#nathan mackinnon fanfic

[laurenairay]

you've been sent to save me - N. MacKinnon

Summary: what’s meant to be will always find a way.

Rachel Summers can’t stand Nathan MacKinnon. But when a mutual friend’s wedding pulls them together, will anything change?

Words: 3.4k

Warnings: some angst, some bad language

A/N: Here is my fic for @fallinallincurls birthday bingo! I chose wedding season/dates, forced proximity, meddling best friend, and invisible string theory. This was a lot of fun to write (and I can't believe I've never written a full fic for Nate before!), so I hope you enjoy it Bre! Sorry it's a bit late!

Title from always been you, by Shawn Mendes.

~

Invisible string theory suggests that everyone has someone in their lives who is attached to them by an invisible string that transcends time, distance, and geography. It’s fate.

~

June 2023

“There’s just one more thing.”

“Oh?” Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nate’s going to be a groomsman.”

Rachel immediately groaned, tilting her head backwards. A little dramatic perhaps but for Nathan MacKinnon? It was justified. She’d been over the moon when her childhood friend had asked her to be a bridesmaid for her wedding next summer, but now knowing that Nathan was going to be in the wedding party too?

“It’s bad enough that I can’t avoid that grumpy smirky fucker whenever he’s back for the summer, but now I can’t even avoid him for the happiest day of your life?”

“It really will be the happiest day of my life, won’t it?” she sighed happily.

“Angie, focus,” Rachel snapped, unable to stop herself from huffing out a laugh. She wanted to stay mad at her friend, but it was hard with the dreamy look on her face.

Angela just giggled. “Look, Brad has been friends with him for years, you know that. And I can’t change that – I’m sure it’ll be fine?”

“Angie!” Rachel whined.

She just laughed harder. “Rach, I will make sure he won’t act like an ass. I promise!”

“I’ll believe that the day I see it.”

~

June 2024

It was finally time for Angela’s wedding. After a full year of planning – helping choose the bridesmaid dresses, the hair and make-up trials, the hen do itself, spending her weekends making table decorations – the fateful weekend had finally arrived. Rachel had been given the option to travel up a couple of days early ahead of the wedding ceremony on the Saturday, so she’d eagerly booked the time off work, and was travelling to Inverary Resort bright and early on the Thursday morning. Rachel was ready to settle in and relax with the rest of the bridal party, all friends over the years from Cole Harbour, to celebrate one of her oldest friends marrying the love of her life.

What could possibly go wrong?

After 3 and a half hours of driving, Rachel was ready to kick her shoes off and pick up a cocktail, and as she spotted Angela running happily out of the main building towards her as she parked her car, she found a smile spreading across her face. This weekend was going to be amazing, she just knew it.

“You made it! How was the journey? We got in a few hours ago and it was fine for us – was it still okay for you?”

Rachel just grinned at her friend’s happy rambling, throwing her shoulder-length dark waves up into a basic ponytail before grabbing her bags out of her backseat. Thankfully the transportation of the bridesmaid dresses – a gorgeous olive green that suited Rachel’s dark hair and tanned skin perfectly -  were taken care of by Angela’s mom so she hadn’t had to worry about creasing that.

The two of them caught up as Angela walked her through the main lobby of the resort, picking up Rachel’s room key as well as a glass of complimentary prosecco. Rachel tried not to get too wide-eyed over the beauty of the venue, but it was hard not to gawp. The views alone were amazing, and she wasn’t even on the water’s edge yet. From what she understood, for the accommodation on site there was a main lodge with the majority of rooms, as well as whole bunch of individual cottages. Rachel had chosen to stay in the main lodge, as a single guest, so at least she didn’t have to walk far with her luggage.

“Alright, here you are. There are a few other guests already here so get settled and then come downstairs to meet us for drinks. It’s just a chilled day today, touring the grounds and relaxing really, with a dinner tonight at the Lakeside restaurant,” Angela explained, “I’ll see you soon?”

“You got it,” Rachel grinned.

Angela’s enthusiasm was infectious at the very least, and Rachel could feel herself buzzing as she unpacked her bags. She couldn’t wait explore the grounds of the resort – and she was more than ready for the spa morning tomorrow in the Glasgow house cottage that Rachel had set up for the bride’s party – but first, drinks.

After freshening up with a spritz of perfume and a swipe of lipgloss, Rachel left her room, phone and room key in hand.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

No fucking way.

Rachel turned her head to see the last person she wanted to see standing two doors down from her with a suitcase at his side. He must’ve just arrived. It was just her luck that his room was so close to hers – Angela had better not had a hand in that – as always during the summers when he was home, it was like she couldn’t escape him. Nathan MacKinnon was everywhere.

“Look what the cat coughed up,” Rachel shot back, fake smile at full capacity.

Nate just snorted, rolling his eyes. “Aww don’t front, Rach, you know you missed me.”

“Like a thorn in my foot,” she said dryly, “And don’t call me Rach.”

Rach was for friends only. And Nate was no friend.

Nate held his hands up in surrender with a snicker, finally unlocking his room door.

“If you find yourself lonely in the middle of the night, you know where to find me,” Nate smirked.

“Eurgh, in your dreams,” she grimaced.

“Yes, frequently.”

No. Just no. The audacity.

Rachel gagged dramatically, hamming up the noises, and to her surprise Nate burst out into laughter, leaning against the doorframe as his face scrunched. That had to be the first time he’d laughed so genuinely with just her. She hated the way it made her stomach fill with butterflies.

“Oh man, I needed that,” Nate grinned, still chuckling, “I’ll see you down at the lounge bar?”

More bewildered than anything else, Rachel just nodded. “Yeah, see you.”

What the hell was that?

~

Angela’s plans for the spa morning on the Friday couldn’t have been more perfect, if for nothing else than to clear Rachel’s mind. Over the space of 4 hours, Rachel (plus the other three bridesmaids, Angela, Angela’s mom, and Angela’s soon-to-be mother-in-law) got a manicure, pedicure, and a facial, on top of full use of the sauna and pool. It was exactly what Rachel needed to wind down from her work week (and the weirdness with Nate yesterday) and relax ahead of the big wedding day tomorrow. By the happy glow on the bridal party’s faces, everyone else agreed.

After a light lunch, the full wedding party met up in the main lodge, ready for a rehearsal. Angela and Brad had wanted a full walkthrough of the running order, timings, and placements of the day, just so they were prepared, which Rachel wasn’t going to complain about in the slightest. It could never hurt to be ready.

Not even Nate’s irritating grin as he stood next to her, continuously nudging her with his shoulder, could ruin her peace.

“So, in terms of who will be walking who down the aisle, we’ve paired the groomsmen and bridesmaids up already.”

As the four pairings were called out, Rachel’s stomach sank. She was walking down the aisle with Nathan MacKinnon. Of course she was. So much for peace. This had Angela written all over it, the meddling wench.

“Rach, I-”

“Don’t even say a word to me right now, you giant potato,” Rachel hissed under her voice.

Nate choked out a laugh, leaving Rachel to make her face blank and calmly walk towards the other bridesmaids. Angela’s expression was all but begging her not to cause a scene. Like she would cause something as inelegant as a scene. No, she would wait until there was a moment to pull Angela aside because what the hell was she thinking?

“What the fuck, Angie?”

“Hi Angie, you look incredible Angie, thanks for planning everything ahead of your wedding tomorrow Angie.”

Rachel pursed her lips, hands on hips, but Angie just shrugged, an amused smile on her face. The two of them were in a little alcove in the main lodge, completely hidden from view even though everyone had gone their separate ways, so Rachel didn’t bother to hide her displeasure in her body language.

“I don’t know what you want me to say? The two of you are paired together to walk for all of two minutes. You can handle it,” Angie mused.

“Why him? You could’ve paired me with literally anyone else,” Rachel groaned.

“True, I could’ve, but it’s done now. Besides the two of you could use a little time to be friendly. Or, you know. Friendly.”

Bleurgh. Absolutely not.

“You are the worst and I don’t know why we’re friends,” Rachel grimaced.

“At this point, Stockholm Syndrome?” Angela beamed.

Rachel couldn’t help but to crack a grin, Angela just giggling at her victory.

“It’s two minutes, you will survive it. The two of you will look good together at least...”

What?

They were complete opposites – Nate was blonde, blue eyed, beefy and pale. Rachel was dark-haired, dark-eyed, slim and tan.

What?

“…and Nate’s obsessed with you anyway.”

“Ew, no, he’s not obsessed with me,” Rachel said, sneering slightly.

“No? With everyone else, he’s awkward and dorky. But with you, he’s laser focused. I wonder why,” she said, finishing with an innocent smile.

“Oh gee lucky me! I don’t know, because he’s an ass?” Rachel scowled.

“No, because Nathan MacKinnon’s flirting never matured past pulling pigtails on the school playground,” Angela shot back.

What?

“He’s not flirting,” Rachel scoffed.

Angela paused for a second, gazing over Rachel as if she was trying to figure something out, before she laughed incredulously. “Oh my God, Brad’s going to lose his mind when I tell him. You really can’t see it, can you?”

“See what?”

Rachel didn’t know what her face was doing to reflect her defensive words, but Angela held her hands up in surrender.

“Just take a step back and look at everything. He wants your attention solely on him and this is the only way that’s been successful in catching it. For twenty years – and you know it. Watch him with other people. Watch him with other women. He’s flirting with you, Rach. Just think about it.”

~

Watch him with other people.

Watch him with other women.

He’s flirting with you, Rach.

Just think about it.

Angela’s words swirled around Rachel’s head all through the rest of the day, and it was all she could do to follow her friend’s advice. She watched Nate, all through dinner and the drinks afterwards. She watched how Nate was beaming and friendly with Brad and their Cole Harbour buddies. She watched how Nate was bland and polite with women that flirted with him at the bar. She watched how Nate watched her when men approached her, always catching him looking at her, eyes intense and hot. Why did Angela have to put those seeds of doubt in her head? Why did she have to do it now, the night before the wedding, when there was so much else to think about?

Why did she have to be right?

Nate was so different with her than anyone else, even people they’d known all their lives, and it was completely turning everything she’d ever thought about him on its head. This wasn’t fair. She didn’t need this, not right now. It wasn’t fair.

The wedding day came with no further clarification for her thoughts, her head in full turmoil, and it took all of Rachel’s concentration and willpower to focus on being the best bridesmaid she could be. Angela wasn’t even aware of the way she’d swept the rug out from underneath Rachel’s feet, which was probably for the best if she was being honest, so Rachel just let herself get swept up in the excitement of all the bridal party getting ready together, hair and make-up and dresses and happy tears, all of them looking gorgeous by the end of it – Angela most of all.

As the time came for them to walk down the aisle, Rachel’s nerves were in tatters.

“Rachel Summers, damn. You clean up well,” Nate murmured.

She ignored the shiver his words sent down her spine.

“Bite me MacKinnon.”

He immediately raised an eyebrow, eyes assessing her.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, frowning.

Of course he noticed. Of course.

“Peachy,” she said through gritted teeth, plastering a smile on her face.

“I can tell you’re lying.”

“Gold star for you.”

It felt like an automatic defence to slip into their usual banter, Nate just huffed out a laugh, smirking slightly, all of it serving only to make her feel unsteady. How the hell had she missed this for so long? How easy their connection was? How his bitching was actually…flirting?

“Alright princess, let’s go celebrate our friends,” he mused.

As Nate stuck out his elbow, Rachel inhaled shakily but didn’t hesitate to slip her hand into the crook of his arm. Even through the jacket, she could feel the warmth of his body, the thickness of his bicep, and all she could do was try to keep a straight face, to not let anyone see how the simple touch was making her head spin. What the fuck was happening to her?

They walked in silence, in perfection symmetry, Nate sending her a small smile as they separated at the altar, and it wasn’t until the wedding march music started, signalling Angela’s imminent arrival, that she realised she was lost in thought. She needed to pull herself together, and quickly.

Rachel locked her eyes on Angela and Brad all through the ceremony, letting their happy smiles and obvious love for each other fill her mind, a smile of her own easy on her face. This was Angela’s day, that’s all she had to focus on. That’s all she needed. Still, in the drinks reception and through the sit-down meal, Rachel found her eyes drawn back to Nate, the two of them seated at the same table (of course, albeit not next to each other so her gaze was able to float over him without looking too obvious.

Just as the night before, the way he smiled at other guests versus how he smiled at her was completely different, and she was just glad for the prosecco nearby. She was going to need it to get through this night, she knew that much. As the speeches went on and the food was served, she felt herself getting more and more overwhelmed, feeling more and more stupid for how much Angela’s revelations were affecting her. Why was she making such a big deal out of this? It’s not like it was going to change anything, right? She’d get through the wedding reception and go back home tomorrow morning and avoid Nate until he left for Colorado next month. It was totally doable. It was a great plan. It was-

“And now, please join us on the dance floor for the bride and groom’s first dance!”

Fuck.

Rachel moved on autopilot, standing to the side of the semi-circle of guests as Angela and Brad walked into the middle of the floor. Just as the music started, she felt a familiar body moving to stand next to her, and she wasn’t able to hold back the shaky breath escaping her mouth, the softest whimper only audible to him.

“What’s wrong?”

You're the light, you're the night, You're the colour of my blood, You're the cure, you're the pain, You're the only thing I wanna touch, Never knew that it could mean so much, so much.

“Hey, Rachel, are you okay?”

You're the fear, I don't care, 'Cause I've never been so high, Follow me to the dark, Let me take you past our satellites, You can see the world you brought to life, to life.

“Rach. Rachel. Seriously, you’re worrying me.”

So love me like you do, la-la-love me like you do Love me like you do, la-la-love me like you do Touch me like you do, ta-ta-touch me like you do What are you waiting for?

She was worrying him? Rachel glanced up at Nate as Ellie Goulding’s voice continued to fill the barn, and the soft look in his eyes just about broke her. It was all she could do to inhale sharply and shake her head.

“No, I’m not okay. I need to get some air. I need to get out of here.”

Nate’s soft expression immediately turned serious, eyes more intense than she’d ever seen, sending a bolt of electricity through her blood. “Can you make it through the dance? It’s fine if you can’t, I can get you out.”

What?

“I…I can wait,” she managed to choke out.

Nate looked at her for a couple of seconds before nodding, arm moving to gently rest behind her as if some kind of fail safe, and it was all Rachel could do to focus on keeping her breathing steady, eyes stinging with tears as she locked her gaze on her friends as they twirled around the floor. But in reality she was barely taking anything in, other than the heat of his body protecting her. Because that’s what it was – he was protecting her. She knew she was a hair away from having a full-on breakdown, and the last thing she wanted to do was draw attention away from the happy couple. The last thing. It was only that thought that kept her together until the music ended, and the moment everyone burst into applause, Nate was whisking her outside, somehow neither of them being stopped by other guests for polite chitchat.

Small mercies.

When they were in a secluded grassy nook, Nate turned around to face her.

“Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

How could he even ask that?

“Am I okay? Of course I’m not okay!”

He held his hands up in soft surrender. “What’s wrong?” Nathe frowned.

“You! You’re what’s wrong!”

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Okay I know for a fact that I haven’t done anything to earn that.”

Rachel just groaned, clenching her fists as she closed her eyes briefly. He hadn’t done anything to earn it? He’d done everything to earn it!

In the 20 years they’d known each other, all she’d ever ‘known’ of him is the way he always poked at her, always the first to draw attention to her doing something stupid, untying the bows in her hair, jostling her in the school hallways. As they’d grown up he hadn’t really changed, even when he spent more time away for hockey. He still made fun of her choices in boyfriends, in clothes, in music, even being as dumb as to take the last beer at summer parties or the burger she’d been waiting for or laughing at her not being able to walk in a straight line when she was drunk.

But never anything cruel. Just stupid attention grabbing things that absolutely got her focusing only on him and no-one else, just like Angela said. Stupid irritating Nathan MacKinnon, and all of his stupid ideas, and stupid inability to actually talk like a human being.

It wasn’t until Nate started laughing that she realised she’d been ranting out loud, blurting out all of her angry thoughts to him, and it was all she could do to let out a frustrated bitten-off scream of frustration as he smirked that annoying smirk.

“You’re right, I don’t want your attention on anyone else. I never have, Rach, and I never will. If I’d known you hadn’t actually realised that, maybe I would’ve used my words. But where’s the fun in that?”

Oh that absolute ass.

Rachel let out another quiet shriek of frustration, grabbing the lapels of his jacket, Nate still laughing even as she pulled him down and pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss.

Invisible string theory suggests that everyone has someone in their lives who is attached to them by an invisible string that transcends time, distance, and geography. It’s fate. And for Rachel Summers and Nathan MacKinnon, they were destined.

#my writing #nathan mackinnon fic #bre's birthday fic bingo #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon fanfic #nathan mackinnon x oc #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

[matthewtkachuk]

monday morning - nathan mackinnon

the boys win the Stanley Cup and you end up in bed with one of them

pairing: nathan mackinnon x reader

warnings: mention of alcohol, mention of sex (not quite explicit but more than implied - yk my brand by now), sex that takes place after both parties have been drinking (if this is a trigger feel free to skip! take care of yourselves my loves)

word count: 1.2k

a/n: hey besties long time no see, hope yall are doing well. one week ago, the colorado avalanche won the stanley cup and you know a bitch couldn't resist a post-win fic <3 s/o to @antoineroussel for being the only one awake and telling me when i'm being pretentious

Monday morning you wake with the feeling of cotton balls stuffed down your throat and a heavy body weighing you down into the mattress. For a moment you can’t quite figure out where you are or how you got here—it’s quite difficult to make sense of anything as you burrow your head back deeper into the pillows and keep your eyes squeezed shut.

Wiggling your toes, you assess the damage, but it’s almost impossible to move under the weight on top of you. Said weight starts to shift a little in its slumber you assume, and that’s when you come to realize whoever is on top of you is one, naked, and two, very very heavy. One of his wandering hands slides from its place by your side up to rest on the underside of your boob and that’s when you realize a third thing—you’re naked too. 

The night before comes back to you in bits and pieces—the longest five minutes of your life at the end of the third period, someone screeching in your ear at the final buzzer, placing your hands on the ever elusive lord stanley and then drinking shitty beer out of it with the half naked team who’d won it half an hour before. Linking arms with some of the better halves and stumbling out of a hostile arena into an even more hostile city, and yet finding a club/bar more than willing to take your—well, not yours specifically—”dirty” money. 

Shots and then more shots and then more shots. If you think hard enough, you vaguely remember doing a body shot off André. Somebody pressing a water into your hands and you pretending to take a large slip before leaving it on the closest bar top when they turned around. Sliding in real close into… someone’s embrace shortly after and then staying there for the rest of the night. You can picture their muscled shoulders and feel the heat of their calloused hands and yet their face remains beneath a dark cloud in your mind. 

“You wanna go back to mine?” whispered in your ear and wandering hands and giggles turned whines turned moans turned toes curling and nails dragging down backs. Chapped lips and a bearded face and praise shared like an oath. 

But who? 

You’re afraid to open your eyes, afraid to face whoever is in your bed or maybe whose bed you’re in, afraid you won’t like who you find or afraid you will and they won’t want you too in the fresh morning light. You know it’s a hotel room—or at least you’re pretty sure it’s a hotel room based on the feel of the sheets beneath you and the too fluffy pillow that’s got your neck at an uncomfortable angle. 

If you had it your way you’d never find out whose hotel room it is, but ultimately you don’t have much of a choice. Not when the mysterious not-quite-stranger presses a chaste kiss to the skin of your neck before rolling off of you with a groan.

“It wasn’t a dream,” he says, punctuated by a small exhale of breath that can only be indicative of disbelief. 

The feeling of your chest constricting is timed perfectly with the way the rest of the night flashes by—EJ leaving a sloppy kiss on your cheek, Mel crying into your shoulder, one too many Jägerbombs.

And then Nate. 

Nate lifting you into his arms on the ice and shouting about how they finally fuckin’ did it, Nate’s everlasting eye contact as he tips the Stanley Cup so that the alcohol falls into your awaiting mouth, Nate’s front pressed to your back on the dance floor, Nate’s arms feeling like home when you didn’t know which direction was left and which direction was right. Nate leading you to his hotel room, fingers brushing the 1787 numberplate before turning their attention on you. 

Stumbling into Nate and kissing him and running your fingers through his hair and along the beard on his jawline—”this is so sexy”—getting your hands on him and pressing and pulling and prodding until his naked body covered yours on the neatly made bed. You’d teased him for it, asked him if it was a superstition or just his good manners that had him making the bed on the most important morning of his hockey career yet. He’d only kissed you quiet. 

And then a moment of clarity in the drunken, lust-fuelled haze where he’d pushed back the hair from your face and asked if you were sure. When you’d told him you’d never wanted anything more, he’d told you without shame that it was a tie between you and the cup, and he’d ‘already won the cup tonight.’

It sends tingles down your spine to remember the way he looked at you last night. A look you’d previously seen hours earlier, looking around at the boys after the final buzzer, and then pushing his captain towards it only to hold it minutes later. Like you were the Stanley Cup, like you were the culmination of two and a half decades of hard work and perseverance and overcoming adversity, like you were the thing he’d spent his entire life waiting for.

“The cup and the girl...fuck am I ever lucky,” he speaks again before pulling you so that you lay half on top of him this time. You finally open your eyes to see that very same look still on his face. “Good morning.”

“Hi,” you say, suddenly very shy and wanting to disappear into the covers. You push down the urge to run for the nearest hill, tentatively placing your hand on his chest above his heart. When he covers it with his own you find the courage to speak again. “How did you sleep?” 

“I think I’m still drunk,” he admits with a laugh, “but I’ve never slept better.” 

“Better than Landy?” you ask. “Bet he slept naked in EJ’s hotel room with the cup between them.” 

Nate laughs out loud at that and you preen under the sound. “We’ll get our turn to sleep naked with the cup.” 

“We?” you ask hopefully, tentatively. Despite the look in his eye and the fact that he has yet to let you go, you’re not the kind of girl who makes assumptions or gets her hopes up. In fact, you’re the very opposite—more likely to assume the worst in any situation, and you in fact do so now. 

“I think I made myself pretty clear last night,” he smirks and you remember the gentle way he regarded you during sex. “I’m not a man of many words, we both know that. But you have to know how I feel about you.” 

His hand cups your face and his thumb gently skims your cheekbone before your lips are pressed together.

“Yeah, I think I do.”

#nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nathan mackinnon x reader #nathan mackinnon fic #nathan mackinnon fanfic #nathan mackinnon fanfiction #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon imagines #shelb writes

[miracleonice87]

Can you please write a blurb about a domestic and romantic scenario with husband!Nathan MacKinnon, I love your writing! 🥰😘❤

first of all, thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much that means to me! ❤️

OUCH y’all i hurt myself w this one in the best way! 10000% everything i wanna say to Nate right now. congrats to the Dogg – cannot even wait to watch him in the big dance.

combining this one with a request from my lovely @fallinallincurls who asked me to write a blurb about Nate coming home from Edmonton. I hope you both enjoy 😘

_____

Feelings and the Final with Nathan MacKinnon

After watching Nate practically bounce down the Rogers Place hallway with an enormous grin on his face after sweeping the Oilers, you expected him to be just that bubbly and ecstatic when he got home. Instead, a handful of hours later, he came through the door to find you in the kitchen, grabbing another glass of wine as you waited up for him… and his demeanor wasn’t at all what you had anticipated.

Instead, you barely greeted him with a soft, “hi, bub!” before he easily, wordlessly lifted you up onto the kitchen counter and wrapped his arms around your waist, tucking his face into your neck.

You smiled to yourself – the adrenaline from the win and the celebration seemed to have worn off, and you assumed he was now just tired.

And he was – there was no doubt about that. But there was something else brewing within him, too, and after standing in your arms for a few long moments, still not speaking, you felt a wetness on your shoulder and heard soft sniffles escaping him.

You tightened your grasp on him, arms tightly wound around his shoulders.

Since he was a kid, Nate had felt every emotion more deeply and intensely than most people – when he was happy, he was elated; when he was mad, he was incensed; and when he was feeling sentimental, as you sensed that he was right now, that emotion, too, was to the highest power.

“Let it out, baby,” you whispered, hoping to ground him. “You’re okay.”

Hearing your voice vibrate in your chest brought him more comfort than he could ever explain, more than you would ever know – he couldn’t express his emotions like this around anyone but you. You were his safe place – his haven. Which is why he knew he was bound to break down the moment he saw you, no matter how triumphant he had been in his postgame interviews and on the flight home. You were the only person with whom he could express every emotion that this long-awaited win had brought.

He only needed a couple of minutes, then he was drying his eyes with the back of his hand and sighing deeply, a sign that he was ready to let the feeling go. He stood up and kissed your forehead.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “I’d be lost without you.”

You beamed, smoothing a hand over his lapel. “You’re welcome, baby,” you responded, cupping his cheek as he kissed at your hand. “I’m so proud of you, Nathan – you’re going to the Final!” You squealed, making him giggle and then shake his head in disbelief.

“I know… man, that’s crazy, huh?” he asked rhetorically. Then, he turned serious again. “But, I mean, it doesn’t mean anything if we don’t pull it off.”

You knew that was coming. You slid your hands up his shoulders and around the back of his neck, bringing him closer to you, then pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I know you believe that. And that’s fine,” you said when you parted, your fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “But I don’t believe it. I think this was a huge step for you – for all of you. You have worked your fucking ass off for so many years, and look where you are now. Center stage. All the eyes in the world are on you. That is where you thrive, baby,” you reminded him, giving him a gentle shake. He offered a small smile. “And I, for one, cannot fucking wait to watch you live your dream. You’re playing for the Stanley Cup, Nate. I want you to remember that. I want you to enjoy it.”

He nodded, eyes fixed on you, knowing you were right – as always. He smoothed his hand over your hair and leaned in to kiss you.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, earning a wide grin from you.

“I love you, you whispered back. You snaked your feet around the backs of his knees, now completely trapping him in your grasp. “Listen, I know it’s late, but whattya say we-”

“If you’re about to say ‘go upstairs and celebrate,’ then you don’t even have to ask,” Nate filled in, his lips never moving more than a millimeter from yours.

“Okay, just checking,” you said before he lifted you off the counter, deepening your kiss.

#requests #blurbs #nathan mackinnon #nate mackinnon #nathan mackinnon blurb #nathan mackinnon fanfiction #nathan mackinnon fanfic #nathan mackinnon fic #nate mackinnon blurb #nate mackinnon fanfiction #nate mackinnon fanfic #nate mackinnon fic #colorado avalanche blurb #Colorado avalanche fic

[withwritersblock]

~Masterlist~

Requests are open :) ~But I hold the right to delete any request I do not feel comfortable writing Last Edited: 4/29/24

Fluff- ❤︎ Angst-★ Dad Fic- ✿ Spicy (implied smut only)-✖︎

Cale Makar

Say Isn't it Strange pt. 1 ❤︎ pt. 2 ★ Lover ❤︎ Dog Days are Over ❤︎ just like heaven ❤︎

Nathan Mackinnon

The Fall of Home ❤︎✖︎ I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) ❤︎ Colorado (For the First Time)★ ❤︎

Cole Caufield

5 foot 9 ❤︎ When He Sees Me ❤︎ Shadow in the Sun ★✖︎ Break up in the End ★ Half as Good as You ★ Until I Come Home ❤︎✖︎

Kirby Dach

Small Talk ❤︎ ✖︎ Your Needs, My Needs ★ Love You Goodbye ★✖︎ Say Love ❤︎

Alex Newhook

To Love Someone ❤︎ Heaven ❤︎ Hey ★✖︎

Luke Hughes

Champagne Supernova ★ I Miss You ★✖︎ More Hearts Than Mine - a series It Wasn't Easy to be Happy for You ★ I Was in Love ★✖︎ Too Sweet ❤︎✖︎ Caffeine ❤︎ Lover Boy - a series Everywhere, Everything ★ End of Beginning ❤︎★ Morbid Mind ❤︎

Nico Hischier

Isn't She Lovely ❤︎✿ because i liked a boy★

Jack Hughes

Espresso ✖︎❤︎

#nhl imagines #cale makar #nhl #cale makar imagines #cale makar x reader #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagines #nhl fic #nhl x reader #cole caufield imagines #cole caufield fluff #cole caufield x reader #cole caufield imagine #cole caufield #montreal canadiens #montreal canadiens imagines #hockey x reader #hockey imagines #hockey #kirby dach x reader #kirby dach imagines #kirby dach #juraj slafkovsky #Nathan mackinnon #alex newhook #alex newhook imagines #masterlist #fanfic #luke hughes x reader #Luke Hughes

[f1ast-life]

WHAT KINDA BOYFRIEND SHIT IS THIS

#HE'S WEARING NATES HODDIE #AHHHHHHH #the fanfic is writing itself #what is in the air in toronto #sidney crosby #nathan mackinnon #nhl #nhl asg 2024

[watch-the-damn-line]

Imperatives

Sidney Crosby/Nathan Mackinnon

"He can feel the vibrations of Nate’s moans as he bites and sucks at the tender underside of his chin, and over his adam’s apple. Nate tastes like salty sweat, like the beer he’d drunk somewhat clumsily earlier, like skin, like Nate. It’s heady and Sid scrapes his teeth unkindly across the skin before licking up Nate’s jugular posessively."

aka the one in which Sidney takes ENORMOUS advantage of Nate's hero worship for him, and his general coachability.

if that sounds like your thing you can read it here, i am dearestblake on ao3 :))

#dearestblake fics #sidnate #hrpf #hockey rpf #sidney crosby #nathan mackinnon #fanfic #ao3 writer

[nateslehky]

stuck between his teeth just like a candy bar

nathan mackinnon // artturi lehkonen

3.7 k

His fingers curl into Artturi’s hair, tugging slightly, and their lips crash together, any trace of softness gone from his touch. Artturi gasps, and Nate’s tongue dips into his mouth, causing Artturi to melt into him like the chocolate that he can still taste on his tongue, bitter and sweet all at once.

Or the time Artturi decides to share some of his beloved Finnish chocolate, only to discover it tastes even better on Nate's lips.

read on ao3

#men's hockey rpf #my fics #fan fic #nate x lehky #nathan mackinnon x artturi lehkonen #hockey rpf #hockey fan fiction #hockey fan fic #ao3fic #fanfic rec #hockey fan fic rec

[nordalanche]

i like the glimpses of the rangers, avs, and leafs you've shown before, and wouldn't mind more details about all of those teams! i also am a pens fan, do you have any headcanons for them?

So sorry this has taken so long but I've been deciding. I don't like to go back on the dynamics I assign in this universe after I've made them so I was making sure they were right.

I've never written anything involving the Rangers but I've always wondered about Artemi Panarin. I see him as a sub who has hidden his dynamic and presented as an adynamic for his whole life in Russia in fear of what would happen to him in the more traditional country. He thought once he got to North America he could reveal it, but being passed over in the draft and the series of trades from Chicago to Columbus to New York made him too nervous and unsettled and it wasn't until he got to NYC and became friends with Mika and Chris (who are together) that he finally felt comfortable revealing his dynamic. I don't really ship him with anyone, but that might change later.

As for the Pens, me, like so many others, see Sidney Crosby as a submissive and Geno as his dom. I've always seen them like that, but my interest in the Pens lies more with Flower and Kris Letang. I've always seen Fleury as a sub who doesn't have to deal with as much media attention as other subs deal with (like Sid) because he's a goalie. However, his submissive nature makes him feel extremely bad about himself when he lets his team down, especially in the playoffs. For years, he platonically submits to doms on the team while pinning after Tanger, but never gets a long-term partner. He eventually starts to be replaced by Tristan Jarry, which drives his self-confidence so low he goes to Vegas. He holds it together through spite through the regular season, but after losing in the finals, he goes into a deep subdrop, and then Sid, Geno, and Tanger fly out to help him and convince him to find a way back to Pittsburg. The jury is out on if he ever gets together with Tanger. Sorry, this one is a bit of a rare pair haha.

Now, the Avs are my fav team, so I have plenty of headcanons for them. You might have even noticed the one line I wrote about sub-Georgiev being smothered by dom-Igor who stole the spotlight and left Georgie as a forgotten-about scapegoat.

However, Nathan MacKinnon steals the spotlight here. Nathan MacKinnon is a dom. Through and through. He's a dom who has failed with every relationship he's ever tried to have with a sub. He failed with Drouin. He failed with Sidney. And, he failed with Tyson Barrie when he was traded to Toronto. Nate always sees it as his fault. It's like the announcers say: he's too intense, too serious, too harsh. Why would anyone want to be with a dom like that? He's too overbearing for subs. He ruins them. It's best if he keeps to himself and EJ and Gabe and plays the game and tries to win, win, win no matter what.

He turns his head when Sammy rests his forehead on EJ's chest and sighs after a hard practice. And, he never looks when Burky kneels for Gabe or Kadri in the locker room. That's not for Nate. He can't handle the responsibility of someone else's submission. His hands are far too bloodied from fighting.

Then, one day, Cale arrives. And, Cale is quiet and nice and overly polite and everything a Canadian sub is taught to be. His cheeks blush with every compliment and he's endlessly innocent. He calls his college professors from the parking lot of Ball Arena while Nate nurses sore knuckles from fights he shouldn't be in.

Yet, Cale isn't afraid of Nate. He doesn't pull the Mikko routine and as Gabe to text Nate for him (even years later, that story makes Nate burn with embarrassment and disappointment with himself). Cale tells Nate what he's thinking and takes Nate's critiques in stride. Even though he tries to avoid it, Nate finds himself forming a friendship with Cale.

Basically: Nate is super scarred from failed relationships, personal failures, and the words of the media and bans himself from ever being with a sub again. Because of this, he becomes closed-off and harsh, especially because he's not satisfying his needs as a dom. Cale comes along and heals him little by little along the way by teaching Nate healthy ways to deal with failure and good communication.

It certainly helps that they like the same things in bed: Cale on his knees with Nate above him and Nate's hand on Cale's neck pushing his nose into the crease of his hip where the smell of sweat is the strongest.

#nordalanche.ask #nordalanche.fic #fanfic #hockey rpf #avs #colorado avs #nathan mackinnon #cale makar #nathan/cale #829

[manchot1988]

Hindsight (MacKinnon/Marner Fic)

Fic under the cut:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39770649

Summary:  

 A phone call between Nate and Mitch during the Stanley Cup Playoffs 2022

Mitch’s phone was lighting up with a call notification from Nate. Mitch was dreading this call but knew that it was only a matter of time. It wasn’t the right time since it’s the morning of Game 3 of the Finals for Nate but let’s be honest, there was never going to be a right time for this. I mean, how do you even go about telling your sort of boyfriend that you were carjacked right after getting eliminated from the playoffs? Playoffs that his team is still in and made it all the way to the finals.

Mitch isn’t even sure what they are. They were friends but also potentially more? They had bonded while training last summer and had kept in contact during the season but it was hard for them with their schedules and the fact that they were in competing teams. Avs had come to Toronto to play back in December and they were supposed to meet up after the game but the Leafs beat them significantly with a 3-8 game that Nate didn’t want to meet with him or even call or text him for a while. That stung but Mitch understood and forgave him in the end when Nate started texting him again like nothing had happened after the Avs beat the Leafs in OT a month later.

They both got busy preparing for playoffs that the texting just stayed as texting with a hint of teasing. They both agreed to meet up again in the summer after playoffs for training and maybe more but realistically, Mitch knows that Nate might be busy in the long run if the Avs go all the way. Not that Mitch knows what that schedule is gonna look like, the Leafs hadn’t made it past Round 1 in a while.

It wasn't as if Mitch was ignoring Nate either - he had texted and sometimes called Nate after Nate's games. He's even done video review with Nate and threw in his two cents of the Avs games. He just never mentioned the carjacking or talked about the Leafs being eliminated. They both tapered off on the flirting/teasing once playoffs started to keep their heads in the game. Mitch didn’t feel like he could call and bug Nate about the carjacking or being eliminated since Nate was still in the fight. Not to mention, Mitch was still processing everything that happened. It wasn’t all straight in his head, still isn't if he's being honest, and he wasn’t about to unload that on Nate when Nate had other things to worry about.

Taking a deep breath, Mitch answers the call. “Hey Nate”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were carjacked?”, asks Nate. Mitch could hear the anger in his voice. Fuck, this wasn’t going to be good. Mitch sighs, “I know this sounds stupid but you had other things to worry about. I was physically fine in the end and the team took care of me..”

“So what, I don’t matter then?”, spits out Nate. “That’s not what I said, Nate. You matter to me, you know that! You’re in the finals. You should be focusing on that. My thing will keep for a while.. “, says Mitch.

Mitch continues, “I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. I had to repeat it enough times for the cops then the management team at the Leafs right after. By the time I had a second to breathe, the team found out and it was another round of reliving the moment and I was just done. If I called you then, I would have fallen apart and that wasn’t fair to put on you then when you’re stuck in Colorado getting ready for Round 2. There was nothing you could have done at that moment..”

Nate’s heavy breathing is all Mitch hears for a moment, as if Nate was holding back everything he wanted to scream out at Mitch. “I could have been there for you, even just by checking in by text of phone calls, Mitch. I would have done something!”

“I know you would have but I didn't want you to. I wanted you to focus on training and the team.. I don’t want to be a distraction for you right now. I won't let that happen. Fuck, you should be getting ready for morning skate right now, you’re fucking playing tonight Nate!”, says Mitch

“That wasn’t you decision to make Mitch. I could have handled it; I can fucking multitask, alright. I can worry about your dumb ass and win games at the same time -” Mitch sobs on the phone. He tries to keep it in but it slipped past his control and fuck, Nate heard it. “Shit, baby, please don’t cry.. I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m fucking this up even more..”, says Nate on the phone.

Mitch shakes his head as if that would help clear it. “No, no. It’s ok. It’s not your fault, Nate. It was a scary situation. The timing sucked and I was barely keeping it together. I wanted to call you so badly but I also couldn’t make myself do that to you. I figured I was out of danger and it was over and I’d tell you eventually when you were free.. I was never gonna keep it from you, I was just trying to let you finish out the playoffs…”

“I wish I could be there. Fuck Mitch, I fucking miss you..”, admits Nate. “I know we said we’d talk in the summer and we will but I just need you to know that this isn’t a fling for me or anything like that. I want to see where this is going with you. I know where I want it to go and I’m gonna fucking do my best to get us there if you’re on the same page babe..”

“I am.. I know Nate. I’ve always known. Our timing just sucks but I need you to focus on the games first. I don’t plan on going anywhere and I’ll see you soon.. Just fucking win for me, ok? I promise, I’m ok. I’ll tell you everything later if that's what you want”, says Mitch.

“I’ll do my best, babe”, promises Nate, “but I need you to promise to take care of yourself too. And I’ll call you tonight. I know I’m not the best at this but I’m serious about you. I promise.”

“Tonight then. I’ll be watching..”, replies Mitch.

#hockey fanfic #nathan mackinnon #mitch marner #nathan/mitch

[dadvans]

last sentence tag game

RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

thank you both @marmolita and @crosbyism for tagging! well, i’m happy to have finally worked on some problem scenes on the sidnate longfic last night for the first time in two years, so, here is a little more than a sentence:

On his last skate there, two days after the lock out officially ended, Nathan MacKinnon showed up.

“It’s just Nate, man, c’mon,” Nate mumbled when Sid tapped the side of his foot with his stick to say hi.

They hadn’t really talked since earlier that summer, but Sid had kept up with the Mooseheads more than usual out of professional curiosity, and occasionally would send him a text after a good game. Nate would always text back some version of Thank You, usually after Sid went to bed. But Canada had just lost big time at World Juniors with Nate stuck in the lower lines, and when Sid sent a consolation text, Nate hadn’t responded at all.

Tagging: @goodnightpuckbunny (why won’t it let me tag u!!) @plethoriall @squidsquadlove @helenish @drunktuesdays @rcmclachlan

#delaney writes #dadvans replies

[laurenairay]

and prompt 1 with nathan mackinnon!! can’t wait for these! thank youu

I really enjoyed writing this softer side of Nate! Thank you for choosing him for this one, Bre, and I hope you enjoy it!

“You know it’s only you who makes me like this.”

Words: 655

*

“Surprise!”

You flinched at the loud shout from your boyfriend, hand clutching over your heart as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“Nathan MacKinnon, you are the worst!” you gasped, batting at his chest with a hand.

“I missed you too,” he snickered.

You rolled your eyes fondly, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him hello, unable to stop yourself from sighing happily as Nate quickly deepened the embrace, one of his hands cupping your face as his tongue slipped past your lips. He’d been gone on a 10-day roadtrip, not due back until – you thought – this evening, but here he was way ahead of schedule. Not that you were complaining, certainly not with the intensity in his kiss.

Eventually you pulled away, head spinning and lips throbbing, Nate looking just as affected as he took a step backwards to give you a little air.

“I thought you wouldn’t be home until tonight?” you said, frowning slightly as you looked up at him.

“There’s a storm due in the time we originally were meant to fly back, so the team managed to organise an earlier flight schedule to get us all back safely. I thought it would be nice to surprise you, with these,” he explained.

And as he pointed to his left, into the kitchen, you raised an eyebrow and wandered into the room…only to stop in your tracks at the sight of the most beautiful bouquet of pale pink peonies, at least two dozen of them bright as anything. They were your favourite flowers without a doubt, and the fact that Nate had remembered that? And wanted not only to buy some for you but surprise you with them? Wow.

“For someone who says he’s not a romantic, you do remarkably well with proving yourself wrong,” you said softly, smiling widely up at him where he was hovering behind you.

“It’s nothing really,” Nate shrugged, although the pleased smile on his lips let you know exactly how much he liked that compliment.

“Nate, please stop selling yourself short. This is incredibly romantic and I love it okay? Almost as much as I love you,” you said firmly, lips still quirked in a smile as you turned to face him.

His small smile spread into a grin, such a rare thing but so genuine, and he ducked his head a little as if to hide it. “I love you too. So much.”

6 months ago he would never have been so open with his feelings. Hell, even 2 months ago he wouldn’t. But the day he finally told you he loved you was a day you’d never forget, and you treasured every moment as much as he did when he was open with you.

“You know it’s only you who makes me like this,” Nate murmured.

“Like what?”

“Soft. Vulnerable. Every other synonym.”

“Someone’s been learning their word-of-the-day calendar.”

“Babe I’m serious,” Nathan said, huffing out a laugh, “I don’t get to be this way around everyone. Mostly because I built up so many walls, pushed everything down, just so I could put my everything into hockey. But you helped me realise I could have both, you know? That I could have everything. So thank you.”

Oh your sweet, sweet man.

He may not feel comfortable expressing his emotions in front of many people, but the fact that he was growing so open and honest with you? It was everything.

With tears stinging at your eyes, you could out a laugh through your smile. “No thanks necessary, okay? You deserve everything and more.”

Nate shook his head fondly, moving to circle his arms around your waist.

“Maybe we both deserve it, hm?” he said simply.

“Maybe we both deserve each other,” you added.

“I like the sound of that,” he grinned.

As he leant down to kiss you again, you couldn’t help but think that you liked the sound of that too.

#my writing #birthday prompt list #nathan mackinnon blurb #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon fanfic

[matthewtkachuk]

one day all my love will come back to me

Spending a mid-degree gap year in the guest bedroom of your best friend who you’ve been in love with for ages seems to be a recipe for disaster until a hook up with a player from a visiting team threatens to change your future forever 

pairing: nathan mackinnon x reader; brayden point x reader

warnings: creative liberties taken with the 2021-2022 regular season schedule and the availability/contributions of Brayden Point during the 2022 playoffs, typical angst associated with a love triangle with a hint of unrequited love, sexual themes (not quite smut but more than implied) and the usual (alcohol, swearing, etc.)

word count: 10.9k

a/n: surprise @senditcolton i'm your summer exchange fic writer! i'm so so so sooooo sorry this is late, @wyattjohnston and i were having a hot girl european summer and it's not an excuse but a bit of an explanation. when i saw you had written brayden point twice in your players list, i knew it was time to dust off this fic idea i had last year and do her proper justice. i hope you like it!!! shout out to demi for the many "replace c with C" suggestions on google docs and @thomasschabot for the other suggestions. ok i'll shut up now, enjoy!!

The Avs are up by one with thirty seconds to go and you’re pretty sure you’re going to puke. It’s a good thing everyone is far too focused on the action going on at ice level to question why your gaze keeps bouncing between the good guys and a certain forward on the other team. It’s such a strange feeling—you want with your entire being for your boys to hoist the Cup, but there’s a small part of you that never wants to see the boy on the other team you care for so deeply, so upset. He was right, you both crossed the line past hooking up a long time ago. 

-

“You look hot.” 

In any other circumstance, those words from Nate would have your heart going into overdrive. As it stands, your heart is already pumping at a rate you fear is not healthy while you lie on a trampoline with your niece’s sprinkler set up beneath it. For every bitter complaint you’ve ever had about a Canadian winter, the opposing heat waves might just be slightly worse.

“A/C’s broken,” you say like that explains everything. 

Nate hums in response like maybe it does before pulling himself up beside you. 

Somehow the air around you feels even hotter, precipitation building at your hairline. You fuss for a minute, wiping away the sweat before dramatically slapping your hands down on the trampoline in protest. 

Nate ignores you, choosing to instead cheerfully proclaim “This is nice!”

“What do you want?” you ask in response. There are layers to your grumpiness, but for now you can pretend it’s all related to the unbearable heat.

“Can’t a guy visit his best friend?” 

You can feel his eyes on you, but you keep yours closed. “Not when it's 34 degrees out and humid as hell and he has to leave his air conditioned mansion to do so.”

“I saw your story and I was coming to invite you to my air conditioned mansion.”

“Is Sidney home?” Your tone is so much more nonchalant than you feel. It doesn’t matter that the aforementioned man went from Nate’s childhood hero to mentor to near-brother; it will never not be weird to have but one degree of separation from the man who’s name is on your town’s welcome sign. 

Nate laughs like he can read your mind, but you still don’t glance over at him. You don’t need to, not really. The image of him beside you comes all too easily to your inner mind. His hair’s got a wave from the humidity, his nose tinged red from the hot sun, and his chest golden and chiseled and harlequin romance novel cover-esque— 

“You know one day you’re going to have to get used to being around guys who made it to the show. Hell, I'm a guy who made it to the show.”

Finally you turn to look at him and he’s somehow even more beautiful than you’d just imagined. “That’s different Nate. You’re….you.”

He smiles at you and it’s brighter than the damn sun causing you so many problems today. “And Sid’s just Sid. And the guys in Denver are just the guys in Denver.”

His words have your nose scrunching and you promptly go back to laying flat on your back. “Don’t remind me.” There’s silence for a beat or two and then you continue, “Speaking of, are you sure it’s still okay—“

Nate doesn’t let you finish this time. “Yes, I’m sure it’s okay for you to hang around my apartment in Denver while you take a year off from school to figure out what you want to do.”

“Thanks Nate,” you reply and he hums in response. Abruptly you sit up, sliding a little from the slick trampoline surface. “Your A/C offer still standing too?”

He grins this time and you’re damn near blinded. “For you? Always.”

Sidney—Sid waves at you both from his kitchen when you pull up to Nate’s but that’s as far as it goes. Nate makes a joke about banana bread that you don’t quite get, mood souring considerably when you wonder aloud if he thinks Sidney will bring some over. 

It’s all forgotten when the cold air hits you as you enter the lake house. 

-

The summer passes by quickly without too much incident—just the nagging of your mother about your future and your own tiptoeing around the feelings you have for your friend. 

On one of your and Nate’s last nights before leaving for Denver, your niece pulls him aside and sternly instructs him to bring home the Cup for her. 

He laughs, but there’s something in his eye that says he means it when he says he will. That intensity doesn’t waiver, even as his gaze slides toward you. It has you thinking about a future by his side, celebrating those moments with him in a way so much greater than you do now. 

The thought doesn’t leave you as you kiss your family goodbye, trying desperately to not let any tears shed at the thought of no longer being a small distance away. Nate’s constant near proximity and the promise of more of it takes away the sting a little, but you fall into your sister’s embrace that little bit more all the same. 

Even as you do a final check of your things—two large suitcases, a carry-on and a backpack to house everything you’ll need for the next year—you think about it, of what it would be like to do this every year. What it would be like to pack with the intention of unpacking your things beside Nate’s in his closet. It’s silly, but sometimes you still feel like you’re fifteen years old, realizing you’re in love with your best friend as he goes away to the same hockey school as his idol. 

Two flights full of self doubt and Nate sleeping on your shoulder later you’re convinced spending your impromptu gap year at his place is a bad idea. But then he’s smiling and ‘welcome home’-ing you and you step through the door.

-

Unemployment and a mid-twenties life crisis isn’t so bad from the guest bedroom of a lavish semi-detached in the suburbs of Denver. The bed’s softer than the one in your childhood bedroom. Bigger too. And the closet leading into the attached en-suite has no business being the size it is. 

There are downsides of course. You are still unemployed and in the middle of a life crisis. Nathan is woefully unaware of your feelings and likely to never reciprocate. His teammates look at you like they know, though. And there’s the whole banning of any food that brings any modicum of enjoyment that you’re not entirely sure is serious or not. 

The teammates that come around are kind to you when you’re around them enough to let them be. A small part of it is the intimidation of them being professional hockey players but they’re good guys and you’ve met many of them before. Really, it’s something more akin to the inherent uncomfortability of your predicament. It’s Nate’s house and you’re free-loading. 

Of course he would argue differently if you voiced your thoughts and hang ups but that’s precisely why you don’t. 

Nate may have never caught onto your feelings for him, but he’s not an oblivious person. That’s probably how you end up in the family box, being personally invited to brunch with the Better Halves by the best-half-in-charge herself, Mel Landeskog. 

You find yourself nodding despite the anxiety of the possibility of making new friends, certain it’s less of an invitation and more of a demand. 

She tells you as much, pressing a mimosa into your hand when you arrive at a cute restaurant and a table full of beautiful, predominantly blonde women. If Nate’s teammates were intimidating on a personal level, their wives and girlfriends are a whole other level. Never in your life have you been so surrounded by a group of women so put together—every outfit perfectly on point, every head of hair treated to an expensive blowout, every foundation shade perfectly matched or worse, no makeup needed. 

It has you self-conscious, despite having spent ages picking out something to wear and trying to tame your hair into something presentable. The mimosa helps, and so do the compliments from Ashley Kadri. Little by little you open up, and by the end of brunch you have a killer buzz and a dozen new instagram followers and numbers in your phone. 

When Nate picks you up, the bubbles have gone to your head. You spend the entire ride back to his place with the back of your head pressed to the passenger side window so that you can grin stupidly at his side profile. 

“The girls are great,” you tell him with a silly giggle. His returning smile reeks of satisfaction of a job well done, but you don’t focus on it. “We’re gonna get dinner this week too!”

-

Although Mel takes you under her wing, it’s Heidy, Cale’s girlfriend who you instantly click with. 

She’s every bit as beautiful and kind as the rest of them, but you connect with her on a different level. It’s almost like you’ve known her as long as you’ve known Nate. She shares your love of Taylor Swift and gets your jokes and is more than happy to let you bounce future career plans off her. 

You can tell the girls have questions about your relationship with Nate, and truthfully they can get in line behind you. Sometimes, when you’re not careful, it almost feels like you’re not alone in how you feel. Sometimes it feels like you’re high school sweethearts, playing house on the precipice of a greater future. 

Nate doesn’t help it himself though. It’s you he calls on long road trips, you he pulls into a giant hug outside the locker room before driving you both home after a game. You who is invited to WAG functions as a connection to him—both informally in a social context and more formally and broadly. Things like charity toy drives and the family box at games. A part of you fears the possibility of playoffs—especially with odds so clearly in the Avs favor—and what it would mean to be so publicly claimed as Nate’s while privately remaining the way you always have been. 

It’s Heidy who you confide in. She’s always there to offer her ear, her shoulder, her opinion. And, although she encourages you to share your feelings, she also knows when to back off and let you do it when and if you’re ready. 

You don’t think you’ll ever be ready. 

-

With Christmas comes the Better Halves Christmas Tree Auction. It’s Mel’s favorite charity event of the season, she tells you gleefully. 

“Every event is her favorite,” Suzanna says behind her back later. 

Designated Favorite Human of the Avalanche Children is usually your favorite title, but it means you have one kid hanging off of you when the girls drop the bomb on you. 

“So what are you thinking for your WAG tree?”

It’s an innocent enough question, especially when you think it’s aimed at one of the aforementioned WAGs in the family box. Only when there is no response do you look up and realize it’s meant for you instead. 

“Sorry, what?”

“Your…Tree,” someone says slowly and you shake your head. 

Your tone and words are almost as flustered as you are. “No I heard you. I’m just—What do you—Why are you asking me?”

“Well, Nate said…” 

It all comes clear. Yet again, you’re expected to play the part. At great personal cost, mind you. It’s a mindfuck and a half, having to do all the things that you do for a man you love when it doesn’t mean anything. 

Your thoughts are invaded with a tempestuous mixture of Nate and your relationship or lack thereof and yet another public acknowledgement. 

Truly, you wonder if the others in the box pity you or laugh behind your back. 

“C’mon,” Heidy says later, when the final buzzer sounds, cementing another win. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Nate’s,” you correct weakly. 

She nods and repeats his name, grabbing your arm and leading you away. 

-

You’re stewing in silence when Nate comes home. 

“You okay?” he questions upon finding you in the living room, lit up only by the light filtering in through the large bay window. 

The twitch of your eye is the only indication you’ve heard and recognized his words for a long moment. You can practically hear the gears whirring in his head, can feel the moment he’s about to speak again. 

Not wanting to give him the opportunity, you ask, “Why?” His brows furrow and his head tits and so you continue. “Why did you say I would do your Better Half tree?”

“It’s for charity…You love charity work.” Nate visibly relaxes and you understand why. He’s not wrong, engaging in charity work has been a big part of why you’re not wallowing in self pity, but this isn’t just simple ‘charity work’ and you tell him as much. 

“I love toy drives and helping at the soup kitchen and adoption events at the ASPCA. This is different, this is your WAG tree. It means something. It’s in your name, like I’m—I’m—“ you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

“Everything you mentioned you do in my name.” He doesn’t seem to get it, frustrating you further. 

“It’s not the same, Nate! All those other things I do as part of the larger group. It’s all facilitated by your team and your teammates ‘Better Halves.’ Their wives and girlfriends. They’ve all made me feel welcome, but I'm not one of them. This implies that I am one of them, but I’m not your girlfriend and certainly not your wife.”

“You basically are.” The phrase has your heart jumping into your throat. Of every daydream or fantasy you’ve ever allowed yourself to slip into, you never dreamed this would be how it all went down—“Without actually being my wife or girlfriend.”

“Right.” Your voice is short and clipped, masking the hurt quickly overtaking you. You won’t cry—you’re stronger than that. So strong in fact, that you lay down a firm boundary. “I won’t do it. Get Sidney to do it or something.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, pausing and then asking, “We’re good, right?”

“Yep.” You feign nonchalance and then wish him a good night. 

The pillow holds all your tears and secrets. 

-

The incident sticks with you, despite your many attempts to shake it off. Even Heidy can’t help. She tries anyway. 

You’re not his. 

But you are. You’re his and you have been for years now. Since he was leaving for school. Maybe even many years before that. Regardless of the true beginning, it doesn’t quite matter. What really matters is this: you’re not sure it will ever have an ending, but you’re almost certain if it does, it won’t be the one you want. 

You’re his but he’s not yours. 

Part of him is, sure, but you share that part with the other residents of Cole Harbour. The other part with the team and his teammates and their families, with the fans and the haters alike. The part you so desperately want to be yours has belonged to many a woman, but never to you. 

It was a lot easier to live in the space between his childhood best friend and everything more when you were separated the majority of the year. A summer chock full of other things to do and focus your attention on to keep the longing at bay and enough distance for the rest of the year to forget how it feels to have him near without really having him. 

One of Heidy’s distraction schemes involves hitting up downtown Denver a few nights later. 

“But it’s Thursday,” you say when she shows up at Nate’s dressed up like she’s ready to hit the bar. 

“I have tomorrow off and you don’t have a job, so,” she replies. 

You frown, “Ouch.” She throws a look your way as if to not take it so personally and continues perusing your closet. “I’m not really feeling up to going out tonight.”

“Too damn bad,” she replies. “You can’t just sit here and wallow for the rest of your life.”

“Watch me,” you retort but start to get up anyway. 

She smirks and tosses some clothes at you. “Get dressed and do something with your hair. I’ll do your makeup.”

“Where are you guys going all dressed up?” Nate questions when he spots the two of you in the foyer. 

“Out.” Heidy is curt, a consequence of her not only being a good friend to you, but also her own awareness of his behavior. 

His brows knit together but he soldiers on, “Do you want company?”

“Nope!” She’s much more cheerful now that she’s handed you your coat and bundled herself up. “Don’t wait up!”

Heidy drags you out to Cale’s car, where the man himself sits waiting. You instantly feel bad—between your protesting and actual time spent getting ready, he’d been sitting a while. 

“Have you been here the whole time?” you ask as you get in the backseat. He shrugs with a rosy smile as Heidy pushes you in further and takes a seat beside you. After pressing a quick kiss to her boyfriend’s cheek over the center console, of course. 

Cale doesn’t stick around after dropping you both off—a wave, a ‘be safe’, and ‘call me when you’re ready to go home’ and he’s gone. 

You’re terrible company admittedly, mouth set in a deep frown that doesn’t crack even as you sip your drink. Heidy does most of the talking at first, blabbing away about everything and nothing. Until she sighs, slaps her hand down on the bar top and says, “You need to deal with this. Either you need to resolve things with Nate or you need to get over it, distract yourself with something or someone else.”

You nearly choke on the last of your drink. “Gee, Heidy, could you be any more subtle?”

“I’m worried about you.” She’s so earnest it tugs at your heart. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll try. Really.” 

She smiles, relaxing into the seat at the bar top. 

Just then, the bartender sets another drink in front of you. 

“I didn’t order another,” you state politely, attempting to hand back the drink. 

The bartender shakes his head, motioning to the table in the corner as he speaks. “From someone at that table.”

It’s a group of athletic men, but only one is looking your way. He’s all intense eyes framed by intense eyebrows, but the look on his face doesn’t match the intensity. It’s…intriguing to say the least. Soft but confident, and definitely interested. 

It’s not until one of the other men at the table elbows him that you realize they’re the team playing the Avs tomorrow night. 

Quickly you spin back around and whisper to your friend, “Someone from the Tampa Bay Lightning just bought me a drink.”

Her eyes widen and she herself turns around quickly to get a glimpse of your admirer across the bar. You grab at her arm and bring her back to face the bar top. 

“Heidy!” you hiss. 

“Sorry!” she replies, “What are you going to do?”

You think about it for a second before throwing caution to the wind. Putting on your flirtiest smile, you turn around a lot more gracefully this time. Raising the gifted drink, you tilt it in a ‘Cheers’ motion before wrapping your lips around the straw for a sip. He responds with an identical gesture, although with an amber colored beer bottle instead. 

Satisfied, you resume your earlier position while Heidy speaks. 

“When I said you needed a distraction that is not what I meant!”

You roll your eyes. “It’s a drink, not a marriage proposal. Relax.”

She does, until you pull her out to the dance floor with eyes only for the man across the bar. Lucky for you—and less lucky for Heidy’s resting heart rate and blood pressure—he’s got eyes for you, too. 

It only takes half a song for him to approach and introduce himself. “I’m Brayden.”

You smile and reciprocate, waiting a beat for Heidy to speak too, but she just tilts her nose up. An elbow to her side doesn’t get her speaking and so you introduce her, too. 

One of Brayden’s eyebrows raise and you find yourself momentarily mesmerized by the action before quickly explaining, “Big Avalanche fans.”

He nods slowly once, then shrugs. “Maybe I can change that.”

“Doubtful,” she says under her breath, but if you heard it, you imagine Brayden did too. 

She doesn’t thaw any, even as the song changes. Nor does she get the hint to take herself elsewhere and so you rather pointedly ask if she can go get you both another round. 

Heidy isn’t even able to get out whatever she was ready to grumble before Brayden is offering, pausing to ask what Heidy is drinking. She begrudgingly tells him and he disappears. 

“Seriously? You could have any guy here and that’s who you go for?” she asks. 

You shrug, “He’s the one I want.”

She softens at your earnest tone. “Okay.”

“Call Cale,” you tell her. “Go curl up on the couch and watch TV together or whatever you would have done if you weren’t worrying about me.”

“I don’t know…”

“Go. I’ll be fine. And I’ll text you if I need you,” you confirm. 

She sighs. “I’m waiting for my drink first.”

You laugh and pull her into a side hug. “Love you.”

True to her word, she finishes the drink Brayden brings her—even managing a ‘thank you!’—before slipping off into the crowd and, you imagine, into her boyfriend’s car. 

Brayden looks a little concerned at her rapid exit. “Did I do something to make her leave?” 

“Besides playing for the wrong team? Nah.” 

He doesn’t look convinced, but the concern fades when you wrap your arms around his neck. 

It’s all but gone when you press your lips to his. 

You dance for another few songs and another drink before your inhibitions are just low enough to drag him in the direction of the bathrooms. 

The men’s is empty when you enter, and so you flip the lock on the door and press yourself against him. 

He reciprocates, crowding you against the door with his mouth hot on yours. 

Your whole body lights up at his touch, coming alive beneath his fingertips. There are no thoughts of Nate or the predicament you’ve found yourself in, just Brayden. 

His hands are curved around your jaw, and your leg is wrapped around his waist when he pulls away. “Wait...wait.”

“You don’t want…?” You’re not drunk, just a little bit more sensitive to rejection than you usually would be. 

“No that’s—That’s not it at all. I want you, like, really want you.” He kisses you, and as good as his touch feels, being wanted feels that extra bit more. “Not like this. Not here.”

Truthfully, you’ve never been the kind of girl who lets someone hit and quit in a bar bathroom before. Or anywhere really. A part of you that you thought was long buried stirs inside of you and you realize for the first time in a long time you’re feeling something for a man who isn’t your best friend. 

Your best friend. Shit. “I have a kind of odd living situation right now, my place isn’t an option.”

“Your parents?”

You bark out a laugh that he immediately covers with his mouth. “No, they’re back in Canada.”

“Your husband? Your boyfriend?” He’s joking, but you can’t help but get the sense there’s an ounce of worry that he’s right. It’s such an inconceivable notion that Nate could ever be either to you that you laugh again. 

“No, I just live with a friend who probably won’t be understanding about a strange man in their house.” 

Brayden visibly relaxes, pauses, and then says, “I have a hotel room…you’ll have to be quiet though.”

“I can be quiet,” you reply, barely hiding your smirk. 

You try your best, really give it your best effort, but no one has ever touched you like he does. 

Nate doesn’t cross your mind once. 

-

You sneak out early in the morning, determined to not have a semi-public walk of shame in front of an entire hockey team. It’s almost a success until you run into his captain in the lobby. Feeling your face grow hot, you give him a little nod and escape to the waiting Uber. You can only hope he doesn’t get too much shit, telling him as much using the newest number in your phone. 

You’re not nearly as lucky, facing the firing squad that is Nate as you slip into the entryway. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see your best friend awaiting your arrival, if the several messages that popped up when you’d finally opened your phone to send the aforementioned text to Brayden were any indication. 

“Where have you been?” he asks and you have to keep from rolling your eyes. 

“Out,” you say, calling back to Heidy’s response last night but he doesn’t accept it as easily coming from you. 

“All night?” he continues the interrogation. 

“I crashed at Heidy’s last night, what’s with the fifth degree, Dad?”

He looks like he was waiting for this moment as he replies, “No you didn’t, I talked to Cale.”

This time you do roll your eyes. “It’s none of your business, Nate.”

“It is my business if you’re under my roof,” he says, doing his best impression of your father for real this time. 

You know it’s not his intention, but your stomach drops all the same. The old feeling of guilt and shame and failure floods your veins, and you can tell he notices. 

“I’m sorry,” he offers, “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just worried and you didn’t answer my messages.”

“I know,” you say but the words taste bitter in your mouth. “I’m going to go get some more sleep. See you later.”

He repeats the words back at you, but you’re more focused on the buzzing phone in your pocket. 

Safe in Nate’s guest bedroom, you slip into something more comfortable, get beneath the covers and open your messages. 

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Got fined

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Probably going to get chirped for a month

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Worth it though 

You: I would tell you I’m sorry but I’m not 

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Me either

-

If you thought that was the beginning and the end of Brayden you would be sorely mistaken. 

Long distance flirting becomes a long distance hook up becomes him flying you out to see him. Any time you protested the latter, you’d find a non-refundable ticket in your email and a ‘please’ in your text messages. 

Fall fades into Winter and Bar Guy 💙🤍 turns to Brayden turns to B 💙. As your feelings for him grow, you find thoughts of Nate as anything other than someone-you-grew-up-with fade. 

You come clean about the ‘friend you live with’ being Nathan MacKinnon before the first time you fly down to see him, worried that your lie by omission might be a dealbreaker. Brayden only laughs, he figured Heidy’s hostility was more than just motivated by more than sports team loyalty. 

The thing about Brayden is he never makes you feel bad about Nate. He is understanding and gracious, never demanding, never unreasonable. A small part of you sometimes thinks about how if the roles were reversed, you don’t think Nate would be quite the same. 

Initially unsupportive and apprehensive, Heidy comes around, although her persistence turns from telling Nate how you feel to telling Nate about Brayden. You don’t do either, and she keeps your secrets. 

Nate being selected for the All Star Game in Vegas while Brayden isn’t brings a unique opportunity for a week straight in hot, sunny Florida. The chill of Denver isn’t quite as biting as back home, but you’re excited to escape it all the same. 

He doesn’t ask you to join him in Vegas, but you do wonder if he thought he didn’t need to. 

It doesn’t matter either way, when an errant high stick in overtime breaks his nose and dashes his All Star dreams. 

Your first thought upon seeing him bloody and disoriented on the ice is that there is no way you can go to Florida. 

It probably looks much worse than it is, the girls try to reassure you in the box, but you’re not convinced. 

Nate’s reassurances later don’t do much either. Not with his face puffy and bruised and some dried blood on his chin. 

It’s not until he assures you that his mom and sister will be coming down to Denver since they had the time off anyway that you decide for sure you will go. 

The day you leave for the airport, his pathetic form on the couch is almost enough to have you last minute cancelling on Brayden. 

Nate all but demands you don’t miss out on his account, asking that you ‘be safe’ and ‘have fun’. 

In return you hit him with a ‘thanks Dad’ and ‘take it easy’ despite knowing just by virtue of who he is as a person he will be doing the exact opposite.  

Thoughts of Nate, broken and bruised, haunt you the entire journey. They don’t fade until you’re in Brayden’s arms. Even then, it’s a dull ache that you do your best to ignore. 

Evidently you don’t do a very good job of hiding it, or maybe Brayden just knows you better than you think, because he catches on before you’ve even reached his place. 

“You okay?” he asks, gently squeezing your knee where his hand rests. 

Turning to look at his side profile, so earnest and sweet, you don’t even think of lying. 

“I’m worried about Nate.”

“I get that,” he says and you wonder if he truly does. “I’m glad you’re here with me though.”

Smiling at him, you are too, and so you try to push down the guilt and focus your attention on the man you’re with. 

You check on Nate periodically throughout the week, never getting much more than a thumbs up emoji, but at least you know he’s alive. 

Brayden wines and dines and, well, you know the rest of the rhyme. 

By the time the week is up, you don’t want to leave. It’s strange how meeting one person can change things so drastically. Before Brayden, you would never have dreamed of spending a week with another man when Nate was injured and possibly may have needed you. 

It also puts things into perspective for you. 

Really emphasizes how much additional emotional labor you put in—and were expected to—in your relationship with Nate. The lines and boundaries had long since blurred, and it took dedicating your time and energy to another man to see it. 

If Nate notices the way you pull back even further when you return, he doesn’t say anything about it. 

-

Falling for Brayden is easy. It’s a gentle float down to the ground, landing among a field of flowers to catch your fall. A stark contrast to the free fall of being pushed from an airplane at 10,000 feet by Nate. 

Where Nate’s sharp edges have cut you time and time and time again, Brayden’s curves wrap around you and hold you tight. 

When you’re not physically with him, you’re texting and calling, and when you’re not doing that you’re thinking about him. 

Neither of you make any move to define the relationship further, but it doesn’t sting like the years of being strung along by Nate did. It’s probably because while no words have been exchanged to that effect, Brayden lets you feel how much he cares for you. 

-

You’re nearly found out late in the regular season. 

Something about Tampa has started to feel familiar and safe—you try not to think about exactly why that is—and so, despite the knowledge that the boys are in town, too, you’re not as careful as you should be. 

There’s an ice cream spot near Brayden’s that you’ve taken to frequenting. As a consequence, it’s also near the arena. 

Because it’s so close, you decide to walk there, teasing him the whole way about how one ice cream cone won’t derail his nutrition plan. He’s arguing back, but you know it’s in vain because his sweet tooth and the lilt of your voice will win in the end. 

Your hands naturally brush as a result of your close proximity and you take the opportunity to link your pinkies. He smiles softly and you walk in silence for a minute until he breaks it. 

“You really won’t let me give you my jersey?” It’s a question that has come up before, but every time it does you wonder if it’s a little bit more serious of an ask than the last. 

“I’d rather die. Maybe if you were a better hockey player,” you tease, jumping back to avoid his grasp. 

He gasps playfully, thick eyebrows raising with his wide eyes. “Take that back right now.” He takes a step closer to you but you dodge his advances, sliding to the other side of the bench. 

“Sorry baby, you know I bleed blue and maroon. Wouldn’t be caught dead in traitor blue.” Not to mention you’d never ever hear the end of it from the boys if someone saw you in it. 

He fakes left and you fall for it, giggling madly as he wraps you up in his arms and scrapes his beard against your cheek. “What about just for me?” he asks, kissing your neck once and then nipping at it with his teeth before pulling back to look into your eyes. “In my bed with nothing else on?”

It’s like the already beautiful temperature rises even higher when he presses his mouth to yours. You give in quickly, pressing onto the tips of your toes to get even closer. It turns dirty quickly, his tongue in your mouth and his fingers buried deep in your hair. 

And then a familiar voice calls your name. 

You pull from Brayden like you’ve been burnt, a look of pure panic crossing your face as you realize you know the body attached to the voice. 

It’s JT and he looks like been standing there long enough to figure out what’s going on. 

“JT—“ you start to explain, but pause. There is no easy, simple explanation. There are months and months, hell years and years, of backstory and layers to even get to this point. 

“I thought—“ He appears to change his mind, stopping his thought mid sentence and switching to a question. “What’s going on here?”

“Brayden and I are, well, we’re.” It’s a struggle to explain what you are to one of Nate’s teammates when you haven’t had this conversation in full with the man beside you. Finally, you land on “We’re together.”

You don’t look over at Brayden to see his reaction. 

“How long?” is the natural follow up. 

It’s another tough question, but you decide to go with the first time you met and slept together. “Before Christmas.”

“Does Nate know?” he asks. The wild look in your eyes must give you away because he signs and says your name. “You have to tell him.”

You get that, really you do. But at the same time it’s your business what you do and who you do it with, not Nate’s. At the same time, you know it would be a really shit thing for him to find out through someone who isn’t you. 

Beyond that, you’re pretty sure right before playoffs isn’t the right time to have that conversation and you tell JT as much. “I know, I will. After the season I’ll tell everyone.”

JT looks less than convinced. 

“You know Nate, it wouldn’t do anyone any good while the season is still going on. Please, you can’t tell him.”

JT might be as aware as you are of who Nate is as a person, and he’s certainly more aware of who Nate is as a hockey player and so he agrees despite his clear hesitance. “Promise me, after the season.”

“I promise.”

When he’s gone, Brayden finally speaks up. “You want to go public with us?”

You worry you’ve said the wrong thing, starting to babble about how you’re sorry the conversation didn’t occur privately first, and how you don’t need to go public if it’s not something he wants to do when he silences you with a kiss. 

“I want to tell everyone,” he says earnestly and you kiss him again.  

JT thankfully keeps his word. 

-

Nate doesn’t watch any other team in the playoffs. 

It makes trying to catch Brayden’s games tough, sneaking out to sports bars, watching games on your phone in Nate’s guest room, even flying out to watch a couple home games during the run. 

The only supportive merch you sport is a necklace with his number, and on occasion a little blue and white lacy number under your clothes. You’re not offered a WAG jacket—whether that’s due to Brayden knowing well enough you don’t want to be that public or because your reaction to the style of jacket itself was less than positive. 

In the back of your mind you recognize there’s a chance it could come down to the teams of the boys you care for most; one Eastern Conference, one Western Conference. 

Selfishly, when the first round between the Bolts and the Leafs goes to seven, part of you hopes for it to end right there. Most of you is glad they push through. 

On Colorado’s side of the playoff bracket, they absolutely rip through everyone who stands in their way. 

You are offered a jacket with Nate’s name and number in glitter, but you turn it down in favor of a lucky baseball cap, though you do accept an unpersonalized crop from Madison. 

Some of the girls decide to travel for the away games. You have to turn them down because there are already tickets with your name on them to see Brayden. There’s no way you can—or would—miss any Avs home games, and so instead you end up being one of a handful of supporters in the likes of Toronto, Miami and New York. 

It’s a difficult balancing act as the playoffs progress in both teams’ favor. 

And then your worst nightmare comes true. The quest for the Cup comes down to your… whatever Brayden is to you and to Nate and the team you’ve supported since he was drafted and all the other people who have come to feel like family. 

Whispering to Brayden in the dark of night before the Finals begin, you tell him, “You know I support you, but…”

“It’s okay,” he whispers back, even though he has no reason to match your tone all alone in his home in Tampa. “I get it. As long as you still like me, you can like them a little bit more.”

You giggle, “It’s got nothing to do with liking you, you dolt.” 

“Bolt,” he corrects, and even though you can’t see him you know he’s smiling. 

“Oh my God, shut up.” You don’t mean it literally but he’s quiet for a second too long. “No matter what happens I’m proud of you.”

For two people who have never properly defined nor publicized their relationship, it might be too heavy of a moment, but his quiet thank you is laced with emotion. 

“Go to bed,” you say after another few beats of silence. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The first two games are in Colorado, and the boys take both at home. 

“Ain’t over til it’s over,” is both of your boys’ philosophy after the first two. 

Nate is positively buzzing, especially after so decisively winning the second, but still cautious—very aware of how quickly a 2-0 lead can turn into the end of the line and empty hands. 

Brayden is also cautious, and this isn’t his first or even second rodeo at the Cup final in as many years. You try to kiss it better in a random hallway in the bowels of Ball Arena. 

Finally accepting the Better Halves’ invitation to travel to road games, you have a good seat to Tampa taking back some momentum in game three before promptly handing it back to Colorado. 

You die and come back to life a dozen times in game four as Brayden and his team hold on. 

Game five is to be played back in Tampa, and you spend the night before the game in Brayden’s bed instead of the hotel Nate has paid for. “Good luck,” you whisper against his lips early in the morning before you leave to meet the girls for breakfast. 

“You don’t mean that,” he teases, stretching out in such a way that has you considering skipping breakfast—certain teasing and interrogation be damned. 

“Good luck to you,” you amend, kissing him once more. “Your team can rot.”

His laughter rings in your ears as you leave. 

Mel corners you after breakfast, a familiar offending piece of clothing in her hands. “This could be it,” she explains, offering you the jean jacket. 

If it were any year previous, you might have worn it. If you didn’t have Brayden, you might have worn it. If Nate had offered it to you himself alongside a confession, you might have worn it. 

None of these things are true, and so you decline. “I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

Her smile has a twinge of sadness and understanding as she replies, “Okay.”

-

Sitting alongside the girls in the box with your cropped sweater hiding the 21 necklace around your neck, you’ve never felt more torn. 

Brayden’s captain nets one early in the first, and you’re not sure you breathe again until Nate’s powerplay evens the score early in the second. There’s an undercurrent of excitement in the box alongside the nervous energy. Midway through the second, Arturri tips it in and Amalie Arena is silent. 

It stays like that for the rest of the period until you excuse yourself to grab a drink at intermission. Standing in the long drink line, you spot a little girl in a Point jersey and your stomach twists as you think about how no matter which way this ends, someone you care for will be hurt. 

That feeling doesn’t leave as you sit through a scoreless third period. The arena gets loud with Bolts fans throughout, celebrating every blocked shot and turnover. That intensity picks up in the dying seconds of the game as Brayden picks off the puck in the defensive zone. 

He rushes up the ice flanked by his linemates, but is momentarily stopped by Cale. 

He gets his stick back on the puck and your nails dig into the leather arm of the box seat. Suzanna grabs your hand, assuming it’s worry for her boyfriend and his teammates and you let her think that and hold your hand. 

Three seconds. 

Two seconds. 

He shoots right as the buzzer sounds and Darcy gloves it down like there was never a question of him stopping it. 

The entire box explodes in a chorus of cheers—there’s shouting, swearing, crying, laughter and you’re right in the middle of them all. Your boys are Stanley Cup Champions. 

Someone grabs you, and then someone else joins in and suddenly you’re in the middle of a dog pile. “They fucking did it!”

You’re so fucking excited, incredibly proud and honestly a little weepy about your favorite people finally getting their hands on their childhood dream. But, a bigger part of the organ in your chest than you want to admit aches for the downturn of Brayden’s head as he skates back to the bench. 

An attendant appears and wrangles the rowdy bunch down to the ice. You’ve got Linnea Landeskog in your arms and a giant grin on your face as your feet touch the ice.

“Down please,” she politely states while trying to wriggle out of your grasp. The second she’s down she’s running at her daddy who sweeps her up in his arms. 

And then Nate’s on you in a way that you used to long for when you were younger. He’s red and sweaty and out of breath but none of these things stop him from hauling you up into his arms and spinning you until you smack at his chest, demanding to be let down much like Linnea only minutes ago. 

He stops spinning but he doesn’t let go, staring up at you with a look he’s never given you before. You’re so caught up in the excitement of it all you barely notice, grabbing his cheeks and shouting in his face, “You fucking did it!”

“We fucking did,” he says like he can’t believe this moment is happening—whether that’s due to you in his arms or the Cup that will now bear his name no one can really say. He kind of looks like he’s about to do something stupid, leaning in ever so slightly, and so you finally succeed at leaving his arms, slipping slightly as you reach the ice once again. Brayden is watching from across the ice, a sad look on his face that you just want to kiss off. You don’t though, just pat Nate on the back once and continue moving, throwing yourself at Cale, then Burky, then Mikko.

It’s a blur of celebrations and photos with the Cup—you even let Linnea convince you to take a photo with her and the Cup, her mom remarking that it looks good on you. When you pull from your photo pose, you give her a questioning look. “A baby and a cup,” she smirks, blatantly looking over at Nate who seems to agree. 

You laugh nervously—last year that was all you wanted, the boys to win and Nate to want you in that way. Now? Now you can picture it still, you just picture it with someone else. 

Finally, you’re able to sneak away and Brayden has the same idea, telling you to meet him in a closet by the locker room. No words are exchanged as he pulls you in by your hips and kisses you like he needs it to breathe. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him and you mean it. 

A crinkle forms between his eyes. “No you’re not.”

You kiss him again once, “I’m not sorry the boys won tonight, but I am sorry it was against you.”

“There’s always next year.” It’s far more flippant than you had anticipated, really you thought you’d be dealing with an upset Brayden and that might have broken your heart. 

“I thought you’d be more upset.”

“Can’t win ‘em all,” he says and you give him a look to be serious. “So what, we didn’t win the Cup this season. I got you, didn’t I?”

“Fuck off, dont be stupid.” Your cheeks are hot and your eyes are wild. 

“I mean it. I’d take you over the Cup nine times out of ten.”

“What about the other one?” 

“Need to win another one for us to put our future babies in.”

“Awfully presumptuous for a hook up.” 

“This is so much more than a hook up.”

“Yeah,” you admit, sinking deeply into another kiss. 

“Besides,” he pauses, “Already got two rings.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Okay I gotta go. Will you come get me later?”

He looks at you like you’re stupid to ask, like he’d go into the pits of hell itself for you without hesitation. “Of course. Now go. Celebrate. I’ll see you later.”

You slip out first, making sure the coast is clear and go find the others. A Stanley Cup Champion hat is placed upon your head and a bottle of champagne in your hand. There’s a celebration in the visitor locker room and then the party moves to a local bar. 

Someone shells out the money for a few bottles of vintage Dom Perignon that you indulge in, but mostly you just relish in the happiness of everyone around you. If you’re honest, you spend a fair amount of time avoiding Nate who has a serious look every time you catch him staring. 

Shortly before midnight, you slip out of the bar and into Brayden’s waiting car. The bubbly must have gone to your head, because you forgo any verbal greeting in favor of launching yourself over the center console to press your lips to his. 

He pulls away and very somberly states, “I can’t take you seriously in that sweater.”

Looking down, you spot the Avalanche crop and laugh as you pull it off and toss it in the back. “Better?”

He hums, fingertip tracing the chain around your neck from your clavicle down between your breasts to reveal his number on the pendant. “Much.”

You sink back into another kiss before remembering where you are, who you’re with and what you’re doing meanwhile the bar you just left is crawling with people you’re not quite ready to come clean to just yet. 

“Take me home, Bray,” you say as you relax back into the passenger seat. 

You don’t have the power to bring your lover the Stanley Cup your friends were just drinking out of. All you have to offer is yourself, but he accepts it with as much gratitude as your best friend accepted the Cup earlier. 

Later, he looks like he wants to ask you to stay, and you think you look like you want him to. 

In the end, it doesn’t matter as you fall asleep next to him and somehow make it back to your hotel room in the morning with no one the wiser. 

-

Nate spends a few more weeks in Denver after the win, celebrating with the guys and riding the high of winning it all. You only spend a couple days and then move out of his house and back into your parents. 

You don’t tell him about Brayden, content to let Nate enjoy his successes. 

As a consequence, you don’t see much of him in July or August. Even when you’re both home, he’s busy with all his other friends and his family, and you’re busy with your niece and deciding on what to do in the fall. You’ve determined the best course of action is to finish your degree and then apply to a masters program in order to change your career path. 

The choice, then, is where to do so. You can stay at home, commute an hour each way into the city—supported by your hometown friends and your family. Or you can make the shift to Denver for real, with your found family and with Nate. Or…

The University of Tampa Bay has an excellent program. You know from your time visiting Brayden through the season that the university is right around the corner from Amalie Arena and Brayden’s. It’s awfully presumptuous, but you find yourself daydreaming about the possibility much like you used to daydream about a future in Denver. 

Of course, there’s an entire continent of possibilities, hell an entire world of possibilities, but these are the three most attractive options. 

There are many discussions to be had, and choices to be made. You don’t want to do either until you’ve had a chance to speak to Brayden in person, but just as Nate’s had a busy summer, so too has he. 

He messages you every morning before and after working out while you’re still asleep. Every conversation eventually devolves into some combination of ‘I miss you’ and ‘when can I see you?’ 

You do manage to spend a few days with him in the Rockies mid-July that fly by far too quickly. Every time you leave Brayden it gets harder and the implications of it all have your stomach in knots when the thought crosses your mind. 

-

It all comes to a head spectacularly the day before Nate’s day with the Cup. You’re at Nate’s, helping to prepare for the post-parade celebration when you’re called away by his sister. She wants your help deciding on which photos to display—it’s a mixture of past and present alongside an elementary school assignment two decades old wherein Nate declared his future profession would be ‘Stanley Cup Champion.’

You’re smiling, lost in the memories when Nate comes crashing into the room you’re in. There’s an indiscernible look on his face, but it reads somewhere between anger, frustration and hurt. The look on your face betrays your confusion, and it only deepens when you see your phone in his hands. 

“What are you doing with my phone?” you ask. 

His jaw ticks. “Thought it was mine.”

It doesn’t really do anything for your confusion. If anything, it deepens it. “What’s your problem Nate?”

“This! This is my problem.” He finally cracks, shoving your phone in your face to reveal messages from Brayden—under the contact name of the letter B and a heart—wondering when you plan on making the trip to Calgary to see him. Your stomach drops and your heart feels like it’s at risk of falling right out your chest. It was always going to come out, but especially as you crossed the line between sharing body heat with Brayden and sharing your secrets, hopes and dreams. 

That being said, it is a shit way for your relationship to come to light for sure, but you can’t help but feel your friend is overreacting. Sarah is looking between the two of you, panicked and frozen like she doesn’t know what to do. 

“I think your mom could use some help in the backyard, Sar,” you say gently, and she gladly takes the opportunity to flee. Once she’s gone, you turn on Nate. “I’m sorry that you found out this way, but you had no right to come in here like that. Poor Sarah looked terrified!”

He looks at you incredulously. Now that his sister is out of ear shot, he appears to have allowed himself to lean into his emotions a little more. “I have no right? What about you? Hooking up with some random guy in Calgary? Is that where you’ve been running off to these past few months?”

You know that this is probably the least important part of his rant, but you feel the need to clarify. “He’s not just some guy, Nate. His name is Brayden. And for the record, no. I wasn’t in Calgary, I was in Tampa.

He looks confused in addition to enraged, and so you put the pieces together for him. “I’ve been seeing Brayden Point.”

“You’ve been sleeping with the enemy?”

“Are you joking?” 

This is not your friend Nate. This is some angry being inhabiting the body of your friend Nate. 

He doesn’t back down. “It was between us and them in the final, pretty sure that qualifies as the enemy!” He pauses for a second and then continues, “How long have you been sleeping with him? During the final? Were you rooting for him instead?”

“Nate—“

“No, don’t Nate me. I bet you were, I bet you wanted them to win, him to win. I bet you were sitting there in the family box, using tickets I paid for, against me the whole time.”

“That’s not fair!” you try to interject, despite the tiny grain of truth to his words. It would be untrue to say some small part of you wanted Brayden to succeed, but your loyalties have always been with Nate and his team. 

“Don’t bother. I wouldn’t trust a thing you said right now. Not after this. Not when you know.” 

“Know what?” you question. 

“How I feel! About you. And me.” The blurred edges start to come into focus. He’s been acting like a man scorned, because in his eyes he is one. 

Unable to form any coherent thought, you repeat yourself from earlier. “Are you joking?”

He’s less angry now, slipping further into the hurt brewing under the surface. “It’s always been us. Since we were kids. And now you’re messing around with some guy on another team. I can't believe you!”

The tears start to pool at your waterline, but you’re too stubborn to let them fall. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? You string me along for years and years and years, expecting me to play the part of your girlfriend without being your girlfriend and to wait around for you to figure it out. I am sorry you found out like this, but I’m not sorry about him. I’m not sorry about Brayden.”

He flinches at the sound of Brayden’s name, the anger clouding his eyes even further. “You want him so bad, why don’t you go to him right now?”

“Nate—“ You’re not sure he knows what he’s saying, what the implications of all he’s said really are. What it would mean if you left for Calgary this afternoon. What it would be like if you weren’t there tomorrow to join in his celebrations.

“Go.” When you don’t move he speaks again. “Get out of here.”

He hasn’t raised his fists or even his voice, but you do as he suggests. Calmly, begging the tears not to fall, you walk right out of his house and get in your car and you drive. 

Brayden picks up when you call while driving, and there’s a ticket in your inbox before you’ve even made it home. 

A short layover in Toronto—and with nothing but the clothes on your back and a small carry- on—later, you’re sinking into Brayden’s arms. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, but you shake your head where it’s buried in his chest. 

“Thank you,” you say, leaving hundreds of words unspoken in your gratitude. 

The kiss he pressed to your lips and the way he says ‘Anything for you’ tells you that he understands. 

He’s got his own place in an affluent suburb of the city, and you’re grateful for the fact that you won’t have to see anyone else with your puffy, bloodshot eyes. 

The last time you’d cried this hard, it had been over the loss of your childhood dog. Nate had been there then, flying in after a late game to hold you while you cried. Maybe you had misunderstood his feelings for you, missed the signs he thought he had laid out so clearly. Maybe that would have mattered a year ago. 

It doesn’t, now. 

Not when Brayden’s arms feel like home. His warm gaze feels like the sun. His kiss and his touch feel like heaven on earth. His love feels like everything you’ve ever wanted. 

Your world nearly stopped in Nate’s living room, but it resumed spinning here in Brayden’s bedroom. 

You’re curled up on his chest while he soothingly runs a hand along your spine when you tell him. “I love you.”

His hand stills on the middle of your back, but you don’t panic. Your mind and heart are clear and in unison. He doesn’t make you wait long, cupping the back of your head and tilting your head back ever so slightly so that your eyes meet. 

“Yeah?” he asks like maybe he needs the validation. 

“Yeah,” you reply, giving it to him. 

The grin on his face might be worth everything you’ve been through. 

You squeal as he flips the both of you, ending in a position where his arms bracket either side of your head in order to keep from crushing you with his full weight. 

“I love you,” he repeats, kissing every inch of your exposed skin. 

Tangling your fingertips in the hair at the nape of his neck, you say it again and again and again. It’s a chant and a ritual, told between sighs and moans and whimpers. He strips you of your clothes, taking you apart piece by piece and then putting them all back together. 

It is intimate and sweet as he takes you to the highest peak, hearts and limbs and minds all intertwined. There is no doubt, no insecurity, no hesitation. All of the love you have to give is reflected back at you. You and Brayden are two sides of the same coin, destiny and fate and all the good forces in the world have brought the two of you together. 

That’s why when, in the dark of his room later, you say yes when he asks you to move in. 

-

Despite the apparent suddenness, your family is more than supportive of you and Brayden. Though that may be because he charmed the pants off all of them the following week when returning to your childhood bedroom to pack your things. 

Your niece is delighted when she learns that Brayden’s “job is hockey!” as she so sweetly declares, requesting he win her a Cup too. 

It reminds you of Nate and how you haven’t heard from him. You don’t reach out either. 

Your time in Calgary is short, punctuated by the bittersweet news that although many of your credits will transfer over, you’re not able to start college classes at the University of Tampa until the second semester. 

“Now you can come with me on all my road games,” Brayden says when you tell him. 

“Fat chance.”

Training camp sneaks up on you both and before you know it, you’re making the permanent move into Brayden’s bedroom and his life, publicly this time. 

The Tampa WAGs are sweet and welcoming, but you find yourself missing the Colorado Better Halves. That’s probably why you agree to dinner with Heidy the first time in the season that the Avs are in town. 

You make plans to meet at a cute spot downtown near the arena. 

The minute you spot Nate waiting outside, you start to turn around. Not so much as an Instagram like since the day before his day with the Cup and now he’s at one of your favorite restaurants in Tampa like everything is okay?

“Wait,” he says and for some reason you do, pausing mid turn. “I’m sorry.”

That’s enough to have you turning back around to look him in the eye as you scold him. “Really? I haven’t heard a word from you in months and that’s what you have to say?”

“I know,” he says. 

“You were really shitty Nate! You knew how I felt and apparently felt the same way, but you just took advantage of me and my feelings for you for years! And then, you made me feel like trash for falling for someone else.”

“I know,” he says again. 

“Can you say literally anything other than I know?” you say exasperatedly. 

“I—“ he starts and stops with the look you give him. “I don’t have a good explanation for the first bit. You’re right, I’ve been taking you for granted for a long time. I don’t know, I guess I was just scared to lose you if we ever crossed that line.”

“I get that,” you reply. “Why do you think I never said anything either? I’m less mad about that and more mad about you being a giant asshole about me meeting someone.”

He nods. “I know. I was jealous and hurt and I lashed out and hurt you too. I never meant for it to get like this, but the longer it took for me to reach out and apologize the harder it seemed. I am really sorry, and I’m happy you found someone who treats you the way you deserve.”

It’s a sincere apology and one you’re certain he means. Beyond that, you just miss your best friend and so you throw yourself at him in a big hug. He’s startled, but very quickly wraps his arms around you too. 

“Things aren’t magically okay, you really hurt me, but you’re my best friend and I’ve missed you so much. There’s been a million times where something happened and I wanted to tell you about it, but couldn’t.”

“You’re my best friend,” he says. 

Nate scores a goal during the second period of the game but it’s not enough for the Avalanche. 

Brayden comes home the clear winner to find you curled up in his bed. First he undresses and then he slips into bed beside you. 

“Glad you made up with Nate,” he says, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“Glad you won,” you reply, feeling the way his lips curve in a smile against your neck and knowing he’s about to say something stupid and cringe. 

“In more ways than one, baby,” he laughs, caging you in with his arm as you struggle to get away from him and his bad jokes. “In more ways than one.”

Despite the way you playfully try to escape his clutches, the truth is you feel like you’re the real winner. 

#nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader #nathan mackinnon fic #brayden point fic #shelb writes

[miracleonice87]

Turn The Lights Off, Carry Me Home with Nathan MacKinnon (feat. Erik Johnson) - part two of Feelings and the Final

a/n: I mean, was there really another gif I could use? 😂 congrats to the Colorado Avalanche! hope you guys enjoy this one. the part about Gabe is completely true and comes from the most recent episode of Spittin Chiclets where they interview EJ lol. obviously for legal reasons the part about Nate and EJ is fiction lmao!

warnings: swearing, alcohol, nudity, allusions to / jokes about smut but nothing graphic

word count: ~1,200

_____

Nate was crying again. Tears of joy again, for which you were grateful. You couldn’t imagine the alternative… except, after last season, you supposed that you nearly could.

But this year, he had done it. The man who had disgustedly announced that he “hadn’t won shit” after last season’s crushing end, had now, indeed, won shit.

Your husband had won the damn Stanley Cup.

And here the two of you stood at center ice at Amalie, his frame towering over yours in his skates as he held you with every ounce of strength he had, sniffling as tears tracked down his face. His cheek rested against the top of your head, and you couldn’t even muster up a joke about his sweaty beard mussing your hair because of the desperation you felt radiating from him.

In the moments where he felt his world was crumbling around him, when he felt himself buckling under the weight of infinite expectations, none heavier than his own – Nate needed you in those moments. He needed you to be his anchor, to hold him together when he knew he could fall apart at any second.

And in the moments where he felt so light and buoyant and joyful that he was afraid he may just float away – he needed you in those moments, too. Like this one, right here. He needed you to ground him even in victory, even in his relief. Having you in his arms was his only clue that this was, indeed, real life.

He eventually drew a deep breath and stood up straight, settling his eyes on you. He shook his head in silence, still trying to find a grip on this reality.

As you pressed your hands to his cheeks, you only wanted to know one thing.

“Was it worth it?”

As a smile slowly turned up the corners of Nate’s mouth, you knew he knew exactly what you meant.

Was it worth it? Waking up at 4 a.m. as a kid to travel two, three, or more towns over to practice on free ice. Moving away from home at 15. Not attending university like the rest of the guys he’d grown up with and feeling like he was missing out. Was it worth it? Rarely getting to travel home to see his family during the season for more than 24 hours, if that. Birthdays and anniversaries and weddings that absolutely broke his heart to miss. Having to leave you at home for long road trips. The injuries and heartbreak and doubts and sweat and blood and tears. Was it worth it?

Nate nodded, then kissed your forehead.

“It was,” he assured, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Thank you for believing in me.”

You wrapped your arms around his sturdy waist and leaned against his chest.

“Until the world stops, baby.”

_____

You’d stumbled into your room, a handsy Nate pressed against your back, no earlier than 7:30 the next morning after a good 10 or so hours of partying with the team and their families. He’d barely let you tap your key card to open the door, in favor of mouthing hungrily at your neck and jawline as you fumbled with the door handle, giggling all the while. Eventually, somehow, the lock had clicked open, and before you knew it, Nate had ushered you inside and pushed you against the closet door, his lips on yours as he pushed the beer-and-champagne-soaked denim “29” jacket from your shoulders and tore the maroon silk camisole from your skin.

No, he literally tore the seam.

You scoffed and playfully smacked his shoulder. “Nathan!” you gaped accusingly, but he could see the mischievous glimmer in your eyes.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he muttered before hoisting you upward, your legs automatically wrapping around his hips. He took a few long stride with you koala’d around him, dropped you onto the mattress, and took his fill of you until neither one could keep your eyes open for another second, drifting into a glorious, blissful haze.

You’d assumed you’d been asleep for hours when you heard a knock at the door. You blinked bleary eyes to peer at the alarm clock on the bedside table: 9:16.

You groaned and flopped back onto your pillows, knowing you’d put the privacy card outside your door for the entire stay. Whoever it was would have to wait. You burrowed back under the covers and pressed yourself into a still-sleeping Nate’s chest. For a few more seconds. Until the knock came again. Louder this time. You let out a growl, which finally stirred Nate.

“What’s happening?” he moaned, voice hoarse.

“Nate,” came the voice from the other side of the door.

“EJ, I swear to god, I’m gonna murder you,” Nate called back, pulling an extra pillow over his face. “Go away. Go to bed.”

“Why? Are you guys having sexual intercourse?”

“Erik!” “EJ!” You and Nate both sat up in bed as you shouted your warnings.

“I won’t look, just open the door,” Erik promised. “Trust me.”

Nate rolled his eyes, pulled the covers up to shield your bare chest, threw on a robe from the closet, and opened the door… to find Erik Johnson butt-ass naked with the Cup in his hands, covering his… manhood. An enormous, toothless grin on his face as he peered into the room over Nathan’s shoulder.

“First of all, you said you weren’t gonna look,” Nate pointed out, rubbing his forehead. “Second… what the fuck are you doing?”

EJ pushed his way past Nate and let himself into the room, placing the Cup on the TV stand.

“First of all,” EJ mocked, gesturing to where you lay in bed, “she’s all covered. Unfortunately.” That last addition earned him a backhanded smack to the chest from your husband. “Oww! Jesus. And second, this is how Gabe delivered the Cup to me this morning, so I wanted to keep the tradition going,” he shrugged. “She’s all yours!” he exclaimed, squeezing Nate’s shoulder as he headed for the door, pausing at the closet. He turned to you.

“Can I borrow your robe?” he asked, glancing at the garment.

You sighed then made a sweeping gesture with your arm.

“Have at it,” you said dryly.

EJ nodded enthusiastically, taking the robe from the hanger and wrapping it around himself.

“Thanks,” he said simply. “Okay, I’ll leave you three alone. See you later. Love you.”

With a loud kiss to Nate’s cheek and one last grin your way, he was off, the door shutting itself behind him. Nate simply looked at you and shook his head, laughing quietly.

“What a fucking nut job,” he giggled, then glanced at the Cup. “But this is pretty sweet though, right?”

You nodded, then gestured for him to bring the trophy closer. “Might as well make the most of it,” you said. “C’mon, let’s take some naked, messy bed selfies to embarrass our kids with someday.”

Nate beamed, shedding the robe. “I thought you’d never ask.”

#nathan mackinnon fanfiction #nathan mackinnon fanfic #nathan mackinnon fic #nathan mackinnon blurb #nate mackinnon fanfiction #nate mackinnon fanfic #nate mackinnon fic #nate mackinnon blurb #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche blurb #colorado avalanche fanfiction #colorado avalanche fanfic #colorado avalanche fic #nathan mackinnon #nate mackinnon #erik johnson #my writing

[withwritersblock]

Send Requests :)

Who I write for currently:

Cale Makar

Nathan Mackinnon

Cole Caufield

Kirby Dach

Alex Newhook

Luke Hughes

Who I’m willing to start writing for:

Quinn Hughes

Jack Hughes

Bowen Byram

Nico Hischier

Ross Colton

And you are more than willing to ask for a specific player and I will let you know if I will write for them :)

#cale makar x reader #nhl imagines #nhl #nhl x reader #nhl fic #hockey #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagines #luke hughes #luke hughes fanfic #jack hughes imagines #nathan mackinnon x reader #cole caufield #kirby dach imagines #Alex Newhook #quinn hughes #jack Hughes #bowen byram #nico hischier #ross colton

[barzal-mat]

Okay i’m asking bc i know this is a big blog. Does anyone know that fanfic where the girl moves by her best friend bc her husband died of cancer and she has a daughter and she meets an nhl team (idk what team) and then she slowly falls in love w him and he comes the stepdad and then the final part is the wedding where the girl thanks the nhl player for being her dad (i’m j saying parts that i remember) ik the best friends name is heather i think i’m not sure who it’s about tho (nathan  mackinnon maybe)

I'm not familiar with this one, does anyone know?? I'll also look around :)

#asks answered #nathan mackinnon #nathan mackinnon imagine #nhl imagine

[watch-the-damn-line]

Obedience

Sidney Crosby/Nathan Mackinnon

He latches onto the lobe of Nate’s ear ... Sidney grinds his teeth together, feeling Nate’s earlobe give a little between them. He sucks it into his mouth, pressing his tongue to the cut.

a secret second part to Imperatives (aka the one in which Sidney takes ENORMOUS advantage of Nate's hero worship for him, and his general coachability).

if that sounds like your thing you can read it here, i am dearestblake on ao3 :))

#dearestblake fics #sidnate #hockey rpf #hrpf #sidney crosby #nathan mackinnon #fanfic #ao3 writer