina to be planning that little swap between the two of them since that night at the party. You especially hadn’t expected him to apologize for not chasing after you that night like he thought he should have. He saw Cale, instead, who asked him why he was talking to you that night, if you had talked before.

Apparently Cale had dropped the conversation as quickly as it started, the girl he was talking to while you were on the couch with Nate taking his hand and dragging him off somewhere else.

The food was still sitting in front of you, completely untouched. You check your notifications, your friends still trying to figure out why you up and left the way you did.

If you were being honest, you weren’t a hundred percent sure. Something inside of you broke when you were scrolling social media, his post shattering your heart in ways you didn’t know was possible. You didn’t know why you were feeling this way, this was just supposed to be a hookup.

“Why were you with him?” Cale had texted you that he was on his way over, not giving you anything else when you asked him why. As soon as you opened the door to your apartment, he pushed past you, his face red and his voice loud.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why were you with Nate the other night?”

“Serina planned a date for us.”

“How could you cheat on me?”

You stood there, shocked, feeling all the anger that Cale was feeling and more. “What the fuck are you talking about? We aren’t together. You’ve made that very clear to me.”

“We are together. We’re seeing each other,” he tried to defend himself.

“Really?” you scoffed. “Because last time we even talked about what we are to each other, all we could say was that we liked each other. That was months ago Cale, and all we’ve done is had random hook ups here and there, getting together when you want to, talking to each other when you have the time. If you wanted to be with me, you would have taken me on a date like Nate did fucking ages ago.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair? No, Cale, what’s not fair is you leading me on all this time.”

It was apparently Cale’s turn to scoff, turning his head so he wasn’t even looking at you as he rolled his eyes. “Leading you on?”

“Yeah,” you practically screamed back at him. “You tell me you like me, and then you do nothing to show it. You take me to that random fucking diner and refuse to call it a date, you never take me anywhere, and what about the time when you told me I should fly to Boston to be there for the game on a moments notice? You act like you care about me when it seems convenient for you.”

“What about you?” he spit back, “We both agreed that this would never be serious, so sorry if I kept my promise.”

“Get out,” you yelled. You felt tears coming on, and the last thing you were going to do was cry in front of him.

“I,” he started, taking a step towards you.

You jerk back, startling Cale in the process. “Get out of my fucking apartment,” you yell again, Cale storming off before you can process what even really happened. You plop yourself on the couch, the shock of whatever that fight was hitting you like a tsunami, letting out a violent sob that your neighbors could probably hear.

That couple looked so happy. God, it made you sick.

You pay your tab without eating the food, your appetite leaving you just as fast as you got out of the building. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t recognized all the blue in that building. Cale had taken you on that route who knows how many times before.

The rest of your drive passes without you actually paying attention. You felt like you were on autopilot even though you were driving somewhere you had never been before.

The resort your mom had told you about was beautiful, the king bed once you got into your room calling your name. You flopped down on the soft mattress, finally letting out a breath as you felt all your worries melting away. You throw your phone in your bag, hoping that was enough for you to not think about it as you just laid there and relaxed.

Cale had just texted you that he didn’t think what you had could go any further, especially after the fight the two of you had. The worst part? You didn’t care.

What you did care about was that he had told you by telling you that you weren’t the only person he was seeing. He told you maliciously, as if that was an out for him. You two weren’t serious, it was never meant to be serious after all, just like your friends had said it wouldn’t be.

You hated yourself for thinking they were all wrong.

“What are you thinking about?” Serina asked you, pulling you away from the texts that you were rereading for what had to be the hundredth time from Cale.

“Men fucking suck.”

“Hey, you found a good one, though.”

You didn’t realize you fell asleep, your sadness from earlier in the day draining your energy more than you thought it would. You only woke up because you heard knocking at your door.

You groggily shuffle to the door, opening it without checking through the peephole even though you probably should have.

“Nate?”

Before saying anything, he pulls you in for a hug, a sigh of relief coming out as he planted a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m fine with you needing to get away for any reason, but next time can you tell me you’re going instead of me having to find out from your mom?”

“Sorry,” you mumble against his chest, his smell instantly calming you.

He pulls you into your room, a bag you didn’t notice before dragging behind him. “I’ll leave if you want me to, if you really need to be alone.”

“No,” you say, plopping down on the bed, Nate following suit, “I’m fine with you being here. I like that you’re here.”

He pulls you close again, his arm around your waist. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” You stay silent. Nate knew you better than anyone, so he had to know what happened. “You saw Cale’s post.”

You hated that a stupid Instagram post from Cale still had this much power over you. There was no reason why him getting engaged should crush you when you had been dating Nate for almost two years.

Nate sits silent after you nod, trying to figure out what to say. “He really did a number on you, huh?” You nod, not sure where to even begin with your words. “What does that mean for us?”

“I don’t know.”

#cale makar #cale makar fic #nate mackinnon #nathan mackinnon #nate mackinnon fic #nathan mackinnon fic #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche fic #avalanche #avalanche fic #avs

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nylwnder · 1 year

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i love you, grumpy | cale makar

gif by gabelandeskog

a/n: this a special fic for @gravestrain as part of @antoineroussel ’s winter fic exchange 2k23!!! sorry for the delay, apparently life had more planned for me than i would have liked, but better late than never! i must say i’ve never written the grumpy/sunshine trope before nor had i written for cale yet, so this was a really fun challenge for me! i hope you like it, elle!!! enjoy bb, hugs and kisses <333333

warnings: sunshine!cale x grumpy!reader, when the grumpy breaks >>, some swearing, just fluffy

word count: 3.1k

you couldn’t help but gain a great attachment with the small, kind and rosy boy in your kindergarten class. you were very socially anxious, which is valid considering you were being forced to submerge yourself in just the beginning of an insanely toxic social structure. and for what?

he made everything better. he was so sweet with you, it’s safe to say even too sweet. he almost always focused his attention on you, and you never understood why. when you felt like you didn’t belong anywhere, he would quite literally grab your hand and drag you everywhere with him. you always wondered why he wasn’t like all the other stupid boys playing soccer and bothering the other girls. why he always, at any opportunity, chose to spend every minute of his time with you. he invaded your space everyday with his blaring sunshine personality and even if you bothered him whenever you could, you knew you needed him.

so you and cale grew up together, and you two were always learning every possible thing there is to know about each other. that also meant that you two were going everywhere and experiencing everything together. you could list every single shitty thing that's happened to you so far throughout your life, but then you can also list everything cale has done to help you through it. and it goes both ways. cale often shares his gratitude for your ability to take him out of stupid situations, or help avoid them all together. he can be quite naive sometimes, which always makes you feel the need to defend him because you couldn’t possibly see him not have that fluffy ass smile plastered on his face.

he has come to know you aren’t necessarily the most exuberant person, which is also supposedly a reason for your incapability of keeping relationships (per a handful of stupid assholes). but cale, unlike the others, never minded. he always told you how he loves the way he can break you. since he has, making his favourite sight in the whole world: a smile creeping up on the end of your lips — it’s absolutely picture perfect if he miraculously gets a giggle too. if you must say so, nobody has had a higher “breaking y/n count” than cale himself. he just adds it to all of his other impeccable stats.

once cale left for umass, it was embarrassingly obvious how you began spiralling, and it presented you with an epiphany. the main point: you are a complete simp for him and it’s honestly disgusting. you can’t even say the exact day you fell in love with him, because there wasn’t a day that you didn’t. so in conclusion, cale is the only person you need by your side, because you are entirely positive you would go insane if otherwise. even if you sometimes act like that’s not the case.

so you drove to massachusetts one day to go visit him. that night, you two headed to a campus party where cale ended up quaffing far too many drinks. dragging his mumbley ass to his room, he slumped down and laid half on the bed and half on the floor. you gave out a small laugh, not without rolling your eyes, as he was trying his very best to tell you a story he could barely make out.

that was until he started muttering things about you. you stopped fixing his room and sat on the floor beside him. he turned to look at you, his head dangling off the bed now. “i wanna tell you sm’thing” you nodded, “what does your blabbermouth wanna tell me now?”

he giggled, before he spat out everything he wanted to say, all at once. telling you how he can’t get you out of his mind, how he misses someone waiting for him after games and practices, or the way you make fun of him, and your laugh, “oh that fuckin laugh you have it kills me y/n, in the best way.”

“i think the blood is rushing to your head.” you said, almost instinctively and you didn’t know why. your self-sabotage started to seep in, and you hated how you always made yourself feel as if you aren’t worthy for someone like cale to reciprocate your feelings.

but you were so grateful for his slurred confessions, as it eased your worries of looking like a total fool when you end up telling him what you came to say. he stared looking at you, waiting for your reaction. “do you hate me now?” he asked.

“no.”

“i should’ve just shut up. oh fuck no i messed it up, im s’stupid. ugh you’re always so right i'm such a dumbass. fuck-” he began mumbling, as he sat up and rubbed his face.

“cale stop.” you demanded. “you’re not stupid. you’re stupid for thinking you're stupid.”

“thanks” he said, softly. a pinky shade started to itch up on his face.

you turned to him and looked into his glossy eyes as he nipped on his lip. “okay. i miss you. i need you. i need you so much. i always knew that but i tried so hard to act like i don't. but life’s shit with you over here” you said, while you internally cursed yourself for the incoming wave of tears.

“nobody’s ever made me feel the way you make me feel. i’m not this bitchy, grumpy asshole when i’m with you. you don’t piss me off, not like you might think. no, i love you too much to think you're annoying.” you ranted.

you heard cale sniffle, as you looked up at him you saw tears falling down his face far more than yours — predictable. you laughed at him, reached for his hand and pulled him down to sit with you. “i love you, s’much” he said, as he pulled you in for a tight hug. and you loved it, feeling like you could just finally melt into him after discarding the weight off your shoulders.

cale felt the same. he thanked the far too many beers he had to give him that push. it didn’t end up going as he had rehearsed for years, but he didn’t lose you and he was so grateful about that. “it’s been a privilege that you let me accompany you through everything, all these years. i gotta say it’s something so very special to see you, you, oh you, let yourself be, you, with me. the really you.” cale told you, his head buried in your hair. you smiled, he wasn’t really making sense but you understood.

just as much as he’s always understood you.

—

it’s an average frigid and snowy day in colorado, and you find yourself cuddled up on your couch, watching a show on crave. you were wrapped up in the custom made quilt your now boyfriend gave you when you were both in middle school. it might sound corny, but god it was comfortable.

the freshly decorated christmas tree lit up the dim apartment. it was already mid-december when you were semi-forced to set it up, despite the fact cale originally wanted to put it up in november. cale was in the kitchen cooking up dinner for the two of you. you could hear him humming tunes to himself, something he often did which you love cause he always made sure to remind you, you weren’t alone. even if you teased him that you appreciated his absence when he was on road trips, he knows you always missed his stupid humming or his frequent whining, and yeah even his heart warming hugs that he would always refused to end.

he walks over with the bowls of food in hand. organizing the plates on the coffee table in front of the two of you, he can finally accompany you in finishing what you were watching. not forgetting to gently kiss your temple as he sat down beside you. and you may or may not have devoured his “classic home cooked meal, made with love” faster than cale himself, which he immediately laughed about since you had earlier mentioned you weren’t “that, that hungry”.

your pleasantly snug state started to diminish when cale mumbled the plans for tomorrow. “what? absolutely not!” you quickly stated, as cale made his way back to you. his team was hosting their annual family skate, which you often tried to dodge since cale always seemed to somehow embarrass you in front of everyone with your lack of skating abilities. and now, the catch this year? it would be in a huge outdoor rink.

“oh come on, everyone’s gonna go. it’s gonna be adorably decorated and… don’t forget you still need to learn how to actually skate,” cale says, booping your nose. “and, look, we already finished watching everything on our list, so we gotta make a whole new list and we can do that sunday.”

“no. no, look how cold it is outside! and i don’t recall being chilly in the cozy comfort of my own home.”

you fall back when cale tries to reach his hands out to grab yours. “i’ll give you the warmest hoodie i have so you can add it on top of the 50 layers you already habitually put on. i promise, baby ” cale reasons, as you try to fight him off so he couldn’t pull you up. you shoot him a look as he pouts at you, “you love hot chocolate, with whip cream. and i’ll make sure they have marshmallows too, of course.” he continued trying to convince you along with his sweet smile.

rolling your eyes at him. “fine.”

“fine? yes? perfect! oh honey, you’ll have fun, i promise. don’t worry baby.” he says, pulling you into his chest and kissing you everywhere. you scrunched up your face, trying to move the opposite way of his attacking lips. “you let me fall, makar?” you say, sternly pointing him down and giving him a warning look. he throws his arms up, his cheeks beginning to blush naturally, “i won’t, i won’t. never would. you know that.” you scoffed, “you better say that.”

as you made your way to grab some juice, cale sneaked up behind you. “wanna go to costco?” cale suggests enthusiastically, before snuggling his nose into the crook of your neck while wrapping his arms around your waist. you shook your head, “cale, you do know you’re literally the only one that loves going there. not me.”

“lies, you love their selection of snacks and you always eat allllllll the ones i buy. if you didn’t love costco, you wouldn’t eat their — well priced — stuff either.”

“i still prefer sam’s club” you unhesitatingly denote.

cale gasps, dramatically holding his chest as you look up at him. you moved your head down to pour the juice into a cup, and you couldn’t help but break into a tiny smile. he was such a kid.

“y/n, take that back” he whiningly utters. you walked to him, mockingly booping his nose “no”

but you couldn’t hold the smirk back, and cale knew you were just teasing, like always. even if you did hate going to costco, especially because of the impeccably large crowds and the fact that the promoted samples never seem to actually be ready to grab, cale loved it. and you know you always want cale to be happy.

—

the following day, you did not hesitate to grab the hoodie cale mentioned you could use from his closet. as you stand in the mirror, what’s accompanying the sweater and your puffer jacket, is a “heat tech” t-shirt, a thick long sleeve, some long johns below your fleece sweats and your long and fat scarf wrapped around your neck. you also quickly yanked cale’s favourite beanie from his drawer which was a compromise he was willing to make despite having to dig for another hat to wear.

cale couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of you struggling to put your thick boots on with your million layers. “i don't have to put them on, you know.” you taunted him. “no i’m sorry, i’m sorry. let me help you, here” he said, as he got on his knees to loosen the laces on each of the boots.

when he held one out for you, you snickered. “what? what happened?” he asked innocently, looking up at you. “i like it when you’re on your knees. specifically for me.” you say, running your hands through his hair and tugging just a bit. his reaction was predictable, his cheeks immediately turning flush as he cleared his throat and proceeded to tie your laces back together. you often take much enjoyment in getting him all flustered with your suggestive comments. he just looks really cute.

—

once you arrived at the outdoor rink, you found out it actually wasn’t as cold as you made it seem, but you weren’t going to let cale use that against you so you stayed with every layer you had put on. even if a part of you admits that you admire his cheeky smile whenever he knows he’s right.

before heading towards the ice, cale asks you if you want some hot chocolate first, as you noticed many other couples were heading to the little hut. you said you were fine, preferring the idea of smudging whip cream on his face after skating just in case he does end up dropping you.

sitting on the bench, cale helped you put on your skates before his. a few of his teammates were happy to see you. ej had a mischievous grin on his face as he greeted you. “just let me know when you wanna gang up on your boy.” he whispers in your ear, making you smirk and nod. ej was a gem, he always liked how you would affectionately bug cale. and he was always ready to help you.

“you better look like a stanley cup champion out there.” you tell cale as he grabs your hand. he laughed, “oh i will!”

gripping on his forearms, you finally step onto the ice trying to not immediately slip. cale starts skating backwards, as he lightly pulls you in to follow him, in which you do at a seemingly better rate than the first time he took you to a rink. continuing with the movements, and gaining more confidence on the ice, you mimicked some of cale’s skate tricks seeing where it would take you. you simper as you learned how to take a long stride and break on your own with a ‘t-stop’. and then again but with a ‘plow stop’. though, cale catching you before you could fall.

“see, you are having fun.” cale mentions as he smiles, turning to skate beside you again. “yeah yeah. whatever. i mean it’s more fun when you don’t fall.”

doing laps around the rink, you catch ej looking over at the two of you. so you tilt your head, signalling he could start to fool around. but before he could even make his way over to you or cale, your skate gets caught on a dent in the ice making you swing your arms, sending cale falling back.

he fell on his back, his head didn’t touch the ice — but you didn’t know that. “oww” he whines. you turn to him, softly chuckling at the sight of his sprawled out body. but then he closed his eyes, and held his hand to his head, groaning. “oh shit, cale!” you yelp, falling to your knees to look at him. “did you hit your head?? fuck i told you they should give out helmets here.”

“mm god my head is pounding.” he mumbles, trying to get up. “don’t get up, you could have a concussion. you should know that.” you tell him. he groans once again so you start to internally panic. you just pushed, and potentially injured, your boyfriend who has to go back and play in a couple of days. “shit. cale don’t die. fuck don’t die you have a game in four days and i can’t have your coach hating me for this.”

nate comes around, “hey cale, you okay?” he asks. cale doesn’t move, nor says a thing. you shake his arm, and nothing. “cale!!” you call out. he’s limp.

“oh god i killed him, nate. fuck i’m screwed. no cale wake up. please wake up. come on you rosy cheeked sunshine boy. fucking get uuuuup.” you whine at him, shaking his entire body as much as you can.

“BOO” cale yells, jolting up and grabbing you. you let out a tiny shriek, scrunching your shoulders and closing your eyes. he was in a fit of giggles. “CALE DOUGLAS MAKAR NEVER FUCKING DO THAT.” you cry out.

“i got youuuu” he mocks. you smack his shoulder, not as gently. he smiles, “it’s cute that you thought i died.”

“that’s not funny. i thought you smacked your head.”

“it’s kinda funny.”

“no it’s not.”

pulling him up, everyone else laughed at you two. ej truly surprised cale turned the tables on you. nate patted cale’s back before you started heading over to go get hot chocolate.

“two please.” cale orders before shaking off the snow on his pants. the lady hands you both your cups and you head over to the bench. “so you didn’t hit your head?” you asked cale quietly, looking at him with soft eyes. he smiled, “no, and you didn’t see so i took advantage.” you sneer at him.

as cale blew his hot chocolate, you scooped a bit of the whip cream and hid your hand. “hey, it’s pretty h-” cale began saying before you took a small sip and acted like you burned your tongue. you whimpered in pain, shutting your mouth. “hot it’s pretty hot. are you okay?” he asks, wrapping his arm around you to pull you closer.

that’s when you lifted your hand and smeared the whip cream all over his face, cale gasped. “y/n!!” he exclaimed, wiping off what fell on his eyes. you started laughing at him.

“how dare you. i didn’t even let you fall”

“it’s funny.”

he laughed, despite the way he was still cleaning his face. “it is funny.”

“glad you think so.”

he grabs your cup and moves it behind him with his own, “that’s enough for you.” you still had a smile on your face. he moves his finger and dabs a bit of whip cream from his face onto yours. so you grab his blushy cheeks and pull him in for a kiss. his lips were warm and soft and you couldn’t help but feel all lovesick inside. “i love you” you murmured. “i love you more, grumpy”

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#the winter fic exchange 2k23 #cale makar #cale makar fic #cale makar imagine #cale makar fluff #cale makar x reader #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche fic #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl fluff #nhl x reader #nhl writing #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #hockey imagine #hockey x reader

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blueskrugs · 1 year

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Written in the Sand | Tyson Jost

it’s finally here! I started this fic in September, thinking it would be a cute couple thousand words, and then finally finished it four months and almost 30,000 words later.

huge thank you to @antoineroussel who held my hand through a lot of this and also did the hard work of beta reading and editing all of this.

recommended listening: Written in the Sand by Old Dominion (where else would I get title and inspo from?), Colder Weather by Zac Brown Band, and The Dance by Garth Brooks.

length: 29.8k words (lol)

this fic has now been broken into chapters for easier reading

Are we written in the stars, baby, or are we written in the sand?

Tyson never meant to catch feelings. Really. It was supposed to be a one-night stand. Then it happened again, and again, and somewhere along the line it turned into regular hooking up. And, well, anyone would tell you that Tyson wore his heart on his sleeve. It wasn’t long before he was falling fast and hard.

Tyson looked across the couch at where she was dozing, wearing one of his T-shirts. His birthday was in a few days. He’d already resolved to ask her out for real before then. This stupid not-quite-friends-with-benefits shit was getting old. It needed to end one way or another, for Tyson’s sanity—and his heart. If he was going to get his heart broken anyway, why prolong the inevitable?

But he was getting ahead of himself.

November

It’s early in the season, too early to be celebrating wins the way they are. But they blew out the Canucks and the Sharks in consecutive games and don’t have another one for four days, so Gabe dragged them all out to a bar. There’s something special about this team, Tyson can feel it, and so can the rest of the guys.

Which is how Tyson finds himself a couple beers and a shot or two deep on a Saturday night in November, with JT squished against his side in the booth. The team is extra loud to account for the fact that they’re in a crowded bar; EJ is across the table chirping Andre about something or other. Tyson settles in and takes another drink of his beer.

JT elbows him in the ribs. Tyson elbows him back harder on principle.

“No, idiot, there’s a cute girl over there,” JT says.

“You have a girlfriend,” Tyson says, not following. He tries to figure out which girl JT is talking about, but there’s a lot of girls in the bar.

“You don’t,” JT points out, and, oh.

“I’m not really looking for anything,” Tyson says, because it’s true. Especially not some hookup with a girl in a bar. He doesn’t really roll that way. He really wants to focus on having a good season here. He still doesn’t know which girl JT is talking about.

Gabe, the nosy asshole, leans over Cale to give his two cents. “Josty, I think you need another beer.”

Tyson glares at his unfortunately almost-empty beer bottle. He glances over at the bar again. This time, a girl catches his eye and gives him a small smile over her friend’s shoulder. She is kind of cute, Tyson supposes. Tyson heaves a sigh and elbows JT again to force him out of the booth. A small cheer goes up. He flips them off without turning around.

It’s even more crowded at the bar, but Tyson manages to squeeze in near the girl and lean against the bar while he waits for a bartender. The person on his left leaves with their drink, and then he’s next to the girl. He wishes he knew her name. She smiles at him again.

He’s about to lean in and introduce himself when a bartender comes over and asks for his order. She’s smirking at him when he turns back.

“All the beers in the world, and you’re drinking Coors?” she asks. She has to lean in close to be heard, and Tyson doesn’t mind it. He makes an outraged noise, which only makes her grin grow. “I’m Madison,” she says.

“Listen, Madison,” Tyson starts, but he doesn’t actually have a great argument. He’s just not very picky when it comes to beers. He closes his mouth. Madison laughs at him and takes a sip of her drink. “And what’re you drinking, huh?” Something with a lime wedge on it. Red, maybe. The dim lighting makes it extra hard to see colors.

“All beer is gross, first of all,” she says. “Second of all, it’s a vodka cran.”

“Can I buy you another?” Tyson asks. Her glass is less vodka cran and more ice at this point.

On Madison’s other side, her friend groans. Tyson probably deserves that. Madison rolls her eyes at him. He deserves that, too.

“Real smooth,” she says. Tyson winks at her. “I don’t even know your name,” she points out. Oh, yeah.

“I’m Tyson,” he says. He sticks out a hand for handshake, and Madison takes it, though she raises an eyebrow and laughs at him again as she does it.

“Okay, Tyson,” Madison says, “you can buy me a drink.” Tyson thinks she sounds amused.

Tyson fist pumps and turns back to catch the attention of one of the bartenders again.

Drinks procured, Tyson loses track of time as he chats with Madison, as much as they can over the din and constant jostling. By the time they’re both finished, Madison’s pressed close to Tyson’s side. She’s looking up at him expectantly.

Fuck it, Tyson thinks. He leans close and settles a hand on Madison’s hip. “Can I take you home?” he asks.

Madison slides a hand around the back of his neck. Her nails scratch the curls at the nape of his neck, and Tyson suppresses a shiver in a warm, crowded bar.

“God, I thought you were never going to ask,” she says.

Some of the guys are still posted up at tables in the corner. He’d forgotten about them. He hears a few jeers over the din of the crowd, and he flips them off with the hand that’s not clutching one of Madison’s.

“Friends of yours?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at the cluster of rowdy hockey players, letting Tyson drag her towards the door.

“Unfortunately,” Tyson says, once they’re safely out the door, and he can talk at a normal volume again. “Can I kiss you?” he blurts, pausing in trying to fish his car keys out of his pocket.

Madison laughs again, but it’s not mean. Tyson likes it, the way she already seems comfortable teasing him. She doesn’t answer, instead just slides her hand around Tyson’s neck again and pulls him down to kiss her. Tyson’s dizzy with the feeling of her lips warm against his, there in the middle of the sidewalk. He makes himself pull away.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

Madison lets Tyson keep a hand on her thigh as he drives, edging up under the hem of her shorts. He’s dying to be able to kiss her again. She lets him as soon as she’s out of the car and pressed up against the passenger door. Then again, in the elevator until they’re both breathless, and even more once they’re safely inside Tyson’s apartment. Against the front door, tripping over themselves down the hallway, and, finally, finally, twisted up in Tyson’s sheets.

Madison stirs next to Tyson, knocking him out of his bask in the afterglow. Her hair, once nicely curled, is a mess. Tyson’s probably doesn’t look much better, actually.

“I should go,” she whispers.

Tyson wants to argue. To tell her she can stay. But that’s too much, too strange. He rolls over to kiss her again, instead. She pushes him away with a soft giggle.

“Not helping,” she says. She sits up. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah, course,” Tyson says, nodding too hard. Madison slips out of bed and collects her clothes. If Tyson watches her ass as she goes, who’s to blame him?

He’s dozing when she re-emerges, fully dressed and a little less disheveled.

“Can I get your phone number?” Tyson asks without thinking. That’s not what this was supposed to be. He told JT he wasn’t looking for anything just a few hours ago. He just knows he wants to see Madison again.

She hesitates. Tyson understands.

“I’d really like to see you again,” Tyson says, maybe too honest for a hookup, but it’s late. He can’t be blamed for the things he says after 1 AM. “And it’s late, I’d sleep better if I know you got home okay.”

Tyson can see the moment she gives in. Madison sighs and steps closer to the bed, but there’s something soft in her eyes when she looks at Tyson.

“Where’s your phone?” she asks. Tyson reaches for his bedside table out of habit. His phone never made it there in their haste to get into bed. He turns back to face Madison, sheepish.

“I don’t know, actually.” Probably still in the back pocket of his jeans, but he can’t remember if he stopped to take it out and set it somewhere, either.

Madison sighs at him again and shakes her head. Tyson watches as she scoops his jeans off the floor and digs through them before coming up with his phone. He probably should have done that himself, but Madison tosses it at him before he can push the sheets away from where they’re pooling at his waist. Tyson isn’t expecting it and fumbles the phone. He has to dig it back out before he can unlock it and toss it back to Madison.

She catches it with ease, and Tyson sticks his tongue out at her. Show-off. She ignores him, thumb swiping idly through his apps until she finds his contacts. She types for a moment, oddly serious. Her own phone vibrates in her other hand. She throws the phone back at Tyson. He doesn’t drop it this time.

He unlocks his phone to see that Madison’s made herself a contact—just her first name and a smiley face typed out— and texted herself—a little blue bubble that just says, tyson.

She checks her phone again. “I really should go,” she says softly. “My ride’s here,” she adds.

“Wait,” Tyson says. He reaches out a hand, wraps his fingers around her wrist when she steps closer and tugs her down so he can kiss her one last time. “‘Kay, now you can go,” he whispers.

Madison cups his cheek and gives him one quick peck, then she’s out the door.

Tyson’s not quite asleep when his phone vibrates next to him, and she slaps at it, squinting at it in the dark. A text from Madison reads, home x. Tyson falls asleep smiling.

He almost expects that to be the end of it. He knows he said he wanted to see Madison again, but he’s not sure either of them are going to follow up on it. The Avs’ schedule gets busy—away, then back home, then gone again.

But it happens again. Tyson’s high on another win when he dials Madison’s phone number. It rings long enough that Tyson thinks she’s not going to answer.

“Hello?” Madison says, startling Tyson.

“Oh,” he says. He didn’t think he’d get this far.

“Tyson?”

“Are you busy tonight?” he blurts. It’s a Saturday night, he’s expecting her to say that she’s going out with friends or something. Tyson’s just getting home from the game himself.

He’s surprised when she says, “Not really.”

“Oh,” Tyson says again. He pulls his tie off over his head and tosses it aside.

“Tyson? This is a booty call, isn’t it?”

“Uh. Maybe?” Tyson says. “Is it working?” Tyson surveys his apartment. He’d cleaned before leaving for Dallas, and he’s barely been home long enough to make a mess again. Though, his unpacked suitcase is exploding in the corner of his room where he dumped it when they got in late the night before.

“God, you’re so bad at flirting,” Madison says. Unfortunately, she’s endeared by it. “I can be there in like thirty minutes, text me your address.”

Tyson fist pumps when he hangs up the call. He frantically texts Madison before going to change into sweats. He’s fidgeting restlessly on his couch when Madison calls him again thirty-six minutes later.

“Can you let me up?” she asks.

“Oh, shit, yeah,” he says. He doesn’t bother with shoes, just swipes his keys from his kitchen island and heads downstairs.

Madison’s waiting awkwardly in his lobby when Tyson steps off the elevator. She spots him and grins when he waves at her. She wants to hug him, for some reason, when he approaches her, but that’s not what they are, so she settles for taking his hand and twining their fingers together when he reaches out for her.

Tyson doesn’t pin her against the elevator wall to kiss her after the doors close behind them, but Madison can tell he wants to. She squeezes his hand, and Tyson pulls her into his side.

“Little excited, huh?” Madison teases, looking at Tyson’s feet.

He wiggles his socked toes and grins at Madison.

“Well, duh,” he says. The elevator doors open again. Tyson all but drags Madison towards his apartment. He’s kissing her before the door is shut all the way. They stumble over to Tyson’s couch, and Tyson’s pulling Madison into his lap before he’s even settled. She lets him kiss her for a few minutes before she pulls away.

“Is this going to become a thing every time you guys win?” she gasps.

“You know who I am?” Tyson doesn’t ask, resting his forehead on Madison’s shoulder to catch his breath. “You watch hockey?” he asks instead. He’s not sure it’s a better question than the one he didn’t ask.

Madison twists her fingers in the hair at the base of Tyson’s neck. “Not avidly. I really didn’t know who you were the first time, but my friends and I were out the other night, and I saw you on TV.” She tugs a little on his hair, and Tyson tilts his head back to look at her. She’s watching his face closely, waiting for his reaction.

Tyson’s relieved, in a weird way, that she didn’t know who he was when they hooked up the first time. He’s just not sure how he feels now that she’s back in his lap, and evidently knows he plays for the Avalanche. Madison’s unwavering, looking steadily back at Tyson.

“What, so you’re just fucking me because I’m a hockey player now?” he jokes, or tries to joke. He thinks it falls flat.

Madison laughs. “No, you idiot, I’m fucking you because you’re kinda cute.” She rolls her eyes, and Tyson pouts a little. “I told you, I didn’t know who you were the first time. I’m not chasing anything, Tys. Besides, if I were chasing hockey players, I’m sure there are single Avs players who score more goals,” she teases.

“Hey, I scored a goal tonight!” Tyson protests.

“I know, baby,” she says, kissing him quickly.

“Did you look up my stats?” Tyson asks, distracted.

“I like you, okay?” Madison says, ignoring him. “Wouldn’t be here for any other reason.”

Tyson has to kiss her again. They don’t end up making it to the bedroom.

“Do you have to go?” Tyson whines, watching Madison sit up and search for her clothes. Tyson thinks her T-shirt ended up behind his couch.

Madison pauses. Tyson’s curls are a disaster, and Madison kind of wants to mess them up more. “And what exactly would we do if I stayed?” she asks, eyebrows raised. She threads her fingers into Tyson’s hair, tugs once, because she can.

Tyson blushes a little. “I dunno, watch a movie?” Madison makes a face. Tyson’s phone got buried in the couch cushions, and he fishes it out to look at the time. “Okay, I guess it is kinda late.” Tyson’s stomach growls. “Do you want to order pizza?” he asks instead.

Madison finds her shirt and checks the time on her own phone. “I really should get home,” she says, apologetic. “I hate getting Ubers late at night.”

“You can spend the night,” Tyson says without thinking. At the look on Madison’s face, he says instead, ”Or, I could drive you home. Whatever.”

“‘Whatever,’” Madison scoffs, shaking her head. But she grins at Tyson and pulls her shirt over her head. Tyson briefly mourns the loss of her bare chest. “I guess I could go for pizza,” she says.

“Wait, for real?” Tyson asks. He realizes he probably sounds too eager.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” Madison warns, but her smile is playful.

She’s still standing next to the couch, and Tyson has to pull her back into his lap. She giggles as she settles across Tyson’s thighs. He kisses her cheek, the corner of her mouth, before she turns her head and captures his lips with her own. They kiss for long minutes, Tyson doesn’t know, time slowed down and unimportant. That is, until Tyson remembers he’s hungry and has to pull away.

“Pizza?” he asks, somewhat nonsensically, panting a little.

Madison kisses him again. Tyson tightens his grip on her hips, but pushes her away. “As long as you order pepperoni.” She slides off Tyson’s lap and slumps onto the couch next to Tyson.

Madison suddenly realizes that she’s tired, her eyes feeling heavy as she watches Tyson order pizza. She considers for a second, before carefully poking him in the ribs with her toes. Tyson doesn’t flinch. Madison stretches and settles with one of her feet across Tyson’s lap. He drops his hand to her ankle without looking down, thumb rubbing small circles across the bone absently. Madison closes her eyes and dozes.

She’s woken up again by Tyson gripping her foot and shaking it. She’s melted further into the couch cushions, bones heavy with exhaustion. Tyson smiles at her.

“Pizza’s here, babe,” he says softly.

Sure enough, there’s a pizza box resting on the coffee table. It smells enticing enough to rouse Madison the rest of the way. She reaches a hand out, intending for Tyson to give her a piece of pizza, but he wraps his fingers around hers and pulls her to sit up. She leans into Tyson’s side. He laughs quietly and drapes an arm across her shoulders. Madison could probably fall back asleep like this, Tyson warm and solid next to her. Tyson hands her a slice of pizza, and Madison’s actually too hungry to resist.

Tyson turns on some show on Netflix while they eat. Neither of them are paying much attention, but it fills in the silence nicely. It’s cold and dark outside, the city of Denver sleepy, but inside Tyson’s apartment, it’s cozy and warm.

It’s dangerous waking up next to Madison the next morning. It’s something Tyson could get used to far too easily. Madison’s still asleep when he rolls over in the early morning light. She’s rolled over to face him in her sleep, face soft and hair a mess. Tyson’s not sure what time it is. He should maybe get up, but he’s not in any rush.

Madison blinks awake to find Tyson watching her. She rubs at her eyes and rolls onto her back.

“Whatchu lookin’ at?” she mumbles. She turns her head back to look at Tyson.

Tyson grins lazily back at her. “You, duh.”

Madison facewashes him. Tyson grabs her wrist and wrenches her hand away, cackling. “You’re the worst,” she says over his laughter.

Tyson scoots closer and sticks a foot in between Madison’s legs. No ulterior motive, just wanting to be close. Okay, maybe a teeny bit of ulterior motive: Tyson’s toes are cold. He’d wheedled Madison into wearing a pair of his sweatpants and a T-shirt before they’d fallen asleep. She looks like she belongs in Tyson’s bed.

Madison watches Tyson closely as he settles back in. She tries to read the expression on his face, the small smile on his lips. She’s not sure what any of it means.

“So what next?” she asks softly. Two hook-ups and a sleepover does not a relationship make.

Tyson knows what she’s asking. He runs through their upcoming schedule in his head. They’re about to leave for a week. That’s about as far as he gets. They can worry about all that later. All he knows that he wants, no, he needs to see Madison again.

What he says now is, “Breakfast?”

December

Madison doesn’t hear much from Tyson for a while after that. It’s not like she expected to, really. She knows the Avalanche went on another long road trip, and it’s not like they need to be texting each other constantly.

Madison finds herself checking the Avalanche box scores after each game. Tyson gets two goals while they’re gone. Not that she’s counting, or anything.

Tyson means to call. He really does. Or even text some. But in the air somewhere over Canada, he realizes he’s never actually talked much with Madison. He doesn’t know anything about her, unless you count what she’s like in bed. He’s never been good at small talk, or the talking phase. Which, when he thinks about it, is probably why he’s still single.

It’s not until he’s staring down three and a half weeks of nothing but practices that Tyson picks up his phone again.

Madison answers faster than he’d expected. “You’re not bored already, are you?” she asks. “It’s only been two days since you had a game.”

It’s only been one day since their last game, actually. Tyson whines into the phone. “Yes, I’m bored, okay?” Madison laughs at him. Tyson makes a face, even though she can’t see it. “We never get this much time off, it’s weird,” he goes on. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re a smart boy, Tyson,” Madison teases. “Went to college and everything, I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

That’s not to say that Tyson doesn’t have ideas, and he thinks Madison knows what he’s angling for because she’s not a fool. She’s really going to make him work for this one.

“I mean, I guess I could watch some movies or start a new TV show,” Tyson hedges.

“Watch The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings trilogies,” Madison says absently. “Could get you through a good couple of days.”

Tyson takes his opening. “You could always come over and watch them with me,” he says.

Madison groans, as if they both didn’t see where this conversation was going. “You’re terrible,” she tells him.

“No, really, we can just hang out,” Tyson says. And if hanging out leads to other things, well. “Don’t you have teammates you can hang out with or something?” Madison asks, skeptical.

“I see them literally every day”—Madison laughs again—“and I want to see you,” Tyson adds. “Really.”

Madison pauses on the other end of the line. “Fine,” she says finally. “Should I pack a bag?”

Tyson freezes. He hadn’t gotten that far in his scheming. Never considered Madison would even want to spend that much time with him this weekend. He’s quiet long enough that Madison says something.

“Tyson?” she says softly.

Tyson shakes himself, tries to get his brain back online. “I, uh, I mean. I guess? You can, if—if you want?” he stammers. It’s Friday afternoon. He still has some practices over the weekend, but the long break between games suddenly seems less daunting with the prospect of Madison staying over, staying in his bed.

“I’ll be over soon, okay?” Madison says.

Tyson isn’t sure if he manages to say anything else before she ends the call. Fuck. He’s getting the sense for the first time that he’s in over his head. He isn’t so sure he minds, actually.

The weekend passes quickly once Madison’s there, though Tyson swears time slows down when he’s with her. They do actually end up watching The Lord of the Rings movies—which Madison had proudly produced from one of her bags, along with several packs of microwave popcorn, which had sent Tyson into a laughing fit— in between falling into bed (or the couch, more than once) and Tyson dragging himself out of the apartment to get to skate.

“We really should do The Hobbit first, since those come first chronologically, but other than the first one, they’re not as good,” Madison explains at one point, gesturing with a handful of popcorn. Tyson just nods. “And we could have probably had a proper marathon and watched all the movies, but that’s like twenty hours, and I figured you had other plans, anyway.” She looks sidelong at Tyson, one eyebrow raised.

“You’re kind of a nerd, you know that?” Tyson asks later, breathless from making out. He’s pressing Madison into the couch cushions, their legs tangled together underneath a blanket. He’s aiming for light, teasing, but he’s not sure he quite gets there.

Madison tugs on the hair at the nape of Tyson’s neck. “Yeah, but you like me anyway.” Madison’s smirking a little.

Tyson absolutely does like her anyway. It might make him like her more, actually.

Madison’s standing at the kitchen counter with the last of her coffee on Sunday morning when Tyson comes up and presses himself against her back, pinning her in place. He presses a kiss to the spot where Madison’s neck meets her shoulder. Madison tilts her head to the side some. With better access, Tyson drags a line of kisses down her neck and across the top of her shoulder.

Madison sets her coffee mug down on the counter with shaky hands before she drops it.

“Are you sure you can’t stay longer?” Tyson mumbles into Madison’s skin.

From this angle, Tyson can see the hickey on Madison’s collarbone from the day before. He’s got one to match, somewhere. He wants to get his mouth on it again, make it darker, make sure it’s there for days.

Tyson feels it more than he hears it when Madison laughs. She reaches up and drapes an arm backwards over his shoulder, holding him in place as much as he’s pinning her.

“Sorry, bud, but some of us have to get back to the real world,” she says. She doesn’t make any effort to move.

Tyson bites her shoulder, gently, but pulls away. “Same time next week?” he asks next, only half a joke.

Madison turns around and looks at Tyson. “Tyson, next week is Christmas.”

“Fuck, is it?” Tyson tries to remember what day it is. His family is coming to town this year. He should probably put some effort into decorating his apartment, then.

Madison just shakes her head at him. Tyson wonders if his mom and Kacey will be able to look at him and know what’s going on in his heart.

Tyson’s apartment feels empty without Madison in it when he gets back from practice later that afternoon. She’d filled in all the quiet spaces Tyson didn’t realize it had—a spare throw blanket strewn across the couch, her makeup bag overflowing on his bathroom counter, an extra set of dirty dishes in the sink.

He misses her. More than he should, probably. Huh.

This was never supposed to be anything. Just a hook-up from the bar. Now Madison’s spending weekends at his place, and Tyson wants to see her all the time. He should’ve seen it coming, maybe. He’d never been good at flings.

He thinks about calling Madison, but that seems like too much. He’s been told he can be too much, sometimes. He puts his phone back down, flops face down onto his couch for a while, instead.

Tyson spends the next few days doubling down on getting ready for Christmas. He had, in fact, forgotten that it was coming up so soon, and he still needed to get presents for his grandpa and sister. He digs out his meager box of Christmas decorations and sets them up around his apartment. It’s not very much, but it does go a long way towards making the apartment feel a bit more like home.

He holds off on texting Madison until Wednesday. He shouldn’t have; his family’s flying in later this evening. They’ll be in town all week, and Tyson might actually go insane if he can’t see Madison, get his hands on her again until after the new year.

If Tyson ends up picking up his family with sex hair, well. They probably didn’t notice. He’d shoved a ball cap on, anyway, though Kacey still raised her eyebrows at him in the rearview as she slid into the backseat next to their mom. He’d flip her off if he could, but his grandpa is right there.

Tyson makes it through the holiday without an interrogation from his mom and sister, but he knows it’s coming. The blanket Madison had left behind is still laying across the couch, and Kacey’s been curled up under it more often than not. Madison texts Tyson on Christmas morning, a simple merry Christmas! with a heart emoji that has Tyson grinning stupidly at his phone. Kacey clears her throat loudly, on the floor next to Tyson. He feels himself blushing as he fumbles to lock his phone and drop it face down next to him. His mom and sister share a look over his head.

Madison texts again a few days after Christmas, asking if Tyson wants to grab lunch and hangout. Tyson does, obviously, but he has to figure out how to dodge his family for a few hours, first.

“I’m gonna go workout, I think,” Tyson announces. He needs to find his shoes, a water bottle. He is restless, too many days off in a row.

Kacey looks up from her computer. “Oh, can I come? I’m supposed to be working out over break, too,” she says.

“Uh,” Tyson says, trying to stall. He should’ve thought this through better. Kacey raises an eyebrow at him. “I was actually hoping for some time alone, y’know?” Kacey’s other eyebrow raises.

“Are you saying you’re tired of us?” his mom asks, teasing.

Tyson’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Madison again. He hasn’t had a chance to respond to her yet. He hates lying to his mom, but he still says, “Yes? No?” Tyson’s never been one to need space. “I just—”

“It’s okay, Tys,” his mom says gently. “Have a good workout, sweetheart.”

Tyson doesn’t linger, grabbing his coat and shoving his feet into the first pair of shoes he sees on his way out the front door. He texts Madison that he’s on his way in the elevator. He does pick up lunch for both of them, too, on his way over to Madison’s place. He’s thoughtful like that.

It takes just about all of Tyson’s self-control to actually sit next to Madison on her couch and eat first.

“How’d you ditch your mom and sister?” Madison asks eventually, eyes still on the TV, playing some random Hallmark Christmas movie.

Tyson swallows. “Told them I was working out,” he admits.

Madison turns to smirk at him. “Working out, huh?” she asks, laughter in her voice.

Tyson nudges her knee with his foot. “It’s not entirely a lie,” he points out. His lunch is practically finished anyway, so he sets it aside and slides closer to Madison. “I think they’re on to me, though.” He never could hide anything from the people he loves.

Madison swings her feet into Tyson’s lap. She’s still eating, and Tyson’s about fifteen seconds away from taking her lunch from her and just kissing her. His leg bounces—his restless energy has only gotten worse since landing on Madison’s couch—until Madison digs her heel into his thigh, forcing him to stop.

She’s looking at him carefully. “Would that be such a bad thing?” she asks. “People knowing about us?”

Tyson considers. It’s not like there’s anything to keep a secret, really. He realizes that no one even knows that he and Madison had hooked up more than just that night at the bar. He hadn’t realized how close he’d been keeping them to his chest.

Madison’s still waiting for an answer. Tyson squeezes her ankle where it’s still draped across his lap. “I guess not, actually,” he says.

Madison grins at him and, finally, finally, sets aside the remnants of her lunch. Tyson slides his hands up Madison’s legs, underneath her thighs, and drags her into his lap, finally, finally, getting his mouth on hers.

Kacey and his mom are waiting for Tyson when he sheepishly slips in his front door an hour later. Kacey’s smirking, leaned up against the counter with her arms crossed. Tyson could kill her. He tugs the collar of his hoodie up, hoping it covers the hickey Madison left on his collarbone.

“Good workout, Tys?” Kacey asks. Tyson flips her off. Even their mom smacks her arm in reprimand.

“Great, actually,” Tyson says, allowing himself a moment of smugness in spite of his embarrassment. He hopes he’s not blushing. Kacey laughs.

“If you’ve gotten yourself a girlfriend, Tyson, you know you could always bring her around,” his mom says gently. Tyson winces. He really hates lying to his mom. And he definitely could not just bring Madison around.

“Yeah,” Kacey chimes in, “I want to meet whoever’s got you sneaking around like an idiot.”

“She’s not—it’s not like that,” Tyson rushes to say. “We’re taking it slow, I guess.” He’s definitely blushing now, his face warm under the matching gazes of his mom and sister. He forces himself to shrug, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. “We’re just…friends,” he finishes lamely.

Kacey and his mom pin Tyson with matching pitying, yet disbelieving looks. Tyson hunches his shoulders, nervous underneath their gazes. He thinks of Madison telling him that it’s okay if people know about them. Thinks about having to tell his mom and baby sister that he’s just fucking around with a girl he thinks he could fall in love with, given the chance. He decides against it, for now.

Tyson shrugs again. “I mean it,” he says. “It’s not really anything right now. I don’t know.”

He escapes to his bedroom for a shower and to bury his head under a pillow for a while, until he feels like he can face his family again.

The days seem to pass more slowly after that. Tyson works out—for real, thank you very much— and watches way too many cooking shows with Kacey, curled up under a mountain of blankets on the couch. Tyson doesn’t know the last time he got to spend this much time with his family during hockey season. It’s nice, even as he starts getting restless again, anxious to be back on the ice with his teammates.

There’s a team New Year’s Eve party at Gabe’s. It’s pretty chill, especially as far as team gatherings go, but Tyson maybe has a little too much to drink. He’s surrounded by happy teammates with their significant others, and he’s maybe feeling a little alone. He cracks open another beer.

It’s almost midnight when Tyson sinks onto a couch next to JT and slips out his phone. No notifications. He doesn’t know what he expected. Madison had posted on her story earlier in the night that she was celebrating with friends, too. Tyson stares at his phone for a moment.

miss you, he carefully types out. It takes him longer than it should to get it right, drunk as he is, squinting at his phone and concentrating really hard on hitting the correct keys.

Madison responds quickly, way faster than Tyson had expected her to. The typing bubble appears almost immediately. Tyson waits.

miss you too tys, it says. Then, please drink some water.

“Who the fuck is Josty texting?” EJ yells from across the room. Tyson realizes that he’s been smiling stupidly down at his phone. He makes to lock it and put it back away, but he’s not fast enough. JT grabs Tyson’s wrist and wrenches it around so he can see his screen.

“Who’s Madison?” JT asks, quieter than EJ. He lets Tyson lock his phone, finally.

“She’s—” Tyson pauses. He doesn’t want to say that she’s no one, because that’s not really true. He doesn’t have any other word for her, either.

JT’s been watching Tyson’s face carefully. He knows better than anyone that Tyson isn’t good at hiding his emotions, and something must be showing on Tyson’s face now. JT’s eyebrows raise.

“Is that the girl you brought home from the bar like a month ago?” JT asks. Tyson hesitates, pulling his hand free from JT’s grasp. Tyson’s hesitation is enough. “Oh my God, are you still fucking her?”

Tyson winces. It sounds crass when JT says it like that. “We’ve hooked up a few more times,” he admits. JT doesn’t need to know about the number of times she’s slept over, too.

JT laughs at him, shaking his head. “‘Not really looking for anything,’ huh?” he teases, echoing Tyson’s own words from that night in the bar. Was it really only a month ago? Feels like Madison’s been in Tyson’s life way longer than that, with how quickly she’s taken over Tyson’s thoughts.

“I wasn’t!” Tyson protests. He shoves JT a little for good measure. He’s so drunk he doesn’t think it has the intended effect. JT just sways back into Tyson, leaning more of his weight on Tyson’s side.

It’s almost midnight. Around them, teammates are moving around, finding someone to kiss. Someone’s opened champagne, someone else is passing full flutes around. Tyson takes one when it passes in front of him. JT digs his elbow into Tyson’s ribs one last time before getting up to find Sydney.

Tyson’s left on the couch, alone. He pulls his phone back out as people begin counting down around him. Madison’s text comes through just as everyone starts cheering and the clock strikes midnight. Happy new year Tyson! 🖤

Tyson closes his eyes and drains his glass of champagne.

January

Tyson usually dreads January. It’s a long, cold, and dark month. The grind of the season feels like it’s at its…grindiest. The game days and travel days start to run into each other and turn into one exhausting, never-ending blur. Someone’s always getting sick, or injured,

He’s perfectly happy to throw himself back into hockey when the new year finally rolls around after so many weeks without it, but he hates how quiet his apartment is without Kacey hanging around, being annoying. He leaves his Christmas decorations up, anything to make his apartment feel lived-in.

Tyson lasts until the team gets back from Chicago on the fifth before he calls Madison again. She doesn’t answer. Tyson stares at his phone after it goes through to voicemail, bewildered. That is, until Madison texts him back and reminds him that she has a “normal job with normal hours.” Right.

Madison calls Tyson back on her way home from work. His groggy, mumbled “‘ello?” makes Madison smile when he answers, voice tinny over her car’s speakers.

“Did I wake you?” she teases.

Tyson scoffs, but says, “...yeah. Sorry for calling you earlier,” he adds. “I’d just gotten home and wasn’t thinking.” “You can’t just call at 10:30 in the morning on a Wednesday, Tyson,” she admonishes.

“I know, I’m sorry, I was just—” missing you. Tyson dismisses that thought. Too earnest. “I was just bored,” he finishes. Not much better, actually.

Madison’s quiet for a while, focused on driving. She realizes she should figure out where she’s actually headed. “Were you calling for any particular reason earlier?” she asks. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“I could never forget you,” Tyson says quickly. “I just wanted to see you,” he admits after another moment.

Madison turns on her blinker at a red light. She should be turning left, towards her apartment. She turns right, towards Tyson’s place. “Did you want me to come over,” she asks, wanting to hear Tyson say it.

“I mean, obviously, yeah. I can make us dinner.”

Madison laughs. “Oh, sure, you’re gonna make me some toaster waffles, huh?” She had seen the Instagram stories. “You really know how to woo a girl, Tys.”

She can practically feel Tyson’s playful outrage on the other end of the phone. He sputters for a minute before saying, “Okay, I can order us dinner.”

Madison’s almost to Tyson’s apartment building. She hates that she already knows how to get there so easily. “Are you going to get your ass out of bed and meet me downstairs?” There’s the sound of something hitting the floor, like Tyson actually rolled out of bed.

“I’ll be right there!” Tyson says, before hanging up. The radio cuts back in, music playing softly to fill in the abrupt silence of the call ending. Madison parks and turns her car off, sitting in silence for a minute. She wonders just what the hell she’s doing, what she’s getting herself into.

Tyson sprawls onto his couch and pulls Madison into his lap almost immediately after they’re both through the door. Madison rolls her eyes, but she goes willingly. Tyson’s perfectly content to just make out for a while, all sense of urgency gone as soon as he gets his hands on Madison. He’s not sure how long they’re there before he realizes something and pulls away.

“Have you ever been to an Avs game?” he asks.

“What?” Madison lost her shirt at some point, and Tyson’s thumb has been fiddling with one of her bra straps for the last several moments. She’s admittedly a little distracted. She processes what Tyson said. “Tyson, are you seriously thinking about hockey right now?” She tries to roll off his lap, but he digs his hands into her thighs and refuses to let her move.

“I’m always thinking about hockey, a little bit,” he defends. Madison rolls her eyes at him again. What Tyson had really been thinking about was introducing Madison to JT, then he’d remembered that she said she didn’t watch much hockey, and somehow that’s what had come out of his mouth. Madison still looks a little bit like she wants to smack him. “I told my best friend about you,” is what he ends up saying next. “He’s actually the one who pointed you out to me at the bar that night, and he wants to meet you for real.”

JT had actually said that, in between chirps about Tyson’s hooking up habits. Some of the other guys had picked it up, too, but Tyson wasn’t ready to subject Madison to them yet. Except maybe, like, Cale. And maybe after a game at the arena wasn’t the best place to introduce Madison to his friends, but Tyson could get tickets for Madison and a friend, ask Mel to introduce herself or something, and then meet Madison after with JT.

Tyson realizes Madison hasn’t answered him. She’s still in his lap, but she’s tense. Tyson squeezes her thighs again.

“You don’t have to, obviously,” he says softly. “I dunno, I just thought you might want to meet the guys.”

Madison relaxes a little. “You really want that?” she asks.

Tyson can’t help but grin at her. He kisses her again, slowly. “I do.”

Later, when they’re sitting at Tyson’s little table eating dinner—that Tyson did actually cook, thank you very much—Madison knocks her ankle into Tyson’s. Tyson swallows his mouthful of food and traps her foot in between both of his. Madison had gotten re-dressed in one of Tyson’s sweatshirts, and Tyson’s doing his best to feel normal about it.

“So, did you have a day in mind for me to come to a game, or had you not thought that far ahead?” Madison asks.

Tyson tries to run through their upcoming schedule in his head. “Uh?” They’re home for a lot of January. “Next Friday, maybe? The…14th?” He can’t remember who they’re playing, but that’s not really important. Tyson squints over at the printout of their schedule he keeps on his fridge. “We wouldn’t be able to hang around because we fly out that night, I think.”

Madison looks faintly overwhelmed suddenly. It might be for the best that the guys will only be able to say hi briefly, actually. “Sure? Whatever you want, Tyson.”

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Tyson reminds her. He feels a bit as if he’s thrown her off the deep end, even though she’s the one who pushed Tyson to tell JT in the first place.

Madison shakes her head. “No, it’s okay, I just didn’t really expect it.”

Tyson pulls a face. “Maybe I’m tired of keeping you a secret.” He doesn’t know what he was trying so hard to protect, now.

Madison stares at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Tyson stares back. Finally, Madison drops her fork with a clatter and leans across the table to kiss Tyson. The fierceness of the kiss surprises him, Madison’s lips hard against his, her hand sliding around the back of his neck. Tyson cups her cheek and tries to soften the kiss, but Madison pulls away just as quickly as she’d kissed him.

Tyson blinks at her, bemused. He’s not sure what just happened. It feels significant somehow, something unspoken changing between them. Tyson turns back to his dinner.

Madison sees Tyson a few more times over the next week and a half before the game. Tyson acts the same, but Madison feels like she’s on edge, counting down the hours until Friday. Tyson doesn’t seem to notice.

“What the hell am I supposed to wear to a hockey game?” Madison complains over the phone to her older sister, Emma, who she’d asked to come with her on Friday. Emma just laughs at her. Madison’s seen what WAGs wear to games—cute outfits with leather pants and heels. Madison doesn’t own that type of shit, and she’s not really a WAG, besides. She doesn’t own a jersey, either, and it would probably be weird to wear a jersey that’s not Tyson’s anyway. Madison’s pixie pants from Old Navy and sensible work shoes aren’t going to cut it.

“What were you wearing when you met Tyson?” Emma asks, as if she doesn’t know they met in a bar.

Madison snorts. “Nothing that’s appropriate for a hockey game.” Madison regards the handful of sweaters she’s pulled from her closet. One of them is close enough to Avalanche burgundy, maybe. Somewhere in her dirty laundry is one of Tyson’s sweatshirts. Madison’s not bold enough to wear it.

Game day is overwhelming, to say the least. Tyson had gotten them good seats, but Madison’s not used to being around so many people, and it’s noisy all around her. It’s easier to follow the pace of the game in person than on TV, she learns, and her eyes follow Tyson whenever he’s on the ice.

Tyson scores a goal late in the first period, and Madison’s probably the one who cheers the loudest for him.

Madison waits outside the arena for Tyson after the game. Her sister’s waiting in the car, telling Madison it was too cold to stand around. She watches some of the other players make their way past her and onto a waiting bus. It’s cold, and she hates Tyson briefly. It’s only another few minutes until Tyson appears, closely followed by someone. They’re arguing, but Tyson breaks off as soon as he sees Madison waiting for him.

Tyson forgets himself for a moment. He runs over to Madison and wraps his arms around her waist, picking her up and spinning her once. Madison laughs at him. He ignores JT snickering behind him in favor of leaning down and kissing Madison quickly.

Madison’s blushing when he pulls away, but it might just be from the cold.

“Nice goal tonight, babe,” Madison tells him. Tyson just shrugs.

Behind them, JT clears his throat. Tyson kind of forgot about that part. He drapes an arm around JT’s shoulders and drags him closer. “This asshole is JT,” he tells Madison. “He’s one of my best friends.” To JT, he says, “This is Madison, be nice.”

JT scoffs. “I’m always nice.” He grins at Madison. “I’m also the reason Tyson went up to you at the bar, so I guess you could thank me for whatever’s going on here.” Tyson smacks him.

“You can get on the bus now, actually,” Tyson says. JT’s laughing again as Tyson tries to elbow him out of the way. Madison’s smiling, too, though, amused by their antics.

JT does leave, then, and Madison and Tyson are alone. Or, as alone as you can be with half of Tyson’s teammates watching them through the bus windows. Tyson steps closer to Madison.

“Thanks for tonight,” she says. Tyson barely did anything, but he’s not going to say that now. Tyson should really get on the bus, but he can’t tear himself away. Madison’s hand finds his, tangling their fingers together and squeezing once before letting go again. “Text me when you get to the hotel, yeah?”

Tyson has to kiss her again. “I will, I promise.” He really needs to go. One last kiss, pressed to Madison’s cheek this time, then Tyson forces himself to step away. Madison’s gone when he turns around as he steps on the bus. Tyson shakes himself and goes to find JT, flopping into the seat left open for him.

“You’re in deep, bud,” JT says. Tyson glares at him.

“God, I know.”

February

Tyson should be planning a vacation somewhere warm. That’s what most of his teammates are doing, with the All-Star break coming up in just a few days, everyone ready to escape winter in Colorado. What Tyson’s doing instead is texting Madison, trying to convince her to spend the week with him.

He doesn’t understand why she’s being so resistant to the idea. She’s spent nights and weekends with him before. She’s spent more time around his friends, even sticking around the other night when JT and Cale crashed their evening.

Fine I’ll just stay over at yours then, Tyson finally texts as a last resort.

Madison leaves him on read for, like, two hours. He spends most of that time trying to figure out what he could have said to make her pull away so suddenly.

Tyson’s this close to actually driving over to Madison’s to finish this conversation-slash-argument in person when she finally texts him back.

I don’t think that’s a good idea either, Madison has texted. Tyson stares at it. Tries to type a response, deletes it.

Before he can think much more about it, Tyson’s grabbing his car keys. He ends up driving aimlessly around Denver for a while before he heads towards Madison’s apartment. He’s worried he’s too upset to go straight over, that he’ll just start saying things he doesn’t mean out of frustration.

He still knocks on Madison’s door a little too hard, maybe. She looks confused when she answers the door. Tyson realizes he probably should have given her a heads up.

He’d planned what he wanted to say in the car, but what he blurts out instead is, “What, are you sleeping with someone else on the side?” Tyson could play it off as a joke any other time, but right now it comes out too accusing, too hurt.

Madison’s face does something complicated before she grabs him by the wrist and hauls him inside.

“What the fuck, no,” she says. “Tyson, what the fuck?” she repeats.

He crosses his arms. “I don’t get why you don’t want to spend the week off with me.” She’s already spent days at a time in his apartment. This week shouldn’t be any different.

Madison’s always hated cuffing season, is the thing. Maybe it’s just because she usually finds herself lonely through the winter months. She’s not stupid, this thing with Tyson has an expiration date; if she’s being honest with herself; they’ve been pushing it ever since they extended all of this past a one night stand. With every day that passes, Madison feels herself falling just a little more for Tyson, and she feels the impending end creeping closer. She needs to put some space between them before she gets her heart broken.

She just doesn’t know that Tyson’s busy falling, too.

Madison doesn’t know how to put all of that into words without blowing up her spot, though. She settles for saying, “I just need some space, I think.” It’s not exactly a lie.

Tyson’s face falls, and Madison immediately wishes she could take the words back.

Tyson’s quiet for a moment before he quietly says, “I didn’t do anything, did I?”

“No, God, of course not,” Madison rushes to assure him. She tries to collect her thoughts. “It’s just that, with Valentine’s Day coming up, and winter ending, I don’t know, I think I need to figure out what I want.”

Tyson forgot about Valentine’s Day. He doesn’t even know their schedule that far out. He supposes they have been hurtling towards something they’ve yet to define lately. But, “Hey, we’ve got a good thing going right now, don’t we?” Madison nods hesitantly. “Who said anything about changing that?” Tyson’s heart has other ideas, but he can worry about that later.

Madison takes a deep breath. “I guess,” she says, and Tyson grins at her.

“I’ll drop the All-Star break thing if you want. I just wanted to spend some time with you.” He doesn’t spend a lot of time with people other than teammates. It’s nice to change things up.

“Like you wouldn’t be calling me all the time to hook up, anyway,” Madison teases. Tyson can’t argue with that.

He ends up sticking around for a while, sprawled across Madison’s couch with her tucked against his chest between his legs. Madison turns on The Hobbit, even though Tyson doesn’t think they quite managed to make it through The Return of the King the last time they had a Tolkien marathon.

When he leaves later, pulling Madison in for a chaste kiss in the doorway, he realizes it’s the longest they’ve spent together without it ending in a hook-up. It’s kind of nice.

Tyson does back off some after that. All-Star break is already upon them, anyway. He can handle winging it solo for a few days. Probably.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t properly cleaned his apartment since their last long break back in December. The Avs have been home a lot in January, too, and his fridge is looking pretty bare these days.

He considers texting Madison and asking if she wants to tag along for his groceries, but he thinks that might be crossing the line of “too domestic.” He throws himself into cleaning and does his best to not think about texting her, instead.

It’s Madison who breaks the silence first. She lasts two days. She thought time and distance was what she needed, but that was before she realized how much she missed listening to Tyson chattering at her in between falling into bed.

She texts, i’m coming over, before she can think better of it. She makes the now-familiar drive to Tyson’s apartment on autopilot. Tyson’s seen her text by the time she parks, and he readily buzzes her into the building. Madison doesn’t even have to knock when she gets to his door; Tyson jerks it open like he’s been waiting, beaming.

“Burky’s here,” he says, pulling Madison in for a kiss. Madison peers around Tyson. She hasn’t met Burky yet, but she vaguely recognizes the guy standing in the middle of Tyson’s living room as another teammate.

“Hi,” he says. Awkward. Madison likes him.

“This is Madison,” Tyson announces, somewhat needlessly. His brain shorts out a bit after that, unsure what he can call Madison. ‘Friend’? ‘Hookup’? Definitely not ‘girlfriend’.

“Tyson hasn’t stopped talking about you since you came to the game a few weeks ago,” Burky tells Madison, interrupting Tyson’s runaway train of thought.

“Hey,” Tyson whines. “You don’t need to tell her that part.”

Madison laughs. “Nah, it’s okay, JT’s already told me.”

Tyson’s busy trying to come up with a sufficient way to threaten JT whenever he sees him again as Burky slips out the front door, and suddenly he and Madison are alone.

Madison starts to apologize for showing up with little warning, but Tyson cuts her off, pushing her—as gently as he can—against the nearest wall and kissing her.

“Hi,” he breathes when Madison ducks her head to pull away. He kisses her again before he can admit how much he missed her.

“I missed you,” Madison says, which. Tyson can handle that.

“God, me too.” Before, he might have felt overexposed by telling her that, but, now, it’s just comforting to know she misses him the same way he misses her. “I was actually about to make dinner, if you’re hungry?”

He starts to head towards his kitchen, not waiting for Madison to follow. He hadn’t really planned much further than deciding to cook, but he can probably figure out enough to make for two people. Madison leans against the counter as Tyson opens his fridge and peers inside. He could make chicken, but that’s boring.

“I did just buy burger patties,” he says, sort of thinking out loud.

“Tys, make whatever you want,” Madison tells him, laughing a little. “I’ll eat it.”

Tyson twists around to grin at Madison. “Be careful, you haven’t actually seen me cook yet.”

He’s a passable cook, actually—his mom wouldn’t let him leave for North Dakota before he knew the basics, and he’s only learned more since then. He plucks the burger patties out of the fridge.

Tyson talks while he cooks. He’s not even sure what he’s chatting about after a while, but Madison listens intently to everything he says. She winds up sitting on the counter near him, and he keeps stepping away from the stove to steal kisses in between sentences. He roasts up some red potatoes, too, and digs his hamburger buns out of the freezer. “They last longer,” he tells Madison, sticking two buns in his toaster. “Also, don’t tell Nate I’m eating white bread.”

Madison has not yet met Nathan MacKinnon, and she doesn’t think she’d be telling him what Tyson’s eating for dinner on a night off when she does meet him, either.

Tyson spends almost as much time dramatically plating the food as he did cooking it. Madison pours them both glasses of wine. He finally slides a plate in front of her but whips out his phone before she can take a bite.

Madison groans. “Tyson, oh my God.” She hides behind her wine glass while Tyson takes a picture of their plates.

Tyson reaches across the table to pull Madison’s hand away from her face. “Relax, I’m just sending it to JT.”

Madison scoffs, “Sure, just JT,” but she sets her wine back down.

Tyson tries to sneak another picture of her, but she catches him. The artificial shutter clicks just as she smiles sweetly at Tyson and flips him off.

“Delete that,” she whines.

“Absolutely not.”

They continue to chat over dinner. Tyson drips ketchup on his shirt, and Madison laughs so hard she chokes on her wine, which sets Tyson off, too. It’s several minutes before they can collect themselves again. Until Madison meets Tyson’s eyes across the table and bursts into laughter again.

“What’s so funny?” Tyson whines, still dabbing futilely at the stain on his shirt.

Madison wipes at her eyes, trying to catch her breath. “Nothing, nothing.” It really wasn’t that funny. “I think I’m just over-tired.” She doesn’t tell Tyson that she’s been worrying about him, about their relationship, so much that she hasn’t been able to sleep well.

Tyson frowns at her, anyway, like he knows what she’s not saying. He glances at the time.

“Do you want to take a nap or something? It’s still early enough.”

Madison knows that if she falls asleep in Tyson’s bed now, she will not be getting out of it until morning at least, and, “I didn’t pack anything.”

She doesn’t know why she was half-expecting Tyson to shut the door in her face when she arrived. She definitely hadn’t been planning on staying the night.

Tyson frowns harder. “You can always wear something of mine. Unless…you don’t wanna stay?”

Madison pushes a piece of potato around her plate with her fork for a moment before answering.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me to stay,” she says quietly.

“What?” Tyson’s so surprised he drops his fork. He snatches it back up and points it accusingly at Madison. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I want you to stay. I literally always want you to stay.”

Madison can feel herself blushing and she ducks her head so Tyson can’t see.

Tyson goes on. “Plus, it’s a Friday night, we can stay up late and watch a movie, then sleep in tomorrow. I’ll even make you breakfast!”

He’ll probably actually persuade Madison into going out for breakfast, but that’s an argument he’ll save until the morning. Tyson decides he’s done eating and pushes back from the table. He tries to clear Madison’s plate, but she glares at him and swipes her plate away. Tyson makes grabby hands for it.

“C’mon, I’m not making you clean up after yourself, you don’t have to.”

Madison shakes her head and holds her empty plate farther out of Tyson’s reach. “You cooked, I clean, baby.”

“That’s not—” Tyson’s so distracted that Madison snatches his plate and darts towards the kitchen. “Hey!”

He chases after Madison, who’s laughing again. Tyson loves the sound of Madison’s laugh, the way it fills his apartment. He waits until the plates have clattered into the sink to press up behind her. He kisses her shoulder, her neck, before burying his face in the crook of her neck. Madison shudders and leans back into Tyson.

“How about neither of us clean up, and we go watch a movie instead?” Tyson mumbles into Madison’s skin.

Dishes can wait; Tyson needs Madison on top of him, like, five minutes ago. He doesn’t wait for her to respond before he loops an arm around her waist and drags her over to the couch. She grunts when he pulls her on top of him, but she’s pliant as he arranges both of them until they’re comfortable. He even pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over Madison’s back.

Madison snuggles in, the top of her head nestled perfectly under Tyson’s chin. He had intended for some making out, but now that they’re there, he’s fine with actually turning on a movie. He’s pretty sure Madison’s eyes are closed already, anyway, her breathing already starting to slow down and even out. Tyson scrolls for a while aimlessly before he settles on something stupid he’s probably seen before. He keeps the volume low. He dozes a little himself, absently rubbing Madison’s back underneath her shirt. She mumbles in her sleep and shifts closer.

It’s late by the time the movie ends, and Tyson rouses himself. They should both move to the bed, but he’s loath to wake Madison. She’s cute when she sleeps.

Tyson nudges Madison gently in the ribs. She stirs and blinks blearily up at Tyson.

“Hm?”

“Let’s get you to bed, baby,” Tyson whispers. He starts to move, and Madison makes a grumpy noise and snuggles back in. “C’mon, c’mon, it’s more comfy, I promise.”

He gets Madison up with quite a bit more poking and prodding. She’s unhappy with being woken up, and Tyson’s doing his best not to laugh at her. He nudges her towards the bathroom and gets a glare for his troubles, but she does dig out her toothbrush.

Tyson roots around for an old shirt for Madison to wear. He holds it out to her when she emerges from the bathroom, but Madison bypasses the shirt and kisses Tyson instead. He tries to keep it gentle, but Madison whines and presses closer. Tyson drops the shirt in favor of sliding his hands along Madison’s shoulders, her ribs, down her hips. They’re not very coordinated as they fall backwards onto Tyson’s bed. Their feet tangle as Tyson tries to push even closer, pinning Madison to the bed as they continue to kiss.

Madison breaks the kiss to yawn in Tyson’s face.

He huffs out a laugh, and Madison whines again. “No more, or you’re gonna fall asleep on me.”

He watches as Madison squirms around until her head is on her pillow. She’s already half-asleep again. Tyson leans over the foot of the bed and fishes around for the sleep shirt he dropped. He tosses it to Madison, and it lands on her face. She tears it away to glare at him.

Tyson’s even polite and doesn’t stare at Madison’s chest as she strips off the shirt she had been wearing and shimmies into his shirt.

He also wins the argument over breakfast the next morning, and triumphantly takes Madison to breakfast at Snooze. Madison’s grouchiness only lasts until a plate of French toast lands in front of her.

They’re out of town the day before Valentine’s Day. It’s just Dallas, and they’ll fly home after the game, but Tyson’s not actually sure where the line is between him and Madison and February 14th. Romantic dinner is absolutely out of the question. So are roses, probably. Tyson still wants to do something though, which is how he ends up on the website for a local flower shop while he’s supposed to be napping after skate. He scrolls for a few minutes before he remembers that he’s colorblind, and he should probably enlist some help.

JT and his judgmental eyebrows are at Tyson’s hotel room door seven minutes later. He shoulders his way past Tyson without a word, settles next to Tyson’s laptop on the bed.

“Flowers?” JT asks. “For your not-girlfriend?” He’s still being judgy, but Tyson knows he’s amused a little, too.

“Shut up, at least I’m not sending her roses,” Tyson says, trying to defend himself. He flops down on the bed next to JT. JT’s already busy scrolling. ”You need help picking the right colors, don’t you,” he says, teasing.

“Maybe.” Tyson’s never really understood flowers—they all sort of look the same to him—but girls are supposed to like them. Tyson’s never claimed to understand girls, either.

JT clicks around a few times before he punches Tyson in the shoulder.

“Ow,” he complains, sitting up and peering over JT’s shoulder. “...What am I looking at?”

JT sighs. “I don’t know, some pink and purple flowers.”

Tyson squints closer at the photo of the arrangement JT picked. “Wait, is that a rose? I said no roses.”

“It’s pink, it’s fine.” JT tilts the screen away for a second. “You’re adding on a stuffed animal.”

“I am?” JT gives him a look. “I mean, sure.” JT turns the laptop back towards Tyson, and he dutifully fills in his credit card information. He has to hunt for Madison’s address in his phone, but then he’s pressing the confirmation button, and that’s it. “That’s it? That was easy.”

JT snorts and shuts Tyson’s laptop. “Sure, easy after you asked me for help.” He facewashes Tyson. “You’re welcome.”

“I’ll buy your coffee before the game,” Tyson offers, ignoring JT’s sarcasm. “Besides, you’re the one of us in a cute, long-term relationship.”

JT smirks at Tyson over his shoulder, heading for the door. “You could change that for yourself, you know.”

“Working on it!” Tyson yells as the door shuts behind JT.

Tyson mostly forgets about the flowers after that, with the game, and the flight home, and crashing into bed and sleeping for almost ten hours. He hopes Madison likes them, hopes he isn’t pushing it too far.

Madison isn’t expecting the knock she gets on her door the next morning. She’s even more surprised when she opens her door and finds a small vase of flowers waiting on her doormat. There’s a teddy bear propped up next to the flowers; she hugs it to her chest as she carries the flowers inside. She has to set the teddy back down with the flowers to take a picture to send to Tyson.

She sends, should I be worried about a secret admirer? Tyson, eternal dork that he is, sends back the smirking emoji and the emoji blowing a kiss. Madison adds a selfie of herself hugging the bear and says, come cuddle?

Tyson probably, maybe, goes a little over the speed limit on his way to Madison’s.

March

Fucking Calgary. Tyson’s face hurts. He gingerly sticks his tongue through the gap where his front teeth used to be, but moving hurts too much. He sits back in the passenger seat of JT’s car with a quiet groan. The training staff had been adamant that Tyson couldn’t drive himself home, and Tyson wasn’t really in any shape to put up a fight. JT looks at him sideways, something amused in the tilt of his eyebrows.

All this and they didn’t even fucking win.

“Want me to call your mom?” JT asks.

Tyson groans again. He really should call her. He knows she’s worried, and if he doesn’t tell her he’s fine—mostly— she’ll probably take the next flight into Denver to check on him herself. She’s pretty great like that.

He should probably text Madison, too.

What Tyson really wants to do is go home and pass out for about twelve hours. He’s already scheduled for emergency dental work in the morning, though, and then Tyson’s going to have to beg the training staff to let him play on the road trip they’re about to head on. He hasn’t even packed yet.

JT holds his hand out for Tyson’s phone. Tyson fishes it out of his hoodie pocket and slaps it into JT’s hand. JT waves it at him.

“Unlock it, dumbass,” JT says. Tyson could grumble about how JT definitely knows his passcode, but he just takes his phone back. “And dial your mom while you’re at it, I can’t do it while driving.” Tyson settles for a disgruntled huff and does as he’s told.

He only half-listens, eyes closed, as JT talks to his mom, repeated reassurances that he’s fine, and, no, she doesn’t need to come down, and, yes, JT will keep an eye on him.

They’re almost to Tyson’s apartment by the time JT hangs up. He doesn’t hand Tyson’s phone back. Tyson cracks open his eyes to squint at JT.

“Need me to call your little girlfriend, too?” he asks. The way he says it isn’t mean, but Tyson bristles anyway.

“Not my girlfriend,” he manages, swiping for his phone. Not yet, anyway, or maybe not ever. Tyson’s working on it. JT lets him take it, but Tyson doesn’t miss the raised eyebrow he gets before JT turns back to the road.

JT insists on walking Tyson to his front door, then following him inside. Tyson’s too tired to begrudge the fussing. Plus, he does feel like shit, and it’s kind of nice, even if he’ll never, ever tell JT that. JT hovers in the bedroom doorway as Tyson kicks off his slides and faceplants into his pillow.

“Ow,” he says, gingerly turning back over.

JT snorts at him. “Need anything?” The trainers gave Tyson painkillers after the game, and it’s not like he can brush his teeth—or what’s left of them, anyway. He settles for flipping off JT. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll lock the door on my way out.” Tyson probably owes him one after this.

He barely remembers to text Madison a thumbs up emoji before he falls asleep.

Tyson grimaces when he sees himself in the mirror the next morning. His jaw is swollen and bruised, and he can barely open his mouth. He’s not sure he wants to see the state of his teeth, anyway. A knock on his door drags him away from his mirror.

Madison knocks again, unsure if Tyson’s awake. She should’ve called, or texted, before she showed up. She shifts anxiously from foot to foot while she waits for Tyson to answer. It’s only another few seconds before the door swings open, and Tyson appears. He looks miserable as he leans against the door.

“You look like shit,” Madison says. She waits until he steps back before pushing past him and inside his apartment.

“Thanks,” Tyson mumbles, following Madison to the kitchen.

She hops up onto the counter and thrusts one of the smoothies in her hand at Tyson. “Breakfast,” she says.

Tyson takes it and takes a wary sip. It’s his favorite flavor, and he takes a bigger drink. He’s halfway through slurping his smoothie before he remembers to say anything else.

“I’ve, uh, got the dentist this morning, then I’ve gotta meet the team to fly to New York,” he tells Madison. He talks carefully around his swollen gums.

Madison shrugs. “Just wanted to check on you, bud,” she says. She sets her smoothie aside and holds her arms out to Tyson. He steps into her arms and lets her hold him. He wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face in the crook of her neck. “Looked pretty rough out there last night.”

Tyson grunts. Madison pokes him in the ribs until he squirms away. He takes a petulant drink of his smoothie.

“Do you need any help with anything?” she asks.

Tyson still hasn’t packed. His dirty laundry has piled up. He should really clean his apartment.

Instead, he shakes his head, muttering, “You don’t have to.”

“That’s not what I asked, Tys,” she says, crossing her arms. She stares him down.

Tyson cracks. “I’ve just got a bunch of cleaning to do, is all.” It hurts to talk too much. He forces himself to shrug, tries to do the math on how much time he has before the dentist and before heading to the airport to get everything done.

Madison doesn’t seem concerned. “Okay, where do you want to start?”

“You don’t-” Tyson starts. You should just leave, he wants to say, but doesn’t.

“Shut up and drink your smoothie, Jost,” Madison tells him.

Tyson shuts up and drinks his smoothie.

He goes to start a load of laundry while Madison tackles his kitchen. He’d run the dishwasher the day before, but what hadn’t fit had piled up in the sink, and he had never exactly gotten around to emptying it. More dirty dishes piled up in the sink. Tyson stands in his bedroom for a moment, listening to the sounds of Madison putting things away in his cabinets.

He doesn’t know when she learned where everything goes.

They work around each other in silence for a while. Tyson stops a few times and watches the confidence and comfort with which Madison moves around his apartment. He likes it more than he should, probably.

He’s got clothes in the dryer when he realizes he should’ve left already. He’d gotten a lot of work done the night before, and he’s got more appointments for when they get back to Denver at the end of the week.

He looks around his half-cleaned apartment in despair. He’d managed to pack enough to get by, he thinks. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to borrow socks from JT on a road trip, anyway. Madison must see the look on his face, because she walks over to Tyson. He looks down at her as she places her hands on his hips.

“Go, I can handle the rest of this,” she says. They’d made good progress, but most of Tyson’s laundry—anything that hadn’t gotten immediately packed—still needs to be folded. “Just leave me the apartment key. I’ll finish up, and make sure everything’s locked up. Promise,” she tells him.

Tyson can’t ask her to do that, and he tells her as much. That’s like. Girlfriend shit. He doesn’t say that part.

What he ends up saying is, “Are you sure? You really don’t have to.”

Madison leans up on tiptoes to press a quick close-mouthed kiss to Tyson’s lips. “I know. But I want to help you, babe. Let me help you.”

Tyson sighs. This isn’t a fight he’s going to win. Madison watches him with something like satisfaction on her face as he finds his keys, carefully unhooks his apartment key and hands it over, but there’s something soft in her eyes, too. Tyson can’t bear to think too hard about what that look means, so he steps around Madison and goes to grab his bags.

Tyson gives her a quick kiss on his way past. He wants nothing more than to kiss her properly, like she deserves, but he doesn’t think his jaw could handle that. Madison grabs Tyson’s wrist before he can get far. He turns to look at her again, a question on the tip of his tongue, when she slips a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down to kiss him again. It’s almost desperate, but slow and gentle. Tyson lets himself get lost in it for a second. Madison squeezes his neck once before she pulls away. She gives him a soft smile. Tyson presses his forehead to hers for another second before he regretfully pulls away.

“See you in a few days,” she whispers.

Tyson deserves all the chirps he gets for being late.

The road trip fucking sucks, to say the least. Tyson’s jaw hurts more often than it doesn’t, and he ends up with more penalty minutes than points. He’s looking forward to going home and sleeping in his own bed for a minimum of twelve hours.

He panics, too, a little. It’s become startlingly obvious that he’s fucking head over heels for Madison, and he has no clue what to do about it. They’ve got a good thing going, he thinks, and he doesn’t want to mess with it, really. He doesn’t really want things to stay how they are, either.

So, panic. He thinks about JT calling Madison his girlfriend, just a few days before. He thinks of his own realization that the lines between hooking up and relationship have become blurred. What he needs is distance, some clarity. The time difference between Denver and the East Coast is an easy enough excuse to start; they’re busy, and it’s easy to let texts from Madison go unanswered for a few hours, or a few hours longer than a few hours.

Madison must get the hint, because her texts peter out after a few days.

Tyson is trying to find his keys in his carry-on bag as they step off the plane when he remembers that he left them with Madison so she could lock up his apartment for him. He’s locked out of his apartment and being iced out by Madison, and all he really wants is to go to sleep and not talk to anyone.

He sheepishly calls Madison as he leaves the airport. She sounds normal when she answers, and she doesn’t hesitate to say, “Sure,” when he asks if he can pick up his keys. Tyson climbs into his car tiredly and puts Madison’s address into his phone GPS.

Tyson’s only been to Madison’s place a few times. He hasn’t realized until now that he usually prefers having her over at his apartment. He likes seeing her there, forcing him to make room for herself in his life, at ease in his bed. He shakes those thoughts off.

Madison makes him wait when he knocks on her apartment door. He stands awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. Finally, after what feels like forever, Madison swings the door open. She doesn’t move back to let Tyson in, keys already in her hand.

“Hi,” Tyson breathes. Madison raises an eyebrow at him. Tyson gets the sudden urge to apologize. He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Thanks again, uh, for helping me with everything,” he says eventually. “I owe you.” He hasn’t seen his apartment yet, obviously, but he knows Madison left it cleaner than it’s been since he moved in, probably. Madison’s breath catches. That was the wrong thing to say. “No, you don’t, Tyson,” she says shortly. She tosses Tyson his keys. He’s not expecting it and fumbles them. The sound of them hitting the ground is deafening. Tyson’s exhausted, and he’s only so strong.

“Can I come in?” he asks. “Please?”

Madison regards him. Tyson looks pathetic, if she’s being honest with herself, worn-out and worn-down. His swelling has gone down since she last saw him, but he looks uncomfortable. She gets the feeling it’s not just about his jaw. She, too, is only so strong. “C’mere,” she says, finally stepping back and opening the door wider. Tyson’s so relieved he could cry.

Tyson ends up collapsing in Madison’s bed and sleeps for twelve hours, face buried in a pillow that smells like her. So much for getting some distance.

Madison’s waiting outside Tyson’s apartment door when he gets home after beating Calgary a few nights later. Tyson’s tired, and cold, but he feels himself grinning when he sees her. She’s leaning casually against his door frame, playing idly on her phone, but she’s wearing one of Tyson’s hoodies. He wants nothing more than to kiss her right there, but he settles for bumping her out of the way with his hip so he can unlock his front door.

“What if JT had come home with me, huh? Or Cale?” Tyson asks instead of saying hello. She follows him inside and locks the door behind her. Tyson busies himself with his coat so he doesn’t blurt out something dumb. He and JT weren’t quite as inseparable as they used to be, but it could happen. And Cale only lived a few floors away. Though, now that Tyson thought of it, he hadn’t been inviting teammates over after games very much lately, not when there was usually someone else waiting for him.

He’s seen Madison since they got back from their road trip, but he misses her so much when she’s not around now. He can’t get enough of her. That probably means something. He’s working on it. Sort of.

“Hello to you, too, Tys,” she scoffs, kicking off her shoes. She carefully aims one at Tyson’s shin.

“Hey, hey, watch the suit pants,” he protests. He gives in and steps closer to her, looping an arm around her waist and pulling her into him. He allows himself a quick kiss, just a chaste one, forcing himself to pull away before either of them can deepen it.

She pouts at him. Tyson allows himself one more kiss. He is beginning to realize that he is so, so fucked.

Tyson strips off his suit jacket as he heads towards the kitchen. She trails after him. Tyson swings around to walk backwards so he can face her. He immediately bumps into the doorway to the kitchen and stumbles. He doesn’t turn back around.

“Snack first,” he says. He doesn’t say what comes next, but he’s pretty sure they both know.

“Didn’t you eat after the game at the Can?” she asks. Tyson drops his suit jacket on one of his kitchen chairs. She picks it up with a sigh and a small smile before draping it nicely over the back of the chair instead.

Tyson turns back around, intent on digging through his fridge. “Well, yeah, but—” He freezes. Blinks. There are balloons tied to the faucet of his sink. Next to them, a cookie cake and two wrapped presents. Tyson peers closer at the cookie cake. Happy birthday, Tys! It reads, in looping cursive.

Tyson turns slowly back to face her. She looks shy, biting her lip and watching Tyson with something like nervousness written across her face. Tyson feels guilty, suddenly, for the way he tried to put distance between them just a few days before.

“How did you—When?” Tyson gets out. She doesn’t look any less nervous, he realizes, and he rushes over to hug her.

She holds up a familiar key when he lets her go, the beginnings of a smile on her face, now. “Cale slipped me your spare key,” she explains. “I snuck in after you left for the game this afternoon, after I got off work.”

Tyson had completely forgotten that he and Cale had swapped spares when they ended up living in the same building. The idea was to save them from the potential embarrassment of locking your keys in your apartment, but apparently Cale was using his for more nefarious purposes now.

Madison had been surprised at how easy it had all been. She doesn’t even remember when she got Cale’s number, but he had readily agreed to help her out some. She’d even considered sticking around and surprising Tyson when he got home, but she still wasn’t quite sure how he’d react. She couldn’t tell with him sometimes.

Tyson has to kiss her. She giggles, breathless, when he pulls away.

“Well, now I know what we’re eating for a snack,” Tyson says, taking her hand and dragging her towards the island. He only lets go long enough to dig through a drawer for a knife and to tear off two paper towels. He cuts two large slices and hands one to her. He shoves a bite of cookie cake in his mouth before he says, I love you.

She hops up on the counter when they’ve both finished their slices, swinging her feet into the cabinets. Tyson steps between her legs and kisses her again, because he can. He reaches behind her and picks up one of the wrapped packages. It’s small, light. He flips it over once in his hands. “Hey, your birthday isn’t until tomorrow,” she says, swiping for the present.

Tyson holds it out of her reach, and she wraps her legs around his waist, pressing him close against her. Tyson takes a deep breath.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he says. He sticks a finger underneath a flap in the wrapping paper. He really hadn’t been expecting anything.

She shrugs. “It’s stupid,” she says.

“Good thing I like stupid,” Tyson counters. He tears into the wrapping paper properly, letting it drop carelessly to the ground. He’s left with a small book. “It’s a ukulele book?”

“It’s sheet music, so you can finally stop playing the same three songs all the time,” she says.

Tyson realizes he hasn’t said anything else. He stops staring and sets the book aside. “It’s perfect, not stupid,” he says. She tilts her chin for another kiss. Who is he to say no? “Thank you,” he murmurs against her lips. He reaches for the second present, still kissing her. She groans at him.

Tyson tears into the second present just as eagerly as the first. She’s laughing at him, and this time he crumples the wrapping paper up and tosses it at her face. It’s just a case of beer, Tyson’s favorite. He hadn’t realized she noticed it was always stocked in his fridge.

Her legs are still wrapped around his waist, and Tyson presses closer, as close as he can get. The counter digs into the tops of his thighs, but he’s too busy making out to care. She slides her hands into his hair. She tastes like cookie cake and peppermint Chapstick; Tyson would kiss her forever if he could.

Speaking of. They fell over the last time Tyson tried to carry her to his bedroom, but he slides his hands underneath her thighs, anyway, tugging her off the counter. She slips down, still pinned between Tyson and the countertop, still kissing him languidly.

“Gonna actually move at any point?” she eventually asks, pulling away to press her forehead to Tyson’s.

Tyson pretends to think about it. “I mean, we don’t have to go to bed,” he says. Not being on a bed hadn’t stopped them before.

She pushes on Tyson’s chest, and he goes, laughing. She lets herself be dragged to Tyson’s room, kicking the door shut behind her.

It’s late by the time they tumble into bed for real. She’s in one of Tyson’s shirts, and nothing else. If Tyson weren’t actually exhausted, he’d be considering round two. He had nearly gotten caught while they were cleaning up in the bathroom after round one, sleepily staring as she took off her makeup and brushed her teeth—a bottle of her makeup remover and her toothbrush live on Tyson’s sink, and have for months. Tyson tries not to look into it too much.

“What?” she’d asked, catching Tyson’s eye in the mirror.

He had shaken himself. “Nothing,” he said, giving her a sleepy grin. He pressed a kiss to her temple as he slipped out of the bathroom.

Madison watches him go. She’s trying to decipher that look in his eyes. His face was soft, fond behind drowsy eyes. She realizes she’s frozen with her toothbrush still in her mouth. Tyson’s waiting for her.

He’s staring up at the ceiling fan, rotating slowly above him, when she emerges and slips under the covers next to him. Her toes are cold where she presses them to Tyson’s leg, and he swears under his breath, even as he reaches across the bed to pull her closer. He presses a kiss to her hair and rests his chin on top of her head. Madison hides a smile in his chest.

Tyson wakes up slowly the next morning. It’s still early, the sunlight filtering through his curtains the hazy grey of dawn. Madison’s still asleep next to him when he rolls over. Tyson dares to pull her closer until she’s tucked underneath his chin again. Madison stirs a little, making a soft noise and pressing closer. She pulls back and blinks sleepily up at Tyson.

“Happy birthday, Tyson,” she murmurs.

Tyson grins at her and brushes a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. He kisses her quickly, and she makes a soft noise and leans into it before yawning. “Thank you,” Tyson whispers back. “Now go back to sleep.”

Madison grumbles, but snuggles back in, pressing her nose to Tyson’s collarbone.

It’s brighter out when Tyson next blinks himself awake. Madison’s already awake this time, scrolling quietly on her phone, but she sets it aside when she sees Tyson look at her. He rolls so he can prop himself up on one hand, leaning over Madison. She grins up at him, reaches to slide her fingers into Tyson’s hair.

Tyson has practice today, and then they’re leaving again. Those things aren’t important right now, though. What’s important is Madison’s mouth opening up to his, the pressure of her knee against his hip, the feel of her skin underneath his fingers when he slips a hand below her shirt.

It takes them a while to get out of bed.

Madison moves easily around Tyson when they finally make it into the kitchen. Tyson makes Madison coffee the way she likes it and mans the toaster while Madison makes them both eggs. She showers—Tyson bought all of her shower products weeks ago—while Tyson gets dressed. Tyson perches on the bathroom counter and watches while she does her makeup. She catches him looking at her.

“What?” she asks. She pushes her hair out of her face nervously.

“Uh,” Tyson says. He had gotten caught up, wasn’t really thinking about anything, distracted by thoughts of how easily Madison moves through his space, by his side.

“Tyson,” Madison says, impatient.

“Do you, uh, maybe wanna go on a date with me?” Tyson manages.

“Tys, you’re leaving on a road trip in,” she checks the time on her phone, “like four hours.”

Tyson rolls his eyes. “Okay, but we’ll be back in a few days. What about then?”

Madison smiles. “We’ll see, ask me when you get back.”

“That’s not a real answer,” Tyson says. He can hear himself whining. He needs this answer before he can board a plane, though. He grabs her wrist and tugs her closer. “C’mon, am I really that bad?”

She goes easily into Tyson’s side. She pretends to think about it for a moment—too long for Tyson’s nerves—before relenting. “When you get back,” she says. She goes up on her toes to kiss Tyson’s cheek. “Now get out of here before you’re late to practice.”

They don’t get to go on that date.

He’s in California when he gets the call. Minnesota. It’s not like he didn’t see it coming. The deadline’s coming up in, like, a week, and besides. He’d asked for a trade, hadn’t he? He doesn’t say goodbye to anyone before he’s back on a plane, this time to St. Paul.

He calls his mom first, asks if she’ll pack him some shit from his apartment in Denver. He was supposed to be back in just a few days.

“I don’t have any clothes for fucking Minnesota,” he complains, his one moment of self-appointed wallowing. He’ll be happy about this, probably, he just needs to process it.

He doesn’t think about it when he turns his phone off before getting on the plane. He’s met by some people from the Wild—the team, his team, now—at the airport in St. Paul, hustled to a hotel near Xcel Center with his meager belongings and left to “settle in.” He’s expected at morning skate tomorrow; his jaw aches.

They’ve put him up in a nice hotel downtown. He can see a river—the Mississippi, he thinks— out his window. His phone’s still off, tossed on the bed when he came in. He swipes it off the comforter and powers it back on, shoving it and a room key in his pocket on his way out the door.

His hotel room is too stuffy, too small. He takes the stairs and pushes his way outside. He can see the Xcel Center a few blocks away, and he turns his back to it, starts walking. He has no idea where he is or where he’s going. He hopes no one recognizes him.

It’s not long before he finds himself in a park alongside the river. It’s quiet, and no one looks twice at him as he finds an empty bench and finally pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his notifications: texts from Kacey and his grandpa—he’ll have to respond to them—dozens from his—former—teammates on the Avs that he ignores, a handful from numbers he doesn’t have saved, Wild players introducing themselves and welcoming him to the team—he’ll have to make some new contacts. He swipes everything away to deal with later, once his head stops spinning. He pauses on one text, the only one he’d really been looking for.

So much for that date, huh. it says. She’s added a broken heart emoji to soften the blow. Then, an hour later, call me when you get the chance. Another emoji at the end, a black heart, even though Tyson’s told her repeatedly that he can mostly tell colors apart.

He already knows what she’s going to say. Can you get broken up with before you’re even dating? How do you make friends-with-benefits work long-distance? Tyson’s not in the mood for that conversation, doesn’t know if he ever will be. He swipes away her notifications, too.

Minnesota is chilly, and Tyson’s fingertips are a little numb by the time his hotel room door slams behind him later. It’s getting dark. He should order dinner. He should do a lot of things, actually. He lets himself wallow for a few more minutes, flopped on his back in the center of the bed, staring up at the dark ceiling.

He halfheartedly peruses the room service menu on his nightstand before calling something in. He’s not even sure what he ordered.

Tyson’s woken up by knocking on his door. He blinks awake and stumbles blearily out of bed. It’s fully dark in his room now. Room service knocks on his door again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Tyson grumbles, not even loud enough to be heard, probably.

His food is lukewarm at best by the time he gets everything spread out on the little desk in his room. Tyson picks at it more than he eats it.

Back in Denver, Madison’s phone doesn’t ring. She figured Tyson would be busy and exhausted by the time he made it to Minnesota. She wants to check in, but her messages show that they’ve been read. He’s made it clear that he’s not in the mood to chat.

It’s fine. He’s allowed to be upset over all this. Madison had just thought that they’d made it far enough in their relationship—whatever that relationship was—that she wouldn’t get stonewalled the second something serious happened.

She hasn’t had a chance to return Tyson’s spare key to Cale yet. She’d stayed behind after Tyson left for the airport on his birthday to clean up some of the disaster they’d left behind the night before. She was going to give it back when they got home. Except now Tyson’s not coming home, and she isn’t sure he’ll speak to her again, either.

She tries to convince herself she’s not hurt by it.

Madison sneaks back into Tyson’s apartment the day after the trade. She’s collected some of Tyson’s clothes over the last few months, and she should pick up her own belongings that have become scattered across his apartment. She’s not sure how Tyson’s going to get the rest of his stuff to Minnesota, but she knows it’s not her problem. Tyson’s made that clear.

She opens the text thread with Tys 🖤 again anyway. No new messages. She starts to type, to ask how Tyson’s doing, if he wants to talk, but she deletes it all. She closes her text thread with him again.

Madison wanders around the apartment, collecting things she recognizes as her own: her toothbrush, a half dozen ponytail holders that Tyson delights in tearing out of her hair to make out, the makeup remover that Tyson bought after she fell asleep there the first time and left makeup all over his pillowcase. She leaves the clothes she dug out of her closet and drawers folded on the end of his bed. She keeps one of his hoodies, because it’s comfy and it smells like him. It’s an Avs hoodie, anyway; it’s not like he’ll need it. The cookie cake she bought for his birthday is still sitting on the counter. They’d eaten it with breakfast on his actual birthday, but it was otherwise untouched. She figures someone will be by soon to pack up his apartment. She leaves it on the counter for them, whoever it is.

She locks the door behind her. It feels final in a way that she hates.

Tyson drags himself to morning skate early the next morning. He doesn’t feel like he slept much, though he fell asleep before he ever got around to responding to anyone’s texts. He makes no less than four wrong turns trying to find the home locker room in Xcel Center. The equipment staff has a locker set up for him already, all of his new gear waiting for him when he finds it. Tyson stares at the white practice jersey for a long moment, the green helmet already fitted with his full face shield and new number. He’s the only one in the locker room so far.

Tyson feels himself smile for the first time in what feels like days.

Skate passes in a blur. Tyson throws himself into everything the coaches ask of him, trying his best to learn a new team on the fly. His muscles ache from all the travel in the last few days and the lack of sleep, but he leans into the pain with a grin. It’s fun, in a weird way, and everyone’s quick to chirp Tyson, make him feel like he’s already a real part of the team.

Madison watches the Wild’s game that night. Tyson’s still in his little fishbowl after the broken jaw, and Madison winces every time he takes a check, even though she knows he’s fine, really. Minnesota wins. She doesn’t watch any of their other games, or follow Minnesota on any socials. She considers blocking Tyson’s phone number, the last message she sent to him still sitting open and unreplied to.

She can’t bring herself to do it.

Tyson’s mom, ever the lifesaver, arrives a few days later with most of the contents of his closet in tow. She’s also brought the cookie cake Madison had bought him for his birthday. It’s half-eaten and stale, now, reading only “-hday, Tys!” He eats a piece, anyway, and his mom doesn’t ask who bought it for him. She doesn’t ask any questions, actually, which Tyson is grateful for. He’s told her bits and pieces about Madison over the last few months, but he hasn’t told her how he’s fallen in love. It doesn’t matter now.

Tyson’s trying to unpack, give himself some semblance of “home” in his stale hotel room, when a piece of paper falls out of the pocket of one of his suit jackets. He picks it up and carefully unfolds it, though he already knows what it says. good luck tonight! ♡ in Madison’s pretty cursive. She’d tucked it into his suit before a game in January, and Tyson had scored a goal that night. He slipped it back in the inside pocket of the suit jacket. Maybe it’ll bring him luck in Minnesota, too.

Madison’s phone rings late one night, a few weeks after Tyson’s been traded. It’s the first time she’s heard from him since he left Denver. She squints at her phone screen in the dark, debating ignoring it. Tyson’s face grins up at her, a stupid selfie he had taken ages ago. She swipes to answer with a sigh.

“Tyson, if you’re just calling because you’re drunk or something, I swear—” she starts. She’s not really sure what she’ll do to Tyson, actually, so she trails off.

Tyson’s quiet on the other end of the line. Madison hears him take a shaky breath, but he still doesn’t speak for a long moment. “The Avs are in town,” he says finally. “Game’s tomorrow night,” he adds.

Madison hasn’t really been paying attention to either team’s schedule lately. She hasn’t had much reason to. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to say here, what’s the right answer to comfort Tyson. She might’ve once, but she feels wrong-footed now, unsure of where they stand.

“You gonna see anyone?” she asks.

Tyson huffs. “Yeah, I got dinner with some of them tonight.” He pauses. “They’re still my friends, y’know, it’s not like they’re the ones who traded me.”

Madison hums, something like agreement. She thinks she can hear the hurt in Tyson’s voice, even though he’s trying to hide it. He’s still talking. “I’ve just…never had to play against my best friends like this before.”

“Oh, Tys,” Madison says softly. “That sucks, babe.” The familiar endearment slips out before she can stop herself.

“Yeah, it sucks alright,” Tyson agrees. He’s quiet again. “Wish you could be here, too. Miss you.”

“You don’t mean that,” Madison says. With the game tomorrow, Tyson might not be drunk, but it’s late, and he’s wallowing in missing his friends. She doesn’t think she really qualifies as that anymore.

“What do you mean?” Tyson asks, indignant. “Of course I mean it.”

“Is that why this is the first time we’ve spoken since you got traded? Two weeks ago?” Madison’s angry, suddenly; that small spark of hurt she’s been trying to bury flares into fury.

She can practically hear Tyson’s wince on the other end of the line. It’s too late to be arguing, but this is where they’re at now.

“Sorry for not wanting to get dumped hours after I got shipped off to fucking Minnesota,” Tyson snaps back, but he sounds tired. The fight leaves Madison just as quickly as it appeared. “Who said anything about breaking up?”

Tyson’s quiet. Madison can picture the way his eyebrows furrow when he’s thinking too hard. “You asked me to call you!”

“I asked you to call me because I wanted to check on you, dumbass.” Madison rubs at her eyes. They should both be asleep, but now she feels too awake to hang up, to end this conversation. She might be annoyed, but it’s the first time she’s heard Tyson’s voice in weeks. She’s missed it, though she’s not about to admit that right now. “How can I even break up with a guy I’ve never been on a real date with?” she asks.

“Oh.”

“It’s been a wild fucking month for you, Tys, I wanted to talk to you and see how you were handling shit,” Madison continues.

Tyson realizes now might not be the best time to admit that he’d requested a trade. This had still blindsided him, somehow. He considers switching to a FaceTime call. He desperately wants to see Madison’s face, the next best thing to being with her right now, getting to touch her. He winces again when she sniffles on the other end of the line. He’d been lonely when he called her, expecting some sympathy, not the anger he was met with.

He guesses he probably should’ve considered she’d be mad at him after moving over 900 miles away and then giving her radio silence for two weeks, actually. He taps the FaceTime button a little harder than necessary. He’s almost surprised when Madison accepts the request.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been busy,” he says weakly. “I didn’t think—I just figured you were wanting to tell me that we couldn’t keep doing this.” It seems obvious given the distance, but Tyson really hadn’t been in the mood to get effectively broken up with twice in one day.

Madison’s eyes burn as she swipes at them, and she’s not sure if it’s because of the late hour, or if she’s about to cry.

Tyson realizes something. “Besides, you had just gotten spooked and tried to slow things down, I didn’t think you’d want to jump from just hooking up to long-distance.” It’s too dark for him to tell if she’s crying. He hopes she isn’t.

“That was—” Madison starts to protest. But Tyson’s right. It had only been a few weeks since she’d panicked about how fast they were headed towards a real relationship. That had been before the broken jaw, before Tyson’s birthday, before he got traded. Before Madison had the chance to realize just how much she cared about Tyson, and liked Tyson, and how much she missed him when he wasn’t just a text away.

“I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend for real, you know? On that date? But then I was in Minnesota, and I hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to anyone, and I wasn’t ready to talk about anything.” Madison opens her mouth to argue more, but Tyson cuts her off. “You want to know how I’m handling shit? Not well,” he admits.

Hockey is hockey, but he’s not sure Minnesota will ever feel like home the way Denver still does.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Madison blurts.

Tyson laughs in spite of himself. “So many things,” he says. It’s easy, for a second, to forget they’re arguing. Fuck, he wishes Madison were with him, and not for the first, or the third, or the tenth time since he’s been in Minnesota. “I guess I should’ve texted instead of shutting you out, huh? I just never knew what to say.”

“You’re an idiot,” Madison says softly. “I really did just want to check on you. But you left me on read, and then a few days had passed, so I guess you’d made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to talk. I didn’t even think about worrying about our future then.”

Tyson squeezes his eyes shut. He’s blurry on Madison’s phone screen, but she can tell his hair is a disaster, like he’s been anxiously pulling on his curls.

“Did I accidentally break up with you to avoid being broken up with?” he asks. He sounds like he’s on the verge of laughter. Or maybe tears. Madison can’t quite tell, actually.

“Mmm, I think so, babe,” Madison says. She rolls over in bed, stifling a yawn. It’s late in Denver, but it’s even later in St. Paul, she thinks. “Hey, you need to sleep. “You’ve gotta beat the Avs tomorrow.” She glances at the clock in the corner of her screen. “Well. Today, I guess.”

Tyson sticks his tongue out at her, but he snuggles deeper into his pillows. “Can I call you later?” His voice is small.

“Yeah, Tys.” They’ve got a lot more to talk about. “Say hi to JT and Cale for me, yeah?” she says.

Tyson grins at her. He stops himself from saying, “I love you,” before he hangs up, but only barely, settling on, “Good night,” instead. There’s still time for the other one, he thinks

The game is…fine. They slap a microphone on Tyson before he goes out on the ice, and it’s definitely weird facing off against some of his best friends, but he gets through it. He doesn’t score, but he doesn’t land in the penalty box either, so. He spends some time attempting to chirp an exasperated EJ that he’ll probably get made fun of for later. Oh, and the Wild win. Tyson guesses it’s an okay night, after all.

Tyson misses Denver, misses playing at the Can, but after facing off against his friends on the still-unfamiliar ice in Minnesota, he’s not sure he can handle returning.

Madison finds herself watching the Avs game for the first time in weeks, but she’s not watching for them. She’s paying attention to all of Tyson’s shifts, and she realizes halfway through the game that she’s completely rooting against the Avs.

The final buzzer has barely blown when she’s pulling out her phone to text Tyson. She hesitates for a moment, unsure of the right thing to say. She feels like they finally made progress last night after Tyson stonewalled her for weeks, but they’re still a half dozen steps behind where they were in the beginning of March. She somehow knows more than she did before Tyson called her, but she feels like she understands their relationship even less now.

She must type four or five messages before she settles on, great win :) 🖤. She kind of hates it as soon as she sends it, but she can’t take it back. She tosses her phone to the other end of the couch before she can obsess over waiting for Tyson to text her back. She doesn’t have to wait long, though, before her phone is vibrating near her feet. She takes one breath, then another, before scrambling for her phone again. Tyson’s texted back, thanks babe. Then, less than a minute later, wish you were here.

Madison stares at her phone, chewing on her bottom lip. She doesn’t know the right thing to say once again. ‘Me too’ feels too earnest, ‘wish you were still here instead’ feels mean somehow. She still doesn’t know when she’ll see Tyson again, if she’ll see Tyson again. All she has is a version of Tyson through a screen. Her thumb hovers over the call button. Tyson’s probably busy with post-game stuff, Madison reminds herself. She misses his voice, though.

She finally settles on: :). She waits anxiously until Tyson has read it before sending: Call me later?

She checked the Wild’s schedule already; they’re in town for a few more days. Tyson will probably be heading straight home—wherever “home” is these days— after the game. She spares a moment to wonder about the future of Tyson’s old apartment in Denver. She wonders if it’s been emptied out yet, wiped clean of all traces of Tyson, of them. That had been home to Tyson, and it had almost started to feel like home to Madison, too.

Tyson sends her back a thumbs up emoji and an emoji with its tongue sticking out. Madison rolls her eyes fondly and tosses her phone back to the end of her couch.

She’s dozing when her phone rings. Half-asleep, she fumbles for it before answering. “‘Lo?” she mumbles.

Tyson chuckles softly at her. “You asked me to call you and then fell asleep,” he says, tsk-ing.

Madison sticks her tongue out at him, even though he can’t see her. “Shut up, it’s late,” she whines.

“Then go to bed, Mads,” Tyson tells her. She can tell he’s trying not to laugh at her.

Madison feels like a toddler protesting bedtime, but she says, “No! I wanna talk to you.”

Tyson laughs again. “Okay, are you at least in bed already?”

“...No.”

“Go brush your teeth, and get in bed, yeah? We can keep talking then.”

Madison sighs but heaves herself off her couch and into her bathroom. Tyson starts chatting as she walks, mindless stuff, like the weather in St. Paul, or how bored he is of living in a hotel room still. Madison puts him on speaker and sets her phone next to the sink so she can keep listening while she washes her face and brushes her teeth. It almost feels like getting ready for bed alongside Tyson again, elbowing each other for space in front of his bathroom mirror.

He falls quiet as she crawls underneath her blankets. Madison stifles a yawn.

“How was it?” she asks.

“The game?” Madison nods, forgetting again that Tyson can’t see her. Tyson continues anyway. “I mean, it was fine, I guess. We won, so.”

“Just fine?” Madison prods.

Tyson hesitates. “Weird,” he says after a few seconds. “It was weird. Feels like a Twilight Zone episode, honestly. Like I woke up one day in some other life that everyone else swears didn’t happen. Like, you get traded, and everyone expects you to immediately fit in with this new locker room, and be all in with your new team. As if all the games played with your friends never even happened.”

Madison doesn’t know what to say to that. It must be weird to have to effectively sever all ties with your best friends. To know and trust the face across the faceoff dot from you. She probably couldn’t handle it if she were in Tyson’s place,

“I’m sorry, Tys,” she murmurs, for lack of anything better to say. “It’s business, but business is shitty.”

Tyson huffs in agreement. Madison’s wearing the hoodie she stole from Tyson, and she tucks her nose underneath the collar. It doesn’t smell like Tyson any more.

“Hey, is now a bad time to ask if we can have phone sex?” Tyson asks.

Madison bursts out laughing. “Yes, Tyson, it’s a terrible time.” Tyson whines a little at her. “Though,” she adds, “I am wearing one of your hoodies.”

Tyson groans. The few times Madison had worn something of his around him, it usually wasn’t long before the clothes ended up back on the floor.

“Now you’re just being mean,” he says. His voice is muffled like he’s buried his head underneath a pillow.

Madison yawns again.

“You need to go to sleep,” Tyson tells her gently.

“No,” Madison protests again. “Tell me more about Minnesota,” she pleads. “I’ve missed listening to you.”

Madison can’t read Tyson’s moment of silence, but he starts doing as he’s told, telling Madison more about his hotel, about the food in the locker room after games at Xcel Center and how different it is from Denver, about all the different personalities on the team, until Madison falls asleep.

Madison wakes up to a dead phone. She plugs it in while she showers, and she immediately checks her call log. Tyson had kept talking for well over an hour. He texted her, too, after he’d hung up. Miss you, promise we’ll talk more soon.

Madison responds the only way she knows how: 🖤.

April

The end of the season passes in a blur after that. Tyson settles in as best he can, but he feels like he barely has time to catch his breath. With the end of the season and the playoffs looming, there’s no time for Tyson to find a real place to live, so he’s still holed up in the hotel, living out of suitcases.

Time moves differently in hotels, he swears, the days blurring into one another. Tyson no longer knows what day it is; it’s only travel day, or game day, or rarely, a day off.

The Wild are winning more than they lose, and Tyson manages to pick up some points here and there. It could be worse. At least it’s not, like, Buffalo.

The team goes on the road for the first time since he got there, and it’s a good chance for Tyson to get to know everyone a little better, spend some time out of his generic hotel room—even if he goes back to another generic hotel room after each dinner out with the guys. He makes a point to call Madison as much as he can, which is almost every night after he crashes into bed and turns on some shitty TV.

Their phone calls end up lasting for hours. Tyson realizes that he and Madison spent more time hooking up than really getting to know each other. It’s nice to take the time to just talk and learn things about Madison. Tyson feels himself falling in love more with each phone call.

Tyson talks about his family—his sister, his mom, his grandparents. How much he misses them with the long seasons away. How much he’s looking forward to going home to Alberta when the season ends. He doesn’t tell Madison that he wants to bring her home with him this summer, not yet.

Madison tells Tyson about everything: her job (graphic design and marketing for a local business Tyson vaguely thinks he recognizes), her family (two sisters, one of whom Tyson briefly met), and her favorite movies (Lord of the Rings, but Tyson could have guessed that). When she tells him she likes to bake, Tyson immediately demands that she sends him some. He’s not even sure if he can get mail at the hotel, actually. Not important.

Tyson throws himself into hockey, though he’s not sure how much it shows. He’s determined to make this work, to stick and make a difference in Minnesota the way he never quite could in Colorado. He tells Madison this, too, voicing fears about his future in hockey that he’s never even let himself think about too much.

The Wild plays the Avalanche again in St. Paul on the last day of the season. Tyson’s dreading it. He’s privately more than a little glad that they’re not playing the Avs in the first round, but he still can’t help but feel like he should be there instead, still on a powerhouse team poised to take on the postseason, not the underdogs.

Tyson calls Madison a week before the game, laying in bed, fresh off a single assist in back to back wins against Vancouver and Seattle. Tyson can hear the smile in Madison’s voice when she answers. Tyson’s chest hurts with how much he misses her.

Which is probably why he blurts, “Can you come to Minnesota?”

Madison’s quiet for so long Tyson pulls his phone away from his ear to make sure the call didn’t disconnect.

Finally, she says, “Tyson, I can’t just drop everything and fly to Minnesota.” “No, I know, I just meant next week,” he says. “We play the Avs again.”

Madison knows that, this time. She’s actually started paying attention to the Wild—mostly just Tyson, though—since April started.

“That’s a Friday night, Tys,” she tells him. “I’d have to take off work for the day.” She could, probably, without too much fuss. She just wants to hear Tyson beg a little. She’s still a tiny bit hurt by the way he stonewalled her after the trade.

“I’ll pay for your plane ticket!” Tyson adds. That wasn’t really Madison’s point. “I really want you to be there, I need to see you again.”

Madison already knows she can’t tell Tyson no. She sighs and drags her laptop towards her. She starts searching for plane tickets. “Just for the game on Friday, or am I allowed to stay the whole weekend?” she asks.

Tyson scoffs. “Like I’d let you leave after one night when I haven’t seen you in two like two months.” He’s already planning on only leaving the hotel room except for practice and maybe to finally take Madison on an actual date. Actually: “Hey, pack something nice to wear. I still owe you a date.”

Madison laughs. “How nice are we talking?”

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna wine and dine you so hard,” Tyson says, breaking off into laughter before he can even finish the sentence.

Madison spends the next week, alternating between excited and anxious. Excited because she hasn’t seen Tyson in weeks, and she can’t wait to be able to kiss him again. She’s not sure why she’s even worried. She and Tyson have already spent months doing almost everything couples do, just without the label. They already know they work well together. Adding a label shouldn’t change things.

She goes out and buys a new dress the day before her flight, after frantically deciding that nothing in her closet was good enough for a first date.

“He already knows what you look like,” her sister Emma points out. “It’s not like you have to worry about him liking you. Also, he’s colorblind.”

Madison ignores her (annoyingly correct) sister and spends almost over an hour in the mall. She carefully packs the new dress at the top of her suitcase before zipping it up and leaving it by her front door. She’s so excited she can hardly sleep.

It’s not a long flight from Denver to Minnesota, but Madison’s not used to flying, and the whole affair has her stressed beyond belief. It takes her unbelievably long to find her gate, and even though she got to KDEN plenty early, she still worries that she’ll be late. It’s a relief when she can finally settle in her seat. She turns on a Disney movie she doesn’t really watch and counts the minutes until she can see Tyson again.

Except then she can’t find her luggage, and Tyson’s supposed to be picking her up and isn’t answering her texts. It takes her twenty minutes to find out that another passenger mistakenly took her suitcase and has brought it back, and Tyson still hasn’t responded to tell her that he’s waiting.

She makes her way outside anyway, following the signs towards parking. Her hands are too full with her carry-on and suitcase to reach for her phone to call Tyson, but when she steps outside her terminal, she recognizes the person behind the wheel of a car just pulling up to the curb.

Tyson has the car in park and is jumping out before Madison can take another step. She’s so overwhelmed she bursts into tears.

She drops her bags to launch herself at Tyson, wrapping her arms around his neck. He doesn’t stumble, just slides his arms around her waist and hugs her back.

“Whoa, whoa, why the tears?” he asks, wiping one away with his thumb.

“I just really missed you,” Madison mumbles into his shirt.

Tyson presses a kiss to her hair. He unwraps one hand and reaches for the handle of Madison’s suitcase. “Well, let’s get you in the car, and then we can talk, yeah?” he says. He doesn’t wait for an answer, letting go of Madison fully to swing her suitcase into the trunk. Madison slips into the passenger seat while he throws her carry-on in, too, before he’s jogging back to the driver’s side. He leans across the console to kiss Madison’s cheek.

“Missed you, too, by the way,” he says.

Madison feels silly for crying now. Everything always seems better when Tyson’s around, and right now is no exception, with the windows rolled down and Tyson singing loudly—and badly—to the song on the radio. Tyson reaches for Madison’s hand, and she lets him slip his fingers between hers. Something restless in Madison’s chest settles when he touches her.

They don’t much as Tyson drives, the city flashing by out the car windows. It’s been ages since they saw each other, but they talk almost every day; there’s not much to catch up on. Madison likes it, the comfortable quiet between two people who know each other well.

Tyson apologizes for the fact that he’s still living in a hotel on the elevator ride up to his room.

“Tyson, I don’t care where you’re living, I’m just glad to be able to see you again,” she tells him.

Tyson blushes, but he also boxes her in against the elevator wall to kiss her properly for the first time since she got off the plane. Madison trails after him as he heads down the hallway and pushes open his hotel room door with a dorky sweep of his arm.

The room’s bigger than Madison expected, with a kitchenette that doesn’t look like it’s been used at all, and a little couch and desk near the TV. Madison can see the bed, sheets rumpled and twisted like Tyson has never bothered to make it in the weeks he’s been here. Tyson’s watching Madison survey the room like he’s nervous.

“So, what’s next?” Madison asks.

With the game last night, Tyson didn’t have skate today, but she’s familiar enough with his game day routine to know he should probably be napping soon. She could go for a nap herself. Madison doesn’t wait for an answer, just dumps her carry-on bag on the couch and wanders over to the bed. Tyson follows, still rolling Madison’s suitcase behind him. Madison flops backwards onto the bed. The sheets smell like Tyson.

“Well?” she asks, raising one eyebrow at him.

Tyson scrambles onto the bed after her. He drops to his elbows above Madison and leans down to kiss her, eager and not exactly gentle. Madison reaches up to thread her fingers into his curls. She runs her fingers through his hair once, twice, before closing her hand and tugging. Tyson groans into her mouth, but he gentles the kiss. They make out until they’re both breathless, and Tyson has to pull away.

“I really should nap,” he says once he catches his breath. Madison tilts her chin up for another kiss. Tyson rolls his eyes but obliges, just a quick peck. He shifts his weight to one hand and pinches the outside of Madison’s thigh with the other. “C’mon, I wanna cuddle.”

They both clamber up the bed until Madison can collapse onto the pillows. Tyson collapses on top of her.

“Oof, bud, what the hell,” she manages. Tyson’s heavy, and it’s hard to breathe.

“Told you I wanted to cuddle,” Tyson says back, face smushed into Madison’s collarbone.

Madison pokes Tyson in the ribs, then again, harder, when he doesn’t react, until he sighs and squirms off her. Her reprieve doesn’t long, though, because Tyson immediately reaches out for Madison and pulls her close. She rolls onto her side to face him, and he grins at her.

“You’re an idiot,” she tells him.

Tyson’s grin only grows. “Yeah, but you like me.”

Madison slides a hand around the back of Tyson’s neck and kisses him.

When Tyson's alarm goes off later, they’ve shifted in their sleep, and Tyson’s half-laying on top of Madison again. He slaps at his phone without moving and somehow manages to snooze the alarm.

“Not ready yet,” Madison mumbles, wrapping an arm around Tyson and keeping him close. He huffs a laugh against Madison’s skin.

“I’ve gotta get ready, baby,” he says. He kisses Madison’s shoulder.

Madison should probably get up, too. She wants to shower the plane funk off and make herself presentable for the game. But Tyson’s bed is really comfy. Tyson rolls off of her, and Madison whines at the loss of her human blanket.

Tyson shoots her an amused look. He leans back over Madison to kiss her one more time, but he avoids her attempts at dragging him back to bed. Madison pouts up at him. It doesn’t work. She watches from the bed as Tyson gets dressed in his gameday suit. He kisses her goodbye before he leaves.

Left alone in the eerie silence of the hotel, Madison forces herself out of bed and into the shower. She brings her Bluetooth speaker with her, blasting one of her playlists loud enough to be heard over the water. She emerges in a cloud of steam to dig through her suitcase for the outfit she’d packed for tonight. She doesn’t own anything Wild-branded, and she doesn’t think wearing Tyson’s old Avalanche hoodie would go over too well. She’d had to buy something new for this, too: an amazing fleece-lined green corduroy jacket that she’d probably live in come fall.

She takes the opportunity to poke around the hotel room a little, looking for traces of Tyson in the unfamiliar space. One of the blankets from his apartment was thrown carelessly across the foot of the bed. His ukulele sits on top of the desk. Madison hangs her date-night dress up in the little closet and finds her own good luck note to Tyson taped to the door. The kitchenette is full of Tyson’s snacks, including some of Madison’s favorites. It’s not much, but it’s enough.

Madison eventually makes her way to the Xcel Center. She’s met by someone’s significant other outside—it’s a blur of faces and names she can hardly keep track of—before they head to their seats. She’d gotten used to the atmosphere at The Can, and Xcel Center is different but the same. It’s easy enough to settle into the rhythm of the game and the crowd. The game is wild from puck drop, but Minnesota manages to pull out a win. Tyson even scores the game winning goal.

She follows the rest of the girls downstairs to the family room after the game. She’s restless, full of energy after the game, with no outlet for it. She all but tackles Tyson when he pokes his head in, stripped down to his base layers, but his curls still plastered to his head with sweat.

“Whoa,” he says, steadying her as they tumble out into the hallway. He’s grinning at her, cheeks pink. He lets Madison pin him up against the wall opposite them. “Hi.”

Madison kisses him, before she can blurt something embarrassing, like, “I love you,” or, “That goal was hot.” Tyson makes a surprised noise into her mouth but kisses back easily, his hands tightening on her hips. He pulls away after a minute.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he whispers, kissing her temple. Louder, he says, “JT has requested to see you.”

Madison’s a little surprised, but pleased, to hear that. She’s hung out with JT a handful of times since she met him back in January, but she doesn’t think she’s talked to him since Tyson got traded. It had always felt more like JT was just a friend of a friend she got along with.

Tyson drags her down the halls towards the visitors’ locker room, JT’s already waiting for them, leaning against the door frame and messing around on his phone. Unlike Tyson, he’s dressed in clean clothes. He looks up as they approach and grins at them. Tyson doesn’t let go of Madison’s hand.

JT ropes Madison into a one-armed hug. “Think you’re Josty’s good luck charm. He’s scored twice now at games you’ve been to.” Tyson sticks his tongue out at JT.

Someone from inside the locker room yells Tyson’s name, and he’s momentarily distracted. JT leans in closer to Madison.

“Take care of our boy, yeah?” he says, quietly so Tyson, who’s still talking to someone else, won’t hear. “He needs you.”

Madison’s not sure how to respond to that. She’s saved by Tyson remembering they’re there. JT smacks a kiss to Madison’s cheek and nudges her back towards Tyson.

“See you around?” he asks Tyson.

“C’mon, you know you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Madison watches them hug, and then Tyson’s leading her back down the maze of hallways. He says something to her before dropping her off outside the family room, but she doesn’t really hear it, lost in her own thoughts, thinking about JT’s words.

She’s still thinking about what JT said when Tyson rejoins her, as they make their way back to the hotel, up the elevator and into Tyson’s hotel room. She and Tyson move quietly, easily, around each other as they start to change out of their game-day clothes. She’s still lost in her thoughts when Tyson hooks his chin over her shoulder, startling her as she’s taking her makeup off.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. He looks worried. “You’ve been quiet all night.”

Madison shrugs. “Nothing.”

Madison watches in the mirror as Tyson’s brow furrows further. “Did something happen?” Madison knows he’d been worried about how the Wild WAGs would receive her.

She shrugs Tyson’s chin off her shoulder, suddenly annoyed. “No, Tys, nothing happened.”

Nothing did happen, unless you count JT Compher’s casual words sending Madison into a spiral.

Tyson slides between Madison and the sink. He crosses his arms. “I don’t believe you.”

Madison rolls her eyes, but gives Tyson a quick peck, before hip checking him out of the way so she can brush her teeth. Tyson watches, still suspicious. Madison ushers him towards the bed. He sits and drags Madison into his lap. He frowns up at her.

“Tys, really. Everything was just overwhelming, I guess.” Also not a lie; she’d never been to a hockey game as Tyson’s girlfriend—or, almost-girlfriend—and everything had been overwhelming in a way she hadn’t expected. Most things had been the same, but sitting with the rest of the wives and girlfriends and listening to them ask her questions about her life and job had almost felt like a well-meaning interrogation.

“Promise?”

Madison kisses Tyson, slow and gentle. “Promise.”

She yelps when Tyson flips them suddenly. He rolls on top of her, propping himself up on his hands. Madison can tell that he’s not letting this go.

“Then what’s wrong?” He chews nervously on his lower lip for a moment. “And don’t say nothing, I know you’re lying.”

Madison huffs. “Just something JT said.” She shoves at Tyson’s shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. His glasses are crooked from his acrobatics, and Madison reaches up to adjust those next. He swats at her hand.

“I’ll kill him,” he says confidently.

“First, I think JT would beat you in a fight,” Madison says. Tyson makes a noise of protest, and Madison slaps a hand over his mouth. “Second, it wasn’t anything bad, I don’t know, just made me think.”

Tyson pries Madison’s hand away. “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” he says.

He’s distracted enough that Madison can hook a leg over his hips and flip them back over. She settles across his lap as Tyson blinks dazedly up at her.

“He asked me to take care of you, said you need me, whatever.” Madison’s trying to brush it off, as if she hadn’t spent hours thinking about it, as if she doesn’t feel uncomfortably seen. Far too vulnerable for something that was supposed to just be a hook-up way back in November.

They’ve come a long way since November.

Tyson’s face clears. “What do you mean, ‘whatever?’” He surges up to kiss Madison before he continues. “Of course I need you. I fucking miss you constantly. I’ve wanted literally nothing but to be around you, like, all the time since, like, December.”

“Oh.” Madison should have realized that, maybe. It’s different to hear Tyson lay it out like that. “I didn’t realize,” she whispers. Tyson grins up at her. “You did kinda ghost me for a while there,” she points out.

Tyson groans. “I am never gonna hear the end of that, am I?” He runs his fingers through Madison’s hair, tugs a little at the ends. “I panicked because I was terrified of losing you, remember?” He punctuates his sentence with another gentle kiss. His hand slips from Madison’s hair to her waist, underneath her T-shirt. He’s missed the feeling of her underneath his hands. An emotion Madison can’t read crosses his face for a second before he says, “Do you—do you not—?” Feel the same way, is what he means to say, but can’t quite get out.

Madison understands him, anyway. “No, God, Tyson, no.” She hesitates; she supposes they’re laying it all on the line here. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Tyson surprises her by bursting out laughing. Hurt, Madison tries to squirm out of Tyson’s lap, but he reels her in and kisses her until she melts into his hands.

“Baby, I’ve been in love with you since you showed up at my door for a Lord of the Rings marathon.” He giggles a little and kisses Madison’s nose. “We’ve done this all backwards, haven’t we?”

Madison giggles a little too and nods. “I don’t think we’re very good at all this,” she whispers.

Tyson shakes his head, still laughing. “We’ll get better. I mean, look at us, we’re already communicating more!”

Madison kissed him again to shut him up, but by then they were both too busy laughing to take it much farther. Madison collapses to the sheets next to Tyson, letting herself dissolve into giggles. It feels good to laugh like this with Tyson, the last bit of uneasy tension Madison didn’t even know existed disappearing at last. Madison feels delirious with it: the stress of the last few weeks, the long day of travel and hockey, the raw vulnerability of finally being honest with Tyson.

They laugh for longer than the situation warrants. Tyson eventually heaves a sigh and turns his head on his pillow to look at Madison, eyes uncharacteristically serious. Madison sucks in a breath and forces herself to stop laughing.

“I mean it, you know,” Tyson says. “I’ve been falling for you for a long time.” He looks thoughtful for a moment, props himself up on an elbow. “I guess this means you’re officially my girlfriend now, huh?”

“Huh, guess so.” Tyson beams at her. “Don’t think this gets you out of wining and dining me tomorrow, though,” she threatens.

Tyson leans down to kiss Madison. “I don’t put out on the first date,” he murmurs.

Madison drags him closer, slots her mouth against his again. “Bit late for that, babe.”

Madison wakes up late the next morning, bright sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains. Tyson’s already awake, sitting up against the headboard and fucking around on his phone. He never got dressed besides finding his boxers, and his glasses are slipping down his nose. He grins down at her when he realizes she’s awake.

“You’re a dork,” Madison says, rolling over to bury her face in a pillow again. Tyson pokes her shoulder blade, and she turns her head enough to glare at him.

“Brunch in bed, or go somewhere?” Tyson asks, poking Madison again.

Madison’s not wearing anything, either, and she’d have to shower and fix her hair before they could leave the hotel room. “Bed,” she says, burrowing back into her pillow. Actually, it might be one of Tyson’s pillows. It’s hers now.

Tyson chuckles and rolls out of bed to hunt down the room service menu. He orders a bunch of stuff that they can share, but makes sure to include an omelet for Madison. He learned a while ago that she always has to have an omelet with breakfast. He’s also learned not to question it. He jumps back onto the bed. Madison bounces with it, and turns once more to glare at him.

Her hair’s a disaster, and Tyson thinks he can see a hickey he left low on her neck. He loves her so much. He remembers he can tell her that now.

“I love you,” he blurts. Madison’s face softens. “Also, breakfast in thirty.” He tugs a little on the sheet where it’s slipping down Madison’s shoulders. “Plenty of time for…”

“For what, Tyson?” Madison asks. She’s laughing, now, and she rolls over, letting Tyson slide between her thighs and kiss her, slow and easy.

He has to fish his boxers out of the sheets again when room service knocks on the door, but it’s worth it.

Madison drags herself out of bed after they eat. Tyson’s promised her plans all day, so she and Tyson take turns showering and making themselves presentable. Tyson holds Madison’s hand from the door of the hotel room until they reach his car, and even then, he only lets go after he opens the door for her and kisses her on the cheek.

It’s a warm spring day, and Tyson drives with the windows down through downtown St. Paul. He refuses to tell Madison where he’s taking her.

“Can we at least get coffee if you’re going to kidnap me?” Madison whines.

“I don’t think it’s kidnapping if you willingly got in the car,” Tyson points out mildly. He pulls into the next Starbucks drive-thru he sees, though, so Madison’s pretty sure she wins the argument.

Placated with caffeine, she stops pestering Tyson for details, but it’s only another few minutes before he’s turning into a parking lot for Como Park Zoo.

“Oh my God, are you serious?” Madison asks. She’d idly mentioned, a while ago, that she wanted to visit the Denver Zoo when it got warmer. She had no idea that Tyson would remember that.

Tyson smirks at her. “I think it’s a little smaller than Denver Zoo—”

Madison cuts him off. “Shut up, it’s gonna be great.”

And it is great. Madison all but runs between animal exhibits, and Tyson’s more than happy to be dragged along by the hand, even though he thinks his nose is getting sunburned. They entertain themselves by naming the animals after his old teammates.

“You can’t name them all EJ,” Madison says at one point.

“Well, why not?” Tyson argues. Madison…doesn’t have a good argument for that, actually.

There’s gardens, too, and they wander through those after they’ve looped around the zoo, holding hands the whole time. Madison’s pretty sure she enjoys the flowers more than Tyson, but he waits good-naturedly when she stops to point out a pretty flower or to take some pictures. It all feels like a date, which Madison supposes it is, actually.

“Hey, wait,” Tyson says suddenly, after Madison stands back up from taking a photo. “We should get a picture of us.” He snatches Madison’s phone from her hand.

There’s an older couple nearby, and Tyson approaches them with a smile. Madison can hear him asking if one of them would mind, “taking a picture of me and my girlfriend?” She’s sure she’s blushing when Tyson comes back over and winds an arm around her waist. She smiles obligingly at the camera next to Tyson, and doesn’t even flinch when he turns and smacks a kiss to her cheek for the last one.

Tyson’s gracious and sweet as he takes Madison’s phone back, but he turns on Madison with an evil glint in his eye.

“Shut up,” Madison says, turning and walking away from Tyson so he can’t see that she’s still blushing.

Tyson jogs to keep up, spinning around and walking backwards so he can keep smirking at Madison. “You liked hearing me call you my girlfriend, huh?”

“Shut up,” Madison says again.

Tyson steps in front of Madison suddenly, blocking her path completely. She bumps into him. He’s still grinning. “Get used to it fast, because I can’t wait to tell everyone you’re my girlfriend.” Madison claps a hand over his mouth before he can literally start yelling about it. Tyson pries her hand away and uses it to pull her in for a kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs. The novelty of hearing that from Tyson hasn’t worn off, either.

Madison kisses him again because she can.

They head out not long after that. Tyson starts insisting that they can’t be late for their dinner reservation, even though it’s still early afternoon. Madison lets him take her by the hand again and all but drag her back to the car.

She’s suddenly tired once she’s sitting back in the passenger seat, the sun and the walking catching up to her. She rests her head on the window while Tyson drives, fighting back a yawn. Tyson still catches her, and he reaches across to poke her in the thigh. She swats half-heartedly at his hand.

“Do I have time to take a nap?” Madison murmurs.

“What? No way!” He pokes Madison harder. “I’m supposed to be wining and dining you, remember?”

“But I’m sleepy,” Madison whines. She’ll rally, probably; she needs to complain a little first. Tyson pokes her harder.

“That’s not allowed,” Tyson says. It’s not a long drive back to the hotel, and they’re most of the way back there already. Tyson checks the time on the dashboard. There’s still a few hours before their dinner reservation. “Okay, how about a mini nap?” he allows. “But we’re setting like three alarms.”

It’s important to him that he still gets this first date right, even if they have done their entire relationship backwards. They got to the right place in the end, though, right?

Madison crashes into bed as soon as they’re back in the room. Tyson considers her for a moment. She’s already wriggled under the sheets, but she’s lying directly in the middle of the bed.

Tyson collapses on top of Madison. He catches himself at the last second so he doesn’t completely crush her, because he’s nice like that. Madison giggles, but she squirms and tries to elbow Tyson.

Her voice is muffled into the pillow as she tries to say, “Get off me.”

Tyson lets his weight press her further into the mattress. “Nope, ‘m comfy.” He does fish his phone out of his pocket to set an alarm and roll off Madison. He pulls Madison close as soon as he lands on his side next to her. “Shh, sleep now.”

They’re both jolted awake half an hour later when Tyson’s alarm goes off. Madison whines and presses closer. Tyson kisses the top of her head where she’s tucked under his chin.

“We need to get up,” Tyson whispers. Madison blinks sleepily up at him.

Tyson forces himself to disentangle himself from Madison. When she doesn’t get up after him, he grabs her by the ankles and drags her to the end of the bed, ignoring her laughter and shrieks.

Tyson follows Madison into the bathroom after she digs her makeup bag and curling iron out of her suitcase, plops himself down on the marble countertop of the sink. Madison raises her eyebrow at him as she plugs the curling iron in and turns it on. Tyson beams at her.

“I wanna watch,” Tyson says simply, still smiling innocently.

He does watch, intent on Madison as she starts to section her hair.

“What’s that for?” he asks. He hands Madison a hair clip.

She brandishes the curling iron at him. “So it’s easier to curl.”

Tyson’s quiet for a few more minutes before he slides Madison’s makeup bag closer and starts pawing through it. He pulls items out one by one and starts asking questions, mostly more of, “What’s this for?”—a makeup sponge, eyeliner, one of those jumbo eyeshadow crayons—until most of the contents of Madison’s makeup bag are strewn across the counter around Tyson.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Madison teases. Tyson snaps a compact of blush shut, surveys the damage he’s done. Madison’s momentarily distracted by Tyson’s shenanigans, and one of her fingers brushes across the hot barrel of the curling iron. “Ah, shit,” she hisses.

Tyson’s immediately serious. “Are you okay?” He grabs at Madison’s hand, bringing it close to his face to inspect her finger. Madison bites her lip to keep from laughing. Tyson frowns before carefully pulling Madison’s finger to his lips, kissing it gently. “There. All better.”

“I love you,” Madison hears herself saying. She’s not used to being able to just say it. Tyson beams at her again.

Tyson behaves himself while Madison finishes her hair and makeup, though he does giggle at the faces Madison pulls while she’s trying to apply mascara. He even helps put away all the makeup he got out. He finally hops off the counter to start getting ready himself.

Madison grabs his wrist when he reaches for the bottle of hair gel. “Nope, I’m rescinding your gel privileges.” She dies a little inside every time she sees a new photo of Tyson and his curls smothered in gel. Tyson squirms, trying to free his hand; Madison tightens her grip.

“Just a little?” Tyson pleads.

“No, I like your curls!” For emphasis, Madison cards her free hand through Tyson’s curls.

Tyson grumbles at her and tries to tamp his hair back down. “You’re gonna make it frizzy,” he complains. Madison is still tightly holding onto his wrist. “Ugh, fine, but just for tonight.”

Madison releases his wrist and kisses Tyson’s cheek as she steps past him out of the bathroom. Tyson blinks at himself in the mirror, wondering what the hell just happened.

Madison’s changed into a dress when Tyson finally makes his way out of the bathroom, too, sitting on the edge of the bed to slide on a pair of heels. She watches Tyson change with a small smile on her face. Tyson takes Madison’s hand and pulls her to her feet, twirling her once before pulling her close for a kiss.

“Let’s fucking do this,” Tyson says, and Madison has to laugh.

Dinner is pretty nice, as first dates go. Tyson picked a good restaurant—good food, nice environment, but not so fancy Madison feels out of her depth—and Madison already knows that he’s good for conversation. The good thing about falling in love before you actually start dating is that you’ve already gotten the awkwardness and discomfort out of the way already, Madison supposes.

She’s even mostly immune to the sad eyes Tyson directs at her as he pleads his case for getting dessert. Mostly. (They end up splitting a slice of tiramisu.)

The weekend passes too quickly. Madison blinks and suddenly she’s standing in the middle of Tyson’s hotel room, trying to figure out if she’s forgotten to re-pack anything.

“Stay,” Tyson begs. “A few more days, through the beginning of the series.”

“Tyson, I can’t, I have to get back to Denver for work, you know that.”

Tyson does know that, but he also hates coming back to a dark and empty hotel room every night after games. He tries to tackle Madison to the bed, but she side-steps Tyson and crosses her arms at him, disapproval in her eyes. Tyson feels a bit like a scolded child for a moment.

“What if I refuse to drive you to the airport, huh? Then you’ll have to stay.” Tyson knows it’s a weak argument, but he’s desperate here.

Madison’s glare softens. She cups Tyson’s face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Tyson, but I really have to go. I’ll see you soon, okay? We’ll figure something out.” She punctuates this with a kiss. Tyson leans into it, his hands tight on Madison’s waist.

“Soon,” Tyson repeats. “I love you,” he adds.

Madison kisses him again, and Tyson slips a hand beneath her shirt, her skin warm beneath his hand. She shudders and kisses him harder. They both startle when the alarm Madison set to make sure they leave for the airport on time goes off. Tyson tries to follow her when she pulls away to silence it.

“Time to go,” Madison says sadly.

After Tyson drops Madison off at Departures, he’s grateful that she’s not there to see him wipe away some tears.

May

Madison sees the Avs’ WAG jackets on Instagram the night they start the first round. The WIld had played the night before, an ugly loss Madison hadn’t been able to tear her attention away from. She could have had one of those jackets, sitting next to Syd and all the other girls. Instead, she’s back in her apartment in Denver, alone.

She wishes she could have stayed in Minnesota with Tyson for the first two games of the series. She gets a text from Tyson after the game that’s just a thumbs down emoji. Madison “dislikes” it out of solidarity. Tyson doesn’t call her that night. Madison has to remind herself that it’s okay, that they don’t have to talk all the time.

She watches anxiously two nights later as the Wild drag out a win, clutching a glass of wine for emotional support the whole time.

Before she can think too hard about it, Madison’s opening her laptop. She’s in the middle of searching flights to St. Louis when her phone rings. It’s Tyson, and Madison doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“I miss you,” she says, before Tyson can get a greeting out. She has perhaps had a little too much wine.

He chuckles. “It’s been less than a week, baby.” But then he adds, “I miss you, too.”

Madison shoves her laptop away and flops backwards on her bed. Last minute plane tickets are so expensive. So are playoff hockey tickets, apparently. She wonders if it would be easier to just drive to St. Louis.

“Wish I could be there,” she says next, even though she had just turned down Tyson when he’d asked her to stay.

“Yeah, me too,” Tyson says after a beat. He doesn’t offer to fly Madison out again, though Madison can tell he wants to.

She doesn’t tell him that she’s only a few clicks away from buying herself tickets and meeting him in Missouri. Though she should probably do it while she’s not sober, before she can talk herself out of it in the morning.

“Oh, good game, by the way,” Madison remembers to say.

Tyson huffs. “Are you already in bed?” Tyson asks. Madison can hear him banging around his hotel room, tinny and muffled where her phone has slid off her pillow.

“Sorta,” Madison tells him. She pulls her laptop closer again. She could fly out after work and make it to the arena without missing too much of the game, probably. She winces again at the outrageous prices for the game. There aren’t even any good seats left.

Tyson speaks again. “Go to sleep, we can talk in the morning. I just wanted to say good night to you.”

“In a minute,” she whines. She’s trying to remember her credit card number without having to get up and dig it out of her purse.

Tyson must hear her keyboard clacking. “What are you still doing on your computer?”

“Online shopping,” Madison lies. Well, half-lies. She is spending plenty of money right now. She triple-checks that her flight is booked correctly and that she purchased the ticket for the game before she finally slams her laptop shut and tosses it aside. “There, I’m done,” she tells Tyson.

“Buy anything good?” Tyson asks through a yawn.

“Hope so, we’ll see.”

On Friday, Madison rushes off the plane, rushes through baggage claim, and rushes through renting a car. She’s cutting it close on time, with less than half an hour until puck drop. She drives as carefully and quickly as she can on the unfamiliar roads to the arena, one eye on the clock the whole time. The streets and parking around Enterprise Center are a fucking nightmare, but when she finally parks and makes it to the front doors, there’s still lines of people milling about, waiting to get in, too.

Madison checks her watch. Puck dropped five minutes ago. She pushes around a group of people who are somehow already drunk and towards the front of a line. All hockey arenas are the same, in a way, but Madison is immediately overwhelmed and disoriented. The first period is half over by the time she manages to get to the upper level and settle in her seat, but at least she finally made it.

Madison takes a photo of the ice and texts it to Tyson with her usual black heart emoji. He’ll see it eventually.

Madison has to keep herself from cheering too loudly for every Wild goal, surrounded by Blues fans as she is, and she’s probably one of the only people in the arena who’s happy when the Wild manage a neat win.

She follows the throngs of people outside and back to her rental car. She has a text from Tyson waiting for her, just a string of exclamation marks. Another text comes through while she’s waiting for traffic to thin out, a request for Madison to call Tyson in all capital letters. Tyson’s breathless when he answers Madison’s call. “What the hell are you doing in St. Louis?”

“Surprise?” Madison says weakly.

Tyson laughs. “Hell of a surprise, babe.” He must pull his phone away from his ear, because Madison can still hear him speaking, but distantly. “Hang on, I’m trying to get you the address of the hotel, you can meet me there, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Madison says. Tyson’s gone again, not really listening.

“Hey, I’ve gotta go, I’ll text you where to go, and I’ll see you soon, okay?” He hangs up without letting Madison reply, but he texts again seconds later with the name and address of the team hotel.

Madison is anxiously idling in the hotel driveway when the team bus pulls in behind her. Tyson bounds off the bus almost before it comes to a full stop, and he races over to Madison’s car door and taps on the window.

Madison rolls down the window. “And what if it hadn’t been me in the car?” she teases.

Tyson is reaching through the now-open window to try and unlock the door, his tongue sticking out the way it does when he’s focusing on the ice. “I would have apologized. A lot.” He successfully presses the unlock button and yanks the car door open. “Come here, come here,” he says.

Madison laughs and climbs out of the car. Both of her feet aren’t even out of the car before Tyson’s sweeping her up in a hug so tight she swears she can feel her ribs shift. He sets her down and immediately cups her face.

“You’re here, I can’t believe you’re here.” Tyson narrows his eyes, and he squishes Madison’s cheeks where he’s still holding her face. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming.”

Madison pries Tyson’s hands away enough to talk. “I wanted to surprise you.” Tyson’s teammates are still filtering off the bus, and they should probably move inside, too. “Can you let go of me so I can get my bag out of the trunk?” she asks.

Tyson considers this. He slides one hand down Madison’s arm until he can tangle their fingers together. He also leans into the car and deftly turns it off, holding the keys up with a grin. He nudges the door shut. “We can get your bag out of the trunk.” He proceeds to drag Madison around to the back of the car and drags her suitcase out of the back with his free hand. He stares between the suitcase in his hand and the open trunk before Madison takes pity on him and slams the trunk shut.

Madison hangs back while Tyson hands the car keys off to a valet, and then he’s dragging her towards the elevators, happily rolling Madison’s suitcase in front of him. At least the rest of the Wild players have all disappeared, sparing Madison from their stares and jeers. She tucks herself closer to Tyson in the elevator, suddenly self-conscious. Tyson kisses her temple.

Madison is suddenly exhausted as soon as they enter Tyson’s room. Tyson flips the light on as Madison kicks off her shoes. Tyson left the curtains open earlier, and Madison can see the Arch, lit up above the river, through the window. She’s too tired to give it more than a half-hearted glance on her way to face-planting into the pillows.

Tyson’s laughing when she rolls over and brushes her hair out of her face. “I’m so fucking happy you’re here,” he says, jumping onto the bed next to Madison, and, really, that’s all that matters.

The Wild lose the next game at Enterprise, and Madison holds Tyson tightly for a long time in the hall outside the locker room before he has to get on a plane. They lose again at home, then yet again back in St. Louis.

Just like that, hockey season is over.

Tyson calls Madison after the last game. He sounds like he’s been crying, but he tries to be cheerful for Madison. She just wishes she could hug him, but she’s back in Denver. She knows the Avs swept the Predators already, and they’ll be facing St. Louis next. It’s not difficult to imagine how Tyson feels about that.

“Come home with me,” Tyson blurts. He’s on the phone with Madison, getting ready to leave his Minnesota hotel room behind. He survived locker cleanout and exit interviews, and now he’s ready to sleep for about a week.

Madison, in the middle of complaining at work, freezes. “I—what?” She takes another moment to process. “Aren’t you coming back to Denver first?” Madison knows his apartment sits half-abandoned, filled with things too difficult or unnecessary to move after the trade.

“Well, yeah, but like, after. You should come home with me,” Tyson repeats. He’s been dying to introduce her to his mom for months. He hopes his mom likes Madison as much as he does. He is a little worried about his sanity if Madison and Kacey get along as well as he thinks they will, though.

“I’ve never been to Canada before,” Madison says thoughtfully. She’s barely travelled abroad at all, except for one trip to the UK after she graduated high school. Her passport has been collecting dust since then.

“So you’ll come?” Tyson asks.

“Is there even anything to do in Edmonton?” Madison teases.

“There’s so much to do, like—” Tyson pauses. It’s been a while since he’s had to play tourist back home. Madison is giggling on the other end of the line. “Shut up, we’ll figure something out.”

Tyson feels like he can breathe properly for the first time in months when he steps out of the airport in Denver. He wonders if any place will ever feel like home the way Denver does.

Tyson had managed to wheedle JT into picking him up, and he even brought coffee. Tyson ignores the way it almost feels like an apology. JT has nothing to be apologizing for, but Tyson just sips his coffee.

The apartment smells stale when they walk in. Tyson’s mom had done a good job of cleaning for him, at least, and there aren’t any dirty dishes still stacked in the sink. He and JT are quiet as they walk through the apartment, opening windows. Tyson feels like he’s walking through someone else’s life. He stares for too long at his bed, freshly made and untouched for weeks.

He shakes it off and goes to find the moving boxes.

“So, this is it, huh?” JT says.

He could be talking about all the boxes they’ve spent the last few hours filling boxes and separating them into piles to be shipped off to Minnesota—Tyson finally signed a lease for an apartment there—or to be sent back home for his family to deal with. An alarming amount of Tyson’s clothes is Avalanche-branded gear, and more of it got packed away to keep than Tyson is willing to admit.

He could also be talking about the end of everything they’ve known together in Denver. Tyson’s spent years accepting the fact that hockey is a business before everything else, has gotten used to the revolving door of teammates each season. It’s been a long time since Rookie House days with Kerf. Tyson is going to walk out that apartment door, and he’s never going to be able to go back. A chapter—or book, really—in the story of his life ended for good.

Tyson sighs. “This is it.”

The apartment is stripped bare when Madison steps through the door, left unlocked by JT and Tyson.

She drops her laptop bag and kicks off her shoes, saying, “You should be more careful, anybody could just walk in here.”

Tyson drops the box he’s holding and whirls around. Madison winces as its contents rattle. There’s no time to say anything else before Tyson is bounding across the room and wrapping her in a huge hug.

“What, no hug for me?” JT asks from somewhere behind them. Tyson turns to glare at him, but Madison shoots him a smile.

“Hey, JT,” she says. She lets JT drape an arm around her in a half-hug.

“Betrayal,” Tyson says. He is ignored.

They leave most of the boxes for the moving company to deal with. Madison bundles Tyson into her car with his bags of clothes, complaining the whole time about wanting dinner. She lets Tyson hold her hand across the console as she drives him to her apartment.

It’s not the first time Tyson’s been to Madison’s apartment, but it still feels strange to be there instead of his own. They’ve spent so much time there the past few months, watching movies on the couch, doing things other than sleeping in the bed. He misses it already, all the memories they made as they fumbled their way into a relationship.

He says as much to Madison, expecting her to tease him for something so objectively dumb—to miss an apartment he lived in half of the time for like six months—but the look she gives him is almost sad.

“That’s a bit dramatic,” she says. Tyson pulls her in by the hips, letting her lean her weight on him. “But I guess we’ll just have to keep making more memories, yeah?”

Later that night, tangled up in Madison’s sheets, Tyson stares at the dark ceiling. He can feel Madison, looking rumpled and in his shirt, watching him. She nudges his calf with her toes. He doesn’t look at her, focused on keeping his eyes from welling up. Then Madison’s hand is on his cheek, turning his head towards her.

“How you doin’, bud?”

Tyson lets Madison pull him close and hold him tightly. He slides a hand under her shirt and to the bare skin of her hip, just feeling the comforting warmth of her skin.

“What if it’s never like this again?” Tyson whispers back. This—Denver and the Avalanche, friends who become family; Madison in bed next to him, loving him and wearing his clothes. Minnesota had been okay, but Tyson worked his ass off and never felt settled. Maybe it was the endless hotel life, maybe it was the team, maybe it was him. He feels like a child, begging his mom to tell him everything was going to be okay.

Madison doesn’t know how to comfort Tyson. It probably never will be like this again. Madison can’t see the future, and she can’t promise Tyson anything, either. “I don’t know, baby,” Madison admits. “I don’t know.”

Tyson doesn’t cry, but they both lay awake for a long time.

June

They fly into Edmonton together on Friday. Tyson seems nervous the whole flight and all the way through the airport. At baggage claim, as they wait for their suitcases, Madison turns on him.

“What’s up with you?” she asks. Tyson blinks at her like he forgot she was there. “You’re not seriously this worried about me meeting your family, are you?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know!” Tyson crosses his arms. He’s pretty sure his suitcase just spun past them on the carousel. He lowers his voice. “I don’t really bring girls home, I don’t know. I don’t know how this is supposed to go.”

“Oh, Tys. It’s going to be fine, I promise.” Madison tosses her hair, and Tyson manages a weak smile. “Your family is going to love me so much they’ll forget you even exist.”

“Hey!”

Tyson had lobbied hard for taking an Uber from the airport, to give Madison and himself a few last moments of peace before a week with his family, but his mom had put her foot down and insisted on picking them up. She’s already idling at the curb when they step out of the airport.

Madison calls shotgun, leaving Tyson to throw their suitcases in the trunk and slide into the backseat. His mom is in the middle of telling Madison, “Call me Laura, please!” Madison turns in her seat to grin at Tyson as his mom pulls away and starts driving out of the airport. She refrains from grilling Madison on the short drive home, something Tyson is grateful for. He zones out while Madison explains where she grew up and what she does and lets himself relax back into his seat.

Before he knows it, they’re pulling up to the house, and Kacey is sprinting out the front door to greet them. Tyson groans, but he eagerly shoves his car door open before the car is in park and lets Kacey jump on him.

Madison gets out of the car at a more leisurely—and sane—pace, and Kacey turns to wrap her in a hug as soon as she lets go of Tyson.

“I’m Kacey,” she says, pulling away and gripping Madison by the shoulders. “The better Jost sibling.”

Tyson pulls on Kacey’s ponytail. She smacks him in the chest without turning around. Tyson’s about to lunge and get Kacey in a headlock when their mom yells, “Behave,” at them from the front door.

Madison’s looking faintly overwhelmed. Tyson mouths “You okay?” at her over Kacey’s shoulder. Madison just grins and lets Kacey grab her by the hand and drag her inside. He’s pretty sure he hears Kacey telling her how much their grandparents can’t wait to meet her as they go. He shakes his head and retrieves their luggage from the trunk.

He’s missed all the introductions by the time he makes it inside. Madison sits on the couch next to Kacey, the spot on Madison’s other side left conspicuously open. Tyson ignores Kacey’s smirk and plops himself down next to Madison.

“So, how did you two meet?” Tyson’s grandpa asks.

Tyson refrains from glaring at him. Madison laughs next to him.

“He picked me up in a bar, and I had no idea he was a hockey player,” she says. Tyson had almost forgotten about that part. “We kinda just…kept seeing each other after that.”

That’s a delicate way of putting it.

“So you’re the reason Tyson ditched us over Christmas, huh?” Kacey asks next. She’s smirking again, directed straight at Tyson over Madison’s head. Tyson has not forgotten that part, struggling to lie to Kacey and his mom.

“Kacey!” Tyson and his mom both protest, but Madison just laughs again. Something about the question melts all of the tension out of her shoulders. She turns a little to lean against Tyson.

“Yeah, that was me,” Madison says. Tyson can’t see her face, but she doesn’t sound very sheepish. She tilts her chin to look up at Tyson. “I should’ve known something was up when he couldn’t go more than a few days without seeing me.” “Hey,” Tyson protests again, weakly. She’s right, though. They really should have figured out their shit sooner, but they got to the right place eventually.

Conversation drifts away from the topic of their relationship after that. Tyson drapes an arm across Madison’s shoulders. After a while of catching up—Tyson and hockey season, or Kacey and her school year—mixed in with his family asking Madison questions to get to know her better, Tyson’s mom and grandma head to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

Madison tries to follow and offer to help, but Tyson tightens his arm around her. He kisses her forehead, whispering, “Stay here,” into her hair. Madison stays.

They’re getting ready for bed later—banished to separate rooms, of course—when Madison notices Tyson getting nervous again.

“What’s up?” Madison asks, sliding between him and the bathroom sink. They’re pushing it, probably, spending this long in the bathroom with the door closed.

Tyson shrugs. “Worried about you and Kacey spending all night gossiping.” They’d really hit it off over dinner, which Tyson is simultaneously grateful for and horrified by. From the look Madison gives him, she’s not buying it. “It’s just…the Avs are in town tomorrow night, and I got tickets, and you don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, but I want to go, and—”

Madison cuts him off with a hand over his mouth. “Tyson, I’d love to go to the game with you.”

Tyson relaxes again, and Madison moves her hand. Tyson takes the opportunity to bully her up against the sink and kiss her. Tyson’s just getting into it when Kacey bangs on the bathroom door. He’s pretty sure he accidentally bites Madison’s lip when he jerks away. Madison grumbles at him, but she ducks around him to open the door. Tyson tries not to whine about it.

Going to the game together the next night is strange. Tyson hasn’t been to Rogers Place and not been playing a game since he was a kid, probably. Madison had never really been to a hockey game before she’d met Tyson, and she’s definitely never gone to a game with Tyson.

They mostly go unnoticed, except for a handful of people who stop Tyson and ask for a picture. Madison hangs back while he politely smiles at the camera. It’s easy to fade into the crush of the crowd, and Tyson keeps a tight hold and Madison’s hand as they make their way through the concourse and to their seats.

After that, it’s just like any other hockey game. Cheering for the Avalanche is familiar, even if the way Tyson is squeezing Madison’s hand at every single scoring chance is not. She’d tease him for his nervousness, especially because the Avalanche are winning easily, except for the fact that she knows it had to be hard for him to come out tonight. To cheer for his old team, his friends, knowing that with every win they’re one step closer to something he can’t be a part of.

So she lets him hold her hand as tightly as he wants. It’s the best she can offer.

They don’t linger after the game. Tyson seems eager to escape the arena, and Madison lets him lead her back to the car. He puts on a Spotify playlist and turns the volume up loud, but he’s mostly quiet on the drive to the house, one hand on the wheel, one hand on Madison’s thigh.

Madison gets caught up talking to Laura when they get to the house, and she loses track of Tyson for a while. He’s not upstairs in his old bedroom, or even bugging Kacey in her bedroom. Madison ventures outside. Tyson has dragged a lawn chair out to the driveway, but he’s laying on his back on the cold concrete, staring up at the dim stars. The moon is just a sliver in the sky.

Madison nudges him with her foot. He wraps a hand around her ankle, squeezes once.

“You alive down there?”

Tyson makes a sound that almost passes for a laugh. Madison is pretty sure his eyes are wet, shiny in the dark. Madison lays down next to him. The concrete is hard against her shoulder blades, and it feels damp through her thin T-shirt.

“This fucking sucks,” Tyson says. It’s too loud for how late it is, and his voice echoes a little around the quiet street. He rubs a hand angrily across his face. “I want to be out there, playing for the Cup, not fucking sitting in the arena watching them. I guess I should be happy for them because they’re my friends, you know? But I kinda want to hate them, too.” He’s quiet for a moment. He reaches for Madison’s hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to her palm, before settling their clasped hands on his chest. “I might not have asked for a trade if I had known it would be this shitty,” he admits.

“It’s okay to be mad, Tyson,” Madison says gently.

“It’s not—I don’t know if I’m mad. I wish I could be.”

“It’s okay to be sad, too,” she says.

“Yeah,” Tyson says, voice thick.

They’re both quiet for so long, Madison’s half-certain Tyson’s fallen asleep, if not for his occasional sniffle. He sits up after a while, still holding Madison’s hand. Even in the dark, Madison can see him yawn.

“Ready for bed?” Madison asks.

Tyson nods. “D’you think I can sneak you into my bed?”

He pulls Madison to her feet as she lets out a startled laugh. Tyson kisses her quiet. “I’m willing to get in trouble if you are.”

The house is dark when they slip back inside. They giggle their way through brushing their teeth, close together at the bathroom sink, elbows bumping. Tyson shushes her loudly as they tiptoe carefully down the hall. Madison’s pretty sure he’s being louder than her, but whatever.

Madison wakes to an empty bed and late morning sunlight. She can hear Tyson’s voice drifting up the stairs. That boy truly does not know how to be quiet. Madison has an Instagram notification when she swipes her phone off the bedside table: josty17 has tagged you in a post. Madison frowns and unlocks her phone, wondering what unflattering photo of her Tyson took. Instead, it’s a photo Kacey or Laura must have taken the morning before. Madison’s laying on top of Tyson on the couch, Tyson visibly complaining that he’s being squished, despite the fact that he had pulled Madison on top of him. He captioned it with a black heart emoji.

Madison makes her way downstairs. Tyson sits at the kitchen table, arguing with Kacey over something stupid. He reaches a hand out for Madison without stopping whatever he’s ranting about. There’s a fresh mug of coffee in his hand, already doctored the way Madison likes it. Tyson uses his now-free hand to loop around Madison’s waist and tug her onto his lap. She hooks her arms around Tyson’s neck and sips her coffee, content to listen to this argument, even though she’s still not sure what they’re arguing about. She thinks she hears something about which fruit would make the best weapon.

It might not be easy, but Madison thinks they’ll be just fine.

#cait writes things #tyson jost fic #tyson jost imagine #colorado avalanche fic #minnesota wild fic #buffalo sabres fic #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #hockey imagine #tyson jost fanfiction

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nhl-stories · 1 year

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Serotonin – Cale Makar

Summary: Cale is just helping out a friend of a friend in a tough place, he ends up in deeper than he ever imagined.

Author’s Note: Warnings for mentions of substance abuse, suicide attempts, and mental illness. If you're feeling suicidal, please reach out, you can find some resources here

Word Count: 3.8 k

Album Series Masterlist

I get intrusive thoughts Like burning my hair off Like hurting somebody I love

Cale didn’t know what to expect; he was picturing the hospital from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, which he watched in a college psychology class, and pulling into the parking lot mostly shoots down that theory.

He wipes his palms on his jeans before getting out of the car, grabbing the backpack he was sent to bring.

The building is old and imposing in the way most hospitals are, someone should probably change that, he thinks as he enters the lobby.

The inside is a little warmer and brighter, but he’s immediately met with front desk behind glass and a door he has to be buzzed through to enter, so any comforting vibes are quickly swept away.

“How can I help you,” the nurse has a syrupy sweet voice.

“I’m here to see Morgan Lee, I brought some stuff for them,” Cale holds up the backpack.

“Great, if you can fill out this form,” she opens a door in the window and slides out a clipboard, “and we’ll need to check the bag before you see the patient.”

Cale opens his mouth, not sure if he wants to protest calling Morgan ‘the patient’ or searching the bag.

“It’s just protocol sweetie, we do it for everyone.”

Cale hates being called sweetie.

The bag search takes forever, they go through every pocket, then keep the backpack and hand Cale a box full of its contents before leading him to Morgan’s room.

The facility seems nice, it’s not filled with zombies in matching gowns being handed medication; in fact, it kind of reminds him of a college dorm.

“Morgan, you have a visitor,” the nurse opens the door and calls in before waving Cale in, “you can stay until dinner time, and I’m gonna leave the door open.”

“Oooh open door, Cale you must seem like trouble,” Morgan smiles from the bed.

They’re wearing a hospital gown with a scratchy looking robe over top, those surgery socks with the textured bottoms on their feet. Cale can’t stop staring at the bright green cast on their right arm.

He doesn’t want to stare, make Morgan feel weird, but the situation is weird. He drops the box at the end of the bed.

“I think they’re keeping your backpack,” he lamely adds.

“I told you to put it all in a box,” they start digging through the contents, “you can’t hang yourself with a box.”

There’s a quick intake of air, he doesn’t realize it’s his own until Morgan looks at him with a sad look.

“Sorry, too soon for suicide jokes?”

Cale looks down at his feet, he can feel his cheeks turning pinker than normal. He wants to be a good visitor, not make Morgan walk on eggshells around his own comfort zone.

“I graduated from hospital fashion, so that’s a good sign,” they find a baggy DU sweatshirt and start to change, standing up from the bed and shimmying on a pair of sweats, they look happier and healthier already.

“How long are you gonna be in here?” It’s not the best first question, but anything is better than Cale standing in awkward silence.

“They think 15 more days, depending. I’m mostly through the worst of the withdrawals so it’s all about whether I’m a threat to myself and others.”

Morgan pulls the chair closer to the bed and gestures for Cale to take it before hopping back on the bed, “then it’s all outpatient service.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

“The thing about people with functioning drug and alcohol problems, is you don’t usually know they have a serious problem. It’s kind of the goal.”

Cale can’t believe this is the same person who called him crying a day ago.

“Besides we’re like really, really good acquaintances at best. If you were the first person to figure it out…” Morgan let’s out a heavy sigh, “I don’t know, it doesn’t matter now. I’m here and not being scraped off a sidewalk.”

“Still, sorry it had to get this far.”

Morgan shrugs, “so tell me what’s new with you, how’s the team? Reading any new books? Or any good Costco deals?”

Cale is happy to prattle on, he likes talking to Morgan. They always seemed engaged with whatever he’s saying, even if it’s mundane.

Their friendship is quite new, only really blossoming in the past year when they learned they lived in the same neighborhood. Cale wouldn’t say they were that close, but in the short time Morgan has always taken his book recommendations, happily sharing their thoughts afterwards, sharing their own reads back. They even seem genuinely interested in whatever he found at Costco.

Because he enjoys Morgan’s company so much, it makes him feel a little worse that he didn’t notice anything was wrong. Sitting in a psychiatric hospital for a visit makes him think there must have been red flags he missed.

Eventually the nurse pops her head back in, “Morgan, dinner is in 10, so you and your guest can wrap it up.”

“Thanks for hanging out,” Morgan gives Cale a playful kick in the thigh.

“No problem, I’ll gladly swing by any time I’m free,” he hopes it’s clear he means it.

“And can you do me a favor? Don’t mention this to Jade or Logan please?”

“Oh,” Cale tries to hide his shock, “you don’t think they’ll notice you’re AWOL?”

“One week in Jade will know what’s up, this has happened a few times...” the words feel like they carry the weight of the world, “But I don’t want them to freak out and worry. They’ll try and make me move in with them again.”

“Yeah, I can keep a secret,” his stomach sloshes uncomfortably, he’s not only terrible at deception, his body seems to have an allergic reaction to it.

|||

Cale first met Morgan through OC and his girlfriend, Jade. Jade had been friends with Morgan since high school and they all attended University of Denver together. Morgan had come to a few games and parties, but nothing really made a lasting impression.

Until they won the Stanley Cup.

Morgan seemed to be at every party, doing an incredible job of keeping up with the boys. In hindsight, maybe that’s a red flag in it of itself.

He doesn’t remember most of it, but he distinctly remembers Jade apologizing for Morgan’s behavior the morning after the parade. Cale can’t recall what exactly what they had done, he has a foggy memory of Morgan being a bit of a ragdoll at one point, but nothing too alarming.

Whatever it was, it was apparently bad enough for the grave expressions OC and Jade gave as they apologized. Probably another red flag.

But Morgan was back, maybe a little more subdued, for the festivities the next day. Cale was a bit too drunk to operate his phone and had asked them to help him order an Uber home, Morgan happily obliged and made a delighted noise when they realized Cale was practically their neighbor.

They shared the car and planted the seeds of their friendship.

Cale didn’t get a chance to visit Morgan in the hospital for five days, but OC did question him.

“Hey Cale, have you seen Mo around your hood recently? Jade hasn’t heard from them and she’s getting a little worried.”

“Uhhh–“ the uncomfortable sloshing returns, “Morgan hasn’t been around, but I talked to them the other day, they seem to be doing well.”

It’s not exactly a lie, more of a lie of omission.

“Oh. Good. I’ll pass that along to Jade. I told her she didn’t need to freak out, but they’ve been friends forever and been through some tough times, so she can’t help it sometimes.”

It feels like Logan knows that Cale knows something, or maybe he’s just talking out his own worries about Morgan. Either way, Cale feels a little sicker about not telling the whole truth; he just hopes it’s not showing on his face.

“I’ll let you know if I hear from Morgan again,” he can at least be mostly honest about that.

“Thank for looking out,” Logan claps him on the shoulder before he leaves.

Cale goes to visit Morgan afterwards; he brings his cribbage board because he thinks Morgan will like having an activity, so neither of them will feel obligated to talk.

“We can go outside to play, I’ve been told I’m not taking advantage of the grounds, so I’ll get brownie points from the staff too.”

They find a table in a sunny patch, “Logan asked about you today.”

“Yeah, I have about 24 hours before Jade talks to my parents and then she’ll be here first thing.”

“It’s nice to have someone who cares that much,” Cale feels like he’s stepping into very heavy territory.

“I’m not really the nicest to the people who care about me when I go into self-destruct mode and it’s harder to face someone who loves you despite the things you’ve said or done in the aftermath.

Their eyes start to water, and Cale feels a little guilty.

“Do you know how to play?” He changes the subject.

“Absolutely no clue.”

“That’s fine, I hear that I’m a good teacher.”

Cale has never seen Morgan smile so wide. He’s always thought they had one of those contagious smiles, but he feels a sense of pride in being the cause of it now.

“I suck at this. Are you sure you’re good teacher?”

“There’s definitely a learning curve, plus I’m basically a pro.”

“Wow, is Cale Makar bragging?”

“Is it bragging if it’s true?” Morgan gives him a shove.

They play one more game and Morgan still sucks, but admits they have fun despite that. They have to call it quits because Morgan has group therapy so they head back to their room.

Cale hands over his cribbage board, “you can borrow this, if you want to practice with someone here.”

“I don’t want to take your board; you have a road trip coming up.”

“Don’t worry I have another one.”

“You own two cribbage boards? I was definitely being hustled.”

Cale chuckles, “I don’t think it’s hustling if there are no stakes.”

“A technicality,” Morgan smirks but takes the board nonetheless.

They awkwardly stand in Morgan’s room, just goofily smiling at each other. Not sure if they want to end their time together, even though they have to.

“Do you want to sign my cast?”

“What?”

“If I have a famous autograph, I’ll be the coolest person in group,” Morgan bites back her smile.

“In that case, sure.”

Morgan finds a marker and hands it over. Cale holds their cast, dangerously close to brushing their fingers while he signs.

“Thanks, I’ll see you after your road trip?”

“Yeah, rematch?”

Morgan gives a thumbs up and a wave as Cale leaves.

|||

“You little rat!”

Cale whips his head over to the voice in the hallway, but feels a punch in his arm before he can identify the voice.

“Cale Makar, I thought you were a nice boy,” Jade comes into focus in the hallway after the game, she’s fuming and Cale wonders if she’s been letting this fester for the whole hockey game.

He can assume what she’s mad about, but he can’t seem to wipe the dumbfounded look off his face as he stares.

“You signed her cast, and you didn’t tell me or Logan where she was? What the actual fuck.”

She punches him a few more times for emphasis.

The other guys trickling out of the locker room can’t help but stare, it’s not a normal occurrence for Cale to get yelled at by anyone.

Logan finally emerges and tries to calm his girlfriend down, or at least stop her from causing a scene.

“She made me promise not tell.”

“Oh, well then that’s okay, people in psychiatric hospitals notably have good judgement.”

Cale winces.

“Jade honey, don’t blame Cale.”

Jade let’s out a huff, like she’s still not sure.

“We should be glad Mo is reaching out to someone, instead of pushing everyone away,” OC reasons.

“Fine, I guess I’ll forgive you,” a small smile begins to form, “you seem to be a good influence, Mo made a friend in the hospital, and they’ve never done that before. And because of cribbage of all things.”

Cale feels his face heat up. He’s been called a good influence dozens of times in his life, but this one makes him feel giddy.

“Keep it up is what I’m saying. You’re in the trenches with us now, especially when Morgan is back in the real world.”

“Yeah of course, I think I graduated from really, really good acquaintance to actual friend.”

Then Jade pulls him into a tight hug, making a full 180 in the span of a single conversation.

|||

Cale comes from home from a road trip and finds Morgan sitting against the door to his place.

“Should I be concerned or excited for this visit?” He tries to keep it light, but his heart is racing with legitimate concern.

“I didn’t escape from the mental institution if that’s what you’re thinking, I got released three days ago.”

Morgan stands up so Cale can unlock his door.

“It’s just I took a leave of absence from school and in hindsight that may have been a mistake.”

“Yeah? I didn’t even finish college so I’m not exactly well-informed on grad school, but I can’t imagine missing two weeks is that easy to make up especially near the end of the semester.”

“That was my reasoning, but it’s only been three days and my schedule is a little too open.”

They follow Cale into the apartment, and flop onto the couch like they own the place. Cale feels the need to keep an eye on Morgan but also doesn’t want to be suffocating and he has luggage to put away and laundry to start.

Morgan keeps going on like they just need to talk so Cale goes about his business while he listens.

“I can only go to so much therapy or meetings and I don’t have a new sponsor yet, and all my friends except you and Logan have real jobs, so I’m feeling a bit aimless. Maybe I should pick up a hobby.”

“Maybe you could pick more shifts at work,” Cale decides chores can wait a bit and flops down on the couch next Morgan, picking up their legs to rest across his.

“Well I work at a bar, which is great for hiding alcoholism, not great for sobriety.”

“Yikes, probably not. What did you do in the past?”

“Throw myself into school or lie about getting sober.”

“Right,” Cale feels a bit out of his depth here, “Want to go on a hike?”

“Like right now? Didn’t you just get back from a road trip, shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I’m not gonna make you climb a mountain,” he stands up and offers his hands to help Morgan up, “exercise gives you endorphins.”

“Isn’t that from Legally Blonde?”

Cale can feel his ears burning but notices Morgan is flushing too, he realizes they’re still holding hands, neither making the first move to let go.

And that’s how Cale finds his off time filled with trails around Denver. Sometimes just the two of them, not really talking, just heavy breathing and enjoying the views. Sometimes with OC and Jade, which weirdly makes Cale’s nervous, it’s somehow more intimate than when it’s just Morgan and himself.

His heart sings when Morgan sends him a picture of a hike, they took on their own, or with some people from group, or Jade. He likes knowing they’re filling their time with something; that he’s a good influence, a good friend even when he can’t physically be involved.

And he can’t help but want Morgan involved in his life too. It’s why on one of their “double date” hikes he finally gets the courage to ask.

“You want to come to our next home game Mo?”

Morgan is still gasping a bit from the last incline they hiked up, but they smile through it regardless.

Jade is the first to speak up, “It’s a playoff game, will that be too much for you?”

“I don’t know, but I can’t come anyway. I’m getting my 30-day chip that night.”

“Oh fuck, Mo I completely forgot. I wanted us to be there to celebrate with you,” Jade pouts.

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“No that’s a huge deal, congrats,” Cale smiles through his selfish disappointment.

“Jade, it’s okay if you miss the game,” Logan adds, his own disappointment shining through a bit too, the whole conversation becoming a bit of a downer.

“It’s not the first time I’ve been a month sober, go cheer on our team for me Jade. And I’ll go to the next game,” Jade makes a noise of concern, “and if it’s too much I leave early to go to a meeting or something.”

“Fine, but I’m still getting you a cake to celebrate on another day.”

It turns out a game and a playoff game on top of that is too much. Morgan barely makes it through the first before they have to excuse themselves.

They text Cale: Sorry I’m too lame to hang, but still screaming and cheering in spirit

Cale can’t help but feel sad when he isn’t greeted by Morgan, watching everyone else get celebratory hugs from loved one feels like a stab in the gut. Jade gives him a hug that makes him a feel a bit pathetic.

“We’re going to Mo’s for some ice cream cake if you want to join, I know they’d like you there.”

He feels a little less pathetic and feels something warm make its home behind his sternum.

|||

They win the next game but then it seems to all go to shit.

He doesn’t mean for the hit to be that bad. He could make excuses about the heat of the game; about the blood that buzzes in his ears that makes him so singularly focused on the ice. But it doesn’t change what happens, how it looks in the replay. It looks bad, it is bad, and yeah, he probably deserves the suspension he gets.

It doesn’t help that they lose the game, in OT of all things.

He’s angry and blames himself for all the team’s problems, deep down he knows it’s irrational, he just can’t help it.

Morgan calls him, their name flashing on his phone would usually cause his heart to skip a beat, but he’s just tired. He answers anyway.

“Hey, how are you?”

There’s no pity or even concern in their voice, just a normal greeting like Morgan doesn’t know what happened. He’s torn between relief and anger.

He grunts in response.

“Ooh, never a good greeting.”

“Any reason you called?” He doesn’t recognize his own voice with the tone that comes out on its own accord.

“Just wanted to catch up, see if you wanted to hang out or something. Get your mind off the playoffs for a bit.”

“Don’t you have your own problems to worry about? Fix yourself before getting in my business,” he snaps before he can stop himself.

He wants to be angry; he wants to wallow in his frustration and disappointment. Morgan just happens to be the first person he can target it at.

“Oh. Justdon’tbetoohardonyourself,” they spit the last bit out in one word before hanging up.

Cale has even more reason to be hard on himself now. He gets a sick enjoyment from picking at his wounds rather than licking them.

But the guilt weighs on him.

It weighs on him when OC sends a glare his way during practice, clearly hearing how Cale acted towards Morgan.

It weighs on him when he gets back into the lineup, even when he has two points on the board.

It weighs on him as he sits in stall and stares at his hands, having lost the series. It feels like everything went wrong because of him, and he hates that there is a degree of truth in that thought.

When he finally feels like he’s mentally beat himself up enough in the locker room, he gets up to beat himself up more at home.

Morgan is there sitting against his door. Cale thinks of turning around and running, but since he’s being a glutton for punishment at the moment, he faces this head on.

“Sorry about the game, sucks,” Morgan stands up and hugs him.

Before he knows it, he’s hugging them back and crying.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs out, knowing it’s not enough but all he can give right now.

“It’s okay,” they rub his back, their cast feeling weirdly soothing.

“It’s not, that was a really shitty thing to do.”

“If anyone knows about lashing out when things are bad, it’s me. You’re forgiven.”

Morgan pulls away and gives him a reassuring smile, Cale wants to believe that he’s forgiven. They seem to sense that.

“Seriously Cale. Right before I went to rehab the first time, Jade had threatened to tell my parents about my problems, so I told her if she did that she would never find another friend because she was completely unlovable and I only kept her around because of how pathetic she was.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah, doesn’t make it okay to say those things, it’s been like a decade I’m still trying to make it up to Jade, but you’re forgiven for letting your emotions get the better of you.”

“At least you had drugs to blame it on, that was all me,” Cale smirks, before he widens his eyes, realizing how fucked up that was to say.

But Morgan bursts out into a laugh, it feels like winning in a miniscule way.

“Now we’re real friends,” they ruffle his hair, “an acquaintance would never feel comfortable enough to make that joke.”

The word friend doesn’t sit quite right with Cale, like wearing a shirt that’s a size too small.

Morgan grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze, “I’m glad we’ll be on good terms before you go back to Calgary.”

He grabs their fingers peeking out of the cast and takes a big swing, “Calgary has some good trails around, if you feel like getting away for a bit, we can celebrate 60 days of sobriety.”

Morgan is trying to bite back a smile, “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

They stand in the hallway, grinning at each other like dopes and holding hands. Neither wanting to say goodbye but not really sure what to do next.

Then Morgan kisses him. It’s not quite a peck yet not quite a deep, passionate kiss. It’s something different: tender and meaningful.

“I’m not really supposed to date anyone for a year,” Cale furrows his brows in response.

“It’s an NA/AA thing, we’re supposed to focus on recovery and ourselves before we start putting energy towards other people.”

“Oh, yeah that’s–” Cale tries to hide his disappointment.

“But you’ll be the first person I call when I get there,” they intertwine their fingers, “cause maybe you can graduate from friend to something more.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” neither one can wipe the stupid grin off their face.

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #cale makar fic #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagines #colorado avalanche fic #hockey imagines #nhl #hockey #nhl imagines #hockey fics #nhl stories #non binary oc

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comphy-and-cozy · 2 years

Note

Pls I am begging for a fic where the reader works in team’s front office and literally any avalanche player 😌😌😌😌😌

Something to Dream About - JT Compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f)

Summary: Secret relationships are messy. They’re even messier when your boyfriend is a professional athlete playing for the organization you work for. Surely nothing will happen when you have to spend the evening together at the charity gala that you’ve been planning for months… right?

Word Count: 5.5K

Author’s Note: I don’t know who I am but JT Compher has taken over my life. This fic came out of absolutely nowhere.

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Secret relationship, brief alcohol use/mention, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, risqué sex (do I have a thing for this???)

Part 2 / Moodboard / Masterlist

The sound of your heels clicking on the cement echoes through the halls, your pace quickening to reach the door. Your mind is flooded with checklists, to dos, trying to keep all of them straight to write down so they don’t get lost in the abyss.

Reaching your destination and opening the double doors, you look around Ball Arena, amazed at the transformation that’s come over the building in the last 24 hours. The ice has been covered with a wood flooring, decorated further with carpet. Cocktail tables covered in elegant black tablecloths are scattered around, the stage erected on one end of the arena, lights and balloons outfitting it nicely. Above you, two men stand on ladders as they erect a large banner, another man standing on ground level and shouting left, a bit further, that’s too far. Your eyes trace over the words at the center, Avs Fight Cancer, the logo standing proudly at the center of the banner, symbolizing all of your hard work the last few months putting together the annual charity gala.

Tonight is the night, and all of Denver’s finest will be there, schmoozing and — hopefully — donating even minuscule fractions of their wealth to support the cause that the Avalanche have rallied behind. The entire Avalanche organization will be there, including Joe Sakic and Stan Kroenke, as well as all of the players and coaching staff, mingling with fans and donors alike. As the Executive Director of Community Engagement, the bulk of the coordination falls on you to manage and ensure everything runs as smoothly as possible, and as the hours wane down until the doors open, you’re certainly feeling the pressure.

Pulling out your phone, you jot down the few remaining notes that bounce around in your brain before you’re called to sign off on the liquor delivery. The next few hours pass quickly, you and the events team pulling the last pieces together before the event. When you finally leave to head home to get ready, you’re exhausted and aching but satisfied with the way things had come together and excitedly anxious for the night to come.

The dress you've selected for the evening is a one-shouldered floor length black number, with a slit going mid-way up your thigh, elegant for the occasion and still classy enough for a professional event. Your hair is done up in a neat bun, keeping it out of your eyes for the running around you’ll undoubtedly be doing. You’re pleased with your appearance, and although looking good tonight is a secondary priority, you’re motivated to make sure you impress in more ways than one.

The event kicks off, and people begin flooding in, checking coats and perusing the items for the silent auction. You’re doing rounds, glancing over everything even though you’d double and triple checked it all before you’d left.

A pair of russet eyes catch yours, a smile sent in your direction beneath a thick, freshly groomed auburn beard. You return the gesture, unable to prevent your eyes from sliding down the body attached to that smile, tailored suit hugging the well-kept muscles that lie underneath.

It’s not the first time you’ve checked out JT Compher in public, but it is the first time you’ve seen him dressed to the nines for a black-tie gala. There’s a moment between you, across the room, temporarily thick with longing, for you can’t cross the floor to be with him the way your heart wants to, kissing him in front of everyone the way you wish you could.

As you glance at him, admiring how good he looks with the rich black of his suit complementing his creamy skin, the conversation you had with him three months ago floods your mind, flashing before your eyes.

You were leaving the office for the day, keys in hand as you walked toward the exit. There was food in the fridge, but you didn’t feel like cooking, so you were debating what you should order for takeout on the way home.

“Y/N, hey, wait up,” a voice called from down the hallway. You paused, turning to see JT Compher jogging toward you, sporting sleek black Colorado Avalanche warmups and a backwards baseball cap.

“Oh, hi, JT. How can I help you?”

“Yeah, um, I wanted to talk to you about something… if you have a minute?”

You smiled and nodded, placing your phone in your purse and turning to face him to give your full attention.

He swallowed nervously, and you noticed that he was fidgeting a bit, shifting from foot to foot. “Will you — would you like to go out with me sometime?”

You stared at him, defense mode kicking in and immediately assuming he was playing a prank on you. “What?”

“You know, like, for dinner or something.”

“JT, are you asking me on a date?”

A blush rose to his cheeks, accenting the red in his hair, and he shoved his hands in his pockets bashfully.“Well, yeah.”

You were unable to help the way your eyebrows rose in surprise. This man was a millionaire athlete, playing in the best league in the world, traveling from city to city every night — and he wanted to take you out on a date?

He was attractive, you couldn’t deny that, always having a soft spot for the depth of his brown eyes and the way he always managed to stop and say hello to you, his down-to-earth personality making it easy to chat with him every time. But, technically, he was your coworker, and you had a strict rule not to date colleagues. You didn’t interact much outside of events and the occasional marketing brief, but the fact that the same person signed both of your paychecks was enough of a reason for you to nope out of that scenario faster than a Cale Makar breakaway.

“I’m flattered, JT, but I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you picked your words carefully, rejection never a strong suit of yours. “We work together, and it could get messy.”

Something shifted in his face, though he remained smiling. You could see his eyes fall as he nodded, “Oh, yeah. I totally understand.”

“I’m sorry.” You smiled, trying to soften the blow and do anything you could to get that fucking look out of his eyes.

“No worries at all,” he said, quickly, maybe more to himself than to you, before offering another smile, bidding an awkward goodbye, and sheepishly walking away.

From that day, those beautiful chestnut eyes followed you wherever you went, haunting you, as if to tell you that you’d make a mistake not accepting his advances. Whether it was frequency illusion or just a coincidence, he seemed to be everywhere you turned. First, it was a photo shoot for the PetSmart puppy calendar. Then, it was a youth hockey event, which you coincidentally parked next to him for. He showed up in your dreams two weeks later, his same charming and jovial self.

Things changed when you were at home one night, wine drunk on the couch with your best friend watching The Bachelorette. (Even at home, away from work, you found that the tall, ginger contestant reminded you of another tall, bearded redhead.) She snatched your phone while you were aimlessly swiping on Hinge, exclaiming with a slur, “‘M gonna find you a husband.”

Giggling, you watched as she swiped, providing commentary on the various men’s dating profiles, and you gasped when she paused. Smiling up at you from the screen of your phone were the same eyes you’d been trying to avoid.

“Oh, he’s cute,” she said, scrolling through his pictures. His profile included a wide array of photos, including one with his sisters (clearly related, you determined, given the same shade of fiery red hair), a cropped picture of him and some guys on the beach, and a picture of him smiling down at two puppies in his arms. You’d been there that day, trying to ignore the way your heart melted seeing him coo over the puppies, so small in his big arms.

“D’you know him?” she asked, turning the phone toward you to show the last picture: celebrating a goal, Avs logo standing proudly on his chest as his arms stretched for an incoming hug.

You nodded, and before you could get a word out, she’d swiped right. You shrieked, her cackle nothing short of maniacal as she held your phone out of reach despite your best attempts to steal it back.

“Elle, no —“

“It’s a harmless swipe, Y/N,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “You can always unlike —“

She gasped, and you both looked down when your phone dinged, signaling that you had a match. You groaned, throwing your head against the back of the couch as you scrubbed your hands over your face. Even if you could undo the match, the damage had been done, for JT had seen the match already.

You managed to avoid him for the next week, embarrassment flooding every time you saw his car in the parking garage and turning down the wrong hallway just to prevent yourself from running into him.

It was a Thursday when life as you knew it changed forever.

You were reviewing the line items from the liquor vendor for the gala, checking the quantities and the prices. Engrossed in the numbers in front of you, you didn’t hear a certain athlete approach with a confident saunter.

“So, about that date… ?”

You closed your eyes at the sound of his voice. “Hi, JT.”

“Come on, not even a smile?” he grinned. “I know you can’t be that disappointed to see me.”

The reference, while subtle enough if anyone else had overheard, was glaringly obvious to you, the image of your photos bouncing together on the app with ‘It’s a Match!’ flashing through your mind. You glared at him, then nodded your head toward your office door, signaling him to get inside.

“Oh, we’re doing this right now? I would’ve dressed a little nicer had I known.”

He’s confident, a complete 180 from the way he’d been a few weeks prior, stuttering and nervous like he was a 17-year-old asking someone to prom. His recent 3-game point streak was enough of a reason for the enhanced confidence, though you still hadn’t connected the dots as to the additional factors for the added edge in his game.

“JT, please,” you said once you’d closed the door, thankful that the rest of your colleagues had left for the day. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re coworkers,” you said pointedly.

JT scoffed with a smile. “Coworkers? Hardly. Our jobs barely overlap. We just work in the same building. This is like, best case scenario.”

“I don’t mix personal and professional,” you said, sounding more firm than you felt.

“What about pleasure and professional?” he asked with a wink. You rolled your eyes, and he added, “Really, Y/N. It isn’t that big of a deal. I can name like, at least three guys that are dating someone who works for their team.”

“That’s not the point! It’s a principle.”

“You afraid I’m a stereotypical hockey bro? Not all of us are just pretty playboys.”

‘You sure are pretty, though,’ you thought to yourself, instead replying with, “It has nothing to do with that.”

“Please,” he added. His voice was a little deeper, more serious. “Just give me a chance. One date. That’s all I’m asking.”

You swore you could feel the actual heat of his gaze on you as you looked away to contemplate. Truthfully, there was nothing written against it in the handbook, and he was correct in stating that your jobs really didn’t overlap that much.

What harm could come of it?

“You will not tell a soul.” Your voice wavered, but you looked him square in the eye as you said it.

A smile broke out on his face as he mock saluted you, and any remaining doubt you had flew out the window at the sight, the light in his eyes filling you with a little too much joy than you’d care to admit. Before you could think twice, he was handing you his phone to input your number. You did, and handed it back to him, looking at him expectantly.

“I’ll change your life,” was the last thing he said before winking and walking out.

That was three months ago, and, true to his word, he had indeed changed your life in the two-ish months that you’d been dating. It had all been a blur, really, after the first date, and as things progressed you’d still sworn him to secrecy despite his every effort to remind you that you weren’t doing anything wrong.

So, here you are, casting coveted glances at your boyfriend across the room at a million-dollar event, except no one in the room knows that he’s your boyfriend, except for JT himself. It’s a secret, weighing heavy on you every time you come into work or have to watch him go stag to an event that you should be on his arm for.

Someone calls your name, and you tear your eyes away from him, turning to address your colleague, Grace, who’s standing beside you with a tablet, ready to have a final run through of your carefully crafted checklist. You review it twice to ensure that everything is in place and that no loose ends are left.

After a brief team meeting, everyone knows their posts, and Stan Kroenke is waiting by the stage, being briefed by another one of your colleagues with a rundown of the night’s schedule.

You catch JT’s eye, and he sends you a quick wink for luck before you take a breath and walk onto the stage. Doing your best to ignore the bright lights, you focus on not tripping before you get to the podium to welcome everyone. You’re nervous, but the words come to you easily as you explain the night’s festivities and introduce Stan, who is speaking after you.

The speeches go smoothly, as planned, and soon enough the time for mingling has begun. Naturally, most people gravitate to the players, wanting photos and autographs, and at this point, your only remaining assignment is to monitor and be available to assist with any issues that may arise. Everything is going smoothly, so you allow yourself to take a breath and let loose, just a little. You grab a glass of champagne, letting the tickle of it rest in your throat as you go to chat with your colleagues and brush elbows with the donors.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, only aware that the silent auction has begun, meaning it must be around 9pm. The music in the rink is a distant background noise, the sound of amiable chatter echoing in the arena.

“Great job up there.” JT sidles up to you, startling you and causing you to jump. He chuckles before taking a sip of his beer. Your eyes flick to the foam that remains on his mustache, watching the way his tongue darts out to retrieve it.

“Thanks,” you reply with a smile, careful to keep your distance, being in such a public setting. “Been doing this for years but still never gets any easier.”

He hums in response, then lowers his voice slightly. “This whole thing has turned out amazing, babe. I’m really proud of you.”

All you reply with is a look, silently scolding him for the pet name in public. His expression is apologetic, but he doesn’t say anything, instead stepping closer to you under the guise of setting his glass down on the table behind you.

“And for what it’s worth, there’s no way you’re getting out of here tonight without getting fucked, looking like this,” he whispers in your ear. It’s low, murmured hotly, and fire courses through your veins at the words, which is presumably the exact reaction he’s aiming for.

You splutter in response, stepping away from him. “JT —“

“You look so fuckin’ good, baby,” he husks, and you can hear the hunger in his voice. “Can’t keep my eyes off you. Took everything in me to keep my hands to myself.”

“Don’t… don’t talk like that,” you breathe, feeling the heat in your cheeks despite the fact that no one is near enough to overhear.

“Why? Do you like it?”

The pang of your heartbeat is loud in your ears as you look at him, shaking your head. He smirks, knows that you’re lying, can see it in the way your breath hitches when he runs a hand over his beard.

“C’mon,” he urges, nodding toward the door to the hall, marked with a sign that says Staff and Personnel Only.

With a hesitant sigh, you glance around the room. The guests are chattering, laughing, drinking, everything going exactly as planned. It can’t hurt to take a few minutes away, right?

Your redhead grins when you turn back to him with a shrug. The two of you slip into the hallway, and you do your best to walk both quickly and quietly, your heels clacking loudly on the cement floor.

“JT, there are no private bathrooms down here,” you protest, heart thumping in your chest.

“There’s one,” he grins. “Follow me.”

He leads you away from the rink, down a different hallway from the guest bathrooms.

“JT, where are we —“

“Shh, only a bit further,” he whispers, glancing behind you before taking your hand.

The next thing you know, you’re standing in front of two large sliding doors, the Avalanche logo carved into the rich wood.

“JT, no.”

“Why not?” he smirks, fishing out his access card from his suit coat pocket. “No one’s gonna find us in here.”

Before you can protest, he’s scanning his badge, the doors sliding open with a beep to reveal the entry way to the Colorado Avalanche locker room. You’ve been in it before, but never with a player, and certainly never alone with a player.

The doors are quiet when they shut behind you, and JT steps up to press his body against you, warm against your back as his hands find a hold on your hips.

“Finally alone with you,” he murmurs. “So I can do this.”

The whiskers of his beard tickle your neck first, soothed quickly by the softness of his lips that press a kiss against your skin. You can’t help the sigh that leaves your throat, feeling too good to ignore.

“And this,” he continues, hands giving your hips a squeeze through your dress before he’s flipping you around to face him.

You meet his eyes, soft despite the obvious heat in them, like melted chocolate in the center of a fresh, warm lava cake. He moves to cup your jaw, stroking your cheek gently with his thumb before he’s leaning in, whispering against your lips, “And most importantly, this.”

The kiss is all you need to make you forget where you are, head spinning with his lips against yours. Your internal moral code that was screaming at you up until five seconds ago has quieted, unable to think or feel anything except JT; any protest you had died the minute he touched you.

His hands quickly find their place back on your hips, this time reaching behind you to give your ass a squeeze. You can taste the beer on his tongue as it slides against yours, probing, letting the temperature heat up to near scorching levels. He groans into your mouth, colliding with the moan you let out when he massages the globe of your ass in his hand.

“Stall,” he manages to get out between kisses. “M’stall.”

Slowly, he begins walking you backwards, mouth never leaving your body. You trust him to not run you into a wall, blindly kissing him as your hands find purchase on his jaw. When the back of your knees bump into the wooden bench, you let out a soft grunt and he’s helping to lower you down, making sure you don’t fall.

Once he’s sure you’re seated, he sinks to his knees before you and you bite back a moan at the sight of him kneeling in front of you. With a smirk, he draws the fabric of your dress up your legs, making you shiver as your skin is revealed.

“So pretty,” he murmurs as he takes your leg in his hand, delicate, kissing your calf. It’s slow and torturous, the way he trails his lips up your leg, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and you know he’d be teasing you for hours if you had more time.

“No panties?” His voice is deep, husky, when he reaches the bare apex of your thighs, eyes unable to tear themselves away to meet yours.

“Mm,” is the response that you manage, for his finger is running lightly through your folds, coating him in your slick, before you can even answer. “P- panty lines. Panty lines.”

“Sure you weren’t just trying to get fucked? Wanted something easy access just for me, huh?” he teases, a glint in his eye as he looks up at you from between your thighs.

“JT, please,” you whine, rolling your hips against his hand.

“Oh, now she wants it,” he smirks. “You’re lucky I’ve been wanting to taste this pretty pussy since I first saw you walk in tonight. God, my girlfriend is a smoke show.”

“M’not gonna be your girlfriend for much longer if you don’t do something.”

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, mouth inches away from where you want him. The heat from his mouth makes you drip even more, throbbing desperately for his talented tongue. “What’s gonna happen when you break up with me and there’s no one to fuck you the way you want, hmm?”

“If you don’t touch me I’ll do it myself,” you threaten, and he chuckles.

“Think I’d really like to see that,” he muses, and you can tell by the glassy look in his eye that he’s envisioning the sight. “Maybe when we get home. But for now…”

His mouth finally presses against your molten center, tongue running over your lower lips and savoring your taste. He groans into you, beard scratching your thighs in the most delicious way. The man was a natural born pussy eater, you couldn’t deny it, knowing just how to maneuver to turn you into a whimpering mess. Your intense attraction to his thick beard only made your desire stronger, something he’d quickly deduced early on in your relationship and frequently took advantage of.

“So fuckin’ wet for me,” he praises you against your core, feeling the slight vibration of his deep voice all the way in your stomach. “Fuck, you taste s’good, sweetheart. So gorgeous.”

He laps at you, wants to take his sweet time but knows he’s racing against the clock, that things will be worse for everyone if you’re gone too long. Undoubtedly, someone will be looking for you, and soon. So, without warning, he plunges two fingers into you to earn a shriek from your lips before you’re clapping your hand over your mouth to muffle the sound.

Tongue and fingers working in tandem, it doesn’t take long to send you hurtling over the edge, legs shaking on his shoulders as he expertly works you through your high. Your knuckles are white, fisted in the formerly perfectly styled locks on his head, and you hold him against you as you gush against his face.

When he pulls away to grin at you, his thick beard is soaked in your essence and it draws a moan from you, quickly leaning forward to kiss him. The taste of yourself on his beard as his tongue probes your mouth is downright sinful, and you feel yourself throb as if to say, not done yet.

“JT,” you breathe against his mouth, his tongue flitting against your lips. “Fuck me.”

“You were just bitching about getting caught and now you want me to —“

“Need you. Now.”

The snark disappears when he hears the sincerity in your voice, pure instinct taking over as he’s quick to unbuckle his expensive belt, the sound of his zipper sliding down like music to your ears. Your eyes are glued to his length as he pulls himself out of his dress pants, noticing the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he strokes himself.

The locker room, while spacious, isn’t exactly made for this kind of physical activity, so finding a place to lie down comfortably is difficult. He takes your place in his stall, seated, then tugs you into his lap, bunching the fabric of your dress over your waist again once your thighs are nestled on either side of his hips, core pressed firmly against him. You can feel him, hard as steel against you, and you reach between your bodies to wrap your hand around him.

His jaw goes slack, eyes not leaving yours as you pump him, then swipe your thumb over his tip, smearing the precum over his head before bringing it to your mouth. JT groans as he watches you suck the dew off your finger, his own fingers digging into your hips illustrating that he likes what he sees.

“You want it?” you ask with a smirk.

“Fuckin’—” he curses, unable to keep his lips off of you, “yeah, fuck yeah, please, beautiful.”

Briefly, a moment of clarity hits you as the event flashes through your mind, and you remember where you’re supposed to be, in contrast with where you are. In that split second, you’re faced with the decision — be responsible, or give in to your desire. Given the way JT’s lips are pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his rock hard dick pressing against your naked core, throbbing wantonly against you, it’s not a difficult decision to make.

The sound that your boyfriend emits when you sink down onto him is otherworldly, and you bottle it up, hoping to elicit that sound from him over and over again.

And you do, moving up and down his length while his hands reach to grip your ass, helping your movements. He lets out the same moan against your mouth when you duck down to kiss him, swallowing the sound. When he shifts his hips, tilting them to press himself deeper into your tight heat, you mimic the sound, crying out a call of his name into the emptiness of the room, echoing out of the empty stalls surrounding you.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice low and sending waves of arousal straight to your pussy. “Feels so good, squeezin’ me so tight, baby.”

You lean in to kiss his lips, swollen and red and downright delicious, and your tongue seeks out his own as your hands clutch onto his broad shoulders for leverage. The sound of you bouncing in his lap has his belt buckle jingling, and he rips it out of the last belt loop before chucking it somewhere on the ground behind you, landing with a dull thud on the carpet. A free hand palms your breast through your dress, and the warmth even through the fabric makes your nipples harden, your back arching into his touch. He’s all over you, in your lungs and on your skin, and in that moment you swear you’ll let yourself be swallowed by him, devoured amidst the low lighting in the Avalanche locker room.

“J,” you sigh, breathless. You hope he can pick up the rest of what you’re trying to say, unable to speak words for the bubble of heat that’s rising in your belly, his dick drawing enough pleasure to render you speechless.

Fortunately, he does, and he’s using his grip on your ass as leverage to coax you up and down, faster, striking the perfect spot within you. One of his hands leaves its post on your waist, snaking between your bodies to find your clit, knowing he’s found the bud when you gasp against his jaw. Fireworks dance in front of your eyes, and you throw your head back, eyes squeezed shut tightly as you swear you can visualize your high, just on the horizon. He applies pressure, just enough, circling slowly to gauge your reaction, looking up at your face like you hung the moon and the stars. When he sees your eyes begin to roll back, he repeats the action, desperate to feel you come while wrapped around him.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he coos, voice dripping in honey.

He claps a hand over your mouth when you cry out in ecstasy as your peak hits you, rippling through you while your hips falter their once steady movements. Between the fluttering of your heat around him and the blissful expression on your face as you climax, JT’s soon reaching his own, spilling deep inside you in the final waves of your orgasm.

There’s a haze around you for a few peaceful, wonderful moments following, and you smile when you see him grinning at you, holding back laughter. The corners of your lips curl up into a smile, and soon enough you’re giggling along with him.

“Can’t believe you just did that,” he says through his laughter.

“You started it!”

“Yeah, but you went along with it,” he winks, grunting when he helps to slip you off of his lap. You can feel his cum dripping out of you, thankful that your dress is floor-length and black, hiding any leakage. He dashes away, returning quickly with a wad of toilet paper and a kiss to help clean you up.

“Kinda want to do it again.”

“JT,” you warn as you adjust your dress, smoothing it out to hide any wrinkles. “We need to get back.”

Nerves flutter inside of you now that the heat of the moment has passed, and you suddenly feel guilty for abandoning the event you spent months planning, even if your temporary distraction is a delicious, incredibly attractive hunk of a man.

“Hey,” JT says, seeing the way your hands have started to wring themselves. His voice is soft and he takes your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. “Everything is fine, okay? You did an incredible job planning this — so good, in fact, that everything is running perfectly smoothly without you, and you are allowed to take a break.”

He’s right, of course, a smug expression on his face when he slips back into the hall ten minutes later, staggering his arrival with yours. His hair has been combed, no evidence that you’d been running your nails through it not 20 minute prior, though you do notice the flush of his lips against the glass of the new beer he’s gotten. The only person who noticed your absence is Grace, but you’re quick with an excuse that you were cornered by Stan, who is notorious for his long-winded conversations. She looks at you, but if she is thinking anything, she doesn’t say it, and you mentally pump your fist that she’s bought your lie.

As you are both approached by Joe Sakic, you have to hide your smile knowing that you’d just fucked one of his players in the locker room just down the hall. You can’t help but feel undeniably smug — and maybe a little bit turned on — that while you chat with some of the wealthiest, most important people in Denver, you can still feel the warmth of JT’s cum inside of you, one bead dripping down the inside of your leg.

Another hour or so later, the last few remaining guests take their leave. The clean up crew begins their practiced routine, and you make your rounds to ensure that the vendors have their appropriate tips and payment before you head up to the office to wrap up for the night. Grace is waiting for you, to tell you the initial count of dollars raised has exceeded $20,000, and you grin, feeling both relieved and quite satisfied at the culmination of your hard work.

Not much later, you and Grace walk to the parking lot together, and you commend her for a job well done, thanking her for keeping you sane. As you bid her goodbye and slip into your car, you take out your phone, smiling to yourself when you see a text.

[JT:] Meet you at yours? [JT:] I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.

You chuckle, sending a text back to let him know you’re on your way.

[Y/N:] I’m heading home now [Y/N:] I prefer waffles, by the way [JT:] Lucky for you, I am a waffle extraordinaire [JT:] See you soon, beautiful 😘

You start your car, stowing your phone in your purse as you exit the parking garage. The bluetooth in your car dings with another text from him, and you roll your eyes as the message pops up on the screen.

[JT:] Still want to see you touch yourself like you promised… I’m waiting 😉

#jt compher fic #jt compher imagine #jt compher blurb #jt compher x reader #jt compher x y/n #jt compher fanfic #jt compher fanfiction #jt compher smut #hockey blurb #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl imagines #hockey fanfiction #colorado avalanche fic

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ilyasorokinn · 1 year

Note

Can I get an Erik Johnson with the prompts "Would you like to stay?" and "Because I fell for you, isn't it obvious." please.

900 CLUB

happy birthday to my fav horse loving king. i hope landy gives you a big smooch.

16. "would you like to stay?" 36. "because i fell for you, isn't it obvious?" (from this prompt list, fluff)

you had completely forgotten erik was coming over until he knocked on your door, "what're you doing here?" you asked, furrowing your brows together.

he raised a brow, "we were supposed to get lunch today." he checked his phone to make sure it was the right day.

"that was today?" you smacked a hand to your forehead as it all came to you, "crap, i'm sorry. i forgot."

"it's all good." he shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"i can't leave, i have a meeting in like 20 minutes, on zoom, but would you like to stay?"

"are you sure? i mean, we can do this another time."

"no, the meeting shouldn't take too long, so you can stay, then we can get some food after." you suggested.

"all right." he nodded, and you smiled, moving aside so he could enter. he walked in and walked straight into your kitchen to grab a drink.

you took your seat back at your table and waited for your meeting to start. erik fiddled around with his phone while he waited for you. you finally shut your computer about 45 minutes later and gave him a smile.

"so, what're you thinking?"

"whatever you want is fine."

"fine, just don't get mad when i pick something that you don't like." you grabbed your keys and headed for the door, erik following after you.

as it turned out, you picked a restaurant that he wasn't too fond of, "here? really?"

"you said you were fine with whatever, and i want a chicken sandwich."

"fine." he groaned, getting out of the door and walking into the restaurant like a whiny toddler.

yu ordered your food and talked and caught up, "so, you coming to the game on tuesday?"

"i don't know. got some errands i need to run, so we'll see."

"let me know,"

"aye-eye, captain." you saluted him with a smile.

a few days later, you were running your errands, all of which were a surprise for erik. he was set to play a big milestone game, so you were planning a little celebration after.

everyone but erik was aware of the party, so they were all in on the surprise. the little celebration was set to happen at the family suite. you got streamers, a banner, huge cutouts of erik's rookie headshot, and of course, shirts with a funny photo you had of him drunk.

you drove around, handing out the shirts so all the guys and girls had the shirts. and you made sure to send him a text that read "congrats on 900, king!" and a bunch of heart emojis and a couple others that he would understand.

you watched the game from the family suite, rocking your drunk erik shirt. he had yet to see your shirt, but he knew you were there. after the game, everyone made it up to the suite, the only person you were waiting for was erik.

"wow, this is really good." landy complimented as he finally got a chance to greet you.

"thank you. do you think it's too much?"

"i think it's perfect," he reassured.

a security guard led him up to the suite, and when he got there, he was greeted by everyone shouting "congrats!"

he nearly jumped out of his skin, but let out a laugh and covered his mouth in shock as he took in all the decorations, "wow, thank you." he started hugging people as he looked around.

he finally noticed the shirts, and sighed, "i know who did this." his eyes danced around the room before they landed on you, "you."

"surprise." you shrugged.

"we agreed that this picture would never see the light of day."

"well, you talked and i listened." you corrected.

he groaned, "you're crazy." he pulled you in for a hug.

the party was in full effect after that. drinks were flowing, music was blasting, and erik was having a lot of fun, "you know, you guys didn't have to do this. i would've been fine with like, a cake, or something."

"yeah, we know that, which is why we didn't plan this." gabe responded.

"then who did?"

"who else, dude?" mikko asked, nodding his head in your direction where you were talking with a couple of the girls.

"y/n did this?"

"of course she did." erik was too shocked to say anything, so nathan shoved him in your direction. you looked over when you saw him making his way over to you and smiled.

"you having fun, mr. 900?"

"tons." he nodded, "can i talk to you for a second?"

"sure." you set your drink down and followed him into the hallway, "so, what's up?"

"you did this? the party and the shirts. and the banners and the cutouts of my head?"

"well, yeah. i knew you wouldn't say you wanted a party, so i decided to do it anyway," you answered.

"why?"

"what? do you not like it?" you felt the panic bubble forming in your stomach.

"no, no, i love it." he reassured, "it's just, why? you didn't have to do anything. a cake would have been fine."

"i know, but i wanted to do something special." you shrugged, looking down at your feet.

"why?" he repeated.

"because i fell for you, isn't it obvious?" you finally blurted out. you watched erik's face change about 20 times, and that worried you because he didn't say a thing, "erik?" you asked after about a minute of him just staring at you like a fish.

"you... like me?"

"like? love? however you want to prhase it."

"why didn't you say anything?"

"because i didn't want to ruin anything."

"you didn't want to ruin anything? i didn't want to ruin anything.''

"what do you mean?"

"like? love? i feel it all for you, silly." now it was your turn to gape at him like a fish.

"are you serious?"

"if anyone else had printed me drunk on a shirt, we'd have a problem."

you let out a breathy chuckle, "we're really stupid, aren't we?"

"just a little." he nodded. you loped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to meet your lips.

"if we had just admitted a little earlier, we could've been doing this instead of pretending to enjoy those crappy chicken sandwiches."

"hey! i actually like them!" you hit him in the chest.

"no, you don't."

you pouted, "...the chicken is a little dry."

"that's what i've been trying to tell you!"

taylor's 2.5k celly!

this is a celly blurb, but it was the perfect time to write ot. so, happy birthday to my favorite guy ever (he shares this spot with about 10000+ other guys lol). you are so slay king *muah*

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spine-buster · 2 years

Text

That Which We Are, We Are | Nathan MacKinnon | Prologue

A/N: HERE IT IS!!!!! I’ve been waiting so long to post this and I’m SO excited to get this story going! Though it’s only the prologue, I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Nathan MacKinnon would rather be in Halifax than anywhere else in the world, but at this particular moment, he would have rather been playing in the Stanley Cup Playoffs.

That dream was clearly not meant to be this year. Despite a strong showing and a hard-fought effort, he couldn’t get it done. He blamed a lot of the failures on himself. Though he was part of a team – a very good team, filled with friends and mentors and guys he considered his brothers through the ups, downs, and battles they faced together – the pressure he put on himself was immense. Because of this, he thought it was his responsibility, and his alone, to get it done. To advance in the playoffs. To get over the hurdle of the second round, which it seemed his team was perennially stuck in. Alas, he came short. As was the story nowadays. The Colorado Avalanche couldn’t get it done. Nathan MacKinnon couldn’t get it done.

Being back in Halifax was always his favourite part of the year, because he loved his hometown and city with all his heart. But this time around, things stung a little bit more. Things hurt. Not anything to do with the city – the city was beautiful, and in the summer, it was even better. Mentally, things hurt. The mental weight of not being able to get it done lay heavy on his chest and in his mind. It started the second his flight landed. It continued as he passed through customs, got into a taxi to his parents’ house, and walked through their door. It continued as he woke up in his childhood bedroom the next morning, got into his Range Rover, and drove to his house on Shubenacadie Grand Lake. It continued as he stood in his house, alone with his own thoughts and deafening silence, not knowing what to do with himself.

There was only so much he could do. Plus, he could only wallow for so long until he became a caricature. It would be on the back of his mind the entire summer, until he got back to training camp and his mind reset – he knew that. But he also knew he needed to find happiness somewhere. An equal balance. Something to focus on other than hockey and his shortcomings.

It would be hard.

Hockey consumed him. It was his life. He was like one of those racehorses with blinders on, not being able to truly see anything around him – especially during the hockey season. Part of it was that it was how his mind worked; the other part of it was that he knew he needed to be that way. People like that succeeded – they were able to attain the highest level of glory, which he wanted. Sid certainly did, which people liked to remind him of constantly. He reminded himself of it constantly. Sid already had a Stanley Cup by his age, and was on the road to getting his second and third, which he would win by the age of thirty. He, at twenty-six, still had more than most – he’d won a Memorial Cup, the Calder and the Lady Byng, and a World Championship – but he hadn’t won the Stanley Cup. That was Nathan MacKinnon – always coming up short of the ultimate prize.

He stayed in his house alone for a few days, eating whatever healthy food his parents had stocked for him when he told them he was flying home. He took calls from only them and his sister – his agent knew to leave him alone, as did his nutritionist, trainer…basically everybody else. It would take a while for him to feel normal again and want to communicate.

It was only after he’d been home for a few days that he ventured to go back outside – to Halifax, specifically, and its downtown core. Despite it being busy, with people out for work lunches and the like, he flew mostly under-the-radar. It was why he liked Halifax so much. People knew who he was, so they left him alone. They took care of their own. Of course people still came up to him occasionally, especially people with kids (and he always accommodated the kids), whenever he was back in Halifax, he was left to live his life. He had parallel parked his car on Bedford Row and began walking with no end in mind. When he didn’t like the look of the buildings, he walked a block down and found some he did like; when he couldn’t see the water, he walked south so he could see it as the blocks opened up.

He was wandering. And he was a guy who didn’t exactly wander.

His stomach began to grumble, so he knew he needed to find a place to eat. Not willing to go into a restaurant and blow his cover, he slipped into a tiny, unassuming café on Granville Street, along the cobblestone streets of Granville Mall. It was in a very artsy area of town, near the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design, so he knew being recognized was slim.

He got a table alone. His waitress was nice, and he ordered a grilled chicken sandwich with fries, and he just kept to himself and his own thoughts. The café wasn’t too busy – he’d say about half full – and it was only when he was about half-way through his meal that he noticed his waitress interact with another person – a woman, alone just like him, sitting closer to the front display counter and till. His waitress gabbed enthusiastically with the woman, who had a head of long, long curly hair that was impeccably kept and styled. She wore a fashionable outfit of a long, sleek blush-coloured blazer (currently hanging on her chair), black dress pants, and a white shirt. On her feet were a pair of flat, ankle-laced shoes. Nate was in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and kept his baseball cap on inside.

Every member of the staff was kind to her. They all approached her to say hello, apologized about distracting her from her work (she had an iPad Pro perched on the table behind her plate) stayed for a quick little chat, then went on their merry way.

“What are you working on now?” one waitress asked.

“I’m still working on curating the upcoming exhibit I mentioned last time,” the woman said with a smile. “It’s almost done! I’ve been working on it for so long now – I feel like it’s my baby or something.”

“My friends and I are going to get tickets. When it was announced, we were so excited!”

“Good! It’s going to be great, if I may say so myself.”

Nate felt like he recognized the woman’s voice. There was something about it that made it sound familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on where he’d heard it before. Then, she turned around in her chair to get something out of her purse, and he was able to see her face. Even her face looked familiar. Fuck. She had makeup on, but not so much that it completely covered her features – it was well-done and professional. He swore he’d seen her somewhere before. He swore he knew her.

But he couldn’t figure it out.

Nate continued to eat and continued to listen to her interact with the waiters and waitresses. When he was done and it was becoming socially unacceptable to just be sitting around at his table listening in on conversations while he tried to pinpoint exactly where he knew her, he got up from his seat to approach the till and pay for his meal. As he waited for someone, he looked over at the woman. She didn’t notice, as she was focused on her iPad. He did it a few more times until he was able to tap his card. He left a hefty tip and put his wallet back into his pocket.

He was supposed to leave. He was supposed to walk right out the café doors.

Instead, he approached her.

“Um, excuse me?” he said softly, just loud enough to get her attention. When she looked up at him from her seat at her table, her eyes were wide and beautiful. “Hi, I—I’m sorry to bother you,” Nate stuttered out.

“That’s alright,” she said in an equally soft yet confident voice.

“I just—I—do I know you?” he asked.

“Nope, but I know you!” was what he was expecting to hear. Everybody said it to him, because he was home in Halifax, because, well…mostly everyone knew him. But this woman, whoever she was, looked him dead in the eye and shook her head. “No,” she said definitively.

Nate was slightly taken aback by her directness. He couldn’t help but let out the slightest of chuckles, mostly out of nerves. “Sorry, I—I swear I recognize you and your voice, but I don’t know from where.”

The woman smiled – grinned, really, since she showed no teeth. “I must have one of those faces or voices,” she said politely. “Sorry I’m not who you’re looking for.”

Nate accepted the reality. He nodded his head quickly, bringing his hand up as if to wave off his own behaviour. “Sorry to bother you,” he apologized. “E—Enjoy the rest of your lunch. Have a great day.”

“You too, sir.”

Sir. He’d just been called sir in his hometown. He wanted to shudder.

He left the restaurant without another word. He knew he was in an artsy part of town – and the woman was clearly involved in art, since she was speaking about curating something – but Nate still found it a bit odd that she didn’t recognize him. Most people did, even if they were polite about it and pretended not to, or only showed they knew who he was at the end of the conversation by calling him by his name or Mr. MacKinnon. But she didn’t do any of that. She denied knowing him, didn’t recognize him, had no ideas who he was.

But he was determined to remember where he knew her.

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horsesandhockeyplayers · 1 year

Text

When Life Gives You Lemons- Part 14

Warnings: Mature content, abuse, rape, eating disorders, OCD etc. Some of these things go into a bit of detail. These warnings are relevant to the whole fic, not just particular chapters.

Word Count Chapter: 4500

Word Count Total: 62,779

Author’s Note: Huge shoutout to @newlibrary for the graphics and @hockeylvr59 for the editing reads.

Barbs and Lemon are back by popular demand! Reminder, that this fic starts during the summer of 2019. I will be tagging the Avs and Lausanne HC. Also *~*~*~*~* means a POV change. Flipping between Mark and Clementine. This part begins with Clementine. THERE BE SMUT.

Part Fourteen*

My stomach swooped like I was on a roller coaster, and I knew I’d forever remember this moment as the one when I fell in love with Mark Barberio, or at least one of them. There seemed to be many moments when I fell a little more in love with him.

I kissed the underside of his chin as I murmured, “You’re so full of it.”

He wrapped me up in his arms again, hugged me to his chest and shifted his hips as he replied, “I’m full of something, and I’m gonna have to go take care of it in a minute.”

Bracing a hand on his chest, I sat up. How he could toe the line between being romantic one minute and entirely asinine the next I might never know, but, much to my great dismay, it was incredibly endearing and I felt my heart squeeze in my chest. My hair fell in a curtain around me as I scooted back onto his thighs and I tilted my chin in the direction of his crotch as I whispered, “Can I?”

His grin was impossibly wide as he chuckled and informed me, “Lemon, for the record you never have to ask a dude if you can touch his junk.”

I hid behind my hair, faltering as I offered, “Ok, I just…”

I trailed off, because how to do you tell someone you’re about to be intimate with that indescribable trauma happened to you and you don’t actually KNOW what to do with a dick since you’ve never had a healthy sexual relationship before? I wasn’t exactly sure, hence why I grew quiet.

Mark settled his hands behind his head— which just accentuated his arms and chest, and I realized that it was really unfair that there are men who looked like this in real life and not just on romance novel covers and I was still halfway shocked that I was curled up on the couch with one of said men— as he responded evenly, “Lemon, just do what you want. It’s ok, I promise. If I don’t like something I’ll tell you.”

“But I don’t want to do something you don’t like,” I bit my lip after answering. Perfection wasn’t a suggestion with Bill and I hated that I kept comparing them together because Mark was kind and wonderful and Bill was a shitstain on humanity.

“Babe,” he countered, “I do shit you don’t like all the time. But I stop and let you adjust or call me an idiot or we talk about it. That’s how you ended up on top, remember?”

I nodded and scooted back a little farther down his thighs, trying to sit on my heels instead of his knees. He had tucked his erection under the waistband of his underwear and jeans, leaving the head of his cock sticking out; without thinking, I reached out and, with the tip of my finger, smeared around the precum that had gathered there

His breath hitched, and I heard him hiss through his teeth. He unclenched his hands from behind his head, moving them to grip the arm of the couch instead. I bit my lip, palming him through his jeans and then tentatively, unbuttoned his fly. As I slid his zipper down, I took a moment to appreciate how he was straining against his boxer briefs.

I dipped my hand under the waistband of his shorts and when I wrapped my hand around the base of his dick, his hips jerked and he swallowed a moan. The way his body responded to me made me feel a little dizzy with power; the novelty that I caused him to react that way and that I was calling the shots here was almost too much to bear, but I knew one thing for sure: it was incredibly hot and I kind of loved it. With my free hand, I shoved his underwear down and freed him completely, letting my fingertips trail up his length. His dick jumped into my hand and I enjoyed feeling him, enjoyed the velvety feel of his skin over the hardness of his erection. When I risked a glance up at him, he had sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and his eyes were intense, and laser focused on me. “Is this ok?” He nodded vigorously.

I watched him react as I stroked him, never having the opportunity to explore someone so thoroughly. Precum was dripping onto his stomach and I swiped it up with my finger and licked it off, rolling the bitter taste over my tongue. Mark’s breath hitched again and his dick twitched in my hand.

This time when he exhaled, there was a distinctive “fuck,” muttered under his breath. Watching him straining, gripping the arm of the couch so hard I thought there would be permanent divots in the leather, I realized he was doing his best to give this completely unpressured experience to me, and as hot as this moment was already, the fact that he could be so unselfish in it, despite everything, only endeared him to me more.

I rubbed my thumb over the head of his cock, and I saw the muscles in his jaw clench as I spread around some more of the precum that was leaking out.

“Lemon,” he choked out, “Spit in your hand.”

“What?” I asked. His words broke my trance, and even though I understood what he was saying, it took a moment for me to process the suggestion.

“Spit. In. Your. Hand,” he panted.

I did my best to gather enough saliva in my mouth before I did what he asked. The lubrication changed the texture of his skin, and he went from velvet to silk. I loved the feel of him against my hand, the easy slide of him across my palm almost hypnotic. As I stroked him, I felt him get impossibly harder.

He was trying to control the movement of his hips, but they kept jumping up underneath me, shoving the length of him through my fist completely.

He wasn’t completely shaven, but he was trimmed and I moved my other hand to palm his scrotum, rolling his testicles in my hand. I heard him curse softly as I teased them, felt them tighten as jet of cum landed on his stomach and he groaned, “Fuck. Don’t stop.”

I had indeed stopped what I was doing to watch the cum jet out of him, but with his encouragement, I started again, stroking him through each spurt and firmly holding his balls in my other hand.

FInally, he was done and he reached down and grabbed my wrists in his hands as he conceded, “Okay, now you can stop. Too much.”

He flopped back, sinking into the couch as he let my wrists go and with his eyes closed he rasped, “Holy shit, Lemon, that was… hot.”

It was hot and now that I wasn’t transfixed by his genitals, I was able to sit back on my heels and just look at him: his hair was disheveled from my fingers carding through it and the cross on the silver chain was resting against his chest, carving a shimmering path through all of the muscles there. I took that moment to appreciate that there were so many muscles. Even if I worked out just as much as he did, I still probably wouldn’t have half the amount of muscles— which I personally thought was unfair.

HIs abs were splattered with his cum and I gave in to the urge to reach down and trail my index finger through the milky fluid, pushing it through the valley of his abdominals. When I risked a glance at his face, he had one eye open and he was watching me carefully, his rakish eyebrow raised. “You’ve never gotten the opportunity to just enjoy someone’s body, have you?” he asked.

Shaking my head, I impulsively licked the cum off my finger.

He grabbed his shirt off the floor and wiped his stomach off before he sat up. When we were facing each other again, his hand went to the back of my head and he pulled me down for a kiss, his tongue invading my mouth almost like he was trying to lick his own cum out of it.

When he finally pulled away, I had to touch my lips to make sure they were still there. “Come on, Lemon,” he prompted, picking me up and setting me on my feet next to the couch. He made it seem so easy, even though I knew there was no way it was. He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the bedroom, trying to hold his jeans up with his free hand. He ended up kicking them off in the hallway.

Once we were through the door, he pulled me forward and spun me around like we were dancing, his bed hitting the back of my knees and I fell backward onto it. I had been dreading this moment and I shut my eyes, bracing for the moment of panic I knew I would feel when he fell on top of me.

When his weight didn’t hit me right away, I opened an eye to catch him falling to his knees. He had disposed of his boxer briefs and tossed them with his shirt into a pile and I realized he had gotten fucking naked and I had missed the show.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I asked, “Barbs? What are you doing?”

He reached up to hook his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and stripped them off with my underwear in one smooth pull, throwing them in the same pile as his clothes. “I should think that is obvious,” he whispered into the skin of my thigh.

“It’s… not?”

He gave me a look I couldn’t interpret and grabbed me gently, dragging my body toward him until I was almost hanging off the bed. He arched a brow, like that was supposed to give me a clue and I shrugged, clueless. I was still unsure as to what was happening, but I wasn’t uneasy about it, which was a miracle in and of itself.

He walked closer to me on his knees as he instructed, “Arms up.”

I lifted my arms, more as a reflex than anything, and when I settled back on my elbows, I was naked. It was the first time I had been naked with a man since my marriage, and I fought the urge to cover myself. Mark sat back on his heels for a moment and I could feel his gaze traveling up and down my body. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that I barely heard him murmur, “You are breathtaking.”

I looked down, half concerned that my body had been replaced by body snatchers. But, all I saw was the same old body I saw every day: one with a faint map of stretch marks from gaining weight too fast; battle scars, that were both literal and figurative, from fighting my marriage and myself; a smattering of cellulite, weird tan lines and broken capillaries; and assorted other imperfections that seemed to be emphasized in this moment of vulnerability. Before I could voice any of this, Mark slid his hands from my ankles to my knees and twisted them to skirt along the inside of my thighs. He ran them upwards until his thumbs found the crease along my vaginal lips, which proved to be sufficiently distracting and quieted the self-doubt racing through my brain.

When he pulled my folds apart and blew on my clit, I fell back onto the bed, a whimpered “fuck,” escaping my throat. I felt the smile on his lips as he pressed them to me and licked the length of my pussy.

I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to watch him or just lay back and enjoy the sensations. He explored me with his tongue, his fingers spreading me apart as he licked around my pussy. When he closed his lips over my clit and sucked, my hips arched into his face, and when he slid a thick finger into me, I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

My orgasm hit me like a tsunami; the sensation started to rise, and suddenly I was drowning, my hips bucking wildly into his face. I swear Mark growled when he locked his free arm over my pelvis to hold me in place as he sucked my clit and finger fucked me through my orgasm. As I was coming down, he slid a second finger in with the first and the stretch caused a mini orgasm on the heels of the first. With a flat-tongued lick, he detached from my “pleasure nub,” and I suddenly understood why terrible romance novelists called it such.

He continued to slide his fingers in and out of me, leaving trails of wet opened mouth kisses along my thighs until I relaxed completely, the occasional tremor shaking my body.

When he slipped his fingers out of me, he sucked them into his mouth to clean them off before crawling over me and resting against the pillows; once situated, he hauled me up his body and arranged me half on top of him, his dick resting along my thigh.

With our naked bodies like this, it painted a stark picture of how different we were. HIs body was thick and toned. I don’t think he had one tiny cell of fat on him and his skin was a dark olive after having been in the sun all summer. I, on the other hand, looked like poorly proven sourdough bread that Paul Hollywood would have been ashamed of… with blue hair.

I felt Mark take a breath below my ear as he whispered in it, “Was that ok? I don’t want to brag, but I have been told I’m pretty good at that.”

I stretched my jaw a bit, willing the muscles to work since all of them felt like they had the integrity of wet cardboard. “I don’t have anything to compare it to,” I ventured, “So you could be the absolute worst in the world, but if that’s the worst, then the best might kill me.”

He went completely still beneath me as he processed my response, taking a moment before he responded, “What do you mean you don’t have anything to compare it to?”

I set my chin on his chest and looked up at him as I clarified, “I’ve never experienced that before?”

He looked a little shocked, and rubbed the hand that wasn’t cradling my ass down his beard as he thought that over. “Never tell Landy this,” he murmured, “but I’m actually at a loss for words.”

I shrugged. “Honestly,” I admitted, “If getting that as my first time meant I didn’t get it other times, I think I’m ok with that.” Mark smiled down at me and I returned the smile before I schooled my face into a more stern expression and continued, “Also, please don’t even mention Landy again while we’re naked, in bed together, or naked in bed together. ”

Mark’s face softened and he kissed the top of my head, chuckling lightly and he concluded, “Well, Lemon, I was glad to give it to you.”

His cock was still hard against my hip, and I ran a finger up the length of him as I began, “You’re still..”

“Mmmhmm.” I felt his chest rumble as he responded.

I looked at him inquisitively, “can I?”

He just looked amused as he answered, “Babe, if it involves you and my dick, I’m going to have very few restrictions.”

I bit my lip and straddled his thighs again, mimicking our position on the couch earlier.

“Do you have… you know?” I hoped he would know.

Mark’s face was caught up in a grin as he answered the question I couldn’t finish, nodding as he informed me, “your inability to finish sentences when referring to anything about sex is adorable.” His long arm reached up and he somehow dug a condom out of the drawer of his nightstand and tossed it near my knee. “Knock yourself out, babe.”

Suddenly faced with a hard dick, a man with his hands folded behind his head, and a condom, I didn’t know what to do or where to start. I looked up at him for guidance and he just shook his head as he told me, “This is your show, Lemon. No judgment.”

I bit my lip and traced the outline of his testicles in his scrotum, fascinated when the skin drew up tight in response to the stimulation. Mark sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t react otherwise. I was nervous all of a sudden and the moment felt charged, in a different way than it had earlier; some of the urgency was gone, and we had all the time in the world, which meant there was plenty of time for me to prove I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and make a fool of myself. I didn’t want to throw all of that at him right now so I just said simply, “You have to tell me what you like.”

“Clementine, you are naked, on top of me, playing with my junk… I like all of this.” He made no effort to hide his amusement.

I wrapped my hand around his balls and rolled them between my fingers, causing another sharp inhale from Mark and and an exhaled “fuck.”

His dick twitched against his stomach, the tip leaking clear fluid onto his skin. Letting go of him, I scooped it up with a finger and sucked it off.

His big body squirmed beneath me as he groaned, “Fuck, you are killing me, do you know that?”

Comments like that filled me with confidence and made it easy for me to toss aside all of my hesitation and it occurred to me I should thank him for that later. Feeling reinvigorated and embracing my newly-found inclination for power, I teased him, “You taste good. I didn’t know you could taste good.” I may or may not have made a show of licking my lips to prove my point.

He threw his head back and moaned.

I ripped the condom wrapper with my teeth, gripping his length in one hand and rolling the condom down it with the other. I let him slap back against his stomach and he twitched again as he cursed, “Damnit, Lemon.”

I gave him a sickly sweet smile. Had he not looked so incredibly good imbued with such a level of desperation, this wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun as it was.

“Oh, she’s playing now,” he chirped at me, before looking at me dead in the eyes and stating, “If you had a different past, this would be going way differently.”

I moved forward, feeling the length of him settle between my pussy lips and I rolled my hips, the friction so good that I swear I could feel it in every inch of my body. The crown of his head dragged against my clit and I moaned as I asked him, “What would you do differently, Barbs?”

As I slid along the length of him again, coating him in copious amounts of my wetness, he hissed, choking out, “We wouldn’t have made it this far; for one, because I would have fucked you over the back of the couch.”

“Oh?” I quipped. I honestly didn’t know being this turned on was even possible and my hands went to my breasts of their own accord, holding them in my hands and rolling both nipples between my fingers.

Mark slammed his head back into the pillows, eyes screwed shut, as he took a deep breath and rasped, “Fuck babe, this is better than literally every fantasy I’ve ever had about you.”

“Really?” I breathed, rocking against him, enjoying hearing him say it. “I’m not really even doing anything…” As the pleasure coursed through my body, I could hear my voice falter and I was pretty sure that Mark was almost at a breaking point, if the tremor I could feel in his thighs underneath me was any indication.

“Really,” he confirmed, as I kept up my steady grind against him, his breath shallow as he continued, “What you’re doing is…..so fucking hot…” I felt him twitch against me as he confessed, “The only thing that could possibly make this better would be if I was inside of you.”

I raised up off of him and the action caused him to open one eye. Reaching between us, I angled his cock just right and started to sink down on it, pausing every few millimeters. Mark arched a brow at me as he watched, admitting, “Lemon, if you want me to beg for it, all you have to do is ask. But since you haven’t, I gotta know, are you trying to kill me?”

I shook my head, realizing that we were on two separate pages regarding my slow pace. “No,” I told him, “I’m just waiting for it to hurt.”

Mark looked at me pointedly and sat up, his arm sliding behind my thighs to prevent me from sliding down on him any farther. “Okay,” he began, “First of all, I think we need a rule: we don’t talk about previous experiences while we’re having NEW ones. Second of all, sex shouldn’t hurt EVER. I mean, unless it’s on purpose and you’re into that kind of thing. If you’re not into that, then it should never hurt. Do you understand me, Clementine?” His voice was firm and once again I had the feeling I may have trivialized something that wasn’t really trivial.

I nodded because I couldn’t do anything else.

He pulled me off of his cock and slid us both up the bed until his torso was resting against the headboard.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Mark smiled at me ruefully, bringing his lips to my neck as he whispered into my hair, “I thought I just needed to let you figure things out for yourself, but it has become glaringly obvious I need to be an active participant.”

My voice was soft as I responded, half scared and half confused, “I don’t know what you mean.”

We were still pressed closely together, and his hands trailed over my naked body, fingers teasing my nipples, as he directed me, “Kiss me, Lemon.”

I leaned forward and he moved his hands to knot in my hair, my breasts pressed against the hair on his chest as I kissed him. I kissed him deeply, trying to convey with my tongue just how much this all meant to me.

As we kissed, one of his hands slid between our bodies, his fingers slipping between my pussy lips and softly rubbing my clit. I may have mewled into his mouth, but I’d perjure myself in a court of law denying that.

While I was rocking into his hand, he grabbed his dick and angled it just right so that the tip slid into me as I rolled my hips. The sensation made me gasp, and I rocked harder, needing more.

“That’s it, babe,” he murmured, “That’s it.” His hands were on my hips, guiding me. I curled my hands into fists on his chest, wishing his hair was long enough to grab like this, but it was still short from a summer wax.

I needed him, I needed to feel full. I slammed myself down on him and he cursed in response, cautioning, “Fuck. Easy, babe.”

“Mark, please,” I whimpered, “I need more. I need you.” My hands unclenched, and I dug my fingers into his chest desperately.

His hands tightened on my hips as his punched up forcefully and he confirmed, “Ok?”

I nodded, almost delirious with pleasure as I begged, “More.”

He set a quick rhythm with his hips, and soon all that filled the room was the squelch of our bodies coming together and our sharp breaths.

“Fuck, I’m almost there,” he groaned, “Tine, touch yourself.”

One of his hands left my hips and he took my fingers and pressed them to my clit, “Cum with me,” he urged.

“I can’t,” I choked out.

“You can,” he encouraged, “Look at me.”

My eyes met his and he held my gaze as he continued, “I’m gonna get tested by the team doc tomorrow, because I can’t wait to fuck you skin to skin and fill you with my cum. I can’t wait to make you mine so you never have to worry about a man hurting you ever again. Even me.”

My voice was a whisper, as I whined out “Holy shit.”

“Now fucking cum with me, Clementine.” He punched his hips up hard and I came apart in a million pieces, like a stained glass window shattering from a bomb. He thrust into me irregularly until he sagged against the headboard and cradled me to his chest.

We lay there in a sweaty mess, panting, until I broke the silence, and repeated, “You want to fill me with your cum?”

“Lemon, I swear to God, if you ruin this perfectly good moment with some self-deprecating sarcastic comment, I’m going to tell Landy you think his magic is dumb.”

I gasped in horror, “You wouldn’t. Also, again with mentioning Landy in bed!!!”

He kissed the top of my head chuckling, “You know I would. Now, just lay there and be quiet and soak in the moment.”

We were quiet again for a long time, long enough that the sweat was starting to dry on my skin and giving me goosebumps. I shivered, and this time it was Mark who broke the silence, asking “Does Daze need dinner or something?”

At the mention of dinner, my stomach growled. “Probably,” I guessed, “I know I need dinner. Why?”

I looked up at Mark and he was staring in the direction of the door as he told me, “Because she’s been quietly staring at me since we finished. Honestly, she started even before that, and if you weren’t half as hot as you are, I wouldn’t have been able to finish.”

I chuckled against his chest and sat up, pulling my leg over him, intimately feeling the loss of him inside me. “I’ll go feed her if you order pizza,” I offered.

Grabbing his shirt from earlier off the floor, I pulled it on, though it hugged my body a little more than I would have liked.

“Babe,” he sighed, “That one is covered in cum, grab a clean one out of the drawer.”

I gave him a saucy wink as I sashayed out of the room, shouting behind me, “Maybe I wanna be covered in your cum.”

He fell over into the pillows laughing and I heard him grumble, “Fucking minx.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

#Mark Barberio #mark barberio imagine #mark barberio fic #colorado avalanche imagine #colorado avalanche fic #colorado avalanche rpf #avs #Avs fic #avs imagine #avs rpf #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey rpf #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl rpf #When Life Gives You Lemons #Clemberio #WLGYL

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eightmakar · 2 years

Text

postgame | c.m. | 18+

Pairing: Cale Makar x Original Character

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: MINORS DNI. plotless smut. cale being bossy and rough, but respectfully, as only cale makar could be. teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, slight cumplay(?)

A/N: hello always be honest with your partners and have conversations about what your comfy with!! cale and charlie have had this convo and you can tell because he doesn't do things she has said she doesn't like and he checks on her boundaries so pls do that. thanks for coming to my ted talk.

EDIT: soz i forgot to add that this goes along with accidental blessing (18+) and calgary bc this relationship is established in accidental blessing (the Meet Cute). enjoy!

tagging: @taking-shots @harlowhockeystick @flashyfucker @fallinallincurls @jostystyles @jostyriggslover96 @burkymakar @cuttergauth @matbaerzal @hockeylvr59 @hockstuff @tkachukslut @mikkorantanev @gabelandeskog @cale8makar

“Fuck,” Charlie Evans muttered as she watched the puck fly past her boyfriend, Cale Makar, and into the Avalanche’s empty net. She saw the look in this eye, the glint of fault and disappointment, as he skated back to his side of the ice for what would likely be the final faceoff of the game.

Cale’s daughter, Willow, was already asleep in her bedroom. It had been a whirlwind of a day; Charlie had to go into the office for a big presentation, then had to rush back to take Willow to a skating lesson, which started shortly before Cale had to report to the arena. Charlie was still going to try to make the game, but when Willow fell asleep on the drive home from skating, she made the decision to stay home. Cale was disappointed, but he was grateful that Charlie was watching out for Willow.

Charlie watched Cale and his teammates trudge sadly into the locker room. Shortly after, she got a text from him.

Cale: That was fucking terrible

Cale: Two of the goals were my fault

Charlie: It wasn’t your night, but it’s not your fault

Charlie: Everyone looked bad. Nate didn’t have good puck control, the whole D core couldn’t keep the puck in or clear the puck out, and Mikko couldn’t hit the broad side of the barn.

Cale: I didn’t have my legs

Charlie: Neither did anyone else, love

Cale stopped answering, and Charlie took the time to get ready for bed. On nights when Charlie and Willow didn’t go to games, Willow was fast asleep before Cale got home, so Cale would go check on her when he arrived, then come to bed with Charlie. She figured Cale was showering, and he’d be home soon.

Charlie felt the garage door open and close, followed by the soft sound of the kitchen door shutting. She heard Cale walk down the hall to Willow’s room, then after a few moments, he walked back and into the bedroom.

Cale’s jaw was clenched tight as he entered the room. Charlie put her phone down and smiled at him anyway, genuinely happy to see him regardless of how he was feeling.

“Hi, babe,” Charlie greeted Cale.

Cale stalked over to Charlie and her heart pounded as she swallowed hard. Cale was in a mood, a mood that only she was familiar with, a mood he hid from everyone outside of their bedroom. He stood next to Charlie, then harshly grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her to her knees in front of him.

“Hi,” he grumbled softly. “I’m very frustrated, and all I want to do is shove you into the mattress and fuck you. How does that sound to you?”

A shiver went through Charlie’s body. This was exactly what she was expecting when he walked in. It didn’t happen too often; Cale was usually a soft, kind lover, but even he needed a little more sometimes. He always made sure to communicate when he wanted to go a little rougher with her, and always made sure she knew she was really the one in control.

“I think that sounds like what we both need,” Charlie replied, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Cale growled, then grabbed the back of Charlie’s thighs and tossed her down on the bed. He tugged up her oversized t-shirt to reveal her comfy panties she slept in.

“Sorry,” Charlie muttered.

“Why are you apologizing?” Cale hastily pushed her panties down her legs and tossed them behind him, then slowly dragged a finger through her pussy.

Charlie closed her eyes and inhaled at Cale’s touch. “I,” she breathed, “they’re not sexy.”

“Why does it matter if they’re not sexy?” Cale kicked off his dress shoes and clambered onto the bed. “You hate sexy panties anyway.”

He sat against the headboard, then harshly grabbed Charlie and yanked her into his lap, her back to his chest. She inhaled shakily, leaning into his warmth as he ran his hands all over her body. He wrapped his left arm across her body, his hand coming up to grip her chin and jaw. Charlie’s breathing labored from her slightly open mouth, her heart pounded.

Cale softly nuzzled his nose into her, a stark contrast to his hands on her body. He nibbled her earlobe and she leaned into him more. Dragging his hand slowly over her thigh, Cale chuckled as a shiver ran down her spine.

“Someone’s excited,” he teased, gently scratching his short fingernails across her right thigh, starting at her knee and dragging up to her hip.

Charlie made a face, then wiggled her hips and ass against Cale’s crotch, since she was pressed up against him. He groaned, and she felt him harden and smirked, proud of the reaction she’d elicited from him despite his control of the situation.

“Hmm,” Cale thought. His grip on her jaw tightened ever so slightly. “So that’s how it’s gonna be tonight?” He leaned in, bit down on her neck, and sucked the soft skin into his mouth between his teeth. He dragged his rough fingertips along her inner thigh, all the way up to tease the lips of her pussy. Charlie jumped, bucked her hips to try to get more from him, but he just chuckled again and dragged his fingers back down her thigh.

Cale surprised Charlie as he suddenly spread her legs out wider and pulled her back into him even more, angling her on her tailbone. He covered her pussy with his hand, giving her nothing, no relief from the hot rush of arousal. She bucked her hips and made a small whine, which made Cale laugh again.

“Don’t be mean,” she complained, trying to turn to look at him.

Pressing his forehead to her temple, he peppered kisses along her jaw. “Why would I be nice when it’s so much more fun to watch you squirm?” he whispered against her cheek. He removed his hand from her pelvis and tapped her mouth with fingers. She opened it obediently and swirled her tongue around Cale’s fingers after he shoved them in her mouth. His fingers triggered her overly-sensitive gag reflex, and he immediately pulled them back out.

Charlie turned her head to look at Cale and was met with concern. Cale knew even the thought of puking or gagging made Charlie nauseated, so he tried to keep her gagging to a minimum.

“I’m good,” she said quickly. “I’m good.”

Cale smiled softly, kissed her temple, then dragged his wet fingers down between her breasts and finally swiped them through her folds. She closed her eyes as he teased her slit, pressing against it with his middle finger but not letting it slip inside her yet. Cale readjusted his grip on her with his left hand, pressing against her sternum with his fingers fanned out.

“You gonna–,” Charlie started to chirp Cale, but he sank his middle finger into her as she did, grinning evilly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically, “were you saying something?” He pulled his finger nearly all the way out of her, then shoved both his middle and ring fingers back in, then out, in, out, until he established a quick rhythm, filling the air with sinful, wet slaps. Charlie’s head rolled back against Cale’s body, ending up on his shoulder, breathing heavily as he fucked her with his fingers.

Charlie suddenly felt empty and cold on top of the electric heat that raced through her body. Cale had withdrawn his fingers from her and held them out to admire her arousal coating them. He stuck the two fingers that had just been inside her into his mouth and loudly licked them off. Charlie watched in awe.

“You like that, hm? Watching me lick your cum off my fingers?” Cale taunted.

Charlie nodded, then tried to grind herself against Cale or the mattress or anything to get herself closer. She tried to close her legs, but Cale caught one of them with his wet hand, then released it. He brought his hand back between her legs, pressed hard on her clit and rubbed slow circles on it. Charlie’s eyes went out of focus at the contact, her mouth falling open.

She forgot how to breathe. Her body was hot and cold and numb and on fire all at once. Her hand flailed before desperately gripping Cale’s hair behind her in an attempt to ground herself. She gasped as Cale slid his fingers inside her again, then slid his other hand down her body and continued the circles on her clit. With both hands touching her, Cale gently kissed the base of her neck, his hot lips widening in a smile.

“You close?” he asked her tauntingly.

“So,” she managed out. “So close.”

With a final kiss on her neck, Cale removed his fingers from her and let her fall back against his body, limp. She groaned in frustration, but she knew sometimes he teased her like this so when he did make her come, it would be worth it.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Cale said, echoing her thoughts. “Lay down on your stomach for me, yeah?”

“What about your clothes?” Charlie pulled herself up on her knees and turned around to look at Cale, nearly letting out a moan when she squeezed her legs together.

“Help me get out of them,” he directed softly. He leaned forward so she could unbutton his dress shirt and push it off his shoulders. He gazed at her softly as he tugged his arms out. Charlie tossed Cale’s shirt aside, then got to work on his belt. Cale reached out and tugged her oversized shirt over her head. She paused her work on his belt to let him pull it over her arms, then he tossed it over with his dress shirt, and Charlie returned to the belt.

“Why the fuck can’t I get this goddamn belt off?” Charlie complained.

Chuckling, Cale gently helped her remove his belt, then unzipped his dress pants and lifted his ass so he could pull them off with Charlie’s help. She tugged his striped socks off, and finally he was just left in his boxer-briefs.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Charlie mumbled.

Cale laughed. “Lay down on your stomach for me, babe.”

Charlie did as he asked, grabbing her pillow and laying on it with her arms crossed underneath it. She felt Cale gently running his fingertips over the soft skin of her ass.

“So pretty,” he muttered, using his fingernails to scratch her softly. She groaned and wiggled her ass for him in hopes he’d do something. She could hear the amusement in his voice as he asked, “Giving me a show, eh?” He softly smacked her ass with his right hand.

“Do that again,” Charlie moaned, shaking her ass more.

Cale obliged, smacking her slightly harder. “I love watching your ass jiggle,” he giggled as he continued to play with the supple skin, each slapping sound making Charlie wetter and wetter.

“You’re being mean again,” Charlie commented.

“Oh? Am I?” Cale grabbed her hips, pulled her ass up higher, spread her legs a little, and elicited a sharp gasp from Charlie as he leaned down and licked through her exposed folds. Charlie moaned loudly into the pillow beneath her.

Cale reached over her and grabbed another pillow, then placed it underneath her hips before reattaching his mouth to her clit. He sucked harshly on it, then released it with a slight pop. Charlie buried her face into her pillow as Cale slid his index finger into her pussy and massaged the soft, warm flesh. She clenched around him and he laughed.

“So desperate,” he taunted. He playfully smacked her ass with his free hand, then pulled his finger out of her. Charlie turned her head to watch him stroke himself a few times, but she shoved her face back into the pillow beneath her as he adjusted his body position and slid his cock inside her. It was so cliche, but he was made to fit perfectly in her.

Cale gripped his dick and pushed it against the back wall of her pussy, dragging it along, then letting his tip pop out of her. He slid just his head in her and sat there, unmoving, so Charlie pushed her hips back to sink him deeper into her pussy. She bounced back on him a few more times and relished in the feeling of him until he stilled her hips with his hands. Cale grabbed a handful of her ass, massaging it.

“Please,” Charlie groaned, “I need you so bad.”

“Do you?” Cale asked tauntingly. “Have you been good enough to have me?”

Charlie nodded desperately. “I’ve been so good for you.”

Cale moved his hands to the small of her back, pushing her down into the mattress, and harshly snapped his hips against hers, thrusting deep inside of her. Charlie bit the pillow beneath her to silence herself, which became harder and harder with every roll of Cale’s hips.

He laid down on top of her, completely engulfing her in him. In his scent, in the heat of his body, in his soft, breathy grunts in Charlie’s ear. She was overwhelmed with him, and it was incredible. Every bump of Cale’s balls against her ass sent her closer and closer to the edge.

“So tight,” Cale murmured in her ear. “Feel so fuckin’ good.”

Charlie released the pillow from between her teeth and croaked out, “So good.”

Cale suddenly moved off of her, kneeling behind her and lifting her ass up in the air, but keeping her chest and face pressed into the bed beneath her. Charlie’s back arched as he hit a new angle inside of her.

“C-Cale,” Charlie choked out. “S-so c-close.”

“Yeah?” Cale asked. “Me too, baby.”

Cale grabbed Charlie’s arms and easily pinned them behind her back with one hand, his other hand desperately hanging onto the headboard of the bed for leverage. Charlie’s face pressed deeper into the pillow and she yelped into it as Cale’s thrusts slammed into her even harder.

“Oh fuck, I’m about to come,” Cale groaned. “Can I come on your ass?”

Charlie couldn’t answer, so Cale paused, dick inside her, and pulled her up out of the pillow. He pressed her back flush against his chest while she panted.

“I asked you a question,” he said quietly but sharply. “And I need an answer before we keep going, please.”

“I want you to come on my chest,” Charlie croaked.

“No face,” Cale said calmly. Charlie was pretty sure she would hate him coming on her face, but they tried it once anyway, and it confirmed how much she despised it, so that was one of their rules.

Charlie shook her head in agreement. “No face, please.”

Reaching down to rub her clit, Cale gently pressed a kiss to Charlie’s cheek. Her head rolled back onto his shoulder, giving Cale access to her neck, which he began kissing sloppily. Charlie knew he was giving her some time to recover before they finished, and she was grateful that they knew each other’s minds and bodies so well.

“Do you need more of a break, my love?” Cale whispered in her ear. He grazed his teeth over her earlobe.

“One more kiss?” Charlie asked, turning her head to look at him.

Cale smiled softly and lightly pressed his lips against hers. They stayed still for a moment, then Cale pulled back and laid Charlie back down on the bed, then rolled her over to face him. He covered her body with his, tangled his hands in hers, and slid back inside her, making her arch her back again.

Hot lips attached to her collarbone, Cale pulled out and slammed back into her. Charlie gaped up at him as he re-established a very similar rhythm to moments before, but somehow more desperate, more needy. He was close, and she was close, and they both knew it.

Cale moved and pressed his sweaty forehead to Charlie’s. He took both of her hands in his left hand, then used his right hand to press down on her lower stomach, adding more pressure and more pleasure for both of them. His eyes closed and he bit down on his lip so hard Charlie was afraid he’d bleed.

“Oh fuck,” Cale moaned, “oh fuckfuckfuck, I’m gonna come.”

Cale pulled out of Charlie, scooted up her body a little, and used his right hand to harshly jerk himself off until he painted Charlie’s breasts with his cum. He threw his head back and breathed heavily as he squeezed his head, stroking himself a few more times before he scooted back down and pressed himself back into Charlie, eliciting a soft moan from her.

“C’mon, baby,” Cale said softly, leaning back down to press his forehead against hers and pressing his free fingers against her clit while slowly thrusting into her, letting her feel every inch of him. “I want you to come for me.”

“Fuck,” Charlie squeaked.

Cale captured Charlie’s lips in a kiss, then mumbled against them, “Come for me, Charlie.”

“More,” Charlie mumbled back, “I need more.”

“I’ve got you.” Cale’s circles on her clit increased in speed as his strokes went deeper and deeper in her, brushing up against the spot inside her that made her whole body clench.

“Motherfucker,” Charlie yelped.

Cale chuckled, “Good?”

“Fuck yes, keep going.”

Cale did as Charlie asked, keeping up the same pace until she clenched, coming undone around him, her back arching and her vision going white. Cale fucked her through her orgasm, then slowed to a stop as she came down. His forehead still pressed against her, they tried to catch their breath together.

“Shit,” Cale panted, “You did so good for me, baby. So good, so pretty.”

Charlie softly smiled up at him. “Can you help me up?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Cale pulled out of Charlie, then grabbed her hands and helped her sit up. Cale scooted off the bed, then offered his hands to Charlie again to help her up. He wrapped a careful, protective arm around her waist and walked her into the bathroom.

“Whoa,” Charlie giggled, “my legs feel like jelly.”

“Sit on the counter?” Cale laughed back. “I think my cum is about to drip off you.”

Charlie looked down and commented, “Gross.”

Cale grabbed a towel, wet it, and carefully wiped Charlie off. Once she was clean, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. Cale hugged her back, putting his cheek on top of her head.

“I love you,” he said softly. “That really helped me feel better after the shitshow of a game we had. You did so good, babe.”

“I love you too, baby,” Charlie mumbled against Cale’s chest. “I enjoyed it too, you know that, right?”

Charlie felt Cale smile. “Yeah, I know you did. Can we move this back to the bed? Exhaustion just hit me.”

“Of course.” Charlie untangled her arms from him so they could both use the toilet, wash up, and brush their teeth before bed. She pulled back on her panties and shirt, and Cale pulled on a clean pair of boxers.

They clambered back into bed together. Cale wrapped a warm arm around Charlie’s waist and pulled her close into his body, spooning her. She felt safe and loved, and fell into an easy sleep in her love’s arms.

#Cale makar #Cale makar fic #cale makar fanfiction #cale makar fanfic #Cale makar smut #nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl imagine #colorado avalanche fanfiction #colorado avalanche fic #colorado avalanche smut #nhl smut #hockey smut #hockey writing #hockey imagine

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taking-shots · 1 year

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born to love you | n. mackinnon | part one

warning(s): nothing too major that i know of! mentions of childbirth, pregnancy, like one mention of the word "traumatic"

word count: 1,951

a note from the author: it's finally here!!!!!! part one of my long-awaited natemac series. a couple of things i do want to mention - this is PURELY fantasy and pretty much an au fic. for example, covid and the pandemic will not exist in this story. one more thing - if you want to be tagged when i post part two, let me know! also, feedback is so appreciated. without further ado, here is part one of "born to love you"!

The sun rays of an early Colorado morning peak through the blinds as the dreaded alarm sound rings from Ivy’s phone. As much as she despised waking up early, today was not as awful as usual; it was her wedding day. Today, Ivy Camille Pierce was finally going to marry the man of her dreams.

Nathan had appeared in Ivy’s life one random day in pre-school in Mrs. Sutton’s class. He clung to his mother’s leg as Mrs. Sutton peeled him off by enticing him with dinosaur figurines. Four-year-old Ivy saw him sitting at the table all alone, just staring at the T-Rex.

“You don’t have to play with dinosaurs.” She told him softly. “There are lots more toys over here.”

The blonde boy said nothing still but instead looked at her with bright blue eyes filled with fear.

“Don’t be scared!” Ivy assured him. “Mrs. Sutton is the nicest teacher ever. She always helps us make things out of our snacks after lunch. Yesterday, we made snowmen out of marshmallows and pretzel sticks.”

Mrs. Sutton took notice of Ivy trying to soothe the new student. “Ivy,” the teacher said gently. “This is Nathan. He’s really nervous about starting school. Do you remember how frightened you were the first time your mommy dropped you off?”

Ivy nodded her head quickly, her dark pigtails bouncing as she did so. “My mommy came back though. Your mommy won’t leave you here, Nathan.” she explained to him, though Ivy did struggle with her ‘H’ sounds, so his name sounded more like “Nay-ten.”

“That’s right.” Mrs. Sutton smiled happily. “Everyone’s grown-ups will be here before we know it, so we need to have all the fun we can now. Ivy, do you want to show Nathan where we put our things away in the cubbies and then head to the arts and crafts table?”

The little girl smiled proudly before offering her hand to Nathan, who cautiously took it. As the pair placed Nathan’s Superman backpack into his wooden cubby, Mrs. Sutton looked on in admiration. “If only she could see us now.” Ivy thought to herself as she prepped the coffee pot for a fresh brew.

While waiting for the coffee to be ready, Ivy thought it would be a good idea to go and do a wake-up call for the few members of the bridal party who stayed the night. Morgan, Ivy’s first cousin - though she felt more like a sister, was coming out of the ensuite bathroom as Ivy interred the guest room, a toothbrush hanging from her mouth.

“Today’s the day!” She squealed with excitement. “How are you feeling, Mrs. MacKinnon?”

“I’m not Mrs. MacKinnon yet.” Ivy shook her head, yet grinning from ear to ear. “But I am excited.”

“Oh, please. All this is legalities.” Morgan playfully rolled her eyes. “You two have basically been married since you moved to Denver.”

Morgan was not the only one who felt this way; in fact, almost all of Ivy and Nathan’s close friends and family shared that same mindset. The couple had lived together since they were 18 years old. The first apartment they had was located a couple of blocks from downtown Denver, which meant plenty of drunken nights at the bar with Gabe, Erik, and whatever blonde had decided to hang off their arm that night - even if she nor Nate were legally old enough to drink in the states. (Thank God for bouncers and club owners who were Avalanche fans.)

Ivy left her cousin alone to finish getting ready before the remainder of the bridal party started arriving for brunch. Moving swiftly across the hallway, Ivy tightened her robe around her frame, shivering from the cold air of the house. Her body temperature was never constant, especially if she was indoors. Normally, Nate would be waiting for her back in their king-sized bed, offering his body heat willingly. However, he was awaking at Gabe’s house instead; Ivy was really starting to regret following traditions.

Opening the bedroom door tenderly, a sleeping teenager lay curled under the floral print comforter. Ivy took a moment to admire her baby sister who had just turned thirteen a few weeks ago. She still remembered when Stella was born along with Stella’s twin brother Brody. Ivy was thirteen herself and more than thrilled to finally have not one but two babies to show off as her siblings. She also recalled how much flack her mother caught for having the twins; her family made comments on how traumatizing that it would be for Ivy and how the babies would suffer due to the large age gap between them and their big sister. Those doubters were proved wrong rather quietly as everyone observed and commented on how attentive and protective Ivy was of Brody and Stella. Besides, having new twins sibling was the least traumatic thing to come.

Sitting down on the side of the bed, Ivy reached up and stroked Stella’s long, soft hair; it was the same honey color and soft texture as their mother’s. Immediately feeling a presence, Stella began to stir but not panicked because she knew it was only Ivy.

“Good morning, beautiful.” The older sister greeted lovingly. “It’s time to get up. The other girls will be here soon, and then it’ll be time for hair and makeup.”

“Is Kathy coming?” Stella asks groggily, sitting up to rub the sleep out of her eyes. “Nana Kathy? Yeah, she’s going to meet us-”

“No.” Stella cuts her off. “Sid’s Kathy.”

Breaking out into a smile, Ivy nods her head. “Yeah, Kathy will be here soon too.”

Walking back into the kitchen, the smell of the exotic Columbian filled the room. The special blend was an engagement gift from Sidney and Kathy themselves who were more than thrilled at the news of Ivy and Nate finally tying the knot. Sid’s partner was even more ecstatic when she was asked to be a part of the bridal party. The front door opened, and there Kathy appeared, punctual as usual.

“Good morning!” she chirped happily, squeezing Ivy’s shoulder from behind. “How are you feeling? Any nerves?”

“Morning, Kath.” Ivy smiles. “I’m good! No cold feet here; he’s stuck with me for life after this.”

The blonde lets out her contagious laugh before placing the bottles of champagne she brought into the fridge. Grabbing two coffee mugs from the cabinet, Ivy pours the piping hot beverage into each one. As much as she wants to start the day off with a mimosa, the bride knows how nauseous she will become if she ingests the alcoholic drink before having breakfast.

“You know the drill; make yourself at home,” Ivy tells Kathy as she hands her the mug. “A certain someone is looking forward to seeing you, though. You just might be her perfect motivation to get out of bed and join the festivities. I’m going to go shower.”

Padding back to the master bedroom, Ivy could hear her phone start to ring, signaling an incoming call. Unplugging it from the charger, she saw it was the one and only, Nathan MacKinnon.

“Hello?” Ivy answers, a smile already plastered across her lips.

“Yeah, can I speak to Mrs. Ivy MacKinnon?” His familiar voice asks on the other end of the phone. She can picture exactly what his facial feature look like right now.

“Hm, I don’t think she’s available at the moment.” Ivy teases her fiance. “She should be able to connect with you in a few hours. Did you want to keep your appointment with her at the altar?”

“Oh, yeah, that’d be great! Is there any way I can move the meeting to an earlier time?” “I’m sorry, sir, but she will be booked until the allotted time. We do hope you understand.”

Nate let his boisterous laugh flow through the speaker, unable to keep up the banter anymore. “I hated not waking up to you this morning,” he admitted.

“Same here, Mac.” Ivy pouted, using one of her many pet names for him. “I bet Izzy doesn’t too much mind it, though. She always enjoys her sleepovers with Nana and Papa.”

She just knew Nate’s entire face lit up at the mere mention of their precious little girl.

Izzy Katherine MacKinnon made her grand entrance into the world on February 9, 2020. Her first name, which everyone thought was a little odd at first, came to be randomly, and also to everyone’s surprise was not short for Isabelle. On a particularly chilly November evening, Ivy settled down with Stella in the master bedroom for a girl’s night - which consisted of takeout food, the best bakery cupcakes, and all the romcoms the two could handle - while Nate and Brody headed out to Top Golf with Gabe and Cale. It was Ivy’s turn to pick a movie, and she decided to choose a classic favorite of hers: Legally Blondes. The spin-off of the cult classic that featured Reese Witherspoon was not winning any Oscars by any means, but Ivy was thirteen when she saw the movie, and it quickly became a core memory ingrained into her brain forever.

As the introductory credits came into frame, Ivy truly wasn’t paying the movie too much attention, but neither was Stella; both of them were mindlessly scrolling on their respective screens, though doing two different things. The younger female was chatting with her friends and laughing out loud at the silly TikToks they shared in their group chat, but Ivy was doing something far more important. Her due date was quickly approaching, and baby girl MacKinnon still did not have a set name yet. Both Ivy and Nate had names they each liked, but they just couldn’t agree on one. All of a sudden, a name overheard on the television piqued the woman’s attention.

And then, she heard it again. Izzy.

“That’s it!” Ivy realized, excitedly, turning to look at Stella.

“What?” Stella asked, dumbfounded. “What’s it? What are you talking about?”

“The baby! That’s her name! Izzy.”

“How do you know? Don’t you kinda need to talk about it with Nate first?”

As soon as the words left Stella’s lips, Ivy felt the baby move around in her rounded belly. She placed her hands on her stomach out of instinct to feel the shifting of her daughter.

“I think she likes it.” Ivy beamed.

The family was thrilled Ivy was expecting a baby and even more so when the gender was confirmed to be a little girl. Ivy thought Nate would be slightly disappointed that he wasn’t getting a son for his firstborn but that couldn’t have been further from the truth; the star athlete had always (secretly) hoped his first child would be a tiny baby girl who his world revolved around. Sure enough, Izzy had the 6’0” center wrapped around her teeny finger since the day she was born.

Soon enough, all six members of Ivy’s crew had arrived and gathered in the dining room to quickly eat a beautifully prepared brunch and sip mimosas before the makeup artists and hair stylists started arriving to begin the beautifying. Morgan was the maid-of-honor, and Stella had her role as the junior bridesmaid; her four bridesmaids were Gabe’s wife, Mel, Sid’s long-term partner, Kathy, Nate’s older sister, Sarah, and finally, Ashley - the wife of former Avalance center, Nazem Kadri.

Of course, there would be several other friends and family members in attendance from both Nate’s and Ivy’s respective parties, some of which neither of them had seen recently. Ivy couldn’t help but feel a sharp emotional blow in her chest, though, as there would be one person missing from today’s lovely celebrations.

One very important person.

Ivy’s mom.

TAG LIST: @thetravii @ghostly--photography @eightmakar @fallinallincurls @boqvistsbabe @landeguin @je-ne-regrette-rien

#nathan mackinnon fic #nathan mackinnon #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche fic #nhl fic #nhl #gabriel landeskog #sidney crosby

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offside-the-lines · 4 months

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Am I Ready (To Be Loved) | Nathan MacKinnon

Summary: Nate is not known to be impulsive, especially when it comes to love. So what happens when he gets a crazy idea while hungover the day after the Avalanche Stanley Cup parade. a/n: Happy Holidays folks! My first fic back (on this new blog) is a reworking of a fic I wrote for my Winter Prompt request last year (for @fallinallincurls). Thought I needed to start somewhere. This is obviously set in 2022 because I can't stand the idea of the avs squad being different. It also features some of our fave tropes. Pairing: Nathan McKinnon x Female!OC Words: 8K Warnings: alcohol Requests: Open | Masterlist

Charlotte hated these fancy functions. The schmoozing and the small talk were things that made her feel like she was going to crawl out of her skin. No matter how much she would normally enjoy conversation, this just felt fake. And she knew how ridiculous it was. She worked in media. She was always in front of cameras. She took this job knowing this was a requirement. It doesn’t change the truth that, at her core, she would rather be on the couch watching some TV show on Netflix.

Although this wasn’t the first formal event she’d ever been to, this was the first Colorado Avalanche donors’ function. It didn’t help that she had only been working as a correspondent for Altitude TV for a few months; so many knew her name and her face, but no one really knew her personally. So, it was just smile, small talk, comment on the Avs, rinse and repeat.

After an hour or so of this, she was feeling done. Heading to the bar for a drink and found a cocktail table in the corner of the room, tucked near the obscenely large Christmas Tree, where she could just stand and watch. Charlotte looked around the room and wondered how long she had to stay before it was not inappropriate to leave.

“Hate these parties too, eh?” a familiar voice rang beside her.

Despite her shattered solitude, the voice brought out a smile on her face. “What do you mean? I don’t hate this?” she replied, not putting in much effort to hide the sarcasm in her voice. She turned to face the voice and the sight almost startled her a little as she felt her face warm. There stood Nathan Mackinnon in his perfectly tailored navy suit, eyes shining in the dim lighting. She takes a drink quickly to distract herself, reminding herself to be a professional.

“Sure,” he chuckled, “hiding in a dark corner isn’t avoiding the party, Charlotte.”

She shrugs as she turns her eyes back to the party.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers in her ear, making her neck tingle a little, “I really don’t like these parties either. I would rather be at home on the couch with my dog watching TV.”

As he leaned back to sip his drink, she turned to him in surprise. “Oh yeah? Like what? More hockey tape?”

After a bit of light banter, they find that they have the same favorite show, much to Charlotte’s surprise. In the dim corner of a fancy event, they are quoting their favorite lines to each other, trying their hardest not to burst out laughing, hiding themselves behind their drinks so as to not draw too much attention at such a fancy event. Charlotte’s laughing so hard she snorts a little, causing Nate to look at her in surprise before continuing to laugh even harder, drawing some looks from the donors and teammates closest to them. After a while, when they both finally calm down, she feels herself relax a little.

They stood in a comfortable silence for a few more moments before Nate spoke up again. “You know, Charlotte. You ask me questions all the time, but I don’t think I really know anything about you other than your name and your job title.”

“I mean, I only really ever ask you questions about the game or the team,” she responds.

“Yeah, but I’m sure you already know everything there is to know about me,” he said pointedly, but softly. He had a point; it was her job to know as much about the players as possible.

“Okay, I know about NHL Hockey Player, Avs’ Center, Forward Extraordinaire Nathan “Nate the Dogg” Mackinnon,” she says, flashing her hands in front as if to signal an imaginary banner, “I don’t know Nate “a dude who sits on his couch with his dog watching dumb shows” Mackinnon.”

“Alright, that’s fair,” he responds deep in thought. “Fine, how about we play 20 questions? You ask me a question; I ask you a question.”

“How very high school, Nathan,” she pauses to think about it. She wasn’t really sure how to feel about this new friendship. On the one hand, it is her job to get to know the players. Although, she was pretty sure that the fraternizing was only supposed to be in professional contexts. On the other hand, her heart was beating so hard that she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. And at the end of the day, it was Nathan Mackinnon, and he wanted to get to know her. Besides, she knew that he didn’t really date anyway, so she felt safe that there was one of them keeping their feelings in check. Eventually, she responds with a nod, “Sure.”

“Okay!” He said excitedly, his blue eyes lighting up, “Where are you from? Where did you grow up and go to college and stuff?”

“Nathan, that’s two questions. Should I deduct points from you?”

“There are points now?”

“I’m just kidding.”

And so, they went back and forth getting to know each other, talking animatedly, and laughing heartily, until they got through the 20 questions each. At one point, they had migrated to a table to continue sitting down because Nate noticed she was shifting on her feet from the heels. Charlotte was pretty certain that Nate now knew her better than anyone else in Denver.

Eventually, EJ came over and tapped Nate on the shoulder at which point she looked up and realized that most of his teammates and donors had left and they were a few of the last people remaining in the event space.

“Hey,” EJ smiled at you in his signature toothless way, “good to see you’re having fun, Charlotte.”

“Thanks, EJ,” she smiled back.

“Mac Daddy, you’re kind of my ride home, so… are you ready to leave?” EJ said laughing and looked at Charlotte, “I don’t think I’ve ever had to pull Nathan here away from a party before. He is usually begging me to leave.”

Nate bumped his elbow into EJ, not drawing much of a response, as he quickly looked away from her. She could have sworn his cheeks were turning a little pink, but that could also be the lighting.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s late and I want to be up for morning skate tomorrow, unlike you lazy idiots,” Nathan grumbled standing up.

She stood up too, only now realizing how tired you were. “Yeah, damn, it’s late. Well, I had a great time talking to you Nathan,” sending him a warm smile and a nod, “EJ. See you two later.”

As she started walking away, she heard some whispers behind her before Nate called out, “Hey, Charlotte, you good to get home? I mean, do you need a ride?”

“Oh, um… Actually… Sure. That would be nice. Thanks!”

She saw EJ whisper something in Nate’s ear before he was quickly shoved away. Suddenly feeling awkward, she trailed behind them quietly to Nate’s car. As soon as it was in sight, EJ called shotgun and started making a run for it, slipping a little on the ice, making Charlotte and Nate snort with laughter.

Nate offered a hand to guide her across the slippery ground and opened the car door for her, keeping his hand on her as she climbed in. She directed Nate to her apartment, thanking him and EJ quickly as she left. Once she got into her apartment, Charlotte leaned against the door and just smiled for a bit.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the car, EJ was basically yelling at Nate.

“Dude, you dog, what was that?”

“EJ, stop.”

“No, I’m serious. I’ve never seen you talk to someone for that long. Not even Barrie or Sid.”

“She was easy to talk to. And it was a good way to get through the event.”

“Nate, don’t give me that bullshit.” EJ’s voice is rarely serious, but it is now.

“I don’t know what to tell you, dude.” Nate shrugged.

The rest of the ride to EJ’s house is quiet and as Nate pulled into the driveway, EJ finally spoke up again, “Tell me you at least got her number.”

“Shit,” Nate let out under his breath before he could stop himself.

“Oh my god, you idiot. You didn’t get her number.”

Nate let out a groan and tapped his forehead firmly on his steering wheel in frustration. As EJ shook his head, and said his goodbyes, Nate’s head was whirring with thoughts. There was no smooth way to ask for her number now. It’s like he missed an exit on the freeway and there was no way off now. The alcohol and the adrenaline meant he didn’t sleep much that night and, for the first time in a very long time, he didn’t make it to the optional morning skate, much to the surprise of everyone.

The rest of the season flew by as the team soared through the playoffs. Nate kept thinking about ways to ask Charlotte for her number but just couldn’t stop overthinking it and psyching himself out; eventually deciding to table the topic until after the season was over to focus on the Cup. But he reveled in every intermission or postgame interview where they got to talk, or the little conversations they would get to have in the arena or on the plane. Occasionally, he’d even slip in a hug, taking in her perfume, under the guise of celebration.

The gossip had now spread through the group — not surprising since EJ has never once kept a secret — and had been an ongoing chirp for Nate. It didn’t help that at the two galas since, Nate was the first one there excitedly scanning the room, but Charlotte wasn’t at either. He’d learn she was covering the Nuggets or the Rapids those nights and would then leave as early as possible.

It got even harder to not think about her as he neared the end of the season, where every phone call with his mom would eventually turn to his cousin’s wedding in the summer and whether he was going to bring a date. Family weddings were the one time he felt he couldn’t leave early, forcing himself to endure the suffering that was being single in your late twenties and watching people be in love. Not to mention all the comments and questions: wanting gossip, wanting a date, feeling sorry for him.

* * *

Charlotte was happy with the casual platonic friendship that she had found with Nate. She always looked forward to talking with him at games because he was always more relaxed with her than the other boys, even occasionally giving her a sweaty hug after a good, exciting win. Her co-workers had made some comments about how unusual it was, but she just chalked it up to them knowing each other better now.

The job kept her busy, busier than anticipated. And it felt like the year had flown by before she found herself at the celebration gala for the newly crowned Stanley Cup Champions. The atmosphere was different from the last event she had been to. That one was for schmoozing. This was only for celebrating. The energy in the room was intoxicating and she had a big smile plastered to her face as soon as she walked in.

Charlotte made her way through the crowd and congratulated everyone she saw and recognized. Eventually, she stumbled into Gabe.

“Congratulations, Gabe!” you yelled.

“Lotteee! Thank you!” he yelled back, pulling her in for a tight hug before spinning her around. He was so drunk, but he did look unbelievably happy. When he finally put her down, he grabbed her by the arm and very dramatically whispered in her ear while pointing, “Nate’s that way.”

She looked at him confused and surprised, but he didn’t let her say anything before not so gently pushing her towards Nate. And she didn’t protest, because when she finally saw him, she felt her heart speed up again. He looked jubilant, swaying slightly with EJ, face pink and hair messy. She had learned over the last month or so that she really liked the way he looked with the playoff beard.

Charlotte wasn’t sure whether to disturb whatever EJ and Nate were doing, but once EJ saw her, he let out a screech so loud she had no choice but to turn toward them. “Charlotte! Lotte! Lott Ness Monster! Come here!” But once you got here, he immediately left, vanishing to leave her standing in front of the very flushed Nathan Mackinnon.

“Hi Nathan, congratulations! Well deserved. It’s been an absolute privilege watching you this season,” she said, unsure what to do as her heart kept racing faster at the way drunk Nate was looking at her.

“Oh, stop with that professional speech and give me a hug,” he slurred, pulling her in tightly.

She chuckled and let herself enjoy the warmth and the firm contours of his body against her before forcing herself to pull away. He only let her get so far, leaving one arm still wrapped around her shoulders.

“It’s nice to see you enjoying yourself at an event like this,” she said softly.

“Well, I had to! You weren’t at the last two of these, so I had to find a way to entertain myself with EJ,” he said, pouting. She had certainly never seen him pout, but she was even more surprised that he noticed and cared.

“Oh! Yeah, I had work. Sorry.”

“I know. Who even cares about the Nuggets.” he mumbled under his breath before throwing his head back and yelling a quick “GO AVS!” that was followed by a loud round of cheers. After a few seconds, he piped up excited again, “Are you enjoying yourself today?”

“Um… I think so! It’s nice to see everyone so happy and energetic.” Her eyes scanned the crowd, smiling until she caught Gabe and EJ staring and pointing at them. Before she had the chance to ask Nate what that was about, he was pulling her towards Mikko on the other side of the room.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of drinks, laughs, and the warm firm feeling of Nate’s arm around her shoulders. With each passing drink, she found herself leaning into it more. She was sure her face was so red that it rivaled JT’s hair. But if the boys noticed, which they were too drunk to notice, they didn’t mention it. And even if they did, she doesn’t remember.

* * *

The next morning Nate woke up with the worst hangover of his life. He had collapsed on top of all his sheets fully naked, and so he also woke up with a slight feeling of shame and dread at what he might have done the night before. When he finally reached over to check his phone, it was blowing up with messages.

gabe the babe (INCOMING): dude did nate finally hook up with the lott ness monster

JT (INCOMING): omg nate, you have to tell us if you did

mooseman (INCOMING): he definitely did, did you not see how he literally didn’t stop touching her the whole night

Nate buried his head in his sheets and groaned, trying to rack his brain for memories of himself being an idiot around Charlotte last night. But he was drawing a blank. After minutes, he finally lifted his head again and opened a private text to EJ.

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): ej, please tell me you remember if I did something stupid last night

EJ (INCOMING): yeah. you did.

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): FUCK what did I do

EJ (INCOMING): you didn’t take lotte home with you you fucking idiot

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): what

EJ (INCOMING): you just fucking disappeared in an uber without even saying goodbye. and EYE had to make sure she got home okay

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): oh, well it could’ve been worse

EJ (INCOMING): HOW

EJ (INCOMING): HOW COULD IT HAVE BEEN WORSE

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): idk if I did something stupid or said something bad

EJ (INCOMING): dude, you have got to ask her out, you two clearly like each other

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): i have no idea what you’re talking about. we're just friends. we just work together. like you and me

EJ (INCOMING): YEAH RIGHT DOGG if you were touching me all night like that, we would be having a very different conversation ;)

EJ (INCOMING): please tell me you at least have her number now

Nate paused and thought back to the night before, but it was such a blur he didn’t know. But when he looked in his contacts, her number wasn’t there.

Nate Dogg (OUTGOING): nope

EJ (INCOMING): you are so fucking hopeless. i hope you find a pair at home this summer so you will finally do something about this crush

EJ (INCOMING): or maybe when we come back in the fall, she won’t be so single anymore and it won’t matter

Nate felt his stomach turn and he groaned. The hangover finally hit him but he was typing a sarcastic response when another message interrupted his thought.

Sarah (INCOMING): congrats again bro! are you bringing someone to the wedding?

Nate (OUTGOING): wow, really cutting to the chase this morning.

Nate (OUTGOING): and no.

Sarah (INCOMING): what you’re telling me a stanley cup winner can’t find a date

Nate groaned again and muffled a scream in his pillow. He knew that his sister and mom would not drop this subject from the moment he got home. He knew that they would probably try to set him on dates, or worse introduce him to every single woman at the wedding. He lay there, head on his pillow, for a long time, until finally, he had an absolutely insane idea. An idea that can only come to someone after the happiest day of their life followed by the biggest hangover of their life.

Nate (OUTGOING): fine, I’ll bring someone

Sarah (INCOMING): OH MY GOD WHAT WHO

Sarah (INCOMING): NATHAN RAYMOND MACKINNON IF YOU’VE BEEN DATING SOMEONE THIS WHOLE TIME AND HIDING IT FROM ME, I’LL KILL YOU. I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU’VE WON.

Nate (OUTGOING): nope, not telling

Sarah (INCOMING): you are a child and i hate you

Nate (OUTGOING): I love you. See you soon.

Sarah (INCOMING): URGH

Sarah (INCOMING): Love you too. I’m calling mom.

* * *

Charlotte woke up with a splitting headache and the room spinning at 6 am. And despite how horribly she felt, she couldn’t get back to sleep. She could still feel Nate’s arm on her shoulder, and his lips against her ear as he whispered something unintelligible, and the scent of his cologne lingering on her hair would waft into her memory every few seconds making her heart skip. She was absolutely certain that he was more drunk than she was, and that he was a touchy drunk. She felt even a little guilty for taking advantage of his touchiness, getting as much as she could last night.

After a few hours of being unable to get back to sleep, she peeled herself up and drew herself a bath with a cup of tea. She still wasn’t able to stomach food yet, but she felt her body relaxing in the warm water, finally letting Nate slip from her mind. Eventually, she got up and padded around the house thinking about the long summer ahead. It was her first summer with not a lot of work to do, and since it was her first year in Denver, she also didn’t really know many people or have any concrete plans.

She had just sat down at her computer to research ideas when she heard a buzz on her apartment intercom. She looked down at her phone confused, but there were no texts there from the few friends she had made so far.

“Hello?” she stutters cautiously into the intercom.

“Oh my god, thank fuck,” a familiar voice rang back, “it’s you. I’ve been buzzing every apartment and I swear your neighbors think I’m a crazy person.”

“What?”

“Um. Oh. Sorry, Charlotte. It’s Nate.”

She was stunned silent. Stunned and confused.

“Um… Nathan Mackinnon…” He filled the silence nervously, “You know… From the Avalanche.”

That snapped her out of her trance as a laugh bubbled out of her. “Oh my god Nathan, I know who you are. Sorry. I was just confused. How do you know where I live?”

“Um, well when we first met, I dropped you off here. So, I made the gamble that you still lived here and just buzzed every apartment to see.”

“Oh. Wow,” she says, stunned, confused and flattered, “Um, is everything okay?”

“Ah, yeah.” He paused. “You know, I just realized how dumb this was. I’m really sorry to disturb you—”

“No!” she says louder than she intended, “No, Nathan, wait. Let me buzz you up.”

“Oh, okay, yeah! Thanks!”

She paced around her entryway, thoughts racing. The door knocks still startled her, and as she walked over, she looked down at her sweatpants and realized there definitely was no time to change and prayed she looked okay.

“Hi, Nathan,” she smiled, opening the door, “Um, do you want to come in?”

“Oh, sure,” he hesitates and makes a gesture to hug her before chickening out, pulling away and stepping past her.

“So, what brings you to my humble abode today?”

“Your apartment is cute.”

“Thanks. It’s not NHL superstar level, but it’s pretty good to me.”

He chuckles and leans a hip on the kitchen island, stuffing his hands into his pockets. His eyes were firmly trained on the ground. She wasn’t really sure what to say, so she moved behind him to start making them both some tea. He studies her as she moves around and wonders how it’s possible she looks so good in your sweatpants and messy bun when he feels like his entire guts might just drop out of his body.

Eventually, he spoke up, “Um, so I realized I didn’t have your number.”

This made her laugh, a proper belly laugh. “What,” she manages to get out, “you came all the way here because you don’t have my number.”

“Well…” he hesitates, “Yeah. I mean, I never asked for it I guess.”

“Okay, do you want it now?” she was still laughing.

“Um, yes?” He was shifting on his feet, rubbing his neck with his hand, leaning awkwardly on the countertop.

“Okay,” she reached a hand out.

He looks at her confused and gives it a slap.

“That was for your phone, silly. Not for a five,” she was laughing even harder now. And his cheeks turned bright red as he handed her his phone, not meeting her eyes. She passes the phone back to him along with a cup of tea, “There you go. So… What was the huge rush? You could’ve emailed me or something for it.”

He paused and laughed, “Honestly, I didn’t even think of that. I guess my brain doesn’t work very well when I’m hungover.”

Charlotte took a seat next to him on the kitchen island as they sipped their teas.

After a few minutes, he clears his throat. “Actually, that’s not why I came over. I mean it, but it isn’t the main reason.”

“Okay?” she encouraged.

“I had a really stupid idea and it was stupid at the time, but now I’m here it’s even dumber. So, I’ll just settle for the number.”

“Okay, Nathan, you can’t just say something that cryptic and not tell me.”

His face went bright red again and he shuffled in place. “No, it’s okay.”

“Okay, no. You don’t get to interrupt my hangover recovery and not tell me why.”

He sighed and looked away. After a while, he mumbled under his breath very quickly, “Fine. Icameheretoaskyouifyou’dcometomycousin’swedding.”

“What?” she said, not sure if she misinterpreted the mumbles or if she was dreaming.

“Um… Well, my cousin, back in Nova Scotia, is getting married in a few weeks. And my mom and sister keep bothering me to bring someone. And I just had this stupid idea. Because you’re the only person I’ve had fun with at those big events. So, this morning, in my post-Stanley Cup alcohol delirium I thought Hey, I should ask Charlotte if she wants to help me survive a social event and get my parents off my ass about not having a date? So here I am. But obviously, that was insane. So don’t worry about it.”

Charlotte looked at him, mouth open, in shock for longer than acceptable, and felt her own cheeks redden. A little lightheaded, before she could really stop to think, she responded, “Sure! I mean why not? What’s the harm in me going? I don’t have any plans.”

His head snapped up to meet her eyes for the first time in a few minutes and Charlotte is captivated by the way his sharp blues light up in response. It was when she saw the smile take over his face and her heart sped up that she knew this was probably a huge mistake. But a mistake she didn’t want to take back.

* * *

“So, how long have you two cuties been dating?” the fifth person in a row asked. Charlotte wasn’t sure if this was an aunt or a family friend, but she forced the smile back on her face as she responded.

“Oh, we’re not dating. We work together, kind of.”

The lady looked between the two of them, and Charlotte could feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickle again as she was acutely aware of Nate’s hand resting on her lower back.

“She’s here as my date, yes, but we aren’t dating. We’re just good friends,” he replies gently but firmly, the same way he had been doing all weekend, before changing the subject.

But she was lost in thought. She had been here for a few days, and she had to admit that Nova Scotia was beautiful, and Nate’s family and friends were wonderful. Despite not knowing Nate super well, she had never felt out of place. He had always made sure she was included in conversations, explaining anything that felt like an inside joke. She thought back to all the times she had met a boyfriend’s family — there hadn’t been that many, but enough to know that this was far better than any of them did.

Nate had been awkward and hesitant at first, jumping away every time he touched her by accident on the plane ride over and flinching when their knuckles brushed when he went to help her grab her luggage. But he slowly allowed himself to loosen up a little, reading her lack of discomfort as a good sign. He always prided himself on acting like a gentleman; even though women complained that he was stiff and unromantic, he tried. He found himself putting in an extra effort to hold open the door for her, to pull out a chair for her, to offer an elbow as she walked on the uneven pavement.

If Nate was in his head about every move he made, Charlotte was ten times more in her head. They had only really spent time together at work and work functions. And she wasn’t sure if that’s why something felt different here, more intimate, or if she was just imagining it. She was starting to feel like he was going out of his way to touch her; laying a hand on her knee when they were sitting next to each other, tapping her elbow to show her something, keeping a hand on her back when they were standing.

She had tried her hardest not to lean into his touch every time, but she couldn’t deny the comfort his large hand on her back felt—god, was his hand always this large. It was never too low as to be intrusive; just resting chastely on her mid back to remind her that he was there and was ready to take a break from the socializing at any point.

Whether she was imagining it or not, it was starting to drive her insane. Her skin constantly felt buzzing and hot, tingling in the places he touched, electrified in the places closest to him that craved his touch.

Nate’s low voice in her ear startled her out of her thoughts.

“Hmm?” she responded as she felt her neck and ear flush with the brush of his lips on her ear.

“Oh, I was just asking if you want to go for a walk,” he murmured, “you’re looking a little overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, sure,” she breathed, her voice coming out a little shaky with how close his tall frame was to her.

And so, she reached out and took his extended elbow as they slipped out of the rehearsal dinner and wandered down to the waterfront in silence.

“I can totally see why you love it here,” she finally said.

“Hmm?” he hummed.

“It’s beautiful. The water. With the lights reflecting. And all the beautiful trees. And the fresh air. I can understand why you love coming here in the summer.”

“Yeah, it’s truly something,” he looked over at her with an unreadable expression on his face, but his eyes were warm and soft. It looked like he wanted to say something for a second before he shook his head and looked away. “I’m glad you came with me. You make these big events bearable.”

“Just bearable, Nathan?” she laughed, trying to break the tension in the air she couldn’t really explain. And his chuckles were quick to join hers in the warm summer air.

And just like that, they fell into a comfortable rhythm again, laughing and chatting. Eventually, he walked her back to the hotel and their adjoining rooms.

“Well, here you go, m’lady,” he joked, letting his arm fall from her for the first time in a while. He began to turn towards his room but hesitated for a second before turning back and pulling her into a tight hug. She let herself melt into the hug, embracing the warm buzzing feeling in her chest as she felt his larger frame engulf her. He didn’t let go when she thought he was going to, instead whispering in her ear, “Thank you.”

“Thank me for what, Nathan?”

“For coming with me. For being so good with my family, even though they keep asking intrusive questions. For just being you,” he said, pulling back. They were standing so close together that she could see every shade of blue in his eyes as they looked at her intently. She swore she saw his eyes flicker to her lips briefly before the smallest sharp intake of breath he tried to hide as he untangled from her. She could feel her body ache a little as her cheeks burned.

She didn’t know if it was the glasses of wine or the dizzying tension, but before she could stop herself, she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “Of course, Nathan,” she murmured, “good night.” She smiled as she turned away and opened her hotel room door as quickly as possible.

She didn’t dare to take a peek back at him, but if she had, she would have seen his eyes wide, and cheeks flushed in shock. Instead, she quickly ducked into the room, shutting the door behind her, leaning back against the cold wood, and closing her eyes. What the fuck am I doing, she said to herself, Nate is a sweet guy, who I work with. I’m just doing him a favor. And he clearly thinks I’m just a good friend, as he keeps saying to everyone. Get it together.

She walked away and started getting ready for bed. It took her a long time to fall asleep that night, tossing and turning as her mind raced through the moments of the day, all the little touches and glances and the sparkle in Nate’s blue eyes.

* * *

The following day was the wedding, and the morning passed comfortably despite neither of them acknowledging the moment they both wanted to talk about so badly. Soon, she found herself sitting beside him in the church, watching the beautiful bride stand next to her adoring groom.

While the ceremony went on, Nate was having a hard time staying out of his thoughts as the celebrant talked about love and marriage and as the happy couple exchanged adoring words with each other. It was not that he hated weddings, not at all; in fact, he loved them. He loved the celebration and the emotion. But as the years went on, it became a stunning reminder of what he did not have. With every wedding and every failed relationship in between, he felt more alone, like maybe something was wrong with him.

Charlotte noticed that Nate seemed emotional, lost in his thoughts. She had no idea what was going through his mind, but she could sense that he was troubled. At some point during the ceremony, when Nate found himself particularly emotional, he had reached his hand over and grasped hers. She had to try hard to hold back the small gasp that threatened to escape her lips. But seeing his troubled expression, she squeezed his hand. And, inexplicably to her, his hand never left hers, not during the rest of the ceremony, or the walk over to the cocktail hour space. He only reluctantly let go to help her to her seat once they got to the reception.

Although they both enjoyed the reception food, they had both been so deep in their own thoughts that their conversation with the table was stilted and almost awkward. Eventually, as the night wore on, and the gentle fuzz of liquor started to take over, they both started to relax. Nate, after starting and stopping for almost 15 minutes, finally asked her to dance; his heart rate racing as she excitedly nodded yes.

Which is how they found themselves on the dancefloor for over an hour. At first, it was awkward. They were standing a foot apart, dancing independently; she, laughing at Nate’s horrible dance moves, and Nate, feeling electrified by the way her body moved. Eventually, they got closer and closer together until they were swaying in each other’s arms to some horrible Mariah Carey song, making snide remarks in each other’s ears and not caring how obnoxiously loud they were laughing at the jokes.

A few drinks later, their inhibitions were lowered enough that she found herself with her back against him. His arms wrapped firmly around her waist as she leaned into his warm, towering figure. Both of them were no longer sure if they were intoxicated by each other or the drinks, but they did not really care. After they were grinding to a Doja Cat song, she swore she felt something press against her back, but she was not sure as Nate swiftly excused himself to use the bathroom.

And that’s how she found herself at the bar by herself.

“Nate really likes you, you know?” she heard a voice say beside her. When she looked over, she saw his mom giving her a knowing glance.

“Oh, Mrs. Mackinnon, we’re just friends,” Charlotte managed to choke out, despite feeling her throat tighten.

“I know, sweetie, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be more there,” she smiled, laying a soft hand on her forearm. She had never felt herself sober up faster.

“I appreciate that, but we do work together,” she strained.

“Please, call me Kathy,” she continued, not acknowledging Charlotte’s weak protest. And when she did not respond, Kathy added, “You know, I’ve met a number of his girlfriends, and he had never looked at them the way he looks at you. Or even treated them the same way. He’s barely left your side since you got here.”

“Kathy, I’m sure that’s not true. You have raised an amazing son. I’m sure he is just as kind to anyone.” She could feel her cheeks feel heat as she started scanning the room, desperate for Nate’s return.

“Sweetheart,” Kathy spoke softly, “I have been married for many years. There is only one reason a person looks at someone the way he looks at you, and that’s love. If you feel the same way, you should tell him. Don’t stand in the way of your own happiness, dear. Life is too short.”

She smiled as her husband came to stand next to her; and before Charlotte could protest again, she gave her a gentle hug before walking away, leaving her standing there with her head spinning at her words.

Charlotte gripped the edge of the bar and downed her drink in one go once the bartender handed it to her, earning an eyebrow raise. She jumped and let out a little squeak when she felt a warm hand press into her back.

“Woah, it’s just me,” Nate joked before he met her eyes and his brows furrowed, “are you okay?”

“Um, yeah,” she croaked out stiffly.

“Are you sure?” he stepped in closer which only made her stiffen more, “You seem… I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable?”

“What?” she tried to say calmly, although it came out an octave too high, “What makes you say that? Nope. I’m fine.”

He furrowed his brow more and leaned back, confused, before removing his hand from her back and stuffing them in his pockets. There was a twinge of sadness in his eye as he looked around, unsure what to do. “Okay, then. Do you want to go back on the dance floor? Or I guess not. We could sit back at our table?”

“Yeah,” she said awkwardly, finding a normal tone again, “Table sounds good.”

They sat in silence for a bit, just watching the other guests dancing, both deep in thought. She was stuck thinking about what Nate’s mom had said. If she thought about it, she could totally understand why an outside observer would see their relationship as something more than friends. But if Nate had feelings for her, why did he so insistently refer to her as his “good friend”? And even if he did like her, she wasn’t sure about the implications for her job. Was she going to get fired? Probably not, if she was upfront with HR. But she was new to the city and relatively new to the field. What if people started to see her as the girl who ‘goes for the stars’ or the girl who’s ‘just here to get in some rich athlete’s pants’. She had worked too hard not to be taken seriously now. And maybe if things worked out, it would eventually blow over. But if it didn’t work out… If it didn’t work out, she wasn’t sure what would happen, but she felt it would be bad.

Meanwhile, Nate was panicking; combing through every moment of the evening, trying to find where things went wrong. He was finally feeling like he had an idea of how she felt. Like maybe if he told her his feelings, she would reciprocate. Did he go too far with the dancing? Was Drunk Nate too caught up in the moment and did something inappropriate and unwanted? Nate was never much of a verbal processor — he preferred to stew on things first, — and maybe it was the remnants of the alcohol lingering in his system but he felt the words trying to bubble up in his chest. He didn’t even know what the words would be; maybe words to explain how he felt about her, to make sure he didn’t do something wrong, to make sure she was okay.

When she finally felt the grip on her chest loosen and the thoughts begin to slow a little, she snuck a quick glance at Nate. His jaw was set firm, and brows furrowed. He was staring into the crowd on the dancefloor, but he was clearly not watching them. He looked tense, and she could see the panic she felt reflected on his face. She found herself reaching out and taking his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze; a move that clearly surprised him as he jumped a little before smiling and relaxing into it.

“Nate, I’m actually getting kind of tired. I’m thinking of heading back to the room. Did you want to stay longer?” she said gently.

He squeezed her hand back and gave her a small smile, although the worry hadn’t left the contours of his face yet, “No, I’m actually ready to head back too. Come on.” He pulled her onto her feet.

They took the ten-minute walk back to the hotel in relative silence, tethered together by their interlocked hands. Nate spent the whole walk back planning his speech; he was going to tell her how he felt because he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Holding hands with her just felt so right. But for her, despite how nice it felt, it caused an overwhelming sense of panic to rush back through her. It was nice. It was too nice. It was going to ruin everything.

Stepping out of the elevator, the words escaped her lips before she had the chance to hold them back. “Nate, I think this was a mistake,” her voice was barely above a whisper. He froze beside her and managed to choke out a “What?”

“Nate,” she said, pulling her hand away from him and backing towards her door, “This is giving me a taste of what I can’t have. And this friendship… I don’t think I can do this.”

“What are you talking about?” he replied, still stuck in the spot where she left him, his voice louder than he had intended.

“The touching, the holding hands, the being sweet… It’s too much,” she said, unlocking the door, not meeting his eyes.

“What—” he repeated, his voice cracking at the end. Her mind didn’t process that the pain she felt was echoed in his voice.

She sighed, stepping into the doorway, “I can’t do this, Nate. Because if we keep doing this, I’m going to fall in love with you. And I can’t do that while being your ‘good friend from work’. So, I’m going to bed. Good night.” She finally met his eye as she stepped back to shut the door, barely registering the way his face flickered from hurt to confusion to shock to hope.

Charlotte rested her forehead against the door and let out a shaky breath. She could feel the tears form and slide down her face. She tried to convince herself that it was the right move, but the only thing she could hear in her head was the sound of Nate’s mother’s voice saying ‘Don’t stand in the way of your own happiness, dear. Life is too short.’ What if Kathy was right? What if protecting herself from pain was causing more pain itself? What if it would work out? As she stood there, she listened for movement on the other side of the door, but she heard none. Was that hope she saw in his face there? If it was, what did it mean?

Before she could finish the thought, she heard shuffles and a rapid knock on the door that startled her. She didn’t know why, but she opened it without hesitation.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I did something earlier that made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry if I'm crossing a boundary now but I would never forgive myself if I didn't say this," he said, looking at her with concern. When she nodded, he continued speaking.

He confessed to her that he had never been this person before, love-struck and irrational. He had always been calm, detached, and calculated, but with her, he couldn't help it. He couldn't help being rash, like inviting her to the wedding or reaching out to touch her and be close to her.

She had told him that she couldn't do this because she was scared of falling in love with him, but he revealed that he might already be in love with her. He had been saying that she was just a friend and a colleague because he was scared, but he had never felt this way before and was afraid he would mess it up.

During the wedding ceremony, he looked around at everyone and realized that he had won the Stanley Cup this year, but he still felt off. He kept thinking about her - how her laughter made him want to make her laugh again, how her smile warmed his chest, and how he could still feel the tingle where their skin had touched even after she left.

He admitted that he had never been sure if he had truly been in love before, and maybe this was it. He thought they owed it to themselves to find out because he believed she might feel the same way. He knew it might not be the most rational decision, but it was everything he had to say.

Feeling a shaky breath escape her lips, she heard the voice in her mind, "Don't stand in the way of your own happiness, dear. Life is too short." For the first time on this trip, she felt her mind still and smiled as she closed the distance between them. With her chest pressed to him, she looked up at him, admiring his soft and nervous blue eyes. She reached up to cup his neck and met him in a kiss.

The kiss was gentle and soft at first, as she chastely felt their bodies slot together; his hands finding her waist, and hers fisting his suit jacket to bring him closer. After not long, she felt Nate run his tongue along her lip and she allowed herself to deepen the kiss, conveying the emotion that was hard to put into words. The feeling of his firm hands against her waist and his muscular body against hers again made her feel as though she were on fire. And she had to admit, she liked this quite a lot. Eventually, they disconnected and rested their foreheads together as they took in the moment.

“So, are you going to say something?” Nate whispered.

“Yeah, uh, ditto,” she whispered back, giggling slightly.

“That’s it?!” he leaned back in mock horror, “After I poured my heart out, that’s all you have to say?” She could see a smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, I think for the first time in your life, you have spoken enough words for both of us, Nathan,” she laughed as she gave his chin a little pinch, drawing a laugh from him as well. She leaned back in to place another firm kiss on his lips before saying, “I like you a lot too. Like a lot a lot. It scares me. But, as the kids say, you only live once, and I need to stop being scared and just see where this goes because I think I might be in love with you, Nathan, and I need to find out if I am.”

He smiled broadly; it’s the smile she loves, the one where his nose scrunches a little and she can see the genuine happiness on his face. And as their lips rejoined, she slowly started to pull him back into her hotel room.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” he says, disconnecting their lips briefly.

“Uh, right now? Sure, I guess,” she raised her eyebrow.

“Why do you always call me Nathan? Everyone always calls me Nate.” The question catches her off-guard and she laughed as she continued dragging him into your room.

“I was trying to remind myself to stay professional and not fall for you,” she laughed as she felt the back of her legs hit the edge of the bed.

“Right…That worked so well, I’ll have to remember that one for the future, Miss Charlotte,” he laughed back before kissing her again so deeply and passionately that she forgot whatever retort was on the tip of her tongue.

#Nathan mackinnon #colorado avalanche #Nathan mackinnon imagine #Colorado Avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #avs #Nathan mackinnon fic #Colorado Avalanche fic #avs imagine #avs fic #hockey imagines #rox writes

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alltaternotot · 5 months

Text

See me | K. Macdermid

Possessive!Kurits X fem!reader

A/N: I think Kurtis Macdermid is the biggest bestest gentle giant ever, and he needs more love, so hopefully you enjoy this dear reader (At the time of posting this he had a MASSIVE game winner goal, love that for him).

Summary: Kurtis and Y/N are great friends, best friends even. Y/N has a terrible day that brings her over to his apartment. Kurtis has a lot to say, but doesn’t want to ruin anything…

CW: fluff, friends/neighbors to lovers, Emotional Hurt comfort??? Mentions of cheating (NOT Kurtis he would never). Swearing. Let me know if I missed anything!

NSFW: fun giggly soft morning sex, praise, size difference and possessiveness if you squint.

Word count: 6k

<><><><>

“Please tell me you have ice cream here.” YN said into the dark entryway leading into Kurtis’s apartment, the glare of the tv in the living room shining.

Y/N and Kurtis had known each other for six years now, but felt like they had known each other forever. He was easily one of her best friends. She was his next door neighbor, her living in 305 and him in 304. Kurt’s mom left him a plant the day he moved in that she insisted he needed to take care of to “teach him the responsibility of taking care of something”. She left it despite him explaining for the millionth time that he can’t keep a live plant when he travels half of the season at the bare minimum.

This turned into sweet 22 year old Kurtis sheepishly knocking on her door about an hour before he had to leave for his first roadie of the year; introducing himself and pleading with her to water his plant so his mom wouldn’t lose it when she visited for the holidays. Y/N smiled and agreed, only for him to slap a key into her hand and shuffle his carryon and suit bag out her door again. When he came back a week and a half later, his plant was thriving in the windowsill, and Y/N had left a container of soup in his fridge with a note. He knocked on her door again, empty container in hand, sheepishly admitting he forgot to ask for her name, and their friendship took off.

Kurtis never saw himself being best friends with the cute girl who lived next door, let alone having her around as much as they could manage with their schedules. She made him look forward to downtime at home, and watering that silly plant that was still living in his windowsill all these years later. She brought him out of his shell on nights out, and helped him keep his bloody knuckles clean after big fights. She even gave him nicknames that he prayed would never see the light of day, like K-cup and K-mart (he secretly loved them, but his teammates would lose their minds).

At some point along the line, butterflies started to flutter in his stomach when he heard Y/N laugh or when she would get in a giddy mood after a couple too many while out with his teammates. He was absolutely enthralled with his best friend, and he had absolutely no idea how to tell her without destroying every good thing that had come out of their friendship. He was happy being her best friend for now, but he couldn’t help feeling jealous of her dates and thinking about her when she wasn’t there.

“Hello to you too Y/N.” he said, standing up and walking into the hallway to greet her.

His size and his reputation on the ice led many people to believe he was cold and unforgiving all the time. He towered over most people at 6’5”, and his shoulders easily doubled Y/N’s. But Y/N knew that underneath all that hard fighting exterior was a big softie who cared a lot about people. He was so calm and sweet off the ice, and wickedly observant, more so than anyone she had ever met. it practically gave her whiplash the first time she saw him fight during a game. It was a unique privilege of being so close to him.

She knew she could lean on him when times got tough, just like he could lean on her. That is exactly what brought her over to his apartment at 10pm, still in her work clothes and upset about the horrible day she just had.

Y/N basically fell into his arms at the end of the hallway, her head hitting right on top of his sternum. He smelled like his shampoo and laundry detergent, musky and warm and uniquely Kurtis. He was dressed in a gray Nike sweatshirt and some black basketball shorts. He was warm, like he had been lounging on the couch with some blankets for a couple of hours, trying to keep the November chill out. She could always count on him being warm and cozy.

He hugged her and rubbed her back, knowing it was one of the simple things he could do to help her relax. He could feel the tension in her body as he held her, wanting to help make it melt away so she could recover from whatever brought her over here at this hour. He could tell there was something seriously bothering her, beyond the normal stresses of working hard. The Avs had a day off tomorrow, so he didn’t care (not that he would have cared anyway).

“I’ll get bowls, you go get changed.” He said into her hair and she nodded gently, pulling away from him finally.

Y/N kept clothes in his dresser for nights like this, and he had some in her apartment too. There had been a few nights that had turned into sleepovers, and there was absolutely no way she could fit into any bottoms of his. She tried once, and she pulled the drawstring so tight together that the strings practically hung down to her knees, the cuff of each pant leg engulfing her legs and feet. He laughed every time he looked at her, his sweatpants almost falling off her all night.

She pulled out sleep shorts from her area, reaching for an old Avs training camp t-shirt of Kurtis’s instead of one of her own. She didn’t want anything restricting or too cold. She took off her work clothes, feeling like layers of the god awful day were falling off with them. She opted for no bra and no makeup; washing her face in his bathroom. Finally, she threw on some fuzzy socks.

When she came back out, he was back on the couch with blankets over his lap, a bowl of chocolate ice cream in his hand and a bowl sitting on the table for Y/N. An LA vs Kraken game was on, the volume low but not silent. She sighed, burying herself under the blankets next to him. The ice cream was perfectly rich and sweet, just how she liked it. Kurtis looked at her apprehensively, wanting to ask a million questions but also not wanting to press too hard. They ate without speaking, the low cheers of the King’s crowd interrupting perfect silence.

“Fuck, today was horrible.” She finally muttered, setting the empty bowl down.

He looked over at her after setting his bowl down too, casting his big arm over the back of the couch, “how so?”

“God where do I start. I was late waking up this morning, like late enough that there was no way i could blame it on traffic. The higher ups had a screaming fest at everyone in the office because of something that wasn’t our fault. I had to cut my lunch way short because one of the interns royally fucked up something I had a hand in making, so I had to pick up the pieces. I couldn’t leave work until about 8:30. My check engine light lit up on my way home, so I spent a good hour trying to get a hold of the auto shop for this week.” Y/N spilled, Kurtis listening quietly, “A-and…” she faltered.

“And?” Kurtis urged, wanting her to get it all out.

“I saw Chris out with some girl. O-on the drive home. I stopped to get dinner and saw him across the street. He was holding her hand and kissing her at that little Italian place he used to take me to. I didn’t know what to do, so I called him and told him I knew and that it was over. He texted but I don’t want to look. I can’t stand it.” She sniffled out, tears streaming down her cheeks, “I said I wasn’t going to cry over that dirt bag but fuck today can’t get any worse! I wasted 9 months on that asshole!”

“Shit, Y/N…” he said, gently pulling her into his side for a hug. “I’m so sorry. What a dick.”

He knew he shouldn’t feel relieved about that news. He knew he should be upset about her losing Chris, but he wasn’t. He hated seeing her cry over a douchebag when he knew that he could do a million times better. He knew he would treat her like a queen for the rest of forever, no games. He would make her feel seen, heard, loved, and satisfied. He knew that he could make her the happiest woman on the planet. Just having her in his arms was making his heart speed up.

He held her there on the couch for what felt like hours, running his hand along her spine while she cuddled into his side. He even wiped away stray tears with his other hand and carded his fingers through her hair. Touch was very normal for them, she loved physical contact with him whenever she could get it. This was a blessing and a curse for Kurtis; he loved that she loved his hugs and touches, but he hated that he had to control the fast beating of his heart while she was close.

They talked about Chris and how they would drive over to his place together to get the few things she had over there. They talked about Kurtis’s game and the fight he was recently in, Y/N grabbing his hand to look at how his knuckles were healing. They talked about anything and everything wrapped up together. Y/N was almost asleep, having cried and talked out all of her frustrations. Kurtis could feel her breathing even out against him, her eyes drooping shut.

“Let’s go to bed, you’ve had a horrible day.” He said quietly, shifting her in his arms so he could pick her up off the couch.

He made his way to his bedroom, setting her down on the left side of the bed so he could use the bathroom on e last time and wash his face. For a moment, a split second, he let himself indulge in looking at her sleeping in his bed. He imagined her sleeping in his shirt because she was his. His eyes traced her body, his mind filling with scenarios, some admittedly not the cleanest thoughts.

He shook them out and finished getting ready for bed, pulling off his hoodie and throwing on a t-shirt. When he finally laid down on his side of the bed, he drew the covers up both of their bodies, really meaning to stay on his side and not make it any harder for either of them. He couldn’t resist scooting closer to her, reaching a hand up to pull a lock of hair off her face. He wished that he could pull her in and lay kisses on her face, letting her sleep on him all night.

“God, I wish you would see me Y/N. I love you so much and I don’t know how to say it to your face.” He said quietly to her sleeping form, pressing the lightest kiss to the crown of her head, “maybe someday you’ll see me and let me love you sweetheart.”

Kurtis thought his confession fell on deaf ears, but Y/N had woken up a little when the mattress dipped. He loved her? He cherished her like that? No one had ever told her that, not a single boyfriend had ever made her feel like that, and it took Kurtis 5 seconds to say. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she tried so hard to stay still. She wanted to spring up and lay a kiss on his lips, but that would have to be a problem for the next day.

<><>

Y/N woke up before Kurtis the next morning, the sun shining through little cracks in his blinds. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sunk back into the pillows, enjoying the morning quiet. She was on her side facing Kurtis, somehow getting wrapped up nice and close to him in the night. There was enough distance between the two of them that she could see his peaceful face.

The last day came flooding back to her as she looked at him, all topped off with his quiet confession that she wasn’t meant to hear. Her cheeks burned at the thought. She was laying next to the man she had spent countless hours with, but had never truly seen him the way he saw her. Now she could see him, the way he wanted her to. All of a sudden, every touch of the last 12 hours lit her on fire. He had taken the time, again and again for years to comfort her, keep her safe, and make her feel important despite his tremendously busy schedule. She had done her fair share of helping him too, but she hadn’t seen him truly.

For the first time, she admired him close up in this new light. His brown curls were falling over his forehead and the pillow under his head, his brow relaxed in his sleep. She admired the bump in his nose and his long eyelashes cast over his cheeks. There was the yellowish-greenish remainder of a black eye he had gotten about a week ago during a game. She looked at his lips somewhat covered in his mustache. His beard looked scruffy and unkempt from sleeping on it, but she new if she touched his face it would be soft under her fingertips. Soft little snores came from between his lips. Y/N could never forget this moment, as long as she lived. She had never seen someone so beautiful right in front of her.

Right as she was about to scoot closer, he stirred in his sleep, taking a deep breath and blinking his eyes open. She always thought his eyes were the prettiest chocolate brown color. He met her eyes and his face relaxed again, his eyes soft and adoring. Kurtis thought Y/N looked so beautiful in the morning light, hair cast over the pillows and face soft from sleep. Her face was a little swollen from all the crying yesterday, but he didn’t care. She was always beautiful to him.

“G’morning. How do you feel?” He asked, his voice deeper and more gravely than usual, making Y/N melt where she lay.

“Like I cried all night.” She joked, scooting closer to him.

He reached for her, bringing her in for another hug. Kurtis felt completely at peace in this moment, imagining for a second that they weren’t even thinking about her ex, instead enjoying the morning together, kissing and laughing and maybe even rolling around in the sheets for a little while. He rolled onto his back, keeping her tucked into his side while he checked his phone for the time. He put it back down lightning fast, wanting to enjoy the few moments he got in his little fantasy before they had to get up and get her stuff from Chris’s place. Y/N was practically buzzing, his arm like an anchor behind her. He looked back at her, meeting her face, mere inches away.

She couldn’t help herself.

She craned her neck up, meeting his lips in a tentative kiss. He sucked in a surprised breath, eyes widening. He snapped out of it in an instant, kissing her back gently but firmly. He wanted to convey every second of emotion he had felt for her up until this moment. His hand found her jaw, caressing her like he had dreamed of doing for years. He deepened the kiss, pulling her almost on top of him and biting her lip gently. She pulled away, him chasing her lips as she did, looking down at him with a sweet grin.

“W-what was that for Y/N?” He asked softly, his thumb grazing her cheekbone, “I- I don’t… what about Chris? I can’t be a rebound Y/N, I won’t be able to recover-“ The words falling out of his mouth before he could catch himself.

She placed her finger on his lips, silencing him, then left a soft kiss in its place, “I know, K. I may or may not have heard you last night, Ive had a few hours to really think about it.” She teased lightly, his eyes widening in surprise.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that! I just… didn’t know how you’d react. I can’t stop feeling like this Y/N, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He said, speaking like he was caught up in his own thoughts.

She kissed him again then, trying to show him that she felt the same, “I love you so much, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Parroting his words back at him.

This time, he leaned up and kissed her. He finally indulged in what he desired for years. His right hand cradled the back of her head, his left snaking down to her lower back, keeping her against him. He rolled them over, his arms caging her in. His legs were still off to the side, but they were basically intertwined. She let out the slightest noise, one that he wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t so close. It lit him on fire inside, beyond anything he had ever felt.

He pulled back, looking down at her, practically drinking her in. She looked up at him peacefully, hair strewn on the pillow in a halo around her head. the shirt she had innocently thrown on last night was striking a possessive chord in him, her body practically engulfed in the soft fabric. She finally looked like she was his, and all he had to do was take that leap with her.

Kurtis kissed Y/N with more hunger, letting himself explore her mouth while she explored his. His hands traveled her body, touching and tracing, learning her body again in a way that he hadn’t before.

For Y/N, this was something entirely new and precious in every way. he seemed to be tuned to her perfectly, drawing out sensations she had never experienced with anyone else. His touch was so gentle and uniquely him, his kiss so fiery it made her feel like she was in her own fairytale.

He began kissing and lightly nipping at her neck, drawing a wet path of kisses over to her ear and down. His other hand smoothed across her waist and around the side of her boob, almost teasing her with the anticipation. Her hands were wandering over the vast expanse of his back and through his hair. She committed every ridge and valley to memory, enjoying the feeling of his hard muscles.

He sat up suddenly, falling back on his knees and pulling his shirt up and over his head, revealing his broad chest and shoulders. Y/N melted on the spot, letting out a pleased little giggle. he smiled back at her, moving over so he was directly in front of her. His hands found her knees in front of him, rubbing the pad of his thumb across them.

“You’re so pretty Y/N..” he said, letting his eyes rake over her again.

“You’re so handsome K.” She said, making him smile hard enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes.

He sank back down on top of her, making her legs part to make room for him. He laid some smiley kisses on her lips and cheeks, letting his hands wander to the hem of his shirt. He pulled up slowly, silently asking for her consent to take it all the way off of her. She sat up a little bit, letting him pull it off and throw it in a random direction behind him.

They had seen each other in varying states of undress over the years. Y/N had seen him work out on his balcony during summers, pretending to read while having internal monologue about why women loved him so much, like Jesus was he toned. One summer, Kurtis accidentally walked in on her changing into her swimsuit the year he took her to Cabo with him over all star break. He told her he hadn’t seen anything and they both laughed it off, drinking cocktails and enjoying the beach. He had seen just a sliver of pretty skin before slapping his hand over his eyes. He felt so thirsty for that little peek, but he had thought about it over the years during lonely nights in his hotel. All of that was no match for what was in front of him.

Her breasts were beyond perfect. She looked so beautiful laying there, waiting for him to make his next move. She suddenly felt more vulnerable, like his eyes were burning holes in her body. Those feelings washed away as he ran his fingers over her, letting his thumbs graze her nipples. It turned him on to no end watching how she reacted to his touches. Her back arched and twitched, moving to get more contact with him. Y/N let out little moans and sighs, letting her eyes flutter close from the sensation. This was exactly what he wanted.

He leaned back down, leaving another trail of kisses along the column of her throat, then collarbones, then the valley between her tits. He payed attention to one, sucking and playing with one nipple while his hand squeezed the other. The sounds she was making were growing louder, ringing desperately in his ears. He wished he could hear her like this for eternity.

“You sound so pretty…” he said, observant as always. His voice was still deep and gravely, making his praise that much better.

She was wound up enough that she was getting a little desperate for more. She wanted everything he had to offer, and wanted him to have all of her, finally. Her hand reached between them, playing with the string holding his shorts up. Her thumb found its way under the waistband of both his shorts and boxers, playfully snapping them back against him. He let out a little groan, spurring her on that much more.

“Can I please?” She asked, grabbing onto the waistband of his shorts.

“Yeah…” he breathed, his mind short circuiting a bit.

He sat up again, coming to the side of his king bed so she could pull his shorts off, letting them pool around his ankles before he stepped out of them. he reached for hers too, directing her to lift her hips so he could slide them off. His hands stayed by band of her panties, playing with it. Y/N sat up so her face was now about level with his abdomen.

“What do you like?” Kurtis asked quietly, letting his hands fall on the sides of her face so he could draw it up.

“I-I like a lot of things. I like your lips… I like your hands… I like you, K.” She said, her voice coming out a little squished sounding from his palms squeezing her cheeks, “w-what do you like?”

“Hmm. I like those things too, In fact I love those things. I like your voice too.” He said, letting his hands fall to the back of her neck so he could kiss her “I like all of you. I want you to enjoy this with me…”

Those soft words coming from between kisses made Y/N melt, her panties almost soaking through. Of course she had slept with a handful of guys before this, but none of them, not even Chris, we’re like this. Kurtis had a way of making each of his few words so effective, driving her crazy. She felt so wanted and safe with him.

Her lips found his abs, kissing down to his navel. She kissed each side, sucking a light mark into the left side before continuing down his happy trail. Kurtis was looking down in awe at his girl, his hands carding through her hair as she kissed along the hair on his happy trail. Her hands were on his hips, rubbing his hipbones and exploring the cut of his hips that was exposed. All this touching and kissing was making him a little desperate, groans coming from deep in his throat. It was her turn to wish to hear him like this forever.

She pushed him back a little, hooking her fingers into the band of his boxers, “can I?” She asked, and he nodded vigorously.

She giggled at his eager response before pulling them down, again letting him step out of them. He was hard, painfully so, and the first word that came to mind for Y/N was ‘proportional’. She practically salivated at the sight.

“Please let me taste…” she said, somewhat shyly, and he giggled and stepped up, putting his fingers back into her locks.

“God you’re so perfect.” He murmured as her lips wrapped around the tip.

She took it slow and teasing, listening to him moan and sigh above her. She couldn’t take all of him, so one hand came up to pump the rest. The other hand rested on his thigh, feeling the corded muscles move under her touch. It all felt a little sloppy and dirty, but that turned her on even more. He was coated in her spit, making a wet sound as she took more of him. She pulled off every once in a while, catching her breath. The more she did, the closer he got. Eventually, he grabbed a gentle fistful of her hair and pulled her off him, taking an extra beat to appreciate her sweet face

“You’re so good for me, but it’s my turn.” He said, giving her a kiss and pushing her back.

she laid back, letting him pull her panties down. She was practically sopping wet now; his gentle possessiveness really did something to her. He fell to his knees, her legs coming up over his shoulders. He brought one hand up to cross over her hips, the other coming to run through her folds. She tried to wiggle, but his grip had her firmly in place. Moans came tumbling from her lips as he attached his to her pussy, diving in like a starved man.

His fingers were long and rugged, finding the perfect spot deep in her while his tongue made strong strokes over her clit. Her body was shaking with pleasure as he kept on. Kurtis listened to her moans and whines, paying attention to every little thing, trying to find out what worked for her. His fingers and tongue fell in step with each other, coming to a slow rhythmic pace.

“P-please! I’m s-so close K… please don’t stop!” Y/N begged, her voice coming out used.

Kurtis had never felt so alive. His girl had the prettiest moans, the gentlest hands, and the sweetest pussy he had ever seen or tasted. It was like he pulled her out of a dream and into his room. All the years of pining for her led up to this moment, and he was impressed beyond his wildest dreams.

“K-Kurtis!!” She moaned, high pitched and whiney as her orgasm hit her strong.

Y/N felt like her insides had been turned to magma. Both of her hands tightened into fists as her body shook, one in his hair and the other in the sheets below her. He kept up his movements at a slightly gentler pressure, working her through it and letting her come down. He got up from the ground, kissing up her body and neck till he reached her lips again. She could taste herself on his lips, his beard shiny and sticky from her.

“God, so fucking perfect Y/N…” he said again, giving her a moment to calm down and relax.

“Do you have a condom?” She breathed, letting her hands wander the expanse of his chest and shoulders.

He turned wordlessly to the nightstand beside them, opening the drawer and pulling out a new box of condoms. She had a giggle at the passing thought that he had been prepared for this moment by buying an entirely new box, even though that probably wasn’t true. He used his car key sitting on the nightstand to open the plastic and pull out a condom. He tore the foil with his teeth, reaching down to roll it over his length.

In the meantime, Y/N had scooted up the bed again, turning onto her side to face him in all of her naked glory. She watched as he straightened up, absolutely towering over her. His eyes were intense and lustful, yet endearing and excited. This was exactly what she needed from someone, a romantic yet lighthearted experience.

“How do you want me, Kurtis?” She asked as he kneeled on the bed in front of her again.

He thought for a split second, “on your back, I wanna look at you.” He murmured.

She loved his sureness and his steady voice, he had always had those but it felt different in this new light. His hand found her side again, pushing her over so she was on her back with her head on top of the pillows. He crawled up between her legs and caged her in with his arms. One of her hands came up to touch his scruffy face, the other falling next to her head on the pillow.

“You ready love?” He asked so gently, his dick hot against her.

“Yes, take what you need K.” She said, his eyes darkening.

That’s all he needed to reach down and align himself with her, pushing forward slowly so they could really feel every inch of each other. Both of their jaws fell open, letting sighs and soft moans flow out of their mouths. Kurtis basked in the warm, tight wetness, letting it consume every nerve. Y/N could feel every ridge against her sensitive insides, feeling split open in the best way possible.

Once his hipbones made contact with the backs of her thighs, he stilled, letting them both take a moment to adjust and prepare. Kurtis new that she would feel beyond anything he could dream, but this moment blew every dream he ever had about her out of the water. It was like they were made for each other. She overtook his senses, nothing else mattering to him. She felt the same way. She didn’t even need to voice it.

“You feel so good.” He said into her ear, feeling her shiver, “taking me so well love.”

He drew back about halfway before pushing in again, drawing out a soft moan from her lips. He set a deep pace, trying to find the spots inside her that made her squirm. He took a self indulgent moment to look down at where they were connected, watching himself disappear into her.

Her moans got louder, coming out a little more whiny and high pitched as he learned her. Her hand covered her mouth, muffling the sounds. He grabbed her hand and held it under his own so she couldn’t cover her pretty sounds. He wanted to hear what he was doing to her, he wanted it to ring in his ears forever.

“Feels s-so good Kurtis. Keep going just like t-that…” she said into his ear.

Y/N loved his sounds too. He sighed and groaned, leaving little kisses on her face and neck as he moved. He was driving her crazy with every move. He could reach every spot and graze every area, keeping her on a slow and steady path to paradise. She could barely keep her eyes open with how intense it all was.

As promised, Kurtis watched her too. He watched her face contort in pleasure and her mouth fall open when he grazed her g spot. He could feel her winding up, closer and closer to the edge. His face found the crook of her neck, laying kisses and bites right on the curve of her neck. Kurtis was getting so close, his muscles contracting on top of her.

“Come on Y/N… that’s it love…” he encouraged, feeling her flutter around him at the pet name “I can’t hold on much longer baby.”

“Touch me K… please!” She almost whined out, making Kurtis smile a little cocky.

He reached between them and rubbed her clit again, making her gasp and writhe. Her hips were grinding against him, moving independently of her mind. He could feel her wetness leaking around them, covering his fingers and his dick. He had never felt anything better.

“Come with me baby, fuckkk, come on.” He encouraged, feeling her orgasm coming on quickly.

This orgasm was intense and devouring, her mouth stuck open and her back arched. She let out a high pitched sound, gasping and shaking as he rubbed her through it. A few pumps later, Kurtis was coming too. His muscles were flexed and taught. He grunted and moaned in her ear, letting them both come down. In the heat of the moment, he grabbed her, still connected, and rolled them over so she was laying directly on top of him, chest to chest.

Kurtis giggled. He couldn’t help himself.

His big hands found her back, running up and down in an attempt to help her catch her breath. Her arms were at his sides, wrapping around his torso to keep them as close as possible. He laid kisses against her head too.

“God, you’re fucking incredible.” He said, making Y/N laugh.

“You are too K. We should have tried this sooo long ago.” She joked, looking up at him with her chin resting on his chest.

They stayed like that for what felt like forever, but was probably five minutes. Eventually, his hands found her hips, wordlessly encouraging her to move up and off his dick so they could clean up. The wet sound and pop of them separating almost sent Kurtis into another horny fantasy, but he let her roll off of him and sit up. They went together into the bathroom, brushing teeth and cleaning themselves up.

The moment was so domestic despite their activities for the morning. He could see himself doing this every morning for the rest of his life. She was so perfect for him, and he was so perfect for her. He watched her run a warm washcloth over her face, her mouth stretching into a yawn. Her hand found a hickey he had left on the side of her bare breast, making her smile.

“You tired me out k, can we cuddle and doze for a little?” She asked, and he simply nodded.

“Then we gotta go get your stuff from Chris love.” He said, kinda hating the way chris’s name tasted on his tongue.

She sighed, and agreed, making her way back to the bed to lay down. He pulled her into his side, feeling her body relax back into sleep. He leaned down, planting a featherlight kiss on the crown of her head and the shell of her ear too. Kurtis had finally gotten what he wanted, his missing piece.

“Thank you, my love.”

#kurtis macdermid #Kurtis macdermid imagine #Kurtis macdermid fic #Dermy #colorado avalanche #avs fic #Colorado avalanche fic #he’s such a dreamboat omg #Mr. bo-dangles #T’s imagines #nhl fic

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senditcolton · 1 year

Text

You Always Have Been

summary: Brittany Hill imagined a different life for herself when she was younger. but now, celebrating her boyfriend Erik’s incredible achievement, she wonders why she ever wanted something else.

songs: X X word count: 974 (plus insta edit!) warnings: none! pure fluff!

The warm summer breeze danced across Brittany’s skin as she took a deep breath, inhaling the clear crisp Colorado air. Behind her, she can still hear the party going strong, hoots and hollers finding their way into her ears.

She was celebrating – there was no way that she was going to sit out a celebration of her boyfriend’s biggest accomplishment in his long career. Erik won the Stanley Cup. There was no better reason to throw a party.

And Britt was proud of him. Insanely proud of him. Even though they only met a little over a year ago, she knew how much this meant to him and she was just grateful she got to spend this time with him.

She loved Erik, loved recognizing his victory. But this moment, out here away from the commotion, was her way of commemorating the moment in her own way.

Now, on the bench on the edge of Erik’s property, Britt takes another deep breath, grabbing the old Nikon film camera hung around her neck, lifting it up and adjusting the settings before snapping a picture of the landscape in front of her. Looking down, she pulls the lever to advance the film, absorbed in her work that she doesn’t notice the presence walking up behind her until a pair of warm hands land on her shoulders.

A reactionary jump and a turn of her head reveals Erik, standing behind her, his thumbs caressing her warm skin.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, walking around the wooden bench before taking a seat next to her. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Britt easily relaxes, leaning into his side as his strong arm wraps around her body, hand coming to rest on the top of her hip and she can feel the heat of his skin soaking through the soft linen of her sundress.

“It’s okay,” she replies with a sigh.

“What are you doing out here all alone?”

“Just thinking.”

“About what?” he questions, looking down at her with those gentle grey eyes.

“My high school crush, oddly enough.” Britt can’t stop the slight giggle that escapes her as she watches Erik’s brows pull together in confusion.

“Should I be jealous?” he asks, the teasing evident in his voice in response to her reaction.

“Not at all.”

“So, why were you thinking about your high school crush?”

“It’s stupid,” Britt shrugs, content to snuggle deeper into Erik’s side.

“Nothing you say is stupid,” Erik replies quickly. “Besides, out of the two of us, I’m the dumb one in this relationship.” Britt laughs again, pulling a similar chuckle from Erik’s chest, his thumb once again stroking over her skin. “Come on. You know you can tell me anything.”

Another sigh falls from Britt’s lips as she adjusts her position, coming to lay her head in his lap, looking up at him as the setting sun makes his blonde hair glow golden.

“Just sitting out here reminded me about the first high school party I went to. Filled with all the popular kids, my crush being one of them. I thought ‘wow, this is going to be the night everything changes for me. He’s going to notice me and we’ll fall in love.’ Instead, I spent the night sitting on a bench away from the party, being completely ignored.”

Erik adjusts his position above her, leaning closer and listening to her intently.

“And then I thought, ‘that’s okay, I can change. I can be better.’ And I spent so much of my life trying to be accepted, to be wanted. I hosted parties to buy people’s love. I starved myself to feel desired. And I got to feel that for miniscule moments but I tricked myself into believing that was enough.”

Britt exhales, shaking her head slightly as she goes back through her memories.

“I don’t know what eventually led me to snap out of it. I guess I just looked around and realized that it wasn’t fulfilling me the way I needed it to. And I wondered ‘why did I think this is what I wanted?’ So, I left. Left New Hampshire and came out here. Made myself a career doing what I love, found a place where I didn’t need the approval of others. I changed – for the better. And then I met you.”

With those words, she glanced back up at Erik with a soft smile on her face which he mirrors.

“I guess, it’s funny looking back and realizing that all of that led me here,” Britt concludes. Erik doesn’t say anything for a moment, just continues to stare down at her with that soft look in his eyes before he finally speaks.

“I kind of feel the same way.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Not in exactly the same way but, you know, after all the injuries and thinking I might be forced to retire… to being here, celebrating winning the Cup with my friends and family,” he pauses, shooting Britt the dorky wink that never fails to make her laugh. “With the most beautiful women in the world. Who I knew I couldn’t have done this without.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I mean it. Think about it. The only difference between the previous seasons and this one is that I had you cheering me on from the stands every game.”

“I’m not that magical,” Britt laughs.

“Yes you are,” Erik quips back, his hand moving from it’s spot around her waist to cup her face, thumb brushing against her cheekbones. “The most remarkable person I’ve ever had the privilege to meet.”

There were no other words to say. Instead, Britt lifts her head up towards him, a silent request. Erik reads it easily, leaning down to capture his lips in hers. The two of them stay there, wrapped up in each other until the sun finally sets; a picture-perfect moment.

#nicole writes #midnights mashups #erik johnson fic #erik johnson imagine #erik johnson fluff #colorado avalanche fic #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #i hate how my edits save so small so they really blurry on desktop #but should look great on mobile

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boqvistsbabe · 2 years

Text

Different Skates: Cale AU - Pt 1

A/N: Hey guys!! Here’s a series I’m starting. I haven’t done an actual series before so hopefully y’all like it. Also as of now I don’t have a title so if you have any ideas lmk!! Also this is going to be set in December/ around Christmas!!

Thanks to my irl friend that peer pressured me I to actually writing and @savoies for helping me figure stuff out 💜💜

Thanks to @typical-simplelove for the name idea!!

Warnings: Some swear words, also uses she/her pronouns. I don’t think there is any in this chapter but it will in the future.

Word Count: 1,627

Also note this is unedited 💀

Next part

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You hated hockey players. Okay maybe not hate, but strongly disliked them. Except for your brother Charlie, he’s okay. No one else. Actually you take that back, girl hockey players are fine but not the guys. Nope, not gonna happen. Well not gonna happen again. Yeah, bad idea. It’s the same story everyone hears about hockey boys: you knew they were bad news but you could hang with your brother’s teammates because not a chance they’d ever want to date you and vice versa. Until Gabe came along. He was different and nice and not a jerk like the other guys on the team. So you gave him a chance. It was a great few months of cheering for him at games and rituals before said games and date nights that felt like a dream. Then you found out about Sarah. Sarah was his other girlfriend. You met her at an away game that you surprised him at. Almost the whole team knew. Charlie and two of his buddies were the only ones who didn’t. So yeah hockey boys suck.

Flashforward to the present. Cale -the new guy- is next to Charlie, hand out to shake yours. Practice had just gotten over. You were a figure skater so between that and Charlie being on the team, you practically lived at the rink. It also helped that you worked there too. There was a local restaurant inside the rink that you worked at along with being a social media person for the hockey teams that practiced there. Yeah disliking hockey players and being a videographer for them at the same time didn’t make sense, but it paid well. Anyways Cale was essentially the replacement for Gabe. Cause he moved to the team that was located closer to Sarah. Which totally didn’t bother you at all, no matter what your mom may think. Supposedly Cale was a stand up guy and an amazing defenseman. You couldn’t care less, so why Charlie decided to have you both meet didn’t make sense.

“Hellooo? Earth to Y/N?” Charlie was getting impatient, “this is Cale, he’s new to the team.”

“Yeah, heard that the first time when he said it and I remember it from when you were gushing about “the new awesome defenseman that the team is getting” it is legit seven in the morning so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little unresponsive.” You snarked back.

“Don’t get snappy with me you nerd. Coach wanted you to meet him cause when you media things and whatnot however that stuff works. Also he introduced himself so the proper response is?”

“Yeah yeah whatever. Hi Cale I’m Y/N, I work here at the rink restaurant, I do videography, and I’m a figure skater here. Before you complain like all the others, no I don’t make holes in the ice just to annoy you guys. If I do make a hole in the ice I fill them and if I happen to miss one it’s an accident so don't go complaining to my coach so I get in trouble. It doesn’t work like that here. I’m sure you’re probably a perfectly nice guy and whatever, but I’m not here to be your friend. Sometimes I’ll hang out with you guys, but mostly I’m only around here to do my job. Speaking of my job, if I ask you to do something for content or anything, don't complain. I’m not gonna ask you to do anything crazy so you’ll be fine. Just remember I’m doing my job, not trying to make you miserable. Sorry if that’s a lot for your probably mouse sized brain to comprehend but get used to it. I’ve got to go work, but it was nice to meet you I guess.” You said the last part while putting on your blade guards before walking in the direction of the locker room.

~~~~~||

Cale POV

“Uh she’s intense.” There was no other way he could describe you. Except maybe aggressive, but that seemed a little much.

“Yeah she doesn’t really like hockey players. Don’t take it or anything she says personally, she’s had a bad experience with one guy. The guy you replaced actually.” Gabe responded.

“What do you mean by that? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“He was new and different, pretended to be someone he wasn’t. Cheated on her and the whole team except John, Tyson, and I knew. So yeah she’s not super close with the team anymore. Also as a figure skater getting harassed by hockey players her whole life she wasn’t too fond of us in the first place.”

“Ahh okay. That sucks a lot.”

“Yeah, she’s over the whole cheater thing but she definitely agrees with the douchebag stereotype for us. Anyways we gotta get to practice.

“Yeah.” Cale’s mind was on anything but practice. He wanted to be your friend. He agrees with the stereotype most of the time. There’s only a few exceptions obviously. But he thinks you and him could be great friends if you give him a chance.

~~~~~~~~~

Your POV

It had been a week since you first met Cale. There have been a few interactions since then because of introductions on the socials for him, but other than that no more conversations. You were glad he seemed to have respected your boundaries, that was much appreciated.

You had just gotten done with your shift at the restaurant and it was nine o’clock. The day started with a six o’clock practice then some editing while eating breakfast, then some practice pictures of the guys and a few TikToks of the guys, ending with a seven hour shift at the restaurant. Walking out of the break room, you grabbed your duffel and fished your car keys out of the outside pocket.

The stars were really out tonight. That was one of the perks of where the rink was located. On the edge of town and away from all the bright, crazy lights. Perfect for stargazing. Unlocking your car, you threw your bag in the seat next to you before putting the key in the ignition and turning it. And nothing. Not even a little sputter. Of fucking course. You dropped your head to the steering wheel. Charlie was in the next town over with your parents helping your grandparents pack to move. None of them could come get you. Shit shit shit. Today of all days. Of course on the day you had been running all day and just wanted to relax before having to study and edit all of the next day. You popped the hood and got out of the car. After checking the oil and transmission fluid and finding nothing wrong there you were racking your brain for what it was this time. This car was a hand me down and had issues in the past, but you had just got it back from the shop. You were pissed. The shop you went to was a new one because the one you usually went to moved. The new shop was definitely getting a call in the morning. Closing the hood and wiping your hands on your leggings you turned to get back in your car when you saw Cale.

“Hey, uh I don’t mean to bother you but it looks like you’re having some car trouble, do you have anyone you can call? I can wait with you while you do. It’s late and it would feel wrong to leave you here without knowing you can make it home.” He said.

“Yeah I don’t have anyone to call, my family is in the next town over and all my friends don’t have cars so I don’t really have anyone to call. I figured I would walk home and get it towed in the morning, I don’t live that far.” You shrugged, not like you haven’t walked home by yourself before. Not the safest thing but you gotta do what you gotta do.

“I could give you a ride. Home I mean,” you could’ve sworn you saw the redness on his face, “I haven’t lived here long but I assume it’s like everywhere else in the world, not the safest place for anyone, especially a girl to walk alone, especially at night. Also that came out super high handed so I apologize. But please let me take you home.”

You thought about it. The pros outweigh the cons here. It had been a long day and you were tired, plus he wasn’t wrong about the fact that it wasn’t safe, “Yeah that would be great thanks. Let me just grab my stuff.”

He nodded and you got your stuff before locking the car. While following him to his car you texted Charlie, he’d answer before your parents, and let him know what was going on.

“Uh this is my truck.” Cale stood there awkwardly while he waited for you to look up.

“Okay, I was just letting Charlie know what happened. Thanks again.”

“Yeah of course not an issue.” He nodded before opening your door before walking over to his side and hopping in.

The ride was in silence except for the radio playing softly in the background and you occasionally giving home directions.

“Sooo why were you at the rink so late?” You were over the silence, plus the less noise the more likely of you falling asleep which is the last thing you want.

“I was working on some drills. They do stuff a little differently from my last team so I’m just trying to get comfortable with it.”

“Fair enough. Are you liking it here? Also turn right at Walnut.”

He turned before he responded, “Yeah, I like the way stuff is run here. A lot more strict than my old team, but more efficient and with better results. The guys aren’t too bad, but I mostly hang with your brother and John and Tyson. Everyone else is kind of douchey. That was rude of me to say, please ignore that.”

“It’s the house all the way at the end on the left. And no you’re totally right. They’re assholes. What team did you come from?”

“I came from the Bulldogs a few towns over.” He responded as he pulled into the driveway.

“Ahh cool. Alright this is me. Thanks again for the ride. You’re not half bad. Don’t make me regret saying that and don’t let it get to your head. See you at Monday practice.”

“Night Y/N.” He called out his window as you walked away.

He didn’t leave until you shut the door behind you. What you said wasn’t a lie, he wasn’t like the other guys. Though you’ve been there before. He’d be a great friend though. Heading upstairs to get ready for bed you texted Charlie and asked him for Cale’s number to thank him before you passed out.

Thanks for the millionth time lol - Y/N

/////////////////////

Pt 2

Thanks for reading this! I hope you liked it, I haven’t ever done a series so hopefully this goes okay.

Tagging some friends:

@2manytabsopen @ilyasorokinn @joshsandersons @krugstrash @jimmystrudel @sidneycrosbyhoe @andreburakozy @kolsmikaelson @typical-simplelove @rosesvioletshardy @laurenairay @lam-ila @josthours @fallinallincurls @stroopwaffle8 @boesersdrurys @heatherawoowoo @pierrelucduboiis @cinnamoncowboy @raysofcrosby @suffering-canucks-fan @three-headed-monster @1-800-iluvhockey

Join my taglist!!

#cale makar fic #cale makar #cale makar fics #nhl Fic #cale makar x reader #Colorado avalanche Fic #Sam writes #cale makar fanfic #different skates series #cale makar imagine #cale makar imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl fics #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #colorado avalanche

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comphy-and-cozy · 2 years

Text

Nothin’ Better Than This - JT Compher

(gif by @hockeylvr59)

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f)

Summary: The second part of Something to Dream About. Seven months in, your secret relationship with JT is still going strong. Will winning the Stanley Cup give you the confidence you need to go public to the world?

Word Count: 6.6K

Author’s Note: I can’t look anyone in the eye after this one. Here’s another extremely self indulgent fic that might be a tiny bit out of character for our sweet ginger king, but I know you sluts will enjoy it anyways.

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY) with a tiny bit of plot. Chaotic Colorado Avalanche himbos. Swearing, alcohol use/mention, cocky Compher, unprotected sex, spitting, oral sex (m + f receiving), deep-throating, spanking, choking/breath play, a little bit of degradation/mild humiliation, facial. Sydney queen if you ever see this, I’m so sorry.

Masterlist

212 days. 30 weeks. Seven whole months you’d been dating JT Compher. It had been a whirlwind, but they had truly been seven of the best in your life. In that time, you’d met his family, exchanged I love you’s, and had key copies made for your respective apartments. You had a drawer designated for you in his dresser, and his toothbrush lived beside yours next to the sink. But still, seven months later, neither his teammates nor your colleagues knew about any of it.

You had always been one to keep a healthy line between work and personal life, but even you had to admit that this was a bit far, especially considering you knew all of his teammates, and vice versa. You’d read the employee handbook section titled ‘Interpersonal Relationships’ enough times that you all but knew it by heart by now, and you felt a pang of guilt every time you passed HR’s office. It would be so easy to just set up a meeting, sign a couple forms, and be on your merry way, but you were still hung up on what it would mean for your career, anxiety getting the best of you each time.

So, here you were – seven months later, in an illicit relationship with the man you knew was ‘The One’, waiting for the day that you could make that statement publicly.

The whole ‘secret relationship’ had gotten easier with time, falling into a routine of stolen glances, staggered arrivals, and secret text messages — though you had almost gotten caught making out in his car once.

As the Avs got further into the playoffs, it got even harder to conceal. Your heart yearned to be able to wear a 37 proudly on your chest along with his sisters, his name etched onto your back like a public statement that was so much more than the jersey of a favorite player. Instead, you opted for a neutral Avalanche shirt to avoid making any public allegiances, and you sat with your colleagues more often than not.

Then there were his teammates, who, while maybe not the sharpest tools in the shed, weren’t that thick, easily deducing that their soft-spoken centerman had met someone, sending covert text messages and showing up to practice littered in hickeys on more than one occasion. At first, it was harmless, the normal teasing that boys do, heckling him over finally getting it in for once. But over time, the secrecy got more and more suspicious, nearly six months into the relationship and still none of them had met his mysterious and enigmatic girlfriend or even knew her name.

“JT, you gonna bring your girl around if we win tonight or what?”

“Yo, Comphs, is your lady gonna ever make an appearance?”

“Do we finally get to meet Mrs. Comphy?”

“Starting to think he’s made her up and this girlfriend is just his right hand.”

“Maybe he paid her!”

The voices of your boyfriend’s teammates echoed through your head, harassing him relentlessly. Each time, he made up an excuse – we’re taking things slow, she’s out of town, she’s not feeling well – but the excuses could only last so long, each one that was used up bringing you one step closer to the inevitable.

Seven months — but who was counting?

Tonight, though, your clandestine relationship is being put to its biggest test yet, when the Colorado Avalanche make history and win the Stanley Cup in Tampa Bay. It’s a whirlwind, the pure jubilation and exhilaration of the win making the evening fly by in a blur of cheers, tears, and lots of champagne.

What’s worse is, when you go down to the ice with your colleagues, you’re stepping onto the ice as an extended member of the Colorado Avalanche team, and nothing more. Your title is Executive Director of Community Engagement for the Colorado Avalanche, rather than your dual role doubling as the girlfriend of a now-champion. You send Jesse and Morgan a wistful smile, ignoring their pleas to just come with them to greet JT with their family, aware that while everyone else was distracted in their own way, someone would catch you. And, you knew yourself — and JT — well enough that if you saw each other now, in the heat of the moment and high of the win, neither one of you would be able to resist the pull of your lips, surely ending up kissing him square on the mouth right in front of your boss.

So, it isn’t for another painstaking, heart-wrenching three hours that you get to truly congratulate your partner and, ultimately, the love of your life, on his lifelong dream finally coming true.

He’s grinning, beaming really, when he opens the door to his hotel room, and you launch yourself into his arms. He’s warm and almost literally buzzing, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he embraces you, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist as you koala him.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper in his ear, voice thick with emotion. You’ve been trying to think of the words to say, to even begin to convey how you feel, and everything falls short. So, you keep it simple, knowing that he’d pick up all of the unspoken words in between.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmurs back, voice muffled by your hair as his face is buried in your neck. “Thank you for everything. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, J.”

It’s a few minutes later that he finally sets you down, unable to wipe the grin off your face. “I just… I can’t even believe it!”

“We did it, babe. We fucking did it!” he cheers, reaching for the champagne that’s been delivered to each player’s room. You cheer as it foams when he uncorks it, pouring a glass for each of you and toasting your glass.

“So fucking proud of you, J.”

“To the motherfuckin’ Stanley Cup, baby!”

He downs his glass, and you follow suit, the burn of the champagne pleasant in your throat heady as you look at him.

“You want me to show you how proud I am of you?”

The air in the room shifts immediately. Though neither of you touched the thermostat, the room has heated to what’s got to be at least 110 degrees. You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clear hitch in his throat at the question, the warm brown of his eyes swirling into a deeper shade almost instantly.

“Well, do you, champ?” your words are teasing, slipping out of your mouth as if you hadn’t been imagining this exact moment for the last two weeks, as soon as you realized this win could — and would — become a reality. You’re over-the-moon ecstatic for him, but you can’t deny that you’ve also been waiting for the opportunity to worship him like the champion he is. Fucking a Stanley Cup Champion certainly had a different air to it.

He blinks at the nickname, then his lips curl upward into a half-smirk, as if he’s only just remembered what you’re really celebrating. “You want this Stanley Cup dick, huh?”

It’s your turn to smirk, stepping closer to him until your faces are inches apart. You can smell the beer on him, the champagne in his hair, but he’s looking at you like he’s never been more sober, heartbeat ticking in his throat as his eyes zone in on your lips, parted in anticipation. When your hand presses forward, palm against the already half-hard bulge in his jeans, he breaks into a grin, and your heart melts at the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“Oh, she wants it.”

“Uh huh,” you murmur with a squeeze of your hand that earns a grunt from him, “She wants it bad.”

You can feel the grin of his lips as he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue quickly delving into the space and shattering the invisible barrier of tension hung between you. Even the way he kisses you is different, the energy thrumming through his veins tangible, palatable, like he’s completely invincible — and honestly, tonight, he probably is. Hands reach for your face, tugging you toward him as he nips at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. His beard is thick, coated in champagne, scratching at your face as the overgrown whiskers above his lip tickle your nose.

You can feel his growl, more than hear it, when your hand runs along his length through his jeans, like you’re assessing your prey, but really you’re just admiring the hardware. His hips push forward, into your hand, and you have half a mind to scold him for his impatience, but you can’t really blame him.

JT stutters a protest when you pull away, the words dying on his lips when he sees you lowering to your knees. His lower lip is tugged between his teeth as he regards you, eyes locked with yours as your hands resume their previous actions, running over his erection through his pants. You press your mouth to the zipper of his jeans, and he hums, louder when your tongue flicks out against the denim.

“Want it in my throat first,” you say, hands plucking at his belt as you begin to unbuckle it. “Want to know what a Stanley Cup winning cock tastes like.”

He’s buzzing, straining against the zipper you slowly tug down once his belt has been discarded and button undone. You run your tongue along him again, this time just through the thin material of his boxers, and this time you can feel the heat of him throbbing against your tongue.

Your fingers tuck into the waistband of his boxers, and you look up at him, already disheveled, as you lick your lips. There’s a fiery anticipation in his eyes, like he might die if you don’t get your mouth on him soon.

“And after I’ve had it in my mouth, I want to have this Stanley Cup winning cock stuffed in my pussy.”

JT lets out a sinful groan, twitching against his boxers. You smirk, pleased with his reaction as you finally tug the material down his muscular thighs. Biting back a moan at the sight of him, hard and standing proudly at attention, leaking slightly from the tip, your mouth waters and you’ve suddenly forgotten that you wanted to tease him.

Your tongue flicks at the tip, tasting the drop of precum that melts into your mouth. Almost immediately, his head falls back, and you smirk. “I’ve barely touched you, baby.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be rewarding me?” he sasses.

“Even Stanley Cup champions have to be patient.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but pauses when he sees your hands reaching for the hem of your top, watching the Avs logo wrinkle as you pull the material over your head. Toying with the strap of your bra, you look up at him and ask coyly, “Should I take this off, or are you too impatient?”

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” he breathes.

“But I like you when you’re desperate,” you taunt, enjoying the way you can see the burn in his eyes.

When your hands caress your chest, sensually dragging your fingers along your collar bones, his dick twitches in interest, a silent encouragement to please, don’t stop. You reach behind you to unclasp your bra, slipping your arms through the straps before tossing it behind you. JT’s eyes grow glassy, staring at your bare tits, your nipples pebbling in the air.

You resist the urge to laugh at how much of a boy he is, instead opting to give him more of what he wants to see. Your hands come up to cup your breasts, feeling the weight of them in your hands while your thumbs run over your nipples, a sigh escaping your mouth.

His dick twitches again when one hand slides down your torso and between your legs. The sound he lets out is a mix between a growl and a whimper, watching the way you cup your sex over your jeans. It’s not enough, not nearly close enough to what you actually want, but the contact to your clit even through the layers of fabric has you letting out a moan.

“Babe — please,” he whines. The desperation in his voice has you looking up at him, and part of you curses the side of you that melts for him. You’ll never be able to last like this, not with the eyes he’s giving you that rival that of a lost puppy.

He’s so hard that his dick is standing straight up, twitching against his shirt and leaving a thin wet spot on the blue fabric. Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his balls. Your tongue follows the path of your lips as you make your way up to his tip, the pulsing vein on the underside of his dick a road map to heaven.

“God, babe, you —” JT stutters. “Fuck.”

You are pleased that he’s been reduced to a series of groans and half-finished sentences, but you want to render him utterly speechless, a true reward for your champion. Finally, you give him what he wants and take him in your mouth, wrapping your lips around him as you begin to move on his length. It’s difficult to smirk when he groans again, loudly, so instead you keep your motions steady to keep the sounds coming.

The bob of your head finds a rhythm in synchronicity with your tongue, reveling in the feel of him in your mouth, hard and heavy and everything you want to be able to show your admiration. JT’s whines encourage you to keep going, the velvety smoothness of his skin sliding against your tongue as he goes deeper with each pass. Relaxing your throat, you glance up at him, wrecked and panting, before slowly pressing yourself forward until he’s lodged firmly in the back of your throat.

“Jesus Christ,” he chokes out, hand flying to the back of your head, fingers tangling in the hair at the crown.

Wordlessly, you move your mouth back and forth, trying to encourage him to take control. Eventually, he catches your drift, and his eyes look down to lock with yours as he thrusts his hips forward. Broken curses fall from his mouth as he watches himself slide between your lips, feeling the tip of his dick sliding down your soft, warm throat.

It’s hot, filthy actually, and the tension in the air between you is thick like the dick in your mouth. He’s the one controlling the pace, taking your throat, but somehow there’s an unspoken air that you’re still the one who’s calling the shots.

Your vision blurs with the tears brimming your eyes, frothy spit escaping from the corners of your mouth and dripping onto your chest, something JT will appreciate later when he gets a good look at you. The sound of your gags fills the room, the slick of his cock adding a wet noise like a deliciously slutty harmony.

You whine at the feeling of emptiness when he slips out of your mouth, a thick trail of saliva keeping your lips connected to his tip. You know the sight is lewd and salacious, your tits out and covered in a pre-cum and saliva mixture, knees pressed into the cold tile flooring, eyes wet and lips swollen. JT’s hand slides to your jaw, holding your head in place, and you obediently remain still while his eyes regard you hotly, looking at the swell of your lips and trails of spit dripping down your chin.

“So pretty like this, all wrecked out,” he murmurs, thumb running over the saliva on your lip before slipping into your mouth. Instinctively, your lips wrap around the digit, sucking on it, and his eyes glitter at the way your tongue slides over the pad of his finger. “Such a good fucking girl for me.”

His words send heat to your core, the praise making your pussy throb with desire. He smirks when you whine against his thumb, shifting on your knees to create even the slightest friction of your now soaked panties against your sex.

“Only for you, J,” you say, voice slightly hoarse from the abuse on your throat. “My Stanley Cup champion.”

His smug smile is prideful, and you don’t blame him — for all of the teamwork mentality and group praise he’ll be preaching the next few days, he should be allowed a moment to let himself feel successful, to be proud of his hard work and sacrifice to get here.

“You gonna let your champion fuck you now? Hmm?”

“Wanted you to cum down my throat,” you mumble, shyly, though the growl in his chest sends a wave of confidence through you.

He leans down to kiss your lips, his grip on your jaw still strong. The feeling of his plush lips on yours has your heart leaping to your chest, quickly turning from mush to flame when you see them purse, letting a thick wad of saliva fall into your open and waiting mouth. Feeling the spit sliding down your tongue, you moan, and he smirks again in what is one of the sexiest expressions you’ve ever seen grace his already beautiful face. It’s intimate and equally scorching hot, the throb between your legs growing deeper with every passing minute.

“We have plenty of time for that later,” he says, breaking you out of your hazy eyed daze. “But right now I want to be inside your pretty little cunt.”

And, well, how are you supposed to say no to that?

His strong arms pull you up to your feet, another hungry kiss pressed to your lips before he’s stripping you of your pants, flinging them blindly behind him. His hands can’t move fast enough, growing more and more restless as more of your skin is revealed to him.

When you’re in just your panties, he lays you back onto the bed, taking a leg in each hand and parting your thighs as if they are curtains revealing a broadway show. You can feel heat rise in your cheeks when you see his eyes fix on your center, and you know that your panties are visibly wet, can feel your arousal pooling in the fabric, undeniably turned on from having his dick lodged in your throat.

JT hums and echoes that same sentiment. “You liked that, huh, baby?”

Licking your lips, you nod, watching the way his tongue immediately licks a stripe up the fabric, saliva mixing with your juices to wet your panties even more. He hums, savoring the taste of you before he glances up at you with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Think you taste sweeter when you’re desperate. Maybe instead of my good girl, I should be calling you my good slut.”

“J,” you whimper, practically ready to come from his filthy mouth alone. He’s always more than satisfied you in the bedroom, but this version of him is something you’ve never seen from him, the confidence and the high from the greatest win of his life finally settling into his veins. Tomorrow, he’ll go back to being a humble team player, but tonight, he’s your Stanley Cup champion, the best player in the world.

“Oh, you like that?” he teases. “You want to be my pretty little slut?”

“Jesus, J.” You don’t have to confirm or deny for him to know you do; he can see the want in your eyes and the hitch of your throat when he says it.

His fingers are warm against your hips when he presses them underneath your waistband, pulling your panties down your legs. His eyes are on your pussy, but he’s talking to you when he responds, “I can tell by how fuckin’ soaked you are, baby. Could slip my dick right in, right now, no problem.”

“JT — J, please —” you cry out, the emptiness between your legs overwhelming as you feel yourself clench around nothing, desperate to have him inside of you.

But he’s not done, sending you a glance as he tugs his shirt off, and your fingers itch to touch the warm, creamy skin that he reveals, run over the sinewy muscle that he’s spent so long sculpting. “You’re desperate for me, aren’t you? Just dying to have this Stanley Cup winning dick in your cunt, huh?”

Ignoring him and the way he’s turning you feral with each velvety whisper of his filthy words, your hands reach up when he kicks off his boxers the remainder of the way down his legs. He’s quicker than you, though, hands catching your wrists and pinning them down above your head as he settles his muscled body between your spread thighs.

“If you made me wait to get your mouth on me, you’re gonna have to wait to get fucked,” he murmurs, fully aware of your desperation and determined to get his revenge. Temporarily, he distracts you from your aching desire with a hot kiss, provoking a lewd moan against his mouth. One hand moves to meet your chest, the skin on skin contact enough to set you on fire as he palms your breast, massaging the flesh roughly. When your back arches into his touch, his hand releases your wrists to slip behind you, fingers grazing the ridges of your spine while he pulls you into him, like he can’t get you close enough.

You can feel your hips rolling against nothing, barely brushing his thigh. His mouth trails hotly down your neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin on his way down to your nipple, where he takes the bud between his lips. His tongue is warm, wet, on your chest, pulling more sighs from your mouth. The trail he leaves is hot, wet, down your body, over your rib cage and tickling your belly, mouthing at your hips before he finds himself between your legs. His beard scratches you, and fuck, you want more, later, but now you’re so keyed up you think you might die if you don’t get him inside you soon.

But he’s got other plans, putting the teasing aside for a moment to delve his tongue between your folds, groaning at your taste. His hands are quick to latch onto your hips, holding them in place as they buck against his face. You want to protest, to beg him to quit teasing and fuck you already, but the words die in your throat, his pillowy lips too sinful for their own good.

JT’s mouth is greedy, lapping up every bit of your nectar that he can like it’s the elixir of life, bound to make him invincible like this forever. He’s moaning against you, enjoying it almost as much as you are, wanting your juices to coat the thick, coarse hair of his beard for the rest of the night. He’d eat your pussy for days, if you let him. And honestly, on any other occasion, you would let him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, sticky from sweat and champagne and Lord knows what else, gripping for traction while his tongue assaults your clit. The buzz in your belly is right there, has been steadily building all night since you watched him squirt water on his hair during warmups, only growing stronger and hotter as the night progressed. All it takes is one precise flick of his tongue to send you flying into euphoria, a long, lewd cry out into the darkness. Part of you knows your hotel neighbors can hear it, but you can’t be bothered to care, not with the way his mouth is riding out your orgasm, sending pulsing waves of pleasure through you.

“Feel better?” he asks, sarcastic, with a dirty grin. “Barely had to work for it, you were so desperate.”

Your cheeks burn at his words, would be embarrassed if you didn’t know he was loving how strung out you are, pliant in his hands and needy for him. “You gonna fuck me now?”

He chuckles darkly, the sound low in his throat. “Such a filthy little slut that even an orgasm can’t tide you over, huh?”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to be inside my pretty little cunt,” you retort, referencing the words he’d choked out earlier. He smirks, and you know you’ve got him when he slides back and rises to his knees.

“This what you want?” he asks, voice oozing smugness, hand moving to stroke himself slowly.

“Yes, God, J, please,” you whine, your temporary facade of confidence thrown away as you watch the swollen tip of his dick fucking his hand, any remaining humility you might have left completely flown out the window. “Want you. Need you.”

“Need me, or just need my cock?”

“Both,” is your broken plea, hips bucking against nothing as he kneels before you. He’s getting off on watching you beg, desperate for him, crying out his name, stroking his ego — literally — in a way that’s so unlike him, but then again this is a special occasion.

The immense relief you feel when he finally positions himself between your legs is unmatched. You don’t quite know where to look, torn between his dick and the molten chocolate of his eyes, burning with lust as he bumps your clit. The moment is briefly paused when he leans forward to kiss you, sweet and caring in a manner that starkly contrasts the tension in the air, hot and thick with raw desire.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips, chasing them to kiss you again, as if to prove his point.

“I love you, too,” you reply, breathless, mouth falling open when you feel him grazing against your sensitive labia. “Why don’t you show me how much?”

You feel the hot breath from his chuckle, mouth still pressed up against yours. His lips slide over the seam of your mouth, swallowing the pornographic moan you let out when he finally, finally pushes into you, slow and steady. Temporarily, you’re paralyzed, only able to focus on his rigid length, feeling each inch as he fills you up.

JT scatters soft, tender kisses up your jaw, allowing both of you a moment to revel in the simple pleasure of being connected so intimately. He’s thick, and rock hard, and you can feel yourself clench tightly around him. Your fingers press into his shoulders, an arm sliding around his neck to hold him close to you, and you murmur, “Move, J.”

“Greedy girl,” he snickers, but obliges, done with the teasing game now that he’s finally sheathed inside your snug heat. His hips begin to move, creating a steady rhythm that has whines tumbling from your lips, breathless sighs of his name into the darkness.

It’s always good with him, but tonight, it’s different, Stanley’s magic casting a spell over you both in a way that has each stroke lighting off fireworks between you. Your arms wrap around his back, holding his body close to yours and trapping the heat and all of the intimacy between your bodies, the hard muscle of his chest sliding against yours.

“J,” you moan in his ear, and it’s like the call spurs him into action, picking up his pace until he’s pounding and you can do nothing else except clutch onto him for dear life.

“Fuckin’ made for me, sweetheart. Always so good for me. God, I fuckin’ love you.”

JT’s lips connect with yours, soft despite the harsh metronome of his hips. His tongue slips against yours, accepting the mewls that you offer, exhaled softly on his mouth. One of his hands trails down your side, gripping your thigh and hitching it over his hip, then repeating the action on the other side so he can press deeper into you with a groan.

“You like being fucked by a Stanley Cup champ, huh?” the question is scalding hot, whispered against the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your reply is less of a yes and more of a mangled cry, unable to form a real sentence for the way he’s fucking you. You can feel the way your body squeezes him, tight, sending him the message to please, don’t stop, without having to speak.

“Feels so good, baby. So fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, the depth of his voice sending a tingle down your spine. “‘Specially for a little puckslut like you.”

“Fuck, J, I’m gonna –”

With his words, the fireworks in your belly are exploding, powerful waves coursing through you as you climax. Distantly, you hear him groan, feeling the way you’re gripping him tightly, fingernails surely leaving crescent-shaped marks in his otherwise unmarred porcelain skin.

JT coaxes you through the dying pulses of your orgasm, beard scratching your jaw as he presses kisses against your cheek. He chuckles, amused at only needing one sentence to make you scream his name.

“God, you really are a slut,” he jokes, the easy smile on his lips offering a lighthearted reprieve, temporarily bursting the cloud of lust that looms over you. You smile back, lips curling up against the place where his thick beard meets smooth skin of his cheek.

“Only for you,” you whisper.

He hums fondly. “That’s fuckin’ right, baby.”

The intimate moment has passed, and in a flurry of movements, you find yourself being flipped over onto the mattress, large hands tugging your waist back as you settle onto your hands and knees. Instinctually, you sway your hips back and forth in a little show, earning a growl from him before his hand is cracking against the bare skin of your ass. He guides himself back into you, slipping in almost too easily with the excess lubricant you provide, practically dripping for him.

He’s rough, quick, and you love every second of it. The force of his hips slapping against your ass has the mattress shaking, rhythmic bumping that will leave no question about what’s happening in your room, accompanied by the occasional smack of his palm against your bottom, faint handprints in its wake. His hands are gripping your sides, pulling you back onto him, though his urgency is less about his own release and more about yours, wanting to make you come over and over again – because even on a night that’s completely about him, he still wants to please you.

You feel his hand sliding hotly up your spine, chasing the bumps until it reaches the back your neck, fisting your hair and pressing down, firm but not so hard it hurts. The air in your throat is restricted, slightly, and you moan when he shifts his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts to have you crying out as he presses deeper into your greedy cunt. His hard body looms over yours when he leans forward, beard scratching your ear and jaw when he brings his mouth close to you.

“Can you give me one more, sweetheart?”

His hand releases the pressure, allowing you to gasp out an affirmative yes, and he’s back to his relentless pace. One hand returns to your neck, while the other moves to the top of yours, lacing your fingers together. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass, hard, echoes off the walls of the fancy hotel room, the few breathless gasps you let out muffled by his heavy breathing.

Your third one comes quickly, suddenly, a broken sob making its way out of your throat. He groans in satisfaction behind you, pleased with his track record and the way your body goes completely rigid underneath him. You’re barely out of your aftershocks, blinking away the stars in your eyes, when he’s nudging you to flip over, pulling out and moving to spill his release onto your face with a grunt. Your mouth opens in a moan, the hot liquid spurting over your cheek and onto your lips, the tanginess resting on your tongue.

JT looks at you, soft, with a smirk, admiring his handiwork. “You’re so pretty.”

When you lick your lips, catching some of his cum and humming as you swallow, he groans. “Do I look like a proper puck slut now?”

“A perfect little puck slut,” he says, leaning in to kiss you. “But only if you’re all mine.”

After you’ve cleaned up, you’re tucked into his arm under the crisp white sheets, blissfully happy. He’s recollecting some of his favorite memories of the run, reflecting on the journey to get to this point.

“I’m so… I’m so happy for you, J,” you whisper, craning your neck to kiss his jaw.

He hums, hand absently stroking circles into the skin of your shoulder blade. Your body is still tingling from the pleasure he gave you, and you feel the electric sparks from the light touch. “You know what would make me even happier?”

“Another blowjob?”

He laughs. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t say no to that.”

“What could possibly make you happier than you are in this exact moment, JT Compher?”

“Let’s tell them.”

“What?”

“Let’s tell everyone,” he repeats, pulling away slightly so he can look you in the eyes.

“J —”

“Babe, come on,” he says. “I just won the Stanley fucking Cup. I literally just achieved my dreams, and I want to celebrate it with you. My girl. I want to kiss you in public, to see you wearing my fuckin’ jersey at the parade, to have you there with me on the float — not hide you away in my secret hotel room and wave to you in the crowd in some generic jersey.”

You’re quiet, and you know he’s right. Truthfully, you’d been preparing for this moment since the day he asked you out all those months ago, the thought of making your relationship public one that got more comfortable with every day that passed. It’s not just the high of the win talking, but it certainly gives him the confidence to push the thought out into the universe, hanging heavily and loudly in the air.

“I just… I love you, so fucking much, and I want the whole world to know. I’m ready, if you are.”

“Okay, J,” you nod, pushing away the last little shred of uncertainty that lingers in your chest. You’ve known the time was coming, for awhile now, and, admittedly, no time could feel better than after winning the Stanley Cup. “You’re right. We can tell them. Let’s do it.”

He smiles, and distantly you think to yourself that his face must hurt from all of the grinning he’s done today — then again, so does yours. When he kisses you, he murmurs, “Can’t wait to do that in front of everyone. I’m gonna grab your ass so hard. Bo has a thing for you, you know.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. “He’s like, 12. Besides, I’m only a puck slut for you, remember?”

He hums, nodding in approval with a soft chuckle. You shift, sitting up on your elbows to look him square in the eye.

“Let’s talk about all of this in the morning. For now, how about that second blowjob?”

*******

The morning after winning the Stanley Cup is the same as that John Mayer song, Dreaming With a Broken Heart, except instead of a broken heart, it’s pure, unfiltered joy. You blink, adjusting to the light and the strange surroundings, and all at once the realization comes crashing down on you that you won the Stanley fucking Cup.

The same thing goes for being the girlfriend of a Stanley Cup winner, waking up to watch the love of your life remember all over again what he accomplished mere hours ago.

After some slow kisses and another round of celebratory intimate morning sex, the two of you discuss how you are going to break the news to the team. Ultimately, you decide that he’ll keep it casual, starting with Landy and working his way through the group, to avoid making it overly uncomfortable or awkward for you.

The hotel has reserved an entire ballroom for the team and extended guests to gather, and they are serving breakfast this morning to kick off another day of celebrations before the team flies back to Denver. When the group chat lights up to signal that everyone is moseying their way down, you and JT shower to freshen up and follow suit.

Once you’re ready, you open the door, not even thinking about the optics of you leaving JT’s hotel room the morning after winning the Stanley Cup. Unfortunately for you, Cale is also leaving his room, and turns to greet you, freezing when he sees JT standing behind you, and quickly puts two and two together.

“Uh –”

You freeze, heat flooding your cheeks, and JT sighs behind you.

“Oh. My. God.”

“Cale –”

“Nate, get out here! I finally figured out who JT’s girl is!”

JT glances at you, apologetic, his face saying, Hope you’re ready, because here it comes.

Nate’s door opens a few moments later, kitty corner to where you’re standing. He looks at Cale, then you, then JT, and then back to you.

“You’re Mrs. Comphy?” he asks incredulously, his mouth falling open.

The commotion causes a few others in the hall to burst out of their rooms to solve the Compher mystery, each more loud than the last. When JT finally manages to convince the group to at least head down for breakfast, you’re five hugs deep and feeling overwhelmed, but in a good way — mostly.

“I knew it!”

“Shut the fuck up, Burky, no you didn’t.”

“Does Josty know?” asks Gabe, nudging your shoulder in an affectionate gesture.

“Of course he knows,” JT scoffs. “That’s the privilege of being on a different team now.”

“Well, everyone’s gonna know now. Kept half the damn wing up last night,” Logan chimes in, earning a few guffaws from the group that’s formed around you.

“Oh my God, JT, harder!” Erik mocks in a high-pitched voice, tossing imaginary hair over his shoulder with a moan. “Right there, JT, don’t stop, Daddy!”

“Oh my God,” you cry, covering your face in your hands, desperately wishing that you could spontaneously combust right on the spot. “I’m quitting my job, right now.”

“If you quit, does that mean you don’t have to disclose it to HR?”

“‘Course she does, she’s been fucking our resident cranky ginger for months. That shit needs to be on record forever.”

Gabe laughs, his perfect smile gracing his perfect face. He slips an arm around your shoulders and says, “I know you’re already part of the Avalanche family, but welcome to the inner circle.”

Your face is still burning, but you appreciate the gesture. “Gee, thanks. Public humiliation is definitely a warm welcome.”

Later, though the celebration continued all day, JT pulled you aside after some of the commotion had died down to check in. “You good? I know that was… a lot. Obviously, I was hoping to be a little more tactful about it.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a kiss against his lips – your first ever in-public kiss – as your response (a wolf whistle sounded from behind you, and JT flipped them off). No, it wasn’t exactly as planned, but somehow it was just right anyways. “I’m just happy I get to do that now.”

He grinned, the elation clearly written all over his face – he had the Cup, and now he had his girl, to show off for the entire world to see.

And three days later, when he lifts the Cup at the parade, kissing you proudly in front of millions, you think to yourself that you couldn’t be happier with the decision.

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