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eightmakar · 1 year

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celebrations | c.m.

Pairing: Single Dad!Cale Makar

Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: cursing, drinking, celebrating

A/N: this is the prequel to accidental blessing (18+)! all i could think about during the Stanley Cup celebrations was Cale with Willow so I wrote Willow into it. hope yall enjoy :)

tags: @bitchinbarzal @burkymakar @nateslehky @taking-shots @fallinallincurls @jostyriggslover96 @hockeylvr59 @matbaerzal @capsvsducks @xsyntheticsensation @corneliaskates @equallyshaw

One minute.

Cale’s heart pounded as Tampa kept the puck in the zone. EJ came off the ice, Toewser hopped on, but Mans stayed. Cale watched him intently, doing everything he could to keep his eyes off the clock and his mind off the fact that they were less than a minute from winning the fucking Stanley Cup.

Nate and Toewser tied up the puck on the far boards, allowing time to tick down. Tampa desperately fought to clear the puck out of the mess of skates. They didn’t lay down and die quietly, and Cale knew that every second Tampa spent in their offensive zone was an opportunity for them to tie the game up.

30 seconds.

Nate cleared the puck down the ice, and Mans came rushing to the boards for a change. Cale leapt over the boards and raced into position while Val chased down the puck. The referee waved off icing, to Tampa’s dismay, but Hedman calmly picked up the puck and carried it down the ice. He passed Palat the puck and in an instant, Cale was on him.

Cale shoved his weight against Palat and reached around him for the puck. He landed a small poke check—enough to get the puck out of the zone and make Palat panic. He tried to recover, failed, and sent the puck deep into his own zone.

Ten seconds.

Bending his knees as low as he could go, Cale charged towards the puck. A Tampa player technically beat him to it, so Cale hip-checked him into the boards and shoved his body between his opponent and the puck. Tied up in his skates, two more Tampa players joined the desperate skirmish for the puck. One of them finally took control of the puck and cleared it out. The puck crossed the blue line, but it didn’t matter.

They did it.

They fucking did it.

Cale threw his stick in the air, gloves flying somewhere on the ice as he leapt up in celebration. He made his way across the ice, screaming, and joined the pile of teammates against the boards. Hands grabbed at jerseys, slapped at shoulders, ruffled hair, screaming and shouting filling all of their ears.

They did it.

Cale hugged teammate after teammate, but his mind was on someone else: Willow. Every time he tried to strain his neck and look for his family, someone else came to hug him and speak to him, which naturally made him stop to celebrate once again. Finally, he was able to break away and skate over to where he could see his family.

Willow sat up on Taylor’s shoulders, wearing his burgundy hat backwards, and Cale’s eyes prickled with tears. Her uncle’s hat was much too large for her tiny head and made her look even smaller. Taylor saw Cale and excitedly pointed down to him, making Willow’s tiny face scrunch to see him, so Cale waved dramatically so she could see him. Her face lit up the moment she saw him and waved back with one hand while her other hand clutched a handful of Taylor’s hair. Cale blew her a kiss, then was called away by his team to go through the handshake line.

The handshakes all blurred together. Cale felt like he was walking—well, skating—through a dream. He congratulated Vasilevsky on a great series, he stopped and said a few extra words to Hedman, and Jon Cooper stopped him to say, “That’s not the only trophy you’ll be lifting tonight.” Cale pressed his lips together and thanked him, but doubted he’d be carrying home any extra hardware. He was content with the Cup.

As he was handed a Stanley Cup Champions hat, someone from operations grabbed him and told him he’d be receiving the Conn Smythe. He was shocked; why him? Why not Nate or Gabe? He didn’t feel he’d played well enough to warrant any extra attention, but as he hugged Sammy on the ice, the booming announcement confirmed what he’d been told.

“Congratulations to the 2022 Conn Smythe Trophy winner, Colorado Avalanche defenseman Cale Makar!”

The boys went wild as he skated over to the pedestal. He stepped onto the black carpet, shook the presenter’s hand, and lifted the trophy for a photo. He skated the trophy over to the bench, handed it off to the same operations person who’d told him he won. He tried to look at his family again, but several people were blocking them as they hugged and congratulated them.

Nate greeted him as he rejoined the boys, hugging him, then Gabe and Mikko, all telling him how much he deserved it and how proud they were of him. Cale smiled and thanked them, but all he wanted was to hug his baby girl. He kept glancing back up at the stands where she sat on Taylor’s shoulders, and he silently thanked his brother for putting her somewhere he could see her.

Then it was time. It was time to raise the Stanley Cup.

Gabe skated over after the presenter said a few words that Cale really didn’t process. He picked up the Cup, fireworks exploding behind him, and then hoisted it over his head. The boys screamed with him as he skated around them and showed the Cup off to the crowd. He returned to the crowd of guys, and handed the Cup to EJ.

Cale clapped and cheered and yelled for his friends and teammates. For Cogs, for Nate and Jack, for Naz, who got fought through threats and injuries to be able to hoist the Cup. He yelled a little louder when Helmer handed the Cup to Toewser, grinning widely at his d-partner. Toewser handed it off to Val, Val to Frankie, and then it was Cale’s turn.

Frankie handed the shining Cup to Cale. He skated forward, then lifted it up over his head, grinning bigger than he thought he’d ever grinned before. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d imagined this very moment, this very feeling of joy and pride. The Cup was heavier than he’d expected, heavier than Willow was.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he looked up at his family in the stands. Willow, still perched on Taylor’s shoulders, hand in his hair, waved at him and blew him a kiss, mimicking what he’d done before. His parents had their phones out, but they waved too. Taylor simply put up one finger at him, grinning.

Cale rejoined his teammates and passed the Cup to Comph. He stood in the middle of his friends, the people he’d battled with for eighty-two regular season games and twenty post-season games. His brothers. He couldn’t be happier to see them celebrating, couldn’t be happier to be able to share this with them.

Reporters had swarmed the ice and were interviewing as many guys as they could. Now that he’d had his turn, the reporters started asking him for interviews. He felt like he said the same things to everyone, that it hadn’t sunk in yet, that he was happy to be able to share this with the guys, and what he wanted to do with the Cup.

One reporter asked him about Willow, and he grinned. Glancing up in the stands again, Cale noticed that Willow, Taylor, and his parents were gone. Had they been told to leave? They shouldn’t have, not when so many of his teammates hadn’t gotten to raise the Cup yet. He frowned a bit, but was sure he’d see them at the hotel later, and continued his interview until he was summoned to go take a group photo with the Cup.

He gasped and laughed as Kubey fell and dropped the Cup. Dozens of photographers captured the moment, the shock of seeing the base of the Cup hit the ice. Cale and his teammates grinned widely, holding up one finger to the cameras. After what felt like forever, they dispersed, some guys going off for more interviews, others mingling with each other.

Cale meandered around the ice, trying to take everything in. He noticed a small mob of people joining them on the ice, several wearing matching denim jackets, even more wearing jerseys, all holding Stanley Cup Champion flags.

Their families.

Cale skated against the flow of people, carefully weaving through them and craning his neck in search of his family. He furrowed his brows as he searched. Had they passed each other and didn’t realize it? He turned around to look behind him. Surely he would've seen Taylor towering over some of the wives and girlfriends.

“Daddy!”

Cale whirled around on his skates when he heard the small voice he’d recognize anywhere and nearly fell, earning a giggle from his squealing daughter who was running towards him. Tears began to stream down his face as Willow ran up to him, Taylor’s too-big hat bouncing around on her light hair, clad in her tiny burgundy and blue number eight jersey, black pants, and purple sneakers. Cale knelt down on the ice so Willow could run into his arms.

“Hi Daddy!” Willow squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck as Cale wrapped his arms around her tightly. He lifted his daughter up as he stood, squeezing her even tighter.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Cale croaked through his tears. He readjusted his grip on Willow so his right arm was under her bottom and he could look at her.

Willow’s face scrunched as she registered Cale’s tears. She pointed to them and said, “Daddy sad?”

Cale laughed, but tears continued to flow down his face. “No, baby, Daddy’s not sad, Daddy’s happy. So happy.”

“Oh.”

Cale pulled her head into his face with his free hand and kissed her cheek. “I love you so much,” he whispered to her, kissing her again.

“Wub Daddy,” Willow cooed.

“You found Daddy!”

Cale looked away and grinned when he saw his dad standing in front of him, his mom and Taylor behind him, all grinning with tears in their eyes. “She found me,” Cale said.

Gary pulled Cale and Willow in for a huge hug. He patted Cale on the back and whispered through tears, “We’re so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Cale mumbled back. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“We are too.” Gary gazed proudly at Cale, then moved out of the way so Laura could hug him next.

Cale bent down and wrapped his free arm around his mom. She kissed his cheek and squeezed him muttering, “You did it, Cale. You did it.”

He agreed softly, “We did it.”

Taylor excitedly held out his arms before Laura even let him go. He grinned and collected Cale and Willow in his arms, patting Cale’s back and laughing, making Willow giggle at him.

“Look at you!” Taylor exclaimed. He took his hat from Willow’s head and put it back on his own.

Cale reached up and fixed her Avalanche bow. It had been flattened by Taylor’s hat, but Willow didn’t seem to mind. Her jersey started riding up, too, so Cale tugged it down and kissed her forehead again.

“Daddy happy!” Willow said and grabbed Cale's cheeks.

“Yeah, Willow, Daddy’s happy. Do you remember how I told you about the big, shiny Cup? The one that’s as tall as you are? That we can eat pancakes and ice cream out of?”

Willow nodded.

“Daddy won that Cup,” Cale explained, choking up. “Do you see it over there?”

Willow leaned backward in Cale’s arms, looking where he pointed, at EJ holding the Cup. “Pwetty!” she gasped.

“It is pretty, isn’t it?” Cale smiled. “Soon, we get to have a whole day with it, just for us. We’re gonna go to Gamma and Gampa’s house in Calgary and have a party. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“Cow-gawy fun,” Willow commented. The Makars laughed at her statement.

“You’re right, Willow,” Gary agreed. He opened his mouth to keep speaking, but someone yelled Cale’s name.

Cale jerked around, making Willow giggle, in search of whoever called for him. It was another reporter, and she asked politely if he would mind doing another quick interview.

“Do you mind if I have guests?” Cale asked, bouncing Willow in his arms.

“Not at all,” the reporter said.

Cale skated over to her, holding Willow in his right arm. She shyly buried her face into his neck and shoulder when she realized the reporter was there, making Cale chuckle. He waved Taylor over as the reporter went live.

“Alright guys, we are live here with Cale Makar,” she started. “Cale, I know the big trophy was what you wanted, but how did it also feel to be named the Conn Smythe winner?”

Taylor joined him and casually wrapped an arm around his brother, sandwiching Willow between them, as Cale answered, “Yeah, I mean, yeah, this is my brother here, obviously drafted by the Avs, too, and this is my daughter, Willow. But, I mean, it’s just so awesome to have family here, and I mean, that’s not an individual award, it’s a team-based thing, just guys, guys working together. And, um, I mean, we got the big one, which was the Stanley Cup so that’s all that matters.” Cale readjusted Willow in his arms and she stuck her thumb in her mouth like she did when she was nervous.

“How proud are you of your brother?” the reporter held out her microphone to Taylor and asked.

Taylor grinned. “I can’t even speak,” he said. “It’s been—it’s been his dream ever since we were playing mini sticks in our—in our living room, banging up the walls and stuff like that. I just can’t even speak, I’m so proud of him.”

“Willow,” the reporter asked softly and kindly, “how proud are you of your dad?”

Willow’s eyes went wide. She sat up and looked at Cale, for permission or encouragement or both.

“It’s okay,” he said. “What do you think about the Stanley Cup?”

Willow put her hands up in celebration. “Daddy happy!” she exclaimed.

“What are we gonna do with the Cup?” Cale continued. “What are we gonna eat out of it?”

“Pancakes!”

“That’s right,” Cale laughed. “And what else?”

“Ice cweam!”

“Yeah,” Cale pulled her in and kissed her head, “We’re gonna eat pancakes and ice cream out of the Stanley Cup. Are you proud of me?”

Willow nodded enthusiastically, and the reporter laughed.

“Thanks, Willow,” she said. “Cale, to hoist that trophy after everything you guys have been through, what did that mean to you?”

Cale answered, “I mean, I’ve said it time and time again, I’m just so proud of these guys in the room, the guys that have been through this year after year of ups and downs, of Landy, Nate, EJ, and Mikko and everybody that’s been here for a while, and I’m just so proud and I’m happy that I could be a part of that success for those guys in this pure joy right now.”

“Cale Makar, thank you so much,” the reporter said.

Cale smiled, thanked the reporter, and skated back over to his parents, Willow still in his arms, Taylor treading behind him. Gary and Laura were smiling when they returned, and Cale noticed them both wiping away more tears.

“I hope we get that video,” Gary said. He wrapped an arm around Cale like Taylor had during the interview, just on the other side of his body, the one Willow wasn’t curled into.

“Cale!” someone called.

Cale whipped around and saw Toewser holding the Cup. He jerked his head to indicate that Cale should come over, so Cale kissed Willow on the forehead, said, “Daddy will be right back,” and handed her to Taylor to hold. His heart sank when he heard a sad little cry as he skated away.

Cale skated up next to Toewser, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and took hold of the bottom of the Cup so they could take photos together. Glancing back at his family, he was grateful to realize that Taylor had immediately redirected Willow; instead of her being upset that Cale had left to take pictures, Taylor had focused her attention on naming various teammates on the ice. He vaguely heard her tiny voice, but he could pick it out anywhere.

“Who’s that?” Taylor asked, pointing to EJ.

“EJ!” Willow declared proudly.

“Who’s that?” Taylor pointed at Nate.

“Nay-tan!”

Cale smiled a little bigger next to Toewser before he handed his end of the Cup back to him and skated back to his family. Willow squealed in delight and leaned towards Cale with her arms outstretched. She grabbed at him with her tiny hands.

“Daddy,” she whined to Taylor. “Want Daddy.”

Taylor replied, “Daddy has to—.”

“It’s okay,” Cale interrupted and held his hands out to him. “C’mere, baby.”

Taylor handed Willow over to Cale. She immediately cuddled into her father, taking her thumb back in her mouth as she leaned her head against his neck.

“She’s lighter than the Cup is.” Cale cracked a grin. “But you can’t touch it, Taylor, it’s bad luck.”

Taylor threw his hands up and grinned back. “I’m not gonna! I’ll touch it when we win it together.”

The celebrations on the ice felt like they lasted a lifetime, and Cale never wanted them to end. Standing on the ice with the people he loved the most, with Willow in his arms, everything felt perfect.

The same operations person, someone from the NHL, found him again and said they needed him for a press conference. He nodded, then turned to Taylor.

“Come with me,” Cale told him.

“Is that okay?” Taylor looked at their parents, almost for permission.

“I’m not doing it without you,” Cale shrugged, “so they can deal.”

Taylor grinned. “Cool.”

“We’ll take her,” Gary said, holding his hands out for Willow.

Cale tried to pass her off to her grandfather, but she clung tightly to his jersey and wailed, “No! Want Daddy!”

“Daddy will be right back,” Cale told her softly. Gary tried to take her and Willow screamed, face red with tears in her eyes.

“Okay, okay,” Cale sighed and pulled her back into his body. She settled back into his neck and rubbed her eyes.

“I can hold her,” Taylor offered with outstretched hands.

“I’ve got her,” Cale protested. “It’ll be fine. I think I’ll have to go to the locker room after, so I’ll see you guys back at the hotel?”

“Sounds good,” Gary said. He hugged Cale and Willow tightly and patted Cale’s back. “So proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Laura hugged him when Gary released him, kissing his cheek again. “We love you so much.”

“I love you guys,” Cale replied and smiled at his mom. “I’ll see you at the hotel. I can’t guarantee I’ll be sober, but I’ll see you there.”

Cale’s family laughed, then Gary said, “You deserve it.” He patted Cale on the shoulder, then Cale skated off toward the bench, Willow in his arms and Taylor trailing behind them.

Stepping off the ice, Cale was ushered through the inner halls of Amalie Arena. Willow sat up in his arms, eyes wide, taking in the photos and murals and posters that decorated the walls in front of her and Cale.

“Wassat, Daddy?” she asked, pointing to a big, white lightning bolt painted on the dark blue wall.

“That’s the other team’s logo,” Cale explained. He pointed to the Avs logo on his chest. “Like this. That’s what they have on their jerseys.”

“Ohhh,” Willow said in awe. She turned around, looked over her shoulder, realized Taylor was behind them, and shrieked, “TayTay!”

“Hey, Will,” Taylor laughed.

They arrived at the press room and walked into the brightness. Willow tucked her head into Cale’s neck again, so he readjusted her in his arms and softly rubbed her back. He sat down at the table next to the Conn Smythe trophy, still holding Willow, Taylor on his other side.

Cale fixed Willow’s bow again as one of the NHL press employees announced, “Conn Smythe trophy winner Cale Makar here to take your questions,” then picked one of the reporters to ask the first question.

“Congratulations, Cale,” the reporter started.

“Thank you,” Cale replied and fidgeted in his chair a bit to adjust Willow in his lap. He was still in full pads, so it was a little awkward, but he made it work.

“You’ve wracked up some hardware,” the reporter continued, “with the Hobey Baker, the Calder, the Norris, and now the Conn Smythe. How grateful are you to this organization?”

“Yeah, I’m so, so grateful just to be part of the success, help the guys who’ve been through the ups and downs of this team succeed. It’s just, um, it’s just surreal. I’m not too worried about this individual stuff, just celebrating the main thing with the boys.”

Cale pointed his thumb at Taylor and grinned. “It’s awesome to be able to have family here, too. This is my brother, Taylor, he’s drafted by the Avs, so he’s gonna be at camp in a couple weeks, so I figured I’d bring him in. And this is Willow, my daughter, she’s two and a half.” He rubbed her back as she shyly peeked at the crowd of people.

“Does your daughter understand what this means to you?” the next journalist asked. “What have you told her?”

Cale laughed, “Yeah, I mean, she gets a little of it. I told her that it’s really old, that if we win it, we get to take it to Calgary and spend the whole day with it. Willow, what are we gonna eat out of the Stanley Cup?” Cale looked down at her, then pulled the microphone toward her.

“Pancakes,” she whispered.

“Tell everyone else,” Cale encouraged, tapping the mic. “Say it here.”

“Pancakes!” Willow said into the mic proudly.

“And?”

“Ice cweam!”

The room laughed and Cale said, “That’s right, baby, we’re gonna eat pancakes and ice cream out of the Stanley Cup. Where are we taking it on our day?”

“Cow-gawy!”

The room laughed again, and Willow decided she was done with Cale. She reached for Taylor with grabby hands, so he tugged her into his arms while Cale answered the next few questions. Taylor even got a question or two, and Cale scoffed when Taylor said he was the hardest person Taylor knew.

Finally, they were excused. Cale led Taylor and Willow out to the hall, then said, “I’m going to the locker room.”

“Cool,” Taylor replied. “I’m gonna find Mom and Dad and I’m guessing we’ll meet you at the hotel.”

“Yep,” Cale smiled. He leaned in to speak to Willow. “I’ll see you back at the hotel with Gamma and Gampa, okay? I love you.”

Willow cried out, “No, Daddy stay!”

“You stay with TayTay, baby,” Cale insisted, kissing her head. “And I’ll see you soon.”

She squirmed in Taylor’s arms, reaching for Cale, and his heart broke as she started crying. Cale knew she was exhausted—it was much past her bedtime, and she hadn’t had a good nap—but he still hated hearing her cry. Taylor held her close and started to walk away, Willow red-faced and sobbing and reaching her tiny hand out for Cale. They turned a corner, and though he couldn’t see her anymore, he could still hear her as he turned and went to the locker room to celebrate.

Cale was drunk.

He grinned as his head swam, obnoxious ski goggles on his head while he walked to the bus. He felt floaty, giggly, and his filter was all but nonexistent. Laughing as Bo yelled at some of the journalists they passed, Cale was silently thankful he wasn’t nearly the lightweight that Bo was. Not that he was a lightweight; people just forgot he went to college and could hold his own with the other college guys like Newy and OC. And that he was Canadian.

The stairs on the bus wobbled as he tried to climb them. Giggling, he held onto the rails and pulled himself onto the bus, then held his hands up and yelled in celebration. He flopped down in a seat and cheered again. As more guys got on the bus, the cheering and yelling continued and grew louder and louder with each teammate.

Cale didn’t realize they were moving until the bus arrived at the hotel. He wandered off the bus, careful on the stairs, and followed his teammates to the ballroom of their hotel. Fans at the bar cheered for them, and he yelled back at them. With alcohol pumping through his brain, he became a different person, someone who didn’t think about every word, who said everything that came to his mind and then some, who was not the innocent person people made him out to be.

When they walked into the ballroom, their families cheered. He beelined for his family, whose backs were all turned, Willow sitting cross-legged on the floor with his mom’s phone in her hand. He hurried up to her and scooped her up, sending her into a fit of giggles.

“Daddy!” she shrieked.

“Willow!” he shrieked back. He attacked her with kisses, making her giggle even more before he put his arm under her bottom to hold her

“Smelly,” Willow said, scrunching her nose at Cale.

“You tell him, Will,” Taylor added. “You do reek.”

“Champagne showers will do that,” Cale chuckled. “And I need another drink.”

“I need one, too,” Taylor agreed, “and I don’t think Willow’s leaving you any time soon.”

“Mom? Dad? Drinks?” Cale looked expectantly at his parents.

Gary raised his bottle of beer and said, “I’m good.”

Laura put her hand up and added, “I am too.”

Cale nodded, then floated his way to the bar, Willow in his arms and Taylor trailing behind them. He giggled when he heard Bo and Newy yelling again.

“Funny?” Willow asked him in confusion.

“Bo and Newy are silly,” he giggled to his daughter.

Willow glanced at them, then giggled with Cale as Bo took his suit jacket off to reveal his bare chest and yelled, waving his jacket above his head.

“Daddy’s drunk, Willow,” Taylor teased, stepping up to the bar and asking for two beers from the bartender.

“Dwunk?”

“Daddy feels silly like Bo and Newy,” Cale explained.

“Why?”

Taylor handed Cale one of the beers. “Sometimes,” Cale explained, “grown-ups drink stuff that makes them feel and act silly.”

“Oh,” Willow replied.

Cale took a sip of his beer. “It’s also why I smell funny.”

Willow sniffed Cale, then scrunched her nose again and said, “Yuck. Smelly.”

Cale sniffed Willow back. “You smell like you.”

Taylor snorted. “Okay, weirdo, let’s go.”

They began walking back to their parents, but EJ saw them and screamed, “WILLOW!”

Cale whipped around and Willow giggled, before she yelled back, “EJ!” She leaned forward for him, grabbing out to him, so he took her out of Cale’s arms and plopped her on his shoulders.

“WOO!” EJ yelled, running Willow around the ballroom as she screamed with laughter. “WE DID IT!”

Cale cheered and took his phone out to record. EJ passed Willow to Gabe, who also put her on his shoulders while he began to dance to “Celebration” by Kool and the Gang. She clung to his hair the way she’d clung to Taylor’s at the arena and squealed in delight until she decided she was done with Gabe.

“Nay-tan!” she shouted, leaning for Nate. Gabe’s body tipped to the side a little as Willow leaned, and Cale’s stomach dropped. He jumped past his teammates that were crowded around Gabe with his arms up, ready to catch Willow if she fell. Nate beat him, however, and let Willow slide from Gabe’s shoulders into his arms.

“Jesus Christ,” Cale muttered, heart pounding. Thinking his child was about to fall sobered him up significantly.

Willow cackled and clutched his shirt as Nate danced around with her in one arm. She tried to sing along to the song, but didn’t know the words, so she sang with her toddler gibberish instead. Taylor called it “Willish.”

Cale quickly finished off his beer, and keeping his eyes on Willow, he wandered to the bar for another, then another and another until the floaty, fuzzy feeling was back and the celebrations began to blur away. But one thing didn’t blur away.

They did it.

“Willow, honey, are you ready?” Cale called. “We’ve gotta go.”

Cale and his parents were waiting for Taylor and Willow, who insisted her uncle help her get dressed for the parade through Denver. Cale was secretly worried no one would be there and was anxious to get going.

“Coming!” Willow came running out of her bedroom in a jersey t-shirt with “Makar” and an eight on it—it was far too hot to put her in her jersey. She had on purple shorts to match her purple shoes, her Avalanche bow in her hair, and her little backpack on her shoulders.

Cale grinned at her. “Look at you, cutie!” he said as she ran into his arms and he picked her up. “Did TayTay help you put sunscreen on?”

Willow nodded, “Yep!”

Cale placed a big kiss on her cheek and immediately made a face. Taylor had, in fact, slathered her in sunscreen.

“Jesus, Taylor, did you bathe her in sunscreen?” Cale exclaimed, wiping his mouth.

“I don’t want her to get burnt!” Taylor protested. “You know she’ll fry out there without it.”

Cale pointed out, “It’s gonna rain later.”

“So?” Taylor shot back. “It’s gonna be sunny til then.”

“Alright, boys,” Laura said sternly, making Gary chuckle. “We don’t want to be late.”

Cale playfully shoved Taylor’s shoulder as they grabbed their stuff and loaded into Cale’s car with Gary driving. Taylor sat shotgun, while Cale and Laura piled into the back with Willow’s car seat. Cale sat next to Willow and smiled as she looked out of the window.

“Willow,” Cale said excitedly. She turned to her father and stretched her hands out to him, so he offered her his hand to hold. She wrapped her two tiny fists around two of his long fingers and he wanted to melt.

“Daddy!” Willow parroted.

“We’re gonna see a lot of people today,” he explained. “They’re going to be loud and cheering for Daddy and for the rest of the team, but I’ll be there with you the whole time, just like TayTay and Gamma and Gampa, okay?”

“Okay,” Willow replied.

“We’ll keep you safe,” Taylor added.

Willow smiled and babbled at him, some indistinguishable Willish. Taylor chuckled in response.

They arrived where they were told to meet, a parking lot packed with fire trucks and police officers and Avs players and their families. Cale helped Willow out of her car seat, then plopped her on his shoulders. Taylor made sure to grab the two cases of Trulys they’d brought, and they trekked over to their fire truck they’d be riding.

Taylor clambered onto the top of the truck, placed the boxes of drinks down, then held out his hands to grab Willow. She grabbed back at him and squealed when he wrapped his large hands around her wrists and lifted her up onto the truck with him. Cale climbed on after her, then Gary and Laura. Toewser and Kerry were joining them, along with a couple more people and the Conn Smythe trophy. There was a cooler already on the truck filled with beer and seltzers, so Cale dumped the boxes they’d brought into the cooler while Taylor held onto Willow.

“Will,” Taylor said, “what sound does a fire truck make?”

“Wee-ooh wee-ooh!” Willow proclaimed.

Everyone on the truck laughed.

“Good job,” Taylor said and held up his hand. “Gimme five?”

Willow enthusiastically gave him a high five and everyone laughed again. Through their laughter, they heard someone call that they were moving soon, that the parade was starting, so they settled in their spots on the truck. Taylor held onto Willow, since Cale and Toewser planned on standing on the truck so they could see the fans better.

The parade began, the fire trucks moving slowly through the streets of Denver, and Cale had never seen so many people cheering for them in his life. He waved and chugged Trulys and beers, he screamed and hollered and shot beer at the crowds from a water gun.

At one point, Taylor handed Willow over to Cale, and he placed her on his shoulders. The crowd began to chant, “MVP! MVP!”

Instead, Cale began to chant, “Willow! Willow! Willow!”

The crowd quickly picked up on the chant. Willow squealed in delight and waved at the people chanting her name, her grandparents and uncle laughing. She joined in on as much as she could, giggling wildly at every moment.

Willow laughed extra hard whenever Cale chugged a drink or poured it on himself and cheered. The alcohol running through his veins fueled his own laughter and screams, which in turn fueled Willow’s. Someone threw a drink up to Taylor, and he made Willow shriek with laughter when he pulled his shirt over his face and chugged it through the fabric.

They arrived at Civic Center Park, but there was a bit of a traffic jam. The fire trucks they’d all been riding on had clogged up the roads, so they came to a stand still. Cale, adrenaline and alcohol flowing through him, hopped off their truck and sprinted through the street, high-fiving fans. He’d left Willow in Taylor’s arms, but she started to fuss, so Cale jogged back to the truck so Taylor could hand her down to him.

Willow happily settled into Cale’s side. He kept his arm under her bottom and she clung to his bicep with one hand and the collar of his shirt with the other. She giggled and babbled as they walked around and mingled with the fans. Nate and Gabe joined them, Gabe wrapped in a Swedish flag.

“Nay-tan!” Willow squealed at Nate. She leaned for him and grabbed at him with her small hands.

Grinning, Nate walked over to Cale and Willow and greeted her, “Hey Chill Will!”

Willow kept grabbing at him, fighting against Cale. “See Nay-tan, Daddy.”

“It’s cool, Cale,” Nate reassured. “C’mere, kiddo.”

Willow cackled as Nate took her out of her dad’s arms and put her on his shoulders. He began to chant her name, quickly getting the crowd to join him.

“Willow! Willow! Willow!”

Cale took his phone out and recorded the cheers for his baby girl. He was so happy she got to be there with them, to be part of the celebration. He laughed with Willow when Nate danced around the streets with her on his shoulders.

To their dismay, the trucks began moving, so they all started walking towards the Civic Center. Cale shadowed Nate and Willow as they walked. He waved at and high-fived more fans—he was stunned that so many people had come to see them.

When they reached the Civic Center, Cale tried to give Willow back to his family, but she clung to Nate and refused to let go. Cale knew she’d have a meltdown, and there were enough of his teammates around that she would be fine, so he let Nate carry her into the building.

Cale couldn’t stop smiling and giggling as he waited in the building for the rest of the guys. He was thoroughly intoxicated, hitting his peak at the perfect time. He mingled with his friends and raised the Cup a couple more times. Cale didn’t think raising the Cup would ever grow old.

He remembered that he had, in fact, brought Willow into the building with him and he began to panic. He frantically looked for her, and easily found her atop Darcy’s huge frame. She was cackling, but wavering around unstably, so Cale made her get down from Darcy’s shoulders and took her in his arms.

“Fun, Daddy!” she squealed.

“I’m so glad,” he croaked. He was starting to lose his voice from all the shouting he’d done.

Mikko ran by them, yelling and double-fisting beers. Lehky ran behind him with a child-like, giddy grin on his face. Cackling at them, Willow reached out for the two Fins when they ran back by her, then squirmed to tell Cale that she wanted to get down. Cale placed her on the ground and she immediately began racing after Mikko and Lehky.

Willow suddenly tripped over her own feet. Cale flinched and prepared for her to cry, but instead, she picked herself up and kept running. He laughed lovingly.

The operations team started lining them up in number order, which was significantly more difficult when Cale and the boys were all smashed. Cale had to bring the Conn Smythe out with him, much to Willow’s dismay, so she had to walk next to him instead.

The coaching staff was announced first, with thunderous applause for Bedsy. Cale cheered the best he could, but since his hands were full, he just whooped for his coach. Once the staff was all out, they began to announce the players.

Jack went out first, then Bo, then EJ and Toewser, then finally Cale was called. He walked out, grinning, and went straight to the stand for the trophy. He placed it down and clapped and waved to the fans before he felt Willow run into his leg and hide. He leaned down, picked her up, and waved again, then walked over to join his teammates.

The rest of the announcements were a blur of yelling and the crowd cheering until everyone was standing in a clump next to the podium. Joe gave a speech, Bedsy gave a speech, but Cale wasn’t paying attention to them. Instead, he was laughing at Willow, who had found her way into Comph’s arms.

“Cale?” Comph called. “Why are her hands wet and sticky?”

Cale shrugged and cackled as Willow grabbed at Comph’s beard. He held his head back to try and stop her, but she giggled and kept going after it until he gave up and let her touch it. Others tried to get her to come see them instead—Nate, Burky, even EJ—but she was content in Comph’s arms.

Gabe said some words, then called up Cale and EJ and Nate and Mikko to say something. Cale hollered into the mic, earning cheers from the crowd, and let the words spew from his mouth. He had no idea what he was saying, but the cheers and chants egged him on. Willow cackled at her dad, which spurred him even more, until he passed the mic to Mikko.

Mikko slurred his words, accent thicker than usual. He said something about only speaking Finnish, and Cale wasn’t surprised, reminded of a vague memory of the night they won the Cup and Mikko on a table with Lehky shouting in their native language.

After finishing his bit, Mikko came back to join the guys. He suddenly lifted Cale up onto his shoulders and clutched his thighs so Cale could hold his arms up to the crowd. The “MVP” chant returned, but Cale could hear Willow shrieking with laughter.

“Daddy up!” she screamed at Comph. He flinched away from her. Mikko put Cale down, and Willow began reaching for Mikko, saying, “My tuwn!”

Mikko reached for Willow and placed her on his shoulders, too, to Cale’s dismay. He watched her like a hawk, not trusting Mikko to not drop his baby girl. The chants started again, but this time, Mikko led the crowd in shouting, “Willow! Willow! Willow!”

Cale was finally able to extract Willow from Mikko and held onto her tightly as rain began to drizzle down on them. He bounced her up and down, relishing in her giggles, and wished he could freeze that moment in time forever.

Summertime was Cale’s favorite.

He spent his summer in Calgary, sleeping in his childhood bedroom, surrounded by his family and friends. He took Willow around to his favorite spots, his favorite restaurants, everywhere that meant something to him. Almost feeling like he had to make up for lost time, Cale wanted to show Willow around her second home, wanted her to have childhood memories from Calgary just like he did.

Willow loved being in Calgary nearly as much as Cale did. Taylor was home with them, doing workouts with Cale to prepare for his upcoming sophomore season at UMass, so she got to see him every day. His parents were overjoyed to have Willow, too, and have their whole crew under one roof.

This summer, however, felt a touch different, since Cale and his family were busy planning for his Cup day. He had so many places he wanted to take it, so many people he wanted to share it with, that it was difficult to narrow it down to make a schedule, but he was happy with the way it was shaping up.

The day before his Cup day, Cale sleepily opened his eyes as sunlight lightly streamed through his curtains. His back pressed against the bedroom wall with Willow lying next to him, her tiny head on his pillow, her arm wrapped around her favorite unicorn toy and her thumb in her mouth. Plenty of people had told Cale not to let her sleep in his bed, but when she had a bad dream like she did the previous night, he wasn’t going to say no.

Cale carefully crawled out of bed, but Willow woke up anyway. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, then cooed as she realized he was awake, too.

“Good morning,” he greeted her as he stood up and stretched.

“Daddy,” Willow mumbled. “Monning.”

“Smells like someone’s making pancakes,” Cale commented. He reached down for her and scooped her up to take her downstairs.

“Pancakes!” Willow sighed and rubbed her eyes.

“We have to brush our teeth first, right?”

“Right.”

Cale took Willow into the bathroom where they brushed their teeth together, though Willow’s version of “brushing her teeth” was mimicking Cale’s movements. He helped her after he finished brushing his own, then the two of them joined Gary, Laura, and Taylor in the kitchen.

“Good morning!” Gary exclaimed when Willow ran to him. “How’s my favorite girl this morning?”

“Hungwy!”

Gary picked her up and pointed at the griddle. “What are those?”

“Pancakes!”

“You’re so smart, Willow,” Gary sighed, kissing her temple. “Who do you want to help you get your breakfast?”

Willow searched around the room until she saw Taylor sitting at the table. She joyfully squealed, “TayTay!”

Taylor looked up at her. “What?”

“Willow wants you to help get her breakfast,” Cale explained.

“Of course!” Taylor leapt out of his chair and took Willow from his dad. “Whatcha want?”

��Pancakes.”

“Okay.” Taylor dropped two silver-dollar sized pancakes onto her purple plate. “Do you want bacon?”

Scrunching her face, Willow said, “Ew.”

“Ew?” Cale repeated. “Will, you love bacon.”

“Ew. Yucky.” Willow stuck her tongue out and made a noise.

Taylor laughed and Cale rolled his eyes. Willow had been exploring saying no, making for an interesting summer. She had been refusing some of her favorite things, then asking for them later, almost testing the waters.

“It’s okay, Will, do you want some eggs?” Taylor chuckled.

“Yes!”

“And fruit? This fruit sure does look good…”

“Fwoot yummy!”

“Alrighty.” Taylor carefully spooned some scrambled eggs and a few cut-up strawberries onto her plate. “What else?”

“All done.”

“What do you want to drink? Juice or milk?”

“Juice!”

“I’ll get it,” Gary said, opening the refrigerator while Cale began to load up his plate with breakfast and Taylor took Willow over to her high-chair. He plopped her down in her chair, placed her plate in front of her, then retrieved the maple syrup and poured some on her plate.

“Mmm,” Willow giggled. “Yum.”

“Not too much,” Cale cautioned. “Unless you want sticky toddler hands everywhere.”

Taylor insisted, “She’s fine, look.” He pointed at Willow, who had carefully dipped a pancake into her syrup.

Cale winced as she pulled the pancake out of her syrup and began to wave it around in the air, syrup dripping everywhere, including in her hair. Sighing, Cale sat down at the table next to her and glared at his brother.

“Told you,” he said glumly.

“I’ll give her a bath,” Taylor offered and sat down, “No big deal.”

Willow proceeded to cover herself in her breakfast. Taylor looked apologetically at Cale while they ate and watched Willow until they all finished.

“Okay, Will, we’re gonna go take a bath,” Taylor announced and carefully lifted her out of her highchair.

“I’ve got it,” Cale said, offering his arms out. “I wanna have some time with her before tomorrow to explain, like, what’s going on.”

“Sounds good, I owe you a bathtime,” Taylor said.

Taylor handed Willow to Cale, and he walked her into the bathroom. He set her down on the ground and gathered her towel, her washcloth, her shampoo, and her tub toys before he turned on the water. He tested it to make sure it wasn’t too hot—especially because Willow liked her baths to be a little cooler.

“Alright,” Cale turned to her, “arms up!”

Willow stuck her arms up in the air so Cale could help her undress and get in the bathtub. She grabbed her favorite toys, a mermaid Barbie and a unicorn, and babbled as she played with them, her own world taking over.

“Hey,” Cale said as he shampooed her hair. “Tomorrow is gonna be a weird day. Remember the big shiny Cup?”

“Cup!” Willow nodded.

“Tomorrow is Daddy’s day with the Cup. We’re taking it to some fun places, like to see GiGi and to Daddy’s rink. But there’s gonna be a lot of people there to see the Cup and Daddy.”

“Fwends?”

“Lots of friends. It’s gonna be fun, but Daddy’s gonna be very busy, so you’ll get to be with TayTay and Gamma and Gampa too. Okay?”

“Okay!” Willow offered him her mermaid Barbie to play with, and he smiled softly as he began to play her game.

She had no idea how crazy the next day would be.

Cale nearly leapt out of bed when his alarm went off in the morning. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of his time with the Cup, which would be at his house soon. He hopped in the shower, then threw on a white t-shirt and black shorts and headed downstairs with a huge grin on his face.

“Daddy!” Willow exclaimed, running towards him wearing a black shorts and her number eight jersey.

“Hi baby girl.” Cale leaned down and picked her up to kiss her cheek. “Today’s gonna be a fun day.”

The doorbell rang, so Cale handed Willow off to his mom, his grin widening. He went outside to meet the Cup Keeper, Philip, who opened the case and allowed Cale to pick the Cup up. He carefully took it inside and put it down on the coffee table in the living room.

Taylor, Gary, and Laura followed Cale, as well as a couple of the Avs media team with their cameras and a local Calgary photographer the Makar’s hired to capture the day, and they all took a moment to gaze at the Cup. Willow came sprinting in, always wanting to be included, and she gasped when she saw it.

“Pwetty!”

Taylor bent down and picked her up. “It is, isn’t it?” he asked her, leaning her in so she could take a better look.

“Taylor, don’t touch it,” Cale warned.

Taylor insisted, “I’m not gonna! I promise!”

“I hungwy, TayTay,” Willow whined.

“Daddy’s gonna make pancakes and eat them out of the Cup,” Cale told her. He went into the kitchen and started gathering up the ingredients he needed for his gluten-free pancakes.

“Help Daddy,” Willow fussed. She squirmed in Taylor’s arms until he gently placed her on the ground so she could run into the kitchen with Cale. Willow decided at the beginning of the summer that she wanted to cook with whoever was cooking, which Cale loved.

“Can you ask TayTay to get your stool?” Cale asked gently.

“TayTay,” Willow ran up to him, grabbed his hand, and said. “Pwease help.”

“Of course.” Taylor grabbed her stool from the pantry, set it up, and helped her up onto it before standing protectively behind her so she wouldn’t fall backwards.

With Cale’s and Taylor’s help, Willow measured out and poured all the ingredients into the bowl. She tried to whisk it all together but quickly gave up and made Cale do it. Everyone laughed when she gave up, and once Cale finished her task, he began to plop pancake batter on the griddle.

The smell of sizzling pancakes filled the room. While Cale worked on breakfast, Gary held Willow and pointed out different teams that had won. He read team names to her, paying special attention to the ‘89 Flames names and of course where Cale’s name would be.

Cale brought the plate of cupcakes over to the Cup and, grinning, began to layer them up inside the Cup. Laura brought over a bowl of fruit and maple syrup. Cale spooned some fruit in with his pancakes. He looked at the camera that was on him and grinned.

“This is a feast,” he said. Picking up the syrup, Cale added, “At least it’s Canadian maple syrup.”

As Cale poured syrup on his pancakes, he heard his dad agree, “That’s right!”

Cale dug into his pancakes while everyone watched. “Oh man,” he said with his mouth full, “those are the best gluten-free pancakes ever!”

Cale scarfed down three pancakes and some fruit before he called Willow over to have some. Taylor picked her up and held her up to Cale’s level.

“Will,” Cale said, cutting off a Willow-sized chunk of pancake. “Want some pancakes?”

Willow opened her mouth hopefully, so Cale carefully put the fork in her mouth for her. She ate the pancake and exclaimed, “More!”

Everyone laughed, but Cale obliged, carefully feeding her until she said she was done and managing to keep her jersey syrup-free. Gary and Laura had some too, all laughing as Gary goofed off.

They finished breakfast and after quickly cleaning out the Cup, Cale took it upstairs to his room to take some photos. Willow was confused by her dad carrying it around and not her, so she started to fuss until Taylor picked her up.

Once they were done, they packed up the Cup to take it over to the rink Cale grew up skating at. He was planning on showing the kids’ teams the Cup, then had invited the community for a meet and greet to see the Cup too. Cale hoped people would show up; he knew at least there would be kids there.

He couldn’t have imagined how many people actually showed up.

“Holy shit,” he muttered when his dad drove past the seemingly endless line of people wrapped around the rink.

They cheered when he got out of the car and walked the Cup inside. Cale pressed his lips together at them, then headed inside. He was greeted by Willow sprinting at him.

“Hi Daddy!” she said, reaching her arms up to him. She wanted him to hold her.

“Hi, Will,” he said, “I have to hold the Cup, I’m sorry sweetheart.”

Willow’s face scrunched in distress until Taylor picked her up instead. He made a snorting noise and kissed her cheek to make her giggle as Cale walked down towards the ice with the Cup.

He stood on the ice, Cup next to him, and gazed at the letters on the wall that he’d grown up with. Thoughts of his childhood flooded his mind—his first goal, his first penalty, his first everything all happened on this ice, and there he was, a Stanley Cup champion.

The kids began to stream out onto the ice to see Cale and the Cup. Cale grinned as he talked to them and directed them and took photos with them, thinking about how much he would’ve loved this as a kid.

The group he and Taylor trained with brought their skaters out, too, who were much older and much more starstruck. Many of the kids were too young to understand, but the teenagers understood.

Between photos and greetings, Cale glanced up at the window that looked out over the ice. He smiled and waved at Taylor and Willow, who stood in the window, watching. Willow looked up at Taylor while she pointed at Cale to let him know she saw her dad. Taylor nodded, said something, and Willow turned and waved enthusiastically at Cale.

Cale eventually brought the Cup back to the lobby for the community meet and greet. Sweat was pouring down his face, but he couldn’t stop grinning as people began to cycle through to see the Cup.

After several hours of greeting people—plus staying late to make sure he got to see everyone—Cale finally sat down for a moment. Halfway through the meet and greet, Willow fell asleep in Taylor’s arms, so Cale held his arms out to take her for a moment before they left.

Taylor handed her off and mumbled, “Thanks, my arms are cramping like crazy.”

“It’s only gonna get worse from here,” Cale chuckled.

Willow suddenly scrunched her face and rubbed her eyes as she woke up, sat up in Cale’s arms, and looked at him sleepily.

“Daddy,” she sighed, grabbing at his face.

Cale kissed her fingers. “Hi, honey. Are you ready to go see GiGi?”

“Yeah.” Willow yawned adorably.

“You’re gonna ride with Gamma and Gampa and TayTay and I will see you over there, okay?”

“Okay.”

Gary appeared, ready to carry his granddaughter to the car, and Cale handed her over so he could grab the Cup. When he looked back, Willow was snuggled into Gary’s chest, already asleep again as he took her out to the car.

Cale grabbed the Cup and took it outside to the fancy, old-school car he’d rented. He clambered into the car, placed the Cup next to him, and held it away as Taylor got in next to him.

“Don’t touch it!” Cale warned.

Taylor settled carefully into his seat, and the driver was off to the assisted living home their grandma lived in. They enjoyed the ride in the convertible, taking in the sun and waving at all the cars that honked at them when they drove by.

When the driver pulled up to the stop sign right before the home, Gary was waiting on the sidewalk, a huge grin across his face.

“This is crazy, the seniors are all outside cheering,” Gary said.

“No way!” Cale replied as they turned around the corner.

Cheers erupted and Cale’s driver honked the car horn at them. His heart swelled and he felt like he could cry seeing all the seniors who he’d known and visited for so long celebrating him. He smiled and waved as he clambered out of the car, then picked up the Cup and walked over to his grandma Helen with a huge, proud smile.

“Grandma,” he said excitedly.

Clad in his jersey, she smiled up at him from her spot on the bench and stared at the Cup in awe.

“Lemme see how heavy it is,” she said, reaching for the Cup.

Cale started, “Oh, I can’t let you—I don’t know if you can hold it.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” she exclaimed, shocked.

“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy, eh?” Cale laughed.

“Daddy!”

Cale whipped around to see Willow sprinting at him, Taylor rushing behind her. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, putting the Cup down and squatting so she could hug him. “Did you say hi to GiGi already?”

“Yeah!” Willow exclaimed, then walked over and hugged her great-grandma’s legs.

Helen patted her on the back. “She sure hasn’t slowed down,” she said.

“No, she hasn’t,” Cale agreed with a laugh.

He took the Cup inside and placed it down on the table set up for it. For the next couple hours, the seniors came to see him and the Cup, and he shook countless hands and heard countless stories. The seniors were all incredibly amused by Willow, how she would just run up to any of them to tell them something in Willish or show them her stuffed unicorn.

Cale eventually took Helen out on a little drive with the Cup in the car, much to Willow’s dismay; they left Willow screaming in Laura’s arms while Cale drove around the block.

“I’m so proud of you,” Helen told Cale during their ride, patting his shoulder.

“Thank you, Grandma,” Cale said, fighting back tears. Sharing the Cup with her meant the world to him.

He drove her back to the front of the Senior Center so Taylor and his parents could get her into their car to take her home for the party. He helped her out, then he and Taylor clambered back into the car, but Willow came sprinting over to the side of the car, Laura chasing after her.

“Daddy!” she screamed. “Go with Daddy!”

“I can hold her,” Taylor offered, holding his hands out.

“Are you sure?” Laura asked.

“She doesn’t need to be screaming in the car with Grandma,” Taylor insisted. “She’ll be fine with us.”

“Alright,” agreed Laura. “Will, baby, you’re gonna ride with Daddy and TayTay, okay?”

Willow reached out for Taylor from Laura’s arms and Taylor pulled her into his lap. She wanted Cale to hold her, and she whined a little when Cale continued to hold the Cup, but then she settled into Taylor’s chest. He held her tightly when the driver started up the car and began to drive to their family’s favorite spot that overlooked Calgary.

Clambering out of the car, Cale hauled the Cup with him. Someone handed him a bottle of champagne, which he easily popped open and poured into his family’s and friend’s waiting flutes. Cale gazed across his city, across the view, and he smiled to himself. God, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

“Daddy, up!” Willow called from the ground. He looked down to see her reaching her arms up to him, so he leaned down and picked her up. Willow nuzzled into him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I love you so much, Willow,” Cale mumbled to her and kissed the top of her head. “You’re my biggest blessing.”

“Wub Daddy,” she sighed happily. She’d been confused and a little jealous that he hadn’t been able to hold her as much, so he was glad to get to spend a few quiet moments with her before the photographer they’d hired started directing everyone for photos. Cale tried to hold on to Willow for as many photos as possible, but when he needed to hold the Cup, he reluctantly handed her over to Taylor or his parents.

Once their photoshoot ended, Cale wanted to make one last stop before their party back at his parents’ place. He climbed back in the car with Taylor, Willow, and the Cup, then drove to 7-11. Back during his rookie season, he told a reporter–Emily Kaplan, he believed–that he splurged and bought a Slurpee one day, so he thought having a Slurpee from the Stanley Cup was only fitting.

Cale lugged the Cup into the small convenience store and immediately caused chaos. Willow cackled behind him as he and Taylor filled up the Cup with various Slurpee flavors. The other customers went crazy at the sight.

Cale carried it back outside, sending Philip rushing in to pay for the Slurpee. Grinning, someone handed Cale a straw and he took a long sip. He motioned for Taylor to join.

“Can I?” he questioned.

“You can drink, just don’t touch it,” Cale said.

Grinning, Taylor leaned down and took a sip with Cale. Someone told them to look up, so they both looked at the cameras surrounding them in the perfect picture.

“Yummy, Daddy?” Willow asked.

“Oh, that’s the best Slurpee I’ve ever had!” Cale exclaimed, laughing. “Here, you have some, Will.”

Willow stood on her tiptoes and sipped out of the straw Cale held. She looked up at him and giggled, “Yum!”

Everyone took their turns, smiling and laughing and drinking Slurpee out of the Cup until they had their fill. Then, they returned to the Makar’s home for their final gathering of the day. Before everyone arrived, however, Cale took Willow inside to change her clothes.

Cale plopped Willow down on the bed and she giggled as she bounced. She yawned, then sleepily rubbed her eyes.

“I know, baby, you’ve had a big day,” Cale said comfortingly. “Just a little bit more, then bedtime, yeah? Are you ready to put on your party dress?”

“Yeah!” Willow replied. She’d picked out a sparkly, purple dress just for this final party.

“Okay, arms up!”

Willow obliged, and Cale quickly helped her change out of her jersey and pants and into her dress. She squealed, delighted, and once Cale put her down on the ground, she sprinted downstairs to see everyone as they arrived.

A flurry of family and friends joined them a short time later. Cale spent the evening with them, and wished and wished for more time, but as the sun went down and the party bus they’d rented for one last ride around Calgary arrived, Cale sighed and smiled at the Cup.

He’d done it.

And he’d done it for Willow.

42 notes · View notes

miracleonice87 · 2 years

Text

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

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withwritersblock · 2 months

Text

~Masterlist~

Requests are open :) ~But I hold the right to delete any request I do not feel comfortable writing Last Edited: 5/1/24

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 ❤︎ the boy is mine ❤︎

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 ✖︎❤︎

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cellythefloshie · 3 months

Text

;; Tainted Love 500 Follower Celebration

Summary: The stars seem to align for the first time when you and Ross Colton meet up for drinks while the Colorado Avalanche are in town. But it's a dangerous game you're playing because the spark is still there and is hard to ignore even with the both of you being spoken for. Kinks & Tropes: CHEATING (putting this in all caps because I want to make sure it's clear. It is a very prominent theme in this fic), alcohol consumption, car sex, unprotected sex, no forms of contraception used, pull-out method, dirty talk Word Count: 4.5k+

I've got to get away from the pain you drive into the heart of me.

The cold, caught somewhere between a fall and winter wind, reddened your cheeks more than blush ever could. It stung as you walked through the quiet streets; you head down and the collar of your jacket popped in a desperate attempt to stay home. It was late, the only life seen in the bars and restaurants on either side of you as you passed. The streets were empty, the bustle of traffic long forgotten. The only vehicle was a single cab picking up patrons or dropping them off. There were still four hours until closing time.

This, usually, was late enough for you to crawl into bed. You'd throw on a Netflix show, or listen to an audio book until you fell asleep. But you made plans. With your boyfriend out of town, you shouldn't have, but you did.

You felt like you had to, because this might have been the only opportunity you had to see Ross.

In town for one night only, and with his curfew broadened just because they had granted him more time to spend with his family, you couldn't say no. You never had said no to him either. The two of you shared a connection like you couldn't describe. Ever since you had first met on a dating app after one casual swipe in the right direction, you had clicked.

And even after the first date didn't work out, the encounter lasted no more than 5 minutes. You still kept in touch. You would get the occasional check in text. But beyond that, the two of you had gone your separate ways.

You had your boyfriend, and months later he had his girl. And your respective relationships remained unbroken, fully committed. But in time, even after months of not speaking to one another, you always ended up in each other's messages. Just to catch up, nothing more, always innocent - or at least, that was what you told yourselves.

And that's what meeting up in a bar you'd never been to would be. Just catching up over a drink. Nothing more.

That was what you told yourself when you stopped at the front door, her head tipping back to look up at the dimly lit sign. Your body quivered with a shaky breath.

Nerves? No. Ross never made you nervous.

You knew what you were feeling, but you couldn't admit it to yourself. It was wrong. Yet, you did it anyway.

You were greeted with a gust of warmth, a smile spreading over your face as you entered the busy bar. Bodies crowded around the bar top, music blared, and each television was broadcasting one sports event or another.

Finding a table near the back, the broadcast talking about tomorrow's Devil's game was a welcome distraction. You watched it as you draped your jacket over the back of your chair, and as you glanced over the menu, you had pulled up on your phone with the help of the QR code stuck on the tabletop. It was a distraction more than anything. You almost always ordered the same drink, no matter where you went. You just wanted to look busy until Ross arrived.

He announced his arrival discretely to not draw the attention of the surrounding people. He did it simply by speaking your name as his hand caressed over the small of your back in a featherlight touch.

Your smile was too wide as you answered him, “Ross.”

Without thought, you stood up from your seat and threw your arms around him in a brief embrace. And he returned it, the strength of his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. And for a moment, the two of you just stood there - just long enough to enjoy his embrace, but not long enough for it to be awkward. Then, your limbs fell away from him so naturally as you perched yourself back up on your chair.

From there, you admired him as he rounded the table to sit across from you. Ross was over dressed in every sense of the word. He wore a white button down, your eyes drawn to the black buttons that trailed down his chest, and he shrugged off his sports coat, the color one you couldn't quite make out under the dim multi-color lights of what you deemed a dive bar.

He draped the coat over the back of his chair, and his eyes that were bright with his smile found you.

“I'm a bit over dressed, huh?” His question laced with a chuckle as he sat.

You nodded. “Just a bit.”

“Just came from dinner with the family,” he explained, as if you needed one. You weren't going to complain. He looked good in a suit. There were worse things you could get stuck looking at.

“How was it? They must have been excited to see you.”

And that was how the conversation began. So effortlessly, so naturally, as you moved from one topic to the next. His family, yours, how he had settled into Colorado, his girlfriend, your boyfriend. You talked about it all over a drink that quickly led to two.

Once you finished sucking back nothing more than melted ice cubes from the bottom of your glass, you were cursing yourself for being such a lightweight. You could feel the buzz of alcohol coursing through you. The jitters in your hands, and the racing of your heart in your chest. One drink more and your brain would have fogged, but there wouldn't be another.

It was late, and Ross was already asking for the bill.

He paid it in full.

“Thank you, you didn't have to do that,” you said as you stood up from your seat. Thankfully, you didn't waver on your feet.

“You can cover it next time,” he said in such a way you believed him.

But you knew there wouldn't be a next time. He would be flying back to Colorado after the game, and he had a girlfriend. You had a boyfriend. It couldn't happen again. It shouldn't.

Together, you shrugged on your coats in the first awkward silence of the evening. Was this where you should say goodbye? Should you let him go on ahead and order yourself some water?

“Let me walk you to your car?” Ross’ voice cut through the silence. He had made up your mind for you.

You nodded. “Yeah, sure. That'd be great.”

Keeping your head down, you left the bar together. Ross’ frame leading the way through the crowd that was now dwindling. It would be closing time soon.

Stepping out into the cold air, you took in a sharp exhale. Its harshness almost left you light headed - or maybe that was the alcohol.

You should have drunk some water.

“I'm parked just up this way,” you told him and began the walk along the sidewalk with a casual stride.

You walked together, your arms bumping up against one another with each casual stride. The contact left a soft smile on your lips, your gaze rising to look at him out of the corner of your eye. His hands had dipped into his pockets, and his collar popped to keep himself from the cold. And you stared for a moment, admiring how the city light reflected off his features. And how it ignited his too-perfect smile when he caught you staring.

“You look amazing tonight,” his voice cut through the silent street, sending goosebumps to rise on your skin.

Your smile tugged a little tighter at your cheeks.

He shouldn't be giving you a compliment like that. You shouldn't have liked hearing them. But you didn't stop them.

“Thanks, but I feel a little underdressed.”

Ross’ smile split wider, and a laugh erupted from his lips as he threw his head back. It was a laugh so comforting, so familiar, that it warmed your entire body as you came to stand in the empty parking lot where your vehicle sat alone.

“This is me,” you gestured to the mid size SUV with the lazy sway of your arm.

“Well,” he sighed out almost hesitantly, “it was really nice seeing you-”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah it was.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, smiles on your faces and your eyes fixated on one another. Unmoving. Not quite wanting to leave.

Then, he was stepping forward, his arms encasing you in his embraces, and your arms winding around him in return. Your cheek rested against his chest, his warmth radiating to you as he held you. You stood there, your eyes shutting for a moment as you relished in the feeling of him. The feeling of his arms wrapped around your body. The feeling of his hands on your back, and one dipping down. Down to where your ass peeked out from the edge of your jacket. There he gave it a gentle squeeze, and you could feel his gentle exhale as your own was trapped in your own chest.

He shouldn't have touched you like that.

You shouldn't have let him.

And you shouldn't have liked it.

Drawing back slowly, you tilted your head back to look up at him. And Ross was looking back down at you. His bright eyes were half closed in a dreamy gaze and the corners of his smile had gone soft, leaving his lips slightly parted as he let out each exhale.

It washed over your face in a blossom of heat, and smelt of the sweet alcohol on his tongue. Ross’ face was so close to yours you could practically taste it–no, you just wanted to.

“Good luck tomorrow,” you muttered out a quiet goodbye, your limbs not ready to recoil away from his body yet.

“You should come, I can get you a ticket,” he offered, his words a breath into your hair that ignited your skin as he spoke.

“I might take you up on it,” you told him, but you wouldn't.

“I'll see you soon,” Ross sighed, his words igniting your skin as he spoke.

Yeah, sure you will. Was what you wanted to say. To mock him with those words and a hint of a laugh. Because you knew how this would go. You would go home tonight, and Ross would go back to the hotel room. He would ask if you made it home safe, and you would answer. But then you wouldn't hear from him for days, weeks, maybe months until you crossed his mind again, or he was left with the lonely opportunity to message you.

Instead, you said nothing, and you smiled a soft, tired smile.

It was then his hands fell away from you, his touch trailed down your curves, ghosting over the peaks of your hips before you were void of his touch, his warmth, and left numb by his absence.

So suddenly you felt cold, empty as you stood there in the parking lot. Your head spun, your eyes shutting tight as you tried to process a single thought. But there, as you sought for reason, for logic, there was only action.

Your arm lurched out before you could stop it, and your hand found what it was looking for as fingers wrapped around Ross’ wrist and dragged down to coast over his palm. Your fingers traced over each crease slowly until you could feel his fingers so close to slipping away, but then his hand captured your hand in return.

The sudden grasp of your hands together had his body recoiling into your own. There was a moment of tension in your arms before Ross stepped back into his place in front of you. Then, he took another step, forcing you to step back again and again until you were trapped between his body and your car door. He didn’t say a word, and neither did you. You didn’t have to. You could see all of what he wanted to say in the look of his eyes and how they searched yours so desperately for what you wanted from him.

But what was it that you wanted?

You said your goodbyes, yet it didn’t feel like enough. It never did, and that was probably why you so desperately clung to any kind of relationship with him. To fill and satisfy a void your boyfriend left in you, but also in hope that one day have the satisfaction of being with him the way you always thought you might but never could be.

You had always run to Ross in a sense, especially during hardships. He knew you better than most, and he knew more of your secrets than anyone - and you were the same for him. Through tears and through laughter, the love you shared was unique. Unlike any other. Tainted. So close to friendship, but there would always be more.

And for the first time, it truly felt like you could finally cross those lines together. With his girlfriend back in Colorado, and your boyfriend away on business, it almost felt like fate that the two of you were left alone in New Jersey together.

His girlfriend didn’t know you existed, but you knew about her.

Your boyfriend didn’t know he existed, but Ross knew about him.

The two of you knew every little detail of each other's lives with your partners and helped each other through problems in your relationships that no one else seemed to understand. And it all seemed to be for nothing as you stood there in the night just waiting, hoping that he would kiss you.

You held your breath as Ross’ hand came up to stroke over your cheek. His touch was so warm, so gentle, that it left your every thought melting from your brain. You held no worry, only anticipation that coiled in the depths of your stomach and left your limbs to tremble. All you could focus on was his fingertips and how they traced every angle of your cheek, down over your jaw, and finally to your lips that quivered with an uneven breath.

It left your chest aching as you held the softened gaze of his eyes as they moved in as he closed the distance between you. You managed a single jagged breath before it was stolen from you, the warmth of his mouth all consuming as the kiss started in what was the careful brush of his lips against your own.

Then, it was like a dam broke.

There was no innocence in how Ross kissed you. His teeth moved hungrily against you, mouth open, and tongues gliding along one another before teeth clashed and desperate inhales were taken before you both dove further into self indulgence. It left you dizzy, your body pressed firmly back into the dirty door of your car. There, Ross knocked your legs just a single step apart and wedged a single leg between yours. You could feel him against the inside of each of your thighs, and so close to their apex. With just the single tilt of your hips, you could have ground yourself against him. Instead, you fumbled in your coat pockets for your keys.

Your fingers moved over the buttons blindly in your pocket, moving over one button and then the other until the lights flickered and you heard the locks disengage. The loud thud was like the gunshot at the beginning of a race. You couldn’t move your hands fast enough, and neither could he as you both reached for the same door handle, his hand gripped your, gripping it and pulling open. It sent you stumbling away from the door and into his body that helped you into the backseat of your car.

It was a spacious SUV. One you had slept in the back seat of on a road trip years ago. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was what you had, so it would do. You crawled up the length of the bench seats, giving Ross room to climb in behind you - but there was no space left between you when you heard the door shut firmly behind him.

His hands were quick to find your body, his grasp so firm on your hips to draw you back into him. Your bodies were a knotted mess as you tried to get situated in the back, the driver’s side seat digging into your front, then your side, and finally your back as you threw your leg over his to straddle him. With his warmth back between your thighs, you stripped off your coat to try to ignore just how hot he made you. Tossing it aside, your hands were freed to explore. Your hands found his body, your touch stroking over the angles of his own face as you kissed him, tasted him.

You were sure you had kissed him once before, but it had been so long you had forgotten the taste he left on your tongue. It was intoxicating, coaxing a moan up your lips as your hands found their place to rest knotted in the dark wisps of his hair. You toyed with the locks that would threaten to curl if they were only a little longer, as his hands trailed down the curves of your body. Ross caressed just under your breast, his thumb curiously reaching up and grazed just shy of your pert nipple that was pressing into the inside of your bra with the desperation of wanting to be touched. Then, his hands dipped lower over the circle of your waist, the rushed movement wrinkling the fabric, leaving the small of your back exposed.

Touching your skin was like adding gasoline to an already raging fire. It sent Ross’ lips wandering from yours as his fingers stroked your soft, exposed flesh. His kiss traveled down over your chin, tickled your neck, and found your collarbone with a playful nip. It sent your heart racing.

He knew you would like that.

But you had to be careful.

“No marks,” you breathed out, your eyes shutting as you tried to ignore why that had to be.

“Yeah,” he breathed out quickly, “yeah, got it.”

With your exchange, it brought you both to a pause. Your chests heaved for breath, and your eyes seemed to look at everything except at each other. A decision needed to be made. You could stop before things could get any more complicated, or Ross could take off your shirt as he so desperately seemed to want to as his hand dragged along its delicate hem.

You bit your lower lip firmly as you tried to look out the already fogged window. You could see the rainbow of colors that were the city lights shining through each drip of condensation. Focusing on a single droplet, you followed it down to the edge of the window and took a breath that escaped you with a sigh.

You knew what you wanted to do, but before you could say anything, Ross’ voice filled the air, “We don’t have to-”

Your head snapped to look in his direction. “You don’t want to?”

“That’s not what I'm saying,” he answered slowly, his teeth biting his own lip as his eyes fixated on yours.

You knew what he was getting at. You were nervous, hesitant, but you knew you wanted this. You just needed the assurance that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him.

“Ross…” you breathed out his name. It was the very beginning of the thought that threatened the very tip of your tongue, and that was left strangled in your throat as you felt Ross grip the swells of your hips.

He held you firm in each hand, and with that hold, he guided you back and forth over his lap. Your hips angled instantly, grinding your needy core over the expense of his lap. You moved to and fro with his moments, and quivered at the feeling of his stiff cock beneath the thick seam of your jeans.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked you, his words slow and clear. He knew what he wanted, but he needed to hear it from you, too. Ross needed you to make the decision on your own, and to hear it from your own lips, even if he had already made up his mind for himself.

“I-” you gasped out, your heart beating up into your ears like drums. It pulsed through your body, right through to your core that throbbed against the stiff outline of his cock.

You should have told him to stop.

You should have pulled your coat back on and sent him on his way.

But you didn’t.

“Don’t you dare,” you answered him after a moment, your voice stern, “just,” you took in a long inhale, “let’s be quick - unbutton your pants.”

Your bodies strained in the tight place as you both fought close quarters to undo your pants. You leaned back against the driver's seat to try to get the angle just right to work your jeans down, while Ross pressed down onto his heels and lifted his hips up high to work his hands just low enough for his cock to spring free.

And while his pants rested around his knees, and that’s all he needed to do to be ready for you, you struggled. You let out a frustrated huff as the head of the driver’s seat dug into your back, and your arms fought the tight denim down your hips. The awkwardness left you slipping. Ross’ hand was quick to catch you before you could fall awkwardly onto him and his stiff cock that was so exposed, hard and ready for you to take him.

“I got it,” Ross’ words were a rushed promise, his hands gripping the fabric and pulling them down your legs until they rested on the floor of the car with your shoes - but your panties they remained. You watched as Ross admired them for a moment. The simple pale colored lace that looked gray in the darkness.

Your core clenched as his finger toyed with them, pushing and tugging at the fabric as he lured you back in close to him. And when you were a mere breath away, his finger dipped beneath the fabric and dragged along your slick core, if only just to tease you as he pulled the damned fabric to the side.

“I wish I could enjoy you, the way you deserve to be enjoyed,” Ross hummed out, his hand guiding you forward to hover above the very tip of his cock.

You nearly quivered at his words. Many times, he had told you how he would fuck you. How he would enjoy tasting your sweet cunt on his tongue before leaving you moaning as you took his cock like the slut girl you were. But there was no time for those luxuries.

Angling yourself over his cock, you took hold of it in your cold hand carefully. The hiss that left his lips left your grinning, but it was him that was left with the last laugh as he thrust up into your wet cunt, leaving you overtaken by a pathetic whimper that came with the feeling of taking his cock inside you for the very first time.

“You like that?” Ross asked you in a whisper, his hands remaining firm on your hips to guide him along his cock with the slow roll of your hips.

You nodded feebly, your mouth opening to tell him just how good his cock felt, only to unleash a moan instead.

“Look at you,” his grin grew, “so pretty as you take my cock, and taking it so well you don’t even have the words to tell me - and you’ve always been so good with your words,” he purred, “such a shame really.”

Ross reached up with his hand, his fingers stroking over your lips as you were left on the verge of another moan. One you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having just yet.

“I like when you tell me what a dirty slut you are,” his thumb tugged at your lower lip playfully as he thrust up hard into your cunt, coaxing that moan you had choked back into the depth of your throat, “but you sure do have a pretty moan.”

Your core clenched around his cock at the compliment, your hands lurching forward to grip at the leather head rest behind him.

“Shut up,” you spoke through grit teeth.

“Oh?” he raised a brow up, his heels digging into the floor again and thrusting so deep your body couldn’t physically take him any further. “You don’t like when I talk dirty to you?”

Your core clenched again, then you gasped, “no, I-”

You moaned again, your entire body reverberating with the sound.

“You’re so close, I can fucking feel how desperate you are on my cock.” Ross didn’t bite his tongue. He liked to see you so close to the verge of pleasure, practically melting in front of him, and your cunt flexing around him.

With weak legs, you met every single thrust, but it wasn’t enough. Not for him and not for you, either.

Ross gripped the fleas of your ass firm in both hands and used it as leverage as he lifted you up and guided you to lay out on the leather seats all without leaving the warm wet embrace of your cunt. With you sprawled out, Ross gripped your hips and guided your legs to wrap around his hips just right. Every thrust made you tingle, made you moan, and soon your toes were curling, your body near recoiling with pleasure. Yet, he thrust through each wave, through every flex of your core, sending his eyes rolling back in his own pleasure.

“I’m close,” he choked out, your heart suddenly racing with panic.

“Pull out,” you told him, voice stern, “I’m not, fuck I’m not on the pill. Pull out.”

“What?” he seemed shocked, his cock still buried deep inside you for a thrust, then another before he pulled out and found the warm embrace of his own hand.

You lay there, panting, legs still quivering, as he worked himself through his climax. His face softened, his body arching over you as he painted the inside of your thighs and the leather seats with his cum.

“Should have given me a heads up,” he panted out after a moment.

“Would it have changed anything?” You countered.

His head shook, “no, but I would have gotten you to suck me off or something-”

“You wish,” you shoved him playfully, “now, get your pants back on.”

Ross settled back into the seat the two of you had started in, but you remained laying there for a moment. You were seeing stars as you stared up at the ceiling, your one hand dipping between your legs and swiping over your cunt to make sure there had been no accidents before you put your panties back into place. Then, each of your moments had to be deliberate. The cum on the inside of your thighs had already begun to dry, but the cum on the seats was still hot and sticky. You couldn’t risk getting it on any of your clothes. It would have to be something you had to clean up before you got home, but first, you had to say your goodbyes.

You pulled your pants up slowly in silence, then your shoes before you heard the door open and the cold night air infiltrated the car. It sent a shiver coursing through you, your hands desperately reaching for your coat as you slipped out of the car behind him.

“Are you good to drive home?” Ross asked slowly, his hands in his pocket.

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Message me when you get in?”

You looked to your empty driver seat, “yeah, just-” you sighed gently knowing you would be going back to the apartment you shared with your boyfriend even if it was empty for the next week, “don’t be surprised if you’re blocked in the morning when you try to message me.”

Ross’ feature faltered into a frown. “Regretting me already?”

Your heart sank. You didn’t know how to feel, or how you would feel in the morning when you had the night to fully comprehend the choices you had made.

“Regret you? Nah, never.” You gave him a reassuring smile as you stepped in, your hands on his chest as you pressed up to give him a goodnight kiss. It was a soft, gentle kiss, one that had you pulling back like the gentle rise and fall of waves until he pulled you back in with both hands and kissed you deeply, making sure that you left with the taste of him on your lips.

Then, you got into the driver's seat of your car, and brought the engine to life with the turn of your key. It reeked of sex, of cum, but it was nothing a good wash and a new air freshener couldn’t mask - but even then as you sat there, your eyes fixed on Ross as he stood there in the parking lot, watching you leave, you barely noticed the smell. No, the heavy feeling in your chest was too distracting. This time really felt like a goodbye. And not just a goodbye for now, but a goodbye forever.

#ross colton #ross colton fanfic #colorado avalanche #hockey rpf #hockey smut #nhl rpf #nhl fanfiction #nhl fanfic #fanfic #hockey imagines #;;500 #reader insert #ross colon x reader

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comphy-and-cozy · 2 years

Note

Pls I am begging for a fic where the reader works in team’s front office and literally any avalanche player 😌😌😌😌😌

Something to Dream About - JT Compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f)

Summary: Secret relationships are messy. They’re even messier when your boyfriend is a professional athlete playing for the organization you work for. Surely nothing will happen when you have to spend the evening together at the charity gala that you’ve been planning for months… right?

Word Count: 5.5K

Author’s Note: I don’t know who I am but JT Compher has taken over my life. This fic came out of absolutely nowhere.

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Secret relationship, brief alcohol use/mention, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, risqué sex (do I have a thing for this???)

Part 2 / Moodboard / Masterlist

The sound of your heels clicking on the cement echoes through the halls, your pace quickening to reach the door. Your mind is flooded with checklists, to dos, trying to keep all of them straight to write down so they don’t get lost in the abyss.

Reaching your destination and opening the double doors, you look around Ball Arena, amazed at the transformation that’s come over the building in the last 24 hours. The ice has been covered with a wood flooring, decorated further with carpet. Cocktail tables covered in elegant black tablecloths are scattered around, the stage erected on one end of the arena, lights and balloons outfitting it nicely. Above you, two men stand on ladders as they erect a large banner, another man standing on ground level and shouting left, a bit further, that’s too far. Your eyes trace over the words at the center, Avs Fight Cancer, the logo standing proudly at the center of the banner, symbolizing all of your hard work the last few months putting together the annual charity gala.

Tonight is the night, and all of Denver’s finest will be there, schmoozing and — hopefully — donating even minuscule fractions of their wealth to support the cause that the Avalanche have rallied behind. The entire Avalanche organization will be there, including Joe Sakic and Stan Kroenke, as well as all of the players and coaching staff, mingling with fans and donors alike. As the Executive Director of Community Engagement, the bulk of the coordination falls on you to manage and ensure everything runs as smoothly as possible, and as the hours wane down until the doors open, you’re certainly feeling the pressure.

Pulling out your phone, you jot down the few remaining notes that bounce around in your brain before you’re called to sign off on the liquor delivery. The next few hours pass quickly, you and the events team pulling the last pieces together before the event. When you finally leave to head home to get ready, you’re exhausted and aching but satisfied with the way things had come together and excitedly anxious for the night to come.

The dress you've selected for the evening is a one-shouldered floor length black number, with a slit going mid-way up your thigh, elegant for the occasion and still classy enough for a professional event. Your hair is done up in a neat bun, keeping it out of your eyes for the running around you’ll undoubtedly be doing. You’re pleased with your appearance, and although looking good tonight is a secondary priority, you’re motivated to make sure you impress in more ways than one.

The event kicks off, and people begin flooding in, checking coats and perusing the items for the silent auction. You’re doing rounds, glancing over everything even though you’d double and triple checked it all before you’d left.

A pair of russet eyes catch yours, a smile sent in your direction beneath a thick, freshly groomed auburn beard. You return the gesture, unable to prevent your eyes from sliding down the body attached to that smile, tailored suit hugging the well-kept muscles that lie underneath.

It’s not the first time you’ve checked out JT Compher in public, but it is the first time you’ve seen him dressed to the nines for a black-tie gala. There’s a moment between you, across the room, temporarily thick with longing, for you can’t cross the floor to be with him the way your heart wants to, kissing him in front of everyone the way you wish you could.

As you glance at him, admiring how good he looks with the rich black of his suit complementing his creamy skin, the conversation you had with him three months ago floods your mind, flashing before your eyes.

You were leaving the office for the day, keys in hand as you walked toward the exit. There was food in the fridge, but you didn’t feel like cooking, so you were debating what you should order for takeout on the way home.

“Y/N, hey, wait up,” a voice called from down the hallway. You paused, turning to see JT Compher jogging toward you, sporting sleek black Colorado Avalanche warmups and a backwards baseball cap.

“Oh, hi, JT. How can I help you?”

“Yeah, um, I wanted to talk to you about something… if you have a minute?”

You smiled and nodded, placing your phone in your purse and turning to face him to give your full attention.

He swallowed nervously, and you noticed that he was fidgeting a bit, shifting from foot to foot. “Will you — would you like to go out with me sometime?”

You stared at him, defense mode kicking in and immediately assuming he was playing a prank on you. “What?”

“You know, like, for dinner or something.”

“JT, are you asking me on a date?”

A blush rose to his cheeks, accenting the red in his hair, and he shoved his hands in his pockets bashfully.“Well, yeah.”

You were unable to help the way your eyebrows rose in surprise. This man was a millionaire athlete, playing in the best league in the world, traveling from city to city every night — and he wanted to take you out on a date?

He was attractive, you couldn’t deny that, always having a soft spot for the depth of his brown eyes and the way he always managed to stop and say hello to you, his down-to-earth personality making it easy to chat with him every time. But, technically, he was your coworker, and you had a strict rule not to date colleagues. You didn’t interact much outside of events and the occasional marketing brief, but the fact that the same person signed both of your paychecks was enough of a reason for you to nope out of that scenario faster than a Cale Makar breakaway.

“I’m flattered, JT, but I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you picked your words carefully, rejection never a strong suit of yours. “We work together, and it could get messy.”

Something shifted in his face, though he remained smiling. You could see his eyes fall as he nodded, “Oh, yeah. I totally understand.”

“I’m sorry.” You smiled, trying to soften the blow and do anything you could to get that fucking look out of his eyes.

“No worries at all,” he said, quickly, maybe more to himself than to you, before offering another smile, bidding an awkward goodbye, and sheepishly walking away.

From that day, those beautiful chestnut eyes followed you wherever you went, haunting you, as if to tell you that you’d make a mistake not accepting his advances. Whether it was frequency illusion or just a coincidence, he seemed to be everywhere you turned. First, it was a photo shoot for the PetSmart puppy calendar. Then, it was a youth hockey event, which you coincidentally parked next to him for. He showed up in your dreams two weeks later, his same charming and jovial self.

Things changed when you were at home one night, wine drunk on the couch with your best friend watching The Bachelorette. (Even at home, away from work, you found that the tall, ginger contestant reminded you of another tall, bearded redhead.) She snatched your phone while you were aimlessly swiping on Hinge, exclaiming with a slur, “‘M gonna find you a husband.”

Giggling, you watched as she swiped, providing commentary on the various men’s dating profiles, and you gasped when she paused. Smiling up at you from the screen of your phone were the same eyes you’d been trying to avoid.

“Oh, he’s cute,” she said, scrolling through his pictures. His profile included a wide array of photos, including one with his sisters (clearly related, you determined, given the same shade of fiery red hair), a cropped picture of him and some guys on the beach, and a picture of him smiling down at two puppies in his arms. You’d been there that day, trying to ignore the way your heart melted seeing him coo over the puppies, so small in his big arms.

“D’you know him?” she asked, turning the phone toward you to show the last picture: celebrating a goal, Avs logo standing proudly on his chest as his arms stretched for an incoming hug.

You nodded, and before you could get a word out, she’d swiped right. You shrieked, her cackle nothing short of maniacal as she held your phone out of reach despite your best attempts to steal it back.

“Elle, no —“

“It’s a harmless swipe, Y/N,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “You can always unlike —“

She gasped, and you both looked down when your phone dinged, signaling that you had a match. You groaned, throwing your head against the back of the couch as you scrubbed your hands over your face. Even if you could undo the match, the damage had been done, for JT had seen the match already.

You managed to avoid him for the next week, embarrassment flooding every time you saw his car in the parking garage and turning down the wrong hallway just to prevent yourself from running into him.

It was a Thursday when life as you knew it changed forever.

You were reviewing the line items from the liquor vendor for the gala, checking the quantities and the prices. Engrossed in the numbers in front of you, you didn’t hear a certain athlete approach with a confident saunter.

“So, about that date… ?”

You closed your eyes at the sound of his voice. “Hi, JT.”

“Come on, not even a smile?” he grinned. “I know you can’t be that disappointed to see me.”

The reference, while subtle enough if anyone else had overheard, was glaringly obvious to you, the image of your photos bouncing together on the app with ‘It’s a Match!’ flashing through your mind. You glared at him, then nodded your head toward your office door, signaling him to get inside.

“Oh, we’re doing this right now? I would’ve dressed a little nicer had I known.”

He’s confident, a complete 180 from the way he’d been a few weeks prior, stuttering and nervous like he was a 17-year-old asking someone to prom. His recent 3-game point streak was enough of a reason for the enhanced confidence, though you still hadn’t connected the dots as to the additional factors for the added edge in his game.

“JT, please,” you said once you’d closed the door, thankful that the rest of your colleagues had left for the day. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re coworkers,” you said pointedly.

JT scoffed with a smile. “Coworkers? Hardly. Our jobs barely overlap. We just work in the same building. This is like, best case scenario.”

“I don’t mix personal and professional,” you said, sounding more firm than you felt.

“What about pleasure and professional?” he asked with a wink. You rolled your eyes, and he added, “Really, Y/N. It isn’t that big of a deal. I can name like, at least three guys that are dating someone who works for their team.”

“That’s not the point! It’s a principle.”

“You afraid I’m a stereotypical hockey bro? Not all of us are just pretty playboys.”

‘You sure are pretty, though,’ you thought to yourself, instead replying with, “It has nothing to do with that.”

“Please,” he added. His voice was a little deeper, more serious. “Just give me a chance. One date. That’s all I’m asking.”

You swore you could feel the actual heat of his gaze on you as you looked away to contemplate. Truthfully, there was nothing written against it in the handbook, and he was correct in stating that your jobs really didn’t overlap that much.

What harm could come of it?

“You will not tell a soul.” Your voice wavered, but you looked him square in the eye as you said it.

A smile broke out on his face as he mock saluted you, and any remaining doubt you had flew out the window at the sight, the light in his eyes filling you with a little too much joy than you’d care to admit. Before you could think twice, he was handing you his phone to input your number. You did, and handed it back to him, looking at him expectantly.

“I’ll change your life,” was the last thing he said before winking and walking out.

That was three months ago, and, true to his word, he had indeed changed your life in the two-ish months that you’d been dating. It had all been a blur, really, after the first date, and as things progressed you’d still sworn him to secrecy despite his every effort to remind you that you weren’t doing anything wrong.

So, here you are, casting coveted glances at your boyfriend across the room at a million-dollar event, except no one in the room knows that he’s your boyfriend, except for JT himself. It’s a secret, weighing heavy on you every time you come into work or have to watch him go stag to an event that you should be on his arm for.

Someone calls your name, and you tear your eyes away from him, turning to address your colleague, Grace, who’s standing beside you with a tablet, ready to have a final run through of your carefully crafted checklist. You review it twice to ensure that everything is in place and that no loose ends are left.

After a brief team meeting, everyone knows their posts, and Stan Kroenke is waiting by the stage, being briefed by another one of your colleagues with a rundown of the night’s schedule.

You catch JT’s eye, and he sends you a quick wink for luck before you take a breath and walk onto the stage. Doing your best to ignore the bright lights, you focus on not tripping before you get to the podium to welcome everyone. You’re nervous, but the words come to you easily as you explain the night’s festivities and introduce Stan, who is speaking after you.

The speeches go smoothly, as planned, and soon enough the time for mingling has begun. Naturally, most people gravitate to the players, wanting photos and autographs, and at this point, your only remaining assignment is to monitor and be available to assist with any issues that may arise. Everything is going smoothly, so you allow yourself to take a breath and let loose, just a little. You grab a glass of champagne, letting the tickle of it rest in your throat as you go to chat with your colleagues and brush elbows with the donors.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, only aware that the silent auction has begun, meaning it must be around 9pm. The music in the rink is a distant background noise, the sound of amiable chatter echoing in the arena.

“Great job up there.” JT sidles up to you, startling you and causing you to jump. He chuckles before taking a sip of his beer. Your eyes flick to the foam that remains on his mustache, watching the way his tongue darts out to retrieve it.

“Thanks,” you reply with a smile, careful to keep your distance, being in such a public setting. “Been doing this for years but still never gets any easier.”

He hums in response, then lowers his voice slightly. “This whole thing has turned out amazing, babe. I’m really proud of you.”

All you reply with is a look, silently scolding him for the pet name in public. His expression is apologetic, but he doesn’t say anything, instead stepping closer to you under the guise of setting his glass down on the table behind you.

“And for what it’s worth, there’s no way you’re getting out of here tonight without getting fucked, looking like this,” he whispers in your ear. It’s low, murmured hotly, and fire courses through your veins at the words, which is presumably the exact reaction he’s aiming for.

You splutter in response, stepping away from him. “JT —“

“You look so fuckin’ good, baby,” he husks, and you can hear the hunger in his voice. “Can’t keep my eyes off you. Took everything in me to keep my hands to myself.”

“Don’t… don’t talk like that,” you breathe, feeling the heat in your cheeks despite the fact that no one is near enough to overhear.

“Why? Do you like it?”

The pang of your heartbeat is loud in your ears as you look at him, shaking your head. He smirks, knows that you’re lying, can see it in the way your breath hitches when he runs a hand over his beard.

“C’mon,” he urges, nodding toward the door to the hall, marked with a sign that says Staff and Personnel Only.

With a hesitant sigh, you glance around the room. The guests are chattering, laughing, drinking, everything going exactly as planned. It can’t hurt to take a few minutes away, right?

Your redhead grins when you turn back to him with a shrug. The two of you slip into the hallway, and you do your best to walk both quickly and quietly, your heels clacking loudly on the cement floor.

“JT, there are no private bathrooms down here,” you protest, heart thumping in your chest.

“There’s one,” he grins. “Follow me.”

He leads you away from the rink, down a different hallway from the guest bathrooms.

“JT, where are we —“

“Shh, only a bit further,” he whispers, glancing behind you before taking your hand.

The next thing you know, you’re standing in front of two large sliding doors, the Avalanche logo carved into the rich wood.

“JT, no.”

“Why not?” he smirks, fishing out his access card from his suit coat pocket. “No one’s gonna find us in here.”

Before you can protest, he’s scanning his badge, the doors sliding open with a beep to reveal the entry way to the Colorado Avalanche locker room. You’ve been in it before, but never with a player, and certainly never alone with a player.

The doors are quiet when they shut behind you, and JT steps up to press his body against you, warm against your back as his hands find a hold on your hips.

“Finally alone with you,” he murmurs. “So I can do this.”

The whiskers of his beard tickle your neck first, soothed quickly by the softness of his lips that press a kiss against your skin. You can’t help the sigh that leaves your throat, feeling too good to ignore.

“And this,” he continues, hands giving your hips a squeeze through your dress before he’s flipping you around to face him.

You meet his eyes, soft despite the obvious heat in them, like melted chocolate in the center of a fresh, warm lava cake. He moves to cup your jaw, stroking your cheek gently with his thumb before he’s leaning in, whispering against your lips, “And most importantly, this.”

The kiss is all you need to make you forget where you are, head spinning with his lips against yours. Your internal moral code that was screaming at you up until five seconds ago has quieted, unable to think or feel anything except JT; any protest you had died the minute he touched you.

His hands quickly find their place back on your hips, this time reaching behind you to give your ass a squeeze. You can taste the beer on his tongue as it slides against yours, probing, letting the temperature heat up to near scorching levels. He groans into your mouth, colliding with the moan you let out when he massages the globe of your ass in his hand.

“Stall,” he manages to get out between kisses. “M’stall.”

Slowly, he begins walking you backwards, mouth never leaving your body. You trust him to not run you into a wall, blindly kissing him as your hands find purchase on his jaw. When the back of your knees bump into the wooden bench, you let out a soft grunt and he’s helping to lower you down, making sure you don’t fall.

Once he’s sure you’re seated, he sinks to his knees before you and you bite back a moan at the sight of him kneeling in front of you. With a smirk, he draws the fabric of your dress up your legs, making you shiver as your skin is revealed.

“So pretty,” he murmurs as he takes your leg in his hand, delicate, kissing your calf. It’s slow and torturous, the way he trails his lips up your leg, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and you know he’d be teasing you for hours if you had more time.

“No panties?” His voice is deep, husky, when he reaches the bare apex of your thighs, eyes unable to tear themselves away to meet yours.

“Mm,” is the response that you manage, for his finger is running lightly through your folds, coating him in your slick, before you can even answer. “P- panty lines. Panty lines.”

“Sure you weren’t just trying to get fucked? Wanted something easy access just for me, huh?” he teases, a glint in his eye as he looks up at you from between your thighs.

“JT, please,” you whine, rolling your hips against his hand.

“Oh, now she wants it,” he smirks. “You’re lucky I’ve been wanting to taste this pretty pussy since I first saw you walk in tonight. God, my girlfriend is a smoke show.”

“M’not gonna be your girlfriend for much longer if you don’t do something.”

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, mouth inches away from where you want him. The heat from his mouth makes you drip even more, throbbing desperately for his talented tongue. “What’s gonna happen when you break up with me and there’s no one to fuck you the way you want, hmm?”

“If you don’t touch me I’ll do it myself,” you threaten, and he chuckles.

“Think I’d really like to see that,” he muses, and you can tell by the glassy look in his eye that he’s envisioning the sight. “Maybe when we get home. But for now…”

His mouth finally presses against your molten center, tongue running over your lower lips and savoring your taste. He groans into you, beard scratching your thighs in the most delicious way. The man was a natural born pussy eater, you couldn’t deny it, knowing just how to maneuver to turn you into a whimpering mess. Your intense attraction to his thick beard only made your desire stronger, something he’d quickly deduced early on in your relationship and frequently took advantage of.

“So fuckin’ wet for me,” he praises you against your core, feeling the slight vibration of his deep voice all the way in your stomach. “Fuck, you taste s’good, sweetheart. So gorgeous.”

He laps at you, wants to take his sweet time but knows he’s racing against the clock, that things will be worse for everyone if you’re gone too long. Undoubtedly, someone will be looking for you, and soon. So, without warning, he plunges two fingers into you to earn a shriek from your lips before you’re clapping your hand over your mouth to muffle the sound.

Tongue and fingers working in tandem, it doesn’t take long to send you hurtling over the edge, legs shaking on his shoulders as he expertly works you through your high. Your knuckles are white, fisted in the formerly perfectly styled locks on his head, and you hold him against you as you gush against his face.

When he pulls away to grin at you, his thick beard is soaked in your essence and it draws a moan from you, quickly leaning forward to kiss him. The taste of yourself on his beard as his tongue probes your mouth is downright sinful, and you feel yourself throb as if to say, not done yet.

“JT,” you breathe against his mouth, his tongue flitting against your lips. “Fuck me.”

“You were just bitching about getting caught and now you want me to —“

“Need you. Now.”

The snark disappears when he hears the sincerity in your voice, pure instinct taking over as he’s quick to unbuckle his expensive belt, the sound of his zipper sliding down like music to your ears. Your eyes are glued to his length as he pulls himself out of his dress pants, noticing the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he strokes himself.

The locker room, while spacious, isn’t exactly made for this kind of physical activity, so finding a place to lie down comfortably is difficult. He takes your place in his stall, seated, then tugs you into his lap, bunching the fabric of your dress over your waist again once your thighs are nestled on either side of his hips, core pressed firmly against him. You can feel him, hard as steel against you, and you reach between your bodies to wrap your hand around him.

His jaw goes slack, eyes not leaving yours as you pump him, then swipe your thumb over his tip, smearing the precum over his head before bringing it to your mouth. JT groans as he watches you suck the dew off your finger, his own fingers digging into your hips illustrating that he likes what he sees.

“You want it?” you ask with a smirk.

“Fuckin’—” he curses, unable to keep his lips off of you, “yeah, fuck yeah, please, beautiful.”

Briefly, a moment of clarity hits you as the event flashes through your mind, and you remember where you’re supposed to be, in contrast with where you are. In that split second, you’re faced with the decision — be responsible, or give in to your desire. Given the way JT’s lips are pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his rock hard dick pressing against your naked core, throbbing wantonly against you, it’s not a difficult decision to make.

The sound that your boyfriend emits when you sink down onto him is otherworldly, and you bottle it up, hoping to elicit that sound from him over and over again.

And you do, moving up and down his length while his hands reach to grip your ass, helping your movements. He lets out the same moan against your mouth when you duck down to kiss him, swallowing the sound. When he shifts his hips, tilting them to press himself deeper into your tight heat, you mimic the sound, crying out a call of his name into the emptiness of the room, echoing out of the empty stalls surrounding you.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice low and sending waves of arousal straight to your pussy. “Feels so good, squeezin’ me so tight, baby.”

You lean in to kiss his lips, swollen and red and downright delicious, and your tongue seeks out his own as your hands clutch onto his broad shoulders for leverage. The sound of you bouncing in his lap has his belt buckle jingling, and he rips it out of the last belt loop before chucking it somewhere on the ground behind you, landing with a dull thud on the carpet. A free hand palms your breast through your dress, and the warmth even through the fabric makes your nipples harden, your back arching into his touch. He’s all over you, in your lungs and on your skin, and in that moment you swear you’ll let yourself be swallowed by him, devoured amidst the low lighting in the Avalanche locker room.

“J,” you sigh, breathless. You hope he can pick up the rest of what you’re trying to say, unable to speak words for the bubble of heat that’s rising in your belly, his dick drawing enough pleasure to render you speechless.

Fortunately, he does, and he’s using his grip on your ass as leverage to coax you up and down, faster, striking the perfect spot within you. One of his hands leaves its post on your waist, snaking between your bodies to find your clit, knowing he’s found the bud when you gasp against his jaw. Fireworks dance in front of your eyes, and you throw your head back, eyes squeezed shut tightly as you swear you can visualize your high, just on the horizon. He applies pressure, just enough, circling slowly to gauge your reaction, looking up at your face like you hung the moon and the stars. When he sees your eyes begin to roll back, he repeats the action, desperate to feel you come while wrapped around him.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he coos, voice dripping in honey.

He claps a hand over your mouth when you cry out in ecstasy as your peak hits you, rippling through you while your hips falter their once steady movements. Between the fluttering of your heat around him and the blissful expression on your face as you climax, JT’s soon reaching his own, spilling deep inside you in the final waves of your orgasm.

There’s a haze around you for a few peaceful, wonderful moments following, and you smile when you see him grinning at you, holding back laughter. The corners of your lips curl up into a smile, and soon enough you’re giggling along with him.

“Can’t believe you just did that,” he says through his laughter.

“You started it!”

“Yeah, but you went along with it,” he winks, grunting when he helps to slip you off of his lap. You can feel his cum dripping out of you, thankful that your dress is floor-length and black, hiding any leakage. He dashes away, returning quickly with a wad of toilet paper and a kiss to help clean you up.

“Kinda want to do it again.”

“JT,” you warn as you adjust your dress, smoothing it out to hide any wrinkles. “We need to get back.”

Nerves flutter inside of you now that the heat of the moment has passed, and you suddenly feel guilty for abandoning the event you spent months planning, even if your temporary distraction is a delicious, incredibly attractive hunk of a man.

“Hey,” JT says, seeing the way your hands have started to wring themselves. His voice is soft and he takes your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. “Everything is fine, okay? You did an incredible job planning this — so good, in fact, that everything is running perfectly smoothly without you, and you are allowed to take a break.”

He’s right, of course, a smug expression on his face when he slips back into the hall ten minutes later, staggering his arrival with yours. His hair has been combed, no evidence that you’d been running your nails through it not 20 minute prior, though you do notice the flush of his lips against the glass of the new beer he’s gotten. The only person who noticed your absence is Grace, but you’re quick with an excuse that you were cornered by Stan, who is notorious for his long-winded conversations. She looks at you, but if she is thinking anything, she doesn’t say it, and you mentally pump your fist that she’s bought your lie.

As you are both approached by Joe Sakic, you have to hide your smile knowing that you’d just fucked one of his players in the locker room just down the hall. You can’t help but feel undeniably smug — and maybe a little bit turned on — that while you chat with some of the wealthiest, most important people in Denver, you can still feel the warmth of JT’s cum inside of you, one bead dripping down the inside of your leg.

Another hour or so later, the last few remaining guests take their leave. The clean up crew begins their practiced routine, and you make your rounds to ensure that the vendors have their appropriate tips and payment before you head up to the office to wrap up for the night. Grace is waiting for you, to tell you the initial count of dollars raised has exceeded $20,000, and you grin, feeling both relieved and quite satisfied at the culmination of your hard work.

Not much later, you and Grace walk to the parking lot together, and you commend her for a job well done, thanking her for keeping you sane. As you bid her goodbye and slip into your car, you take out your phone, smiling to yourself when you see a text.

[JT:] Meet you at yours? [JT:] I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.

You chuckle, sending a text back to let him know you’re on your way.

[Y/N:] I’m heading home now [Y/N:] I prefer waffles, by the way [JT:] Lucky for you, I am a waffle extraordinaire [JT:] See you soon, beautiful 😘

You start your car, stowing your phone in your purse as you exit the parking garage. The bluetooth in your car dings with another text from him, and you roll your eyes as the message pops up on the screen.

[JT:] Still want to see you touch yourself like you promised… I’m waiting 😉

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powermakar · 1 year

Text

Take a Picture - Jt. Compher

Merry Christmas ya filthy (slut ) animal!

well, this happened... 472 words of filthy smut with no plot

I have a soft and extremely horny spot for Jt okay

warning: cum play, unprotected sex (be careful please!), lots of swearing, pictures being taken during it too, and I think that's it

Jt Compher x fem reader

Jt wasn’t the most experimental person in the bedroom but when you two did do something new, 9 times out of 10 it would become his favorite thing.

Now that is how you ended up laying on your bed with his head between your thighs. The scratchiness of his beard and the way he works his tongue over your clit sends you over the edge within minutes every time. “Fuck Jt how are you so good at this?” you ask, catching your breath.

“Lots of practice. And I love watching you cum,” he smirks. You just hum in response as Jt flips you over onto your stomach and lifts your ass up. “I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight,” he says unbuttoning his pants.

“Fuck me so hard Jt, I can take it,” you say reaching down to play with your clit. Jt smacks your ass and you can feel his spit slide down your folds. Before you know it, you are screaming his name as he is ramming his cock into your pussy. “Harder please, please,” you beg.

“I don’t want to hurt you, love,” Jt says but speeds up his pace anyways. The only thing that could be heard was breathy moans and skin slapping together.

“Baby ‘m gonna cum soon,” he moans. He spills into you embarrassingly fast, but at that moment he didn’t care. He wanted to try something new. Pulling his cock out of your tight hole, he gathered some of his cum on his fingers. Jt begins to rub the cum over your pussy. He sticks two fingers into your hole to gather more and rubs it on your clit, teasing you. This makes you clench your pussy and cause more to slip out. “Fuck, you should see yourself y/n you are so fucking beautiful like this,” he praises.

“Take a picture, I want to see it,” you say, arching your back a little more. You thought that Jt was just going to grab his phone, but no, he grabbed his old polaroid camera. He took multiple pictures with and without his hands all over you.

“So fucking un-believable,” Jt whispers in awe. He puts his favorite polaroid on top of his phone to put in the back of his phone at a later time. Jt fingers you roughly seeing all of his cum being pushed and pulled out of your sweet pussy making you both chase your next orgasm.

“I’m close baby,” you say, squeezing your erect nipples.

“Me too,”

“What?” you laugh

“Playing with my cum in your pussy is enough to send me over the edge babe,” he says gently slapping your pussy. That right there caused your third orgasm to rip through your body. In return, you sucked off Jt until he is spilling into the back of your throat.

#jt compher #colorado avalanche #go avs go #hockey fic #ice hockey #nhl smut #nhl imagine #jt compher imagine #jt compher smut #nhl players #national hockey league #jt compher fanfic

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skjeinon · 2 years

Note

but like cale makar kinks?

18+

- soft sex. just a lot of grabbing and holding. it helps him wind down

- hes so humble , his dick size just has no affect on his ego, so when you’re practically begging him to be rougher, he just absolutely struggles to comply

- but when he does?? omg. so possessive

- loves to kiss you

- LOVES to give you hickeys.

- he also enjoys it, but hates being embarrassed in the locker room

- thigh riding 🤭

- loves to grab your hips and praise your body.

- when he gets all possessive, he will hold you close, his hands on your belly and hips, his face in your neck.

- “baby girl” “sweetheart” “honey”

- hair pulling? no. hair playing. he loves to play with your hair. he’ll pull it sometimes tho.

- when sharing with nate he shows a little more dominance, just trying to yknow make it known who you belong to

- not necessarily a breeding kink but cum kink.

- he loves to fill you, cum on your belly, cum on your face.

- he personally doesn’t care about after care for himself, but loves to make you feel comfortable after sex.

#cale makar imagine #cale makar #cale makar smut #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl smut #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #18+#skjeinon answers

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boqvistsbabe · 2 years

Text

Different Skates: Cale AU - Pt 1

A/N: Hey guys!! Here’s a series I’m starting. I haven’t done an actual series before so hopefully y’all like it. Also as of now I don’t have a title so if you have any ideas lmk!! Also this is going to be set in December/ around Christmas!!

Thanks to my irl friend that peer pressured me I to actually writing and @savoies for helping me figure stuff out 💜💜

Thanks to @typical-simplelove for the name idea!!

Warnings: Some swear words, also uses she/her pronouns. I don’t think there is any in this chapter but it will in the future.

Word Count: 1,627

Also note this is unedited 💀

Next part

////////////////

You hated hockey players. Okay maybe not hate, but strongly disliked them. Except for your brother Charlie, he’s okay. No one else. Actually you take that back, girl hockey players are fine but not the guys. Nope, not gonna happen. Well not gonna happen again. Yeah, bad idea. It’s the same story everyone hears about hockey boys: you knew they were bad news but you could hang with your brother’s teammates because not a chance they’d ever want to date you and vice versa. Until Gabe came along. He was different and nice and not a jerk like the other guys on the team. So you gave him a chance. It was a great few months of cheering for him at games and rituals before said games and date nights that felt like a dream. Then you found out about Sarah. Sarah was his other girlfriend. You met her at an away game that you surprised him at. Almost the whole team knew. Charlie and two of his buddies were the only ones who didn’t. So yeah hockey boys suck.

Flashforward to the present. Cale -the new guy- is next to Charlie, hand out to shake yours. Practice had just gotten over. You were a figure skater so between that and Charlie being on the team, you practically lived at the rink. It also helped that you worked there too. There was a local restaurant inside the rink that you worked at along with being a social media person for the hockey teams that practiced there. Yeah disliking hockey players and being a videographer for them at the same time didn’t make sense, but it paid well. Anyways Cale was essentially the replacement for Gabe. Cause he moved to the team that was located closer to Sarah. Which totally didn’t bother you at all, no matter what your mom may think. Supposedly Cale was a stand up guy and an amazing defenseman. You couldn’t care less, so why Charlie decided to have you both meet didn’t make sense.

“Hellooo? Earth to Y/N?” Charlie was getting impatient, “this is Cale, he’s new to the team.”

“Yeah, heard that the first time when he said it and I remember it from when you were gushing about “the new awesome defenseman that the team is getting” it is legit seven in the morning so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little unresponsive.” You snarked back.

“Don’t get snappy with me you nerd. Coach wanted you to meet him cause when you media things and whatnot however that stuff works. Also he introduced himself so the proper response is?”

“Yeah yeah whatever. Hi Cale I’m Y/N, I work here at the rink restaurant, I do videography, and I’m a figure skater here. Before you complain like all the others, no I don’t make holes in the ice just to annoy you guys. If I do make a hole in the ice I fill them and if I happen to miss one it’s an accident so don't go complaining to my coach so I get in trouble. It doesn’t work like that here. I’m sure you’re probably a perfectly nice guy and whatever, but I’m not here to be your friend. Sometimes I’ll hang out with you guys, but mostly I’m only around here to do my job. Speaking of my job, if I ask you to do something for content or anything, don't complain. I’m not gonna ask you to do anything crazy so you’ll be fine. Just remember I’m doing my job, not trying to make you miserable. Sorry if that’s a lot for your probably mouse sized brain to comprehend but get used to it. I’ve got to go work, but it was nice to meet you I guess.” You said the last part while putting on your blade guards before walking in the direction of the locker room.

~~~~~||

Cale POV

“Uh she’s intense.” There was no other way he could describe you. Except maybe aggressive, but that seemed a little much.

“Yeah she doesn’t really like hockey players. Don’t take it or anything she says personally, she’s had a bad experience with one guy. The guy you replaced actually.” Gabe responded.

“What do you mean by that? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“He was new and different, pretended to be someone he wasn’t. Cheated on her and the whole team except John, Tyson, and I knew. So yeah she’s not super close with the team anymore. Also as a figure skater getting harassed by hockey players her whole life she wasn’t too fond of us in the first place.”

“Ahh okay. That sucks a lot.”

“Yeah, she’s over the whole cheater thing but she definitely agrees with the douchebag stereotype for us. Anyways we gotta get to practice.

“Yeah.” Cale’s mind was on anything but practice. He wanted to be your friend. He agrees with the stereotype most of the time. There’s only a few exceptions obviously. But he thinks you and him could be great friends if you give him a chance.

~~~~~~~~~

Your POV

It had been a week since you first met Cale. There have been a few interactions since then because of introductions on the socials for him, but other than that no more conversations. You were glad he seemed to have respected your boundaries, that was much appreciated.

You had just gotten done with your shift at the restaurant and it was nine o’clock. The day started with a six o’clock practice then some editing while eating breakfast, then some practice pictures of the guys and a few TikToks of the guys, ending with a seven hour shift at the restaurant. Walking out of the break room, you grabbed your duffel and fished your car keys out of the outside pocket.

The stars were really out tonight. That was one of the perks of where the rink was located. On the edge of town and away from all the bright, crazy lights. Perfect for stargazing. Unlocking your car, you threw your bag in the seat next to you before putting the key in the ignition and turning it. And nothing. Not even a little sputter. Of fucking course. You dropped your head to the steering wheel. Charlie was in the next town over with your parents helping your grandparents pack to move. None of them could come get you. Shit shit shit. Today of all days. Of course on the day you had been running all day and just wanted to relax before having to study and edit all of the next day. You popped the hood and got out of the car. After checking the oil and transmission fluid and finding nothing wrong there you were racking your brain for what it was this time. This car was a hand me down and had issues in the past, but you had just got it back from the shop. You were pissed. The shop you went to was a new one because the one you usually went to moved. The new shop was definitely getting a call in the morning. Closing the hood and wiping your hands on your leggings you turned to get back in your car when you saw Cale.

“Hey, uh I don’t mean to bother you but it looks like you’re having some car trouble, do you have anyone you can call? I can wait with you while you do. It’s late and it would feel wrong to leave you here without knowing you can make it home.” He said.

“Yeah I don’t have anyone to call, my family is in the next town over and all my friends don’t have cars so I don’t really have anyone to call. I figured I would walk home and get it towed in the morning, I don’t live that far.” You shrugged, not like you haven’t walked home by yourself before. Not the safest thing but you gotta do what you gotta do.

“I could give you a ride. Home I mean,” you could’ve sworn you saw the redness on his face, “I haven’t lived here long but I assume it’s like everywhere else in the world, not the safest place for anyone, especially a girl to walk alone, especially at night. Also that came out super high handed so I apologize. But please let me take you home.”

You thought about it. The pros outweigh the cons here. It had been a long day and you were tired, plus he wasn’t wrong about the fact that it wasn’t safe, “Yeah that would be great thanks. Let me just grab my stuff.”

He nodded and you got your stuff before locking the car. While following him to his car you texted Charlie, he’d answer before your parents, and let him know what was going on.

“Uh this is my truck.” Cale stood there awkwardly while he waited for you to look up.

“Okay, I was just letting Charlie know what happened. Thanks again.”

“Yeah of course not an issue.” He nodded before opening your door before walking over to his side and hopping in.

The ride was in silence except for the radio playing softly in the background and you occasionally giving home directions.

“Sooo why were you at the rink so late?” You were over the silence, plus the less noise the more likely of you falling asleep which is the last thing you want.

“I was working on some drills. They do stuff a little differently from my last team so I’m just trying to get comfortable with it.”

“Fair enough. Are you liking it here? Also turn right at Walnut.”

He turned before he responded, “Yeah, I like the way stuff is run here. A lot more strict than my old team, but more efficient and with better results. The guys aren’t too bad, but I mostly hang with your brother and John and Tyson. Everyone else is kind of douchey. That was rude of me to say, please ignore that.”

“It’s the house all the way at the end on the left. And no you’re totally right. They’re assholes. What team did you come from?”

“I came from the Bulldogs a few towns over.” He responded as he pulled into the driveway.

“Ahh cool. Alright this is me. Thanks again for the ride. You’re not half bad. Don’t make me regret saying that and don’t let it get to your head. See you at Monday practice.”

“Night Y/N.” He called out his window as you walked away.

He didn’t leave until you shut the door behind you. What you said wasn’t a lie, he wasn’t like the other guys. Though you’ve been there before. He’d be a great friend though. Heading upstairs to get ready for bed you texted Charlie and asked him for Cale’s number to thank him before you passed out.

Thanks for the millionth time lol - Y/N

/////////////////////

Pt 2

Thanks for reading this! I hope you liked it, I haven’t ever done a series so hopefully this goes okay.

Tagging some friends:

@2manytabsopen @ilyasorokinn @joshsandersons @krugstrash @jimmystrudel @sidneycrosbyhoe @andreburakozy @kolsmikaelson @typical-simplelove @rosesvioletshardy @laurenairay @lam-ila @josthours @fallinallincurls @stroopwaffle8 @boesersdrurys @heatherawoowoo @pierrelucduboiis @cinnamoncowboy @raysofcrosby @suffering-canucks-fan @three-headed-monster @1-800-iluvhockey

Join my taglist!!

#cale makar fic #cale makar #cale makar fics #nhl Fic #cale makar x reader #Colorado avalanche Fic #Sam writes #cale makar fanfic #different skates series #cale makar imagine #cale makar imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl fics #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #colorado avalanche

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happilysmythe · 2 months

Text

just posted a new trent fic

next one i’m starting is either going to be cale makar or matthew tkachuk, not sure yet

#trent frederic #boston bruins #hockey #florida panthers #matthew tkachuk #cale makar #colorado avalanche #fanfic

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eightmakar · 2 years

Text

postgame | c.m. | 18+

Pairing: Cale Makar x Original Character

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: MINORS DNI. plotless smut. cale being bossy and rough, but respectfully, as only cale makar could be. teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, slight cumplay(?)

A/N: hello always be honest with your partners and have conversations about what your comfy with!! cale and charlie have had this convo and you can tell because he doesn't do things she has said she doesn't like and he checks on her boundaries so pls do that. thanks for coming to my ted talk.

EDIT: soz i forgot to add that this goes along with accidental blessing (18+) and calgary bc this relationship is established in accidental blessing (the Meet Cute). enjoy!

tagging: @taking-shots @harlowhockeystick @flashyfucker @fallinallincurls @jostystyles @jostyriggslover96 @burkymakar @cuttergauth @matbaerzal @hockeylvr59 @hockstuff @tkachukslut @mikkorantanev @gabelandeskog @cale8makar

“Fuck,” Charlie Evans muttered as she watched the puck fly past her boyfriend, Cale Makar, and into the Avalanche’s empty net. She saw the look in this eye, the glint of fault and disappointment, as he skated back to his side of the ice for what would likely be the final faceoff of the game.

Cale’s daughter, Willow, was already asleep in her bedroom. It had been a whirlwind of a day; Charlie had to go into the office for a big presentation, then had to rush back to take Willow to a skating lesson, which started shortly before Cale had to report to the arena. Charlie was still going to try to make the game, but when Willow fell asleep on the drive home from skating, she made the decision to stay home. Cale was disappointed, but he was grateful that Charlie was watching out for Willow.

Charlie watched Cale and his teammates trudge sadly into the locker room. Shortly after, she got a text from him.

Cale: That was fucking terrible

Cale: Two of the goals were my fault

Charlie: It wasn’t your night, but it’s not your fault

Charlie: Everyone looked bad. Nate didn’t have good puck control, the whole D core couldn’t keep the puck in or clear the puck out, and Mikko couldn’t hit the broad side of the barn.

Cale: I didn’t have my legs

Charlie: Neither did anyone else, love

Cale stopped answering, and Charlie took the time to get ready for bed. On nights when Charlie and Willow didn’t go to games, Willow was fast asleep before Cale got home, so Cale would go check on her when he arrived, then come to bed with Charlie. She figured Cale was showering, and he’d be home soon.

Charlie felt the garage door open and close, followed by the soft sound of the kitchen door shutting. She heard Cale walk down the hall to Willow’s room, then after a few moments, he walked back and into the bedroom.

Cale’s jaw was clenched tight as he entered the room. Charlie put her phone down and smiled at him anyway, genuinely happy to see him regardless of how he was feeling.

“Hi, babe,” Charlie greeted Cale.

Cale stalked over to Charlie and her heart pounded as she swallowed hard. Cale was in a mood, a mood that only she was familiar with, a mood he hid from everyone outside of their bedroom. He stood next to Charlie, then harshly grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her to her knees in front of him.

“Hi,” he grumbled softly. “I’m very frustrated, and all I want to do is shove you into the mattress and fuck you. How does that sound to you?”

A shiver went through Charlie’s body. This was exactly what she was expecting when he walked in. It didn’t happen too often; Cale was usually a soft, kind lover, but even he needed a little more sometimes. He always made sure to communicate when he wanted to go a little rougher with her, and always made sure she knew she was really the one in control.

“I think that sounds like what we both need,” Charlie replied, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Cale growled, then grabbed the back of Charlie’s thighs and tossed her down on the bed. He tugged up her oversized t-shirt to reveal her comfy panties she slept in.

“Sorry,” Charlie muttered.

“Why are you apologizing?” Cale hastily pushed her panties down her legs and tossed them behind him, then slowly dragged a finger through her pussy.

Charlie closed her eyes and inhaled at Cale’s touch. “I,” she breathed, “they’re not sexy.”

“Why does it matter if they’re not sexy?” Cale kicked off his dress shoes and clambered onto the bed. “You hate sexy panties anyway.”

He sat against the headboard, then harshly grabbed Charlie and yanked her into his lap, her back to his chest. She inhaled shakily, leaning into his warmth as he ran his hands all over her body. He wrapped his left arm across her body, his hand coming up to grip her chin and jaw. Charlie’s breathing labored from her slightly open mouth, her heart pounded.

Cale softly nuzzled his nose into her, a stark contrast to his hands on her body. He nibbled her earlobe and she leaned into him more. Dragging his hand slowly over her thigh, Cale chuckled as a shiver ran down her spine.

“Someone’s excited,” he teased, gently scratching his short fingernails across her right thigh, starting at her knee and dragging up to her hip.

Charlie made a face, then wiggled her hips and ass against Cale’s crotch, since she was pressed up against him. He groaned, and she felt him harden and smirked, proud of the reaction she’d elicited from him despite his control of the situation.

“Hmm,” Cale thought. His grip on her jaw tightened ever so slightly. “So that’s how it’s gonna be tonight?” He leaned in, bit down on her neck, and sucked the soft skin into his mouth between his teeth. He dragged his rough fingertips along her inner thigh, all the way up to tease the lips of her pussy. Charlie jumped, bucked her hips to try to get more from him, but he just chuckled again and dragged his fingers back down her thigh.

Cale surprised Charlie as he suddenly spread her legs out wider and pulled her back into him even more, angling her on her tailbone. He covered her pussy with his hand, giving her nothing, no relief from the hot rush of arousal. She bucked her hips and made a small whine, which made Cale laugh again.

“Don’t be mean,” she complained, trying to turn to look at him.

Pressing his forehead to her temple, he peppered kisses along her jaw. “Why would I be nice when it’s so much more fun to watch you squirm?” he whispered against her cheek. He removed his hand from her pelvis and tapped her mouth with fingers. She opened it obediently and swirled her tongue around Cale’s fingers after he shoved them in her mouth. His fingers triggered her overly-sensitive gag reflex, and he immediately pulled them back out.

Charlie turned her head to look at Cale and was met with concern. Cale knew even the thought of puking or gagging made Charlie nauseated, so he tried to keep her gagging to a minimum.

“I’m good,” she said quickly. “I’m good.”

Cale smiled softly, kissed her temple, then dragged his wet fingers down between her breasts and finally swiped them through her folds. She closed her eyes as he teased her slit, pressing against it with his middle finger but not letting it slip inside her yet. Cale readjusted his grip on her with his left hand, pressing against her sternum with his fingers fanned out.

“You gonna–,” Charlie started to chirp Cale, but he sank his middle finger into her as she did, grinning evilly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically, “were you saying something?” He pulled his finger nearly all the way out of her, then shoved both his middle and ring fingers back in, then out, in, out, until he established a quick rhythm, filling the air with sinful, wet slaps. Charlie’s head rolled back against Cale’s body, ending up on his shoulder, breathing heavily as he fucked her with his fingers.

Charlie suddenly felt empty and cold on top of the electric heat that raced through her body. Cale had withdrawn his fingers from her and held them out to admire her arousal coating them. He stuck the two fingers that had just been inside her into his mouth and loudly licked them off. Charlie watched in awe.

“You like that, hm? Watching me lick your cum off my fingers?” Cale taunted.

Charlie nodded, then tried to grind herself against Cale or the mattress or anything to get herself closer. She tried to close her legs, but Cale caught one of them with his wet hand, then released it. He brought his hand back between her legs, pressed hard on her clit and rubbed slow circles on it. Charlie’s eyes went out of focus at the contact, her mouth falling open.

She forgot how to breathe. Her body was hot and cold and numb and on fire all at once. Her hand flailed before desperately gripping Cale’s hair behind her in an attempt to ground herself. She gasped as Cale slid his fingers inside her again, then slid his other hand down her body and continued the circles on her clit. With both hands touching her, Cale gently kissed the base of her neck, his hot lips widening in a smile.

“You close?” he asked her tauntingly.

“So,” she managed out. “So close.”

With a final kiss on her neck, Cale removed his fingers from her and let her fall back against his body, limp. She groaned in frustration, but she knew sometimes he teased her like this so when he did make her come, it would be worth it.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Cale said, echoing her thoughts. “Lay down on your stomach for me, yeah?”

“What about your clothes?” Charlie pulled herself up on her knees and turned around to look at Cale, nearly letting out a moan when she squeezed her legs together.

“Help me get out of them,” he directed softly. He leaned forward so she could unbutton his dress shirt and push it off his shoulders. He gazed at her softly as he tugged his arms out. Charlie tossed Cale’s shirt aside, then got to work on his belt. Cale reached out and tugged her oversized shirt over her head. She paused her work on his belt to let him pull it over her arms, then he tossed it over with his dress shirt, and Charlie returned to the belt.

“Why the fuck can’t I get this goddamn belt off?” Charlie complained.

Chuckling, Cale gently helped her remove his belt, then unzipped his dress pants and lifted his ass so he could pull them off with Charlie’s help. She tugged his striped socks off, and finally he was just left in his boxer-briefs.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Charlie mumbled.

Cale laughed. “Lay down on your stomach for me, babe.”

Charlie did as he asked, grabbing her pillow and laying on it with her arms crossed underneath it. She felt Cale gently running his fingertips over the soft skin of her ass.

“So pretty,” he muttered, using his fingernails to scratch her softly. She groaned and wiggled her ass for him in hopes he’d do something. She could hear the amusement in his voice as he asked, “Giving me a show, eh?” He softly smacked her ass with his right hand.

“Do that again,” Charlie moaned, shaking her ass more.

Cale obliged, smacking her slightly harder. “I love watching your ass jiggle,” he giggled as he continued to play with the supple skin, each slapping sound making Charlie wetter and wetter.

“You’re being mean again,” Charlie commented.

“Oh? Am I?” Cale grabbed her hips, pulled her ass up higher, spread her legs a little, and elicited a sharp gasp from Charlie as he leaned down and licked through her exposed folds. Charlie moaned loudly into the pillow beneath her.

Cale reached over her and grabbed another pillow, then placed it underneath her hips before reattaching his mouth to her clit. He sucked harshly on it, then released it with a slight pop. Charlie buried her face into her pillow as Cale slid his index finger into her pussy and massaged the soft, warm flesh. She clenched around him and he laughed.

“So desperate,” he taunted. He playfully smacked her ass with his free hand, then pulled his finger out of her. Charlie turned her head to watch him stroke himself a few times, but she shoved her face back into the pillow beneath her as he adjusted his body position and slid his cock inside her. It was so cliche, but he was made to fit perfectly in her.

Cale gripped his dick and pushed it against the back wall of her pussy, dragging it along, then letting his tip pop out of her. He slid just his head in her and sat there, unmoving, so Charlie pushed her hips back to sink him deeper into her pussy. She bounced back on him a few more times and relished in the feeling of him until he stilled her hips with his hands. Cale grabbed a handful of her ass, massaging it.

“Please,” Charlie groaned, “I need you so bad.”

“Do you?” Cale asked tauntingly. “Have you been good enough to have me?”

Charlie nodded desperately. “I’ve been so good for you.”

Cale moved his hands to the small of her back, pushing her down into the mattress, and harshly snapped his hips against hers, thrusting deep inside of her. Charlie bit the pillow beneath her to silence herself, which became harder and harder with every roll of Cale’s hips.

He laid down on top of her, completely engulfing her in him. In his scent, in the heat of his body, in his soft, breathy grunts in Charlie’s ear. She was overwhelmed with him, and it was incredible. Every bump of Cale’s balls against her ass sent her closer and closer to the edge.

“So tight,” Cale murmured in her ear. “Feel so fuckin’ good.”

Charlie released the pillow from between her teeth and croaked out, “So good.”

Cale suddenly moved off of her, kneeling behind her and lifting her ass up in the air, but keeping her chest and face pressed into the bed beneath her. Charlie’s back arched as he hit a new angle inside of her.

“C-Cale,” Charlie choked out. “S-so c-close.”

“Yeah?” Cale asked. “Me too, baby.”

Cale grabbed Charlie’s arms and easily pinned them behind her back with one hand, his other hand desperately hanging onto the headboard of the bed for leverage. Charlie’s face pressed deeper into the pillow and she yelped into it as Cale’s thrusts slammed into her even harder.

“Oh fuck, I’m about to come,” Cale groaned. “Can I come on your ass?”

Charlie couldn’t answer, so Cale paused, dick inside her, and pulled her up out of the pillow. He pressed her back flush against his chest while she panted.

“I asked you a question,” he said quietly but sharply. “And I need an answer before we keep going, please.”

“I want you to come on my chest,” Charlie croaked.

“No face,” Cale said calmly. Charlie was pretty sure she would hate him coming on her face, but they tried it once anyway, and it confirmed how much she despised it, so that was one of their rules.

Charlie shook her head in agreement. “No face, please.”

Reaching down to rub her clit, Cale gently pressed a kiss to Charlie’s cheek. Her head rolled back onto his shoulder, giving Cale access to her neck, which he began kissing sloppily. Charlie knew he was giving her some time to recover before they finished, and she was grateful that they knew each other’s minds and bodies so well.

“Do you need more of a break, my love?” Cale whispered in her ear. He grazed his teeth over her earlobe.

“One more kiss?” Charlie asked, turning her head to look at him.

Cale smiled softly and lightly pressed his lips against hers. They stayed still for a moment, then Cale pulled back and laid Charlie back down on the bed, then rolled her over to face him. He covered her body with his, tangled his hands in hers, and slid back inside her, making her arch her back again.

Hot lips attached to her collarbone, Cale pulled out and slammed back into her. Charlie gaped up at him as he re-established a very similar rhythm to moments before, but somehow more desperate, more needy. He was close, and she was close, and they both knew it.

Cale moved and pressed his sweaty forehead to Charlie’s. He took both of her hands in his left hand, then used his right hand to press down on her lower stomach, adding more pressure and more pleasure for both of them. His eyes closed and he bit down on his lip so hard Charlie was afraid he’d bleed.

“Oh fuck,” Cale moaned, “oh fuckfuckfuck, I’m gonna come.”

Cale pulled out of Charlie, scooted up her body a little, and used his right hand to harshly jerk himself off until he painted Charlie’s breasts with his cum. He threw his head back and breathed heavily as he squeezed his head, stroking himself a few more times before he scooted back down and pressed himself back into Charlie, eliciting a soft moan from her.

“C’mon, baby,” Cale said softly, leaning back down to press his forehead against hers and pressing his free fingers against her clit while slowly thrusting into her, letting her feel every inch of him. “I want you to come for me.”

“Fuck,” Charlie squeaked.

Cale captured Charlie’s lips in a kiss, then mumbled against them, “Come for me, Charlie.”

“More,” Charlie mumbled back, “I need more.”

“I’ve got you.” Cale’s circles on her clit increased in speed as his strokes went deeper and deeper in her, brushing up against the spot inside her that made her whole body clench.

“Motherfucker,” Charlie yelped.

Cale chuckled, “Good?”

“Fuck yes, keep going.”

Cale did as Charlie asked, keeping up the same pace until she clenched, coming undone around him, her back arching and her vision going white. Cale fucked her through her orgasm, then slowed to a stop as she came down. His forehead still pressed against her, they tried to catch their breath together.

“Shit,” Cale panted, “You did so good for me, baby. So good, so pretty.”

Charlie softly smiled up at him. “Can you help me up?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Cale pulled out of Charlie, then grabbed her hands and helped her sit up. Cale scooted off the bed, then offered his hands to Charlie again to help her up. He wrapped a careful, protective arm around her waist and walked her into the bathroom.

“Whoa,” Charlie giggled, “my legs feel like jelly.”

“Sit on the counter?” Cale laughed back. “I think my cum is about to drip off you.”

Charlie looked down and commented, “Gross.”

Cale grabbed a towel, wet it, and carefully wiped Charlie off. Once she was clean, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. Cale hugged her back, putting his cheek on top of her head.

“I love you,” he said softly. “That really helped me feel better after the shitshow of a game we had. You did so good, babe.”

“I love you too, baby,” Charlie mumbled against Cale’s chest. “I enjoyed it too, you know that, right?”

Charlie felt Cale smile. “Yeah, I know you did. Can we move this back to the bed? Exhaustion just hit me.”

“Of course.” Charlie untangled her arms from him so they could both use the toilet, wash up, and brush their teeth before bed. She pulled back on her panties and shirt, and Cale pulled on a clean pair of boxers.

They clambered back into bed together. Cale wrapped a warm arm around Charlie’s waist and pulled her close into his body, spooning her. She felt safe and loved, and fell into an easy sleep in her love’s arms.

#Cale makar #Cale makar fic #cale makar fanfiction #cale makar fanfic #Cale makar smut #nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl imagine #colorado avalanche fanfiction #colorado avalanche fic #colorado avalanche smut #nhl smut #hockey smut #hockey writing #hockey imagine

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izzylovesyou2022 · 10 months

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Comment, Reblog this, or Message me with your thoughts on me writing a NHL fanfic based around "first girl in the NHL"

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miracleonice87 · 2 years

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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

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zackcollins · 2 years

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~*~ Blog Info ~*~

General Info

Hi! You can call me Robin-Tyler, R.T. or Robbie!

My pronouns are: she/her, they/them, or he/him

I’m okay with being referred to with masculine, feminine, and neutral gendered terms.

I live in the ancestral and unceded territory of the Aamjiwnaang people (Ontario, Canada).

I’m 24 years old. Minors are welcomed to unfollow/block me because I will sometimes post more mature content.

I will tag anything triggering with “tw (trigger)”. If I miss something, don’t be afraid to tell me. I’ll gladly add whatever someone feels needs a warning.

This is mainly a sports blog based around hockey and baseball. My favourite teams are the Toronto Maple Leafs, Philadelphia Flyers, Vancouver Canucks, Colorado Avalanche, Montreal Canadiens, Colorado Rockies, Pittsburgh Pirates, and Toronto Blue Jays

You can find information about some personalized tags, fanfic, and the current state of my masterlists under the cut!!

Babygirl Info

Hockey: Jack Campbell (#babygirl crazy catman), Tyson Jost (#babygirl chromatica), Cole Caufield (#babygirl small coffee), Mitch Marner (#babygirl wall bouncer), Mikko Rantanen (#babygirl peanut egg burger), Josh Anderson (#babygirl bench dresser)

Baseball: Zack Collins (#babygirl trailer trash), Tyler Heineman (#babygirl jr king), Cavan Biggio (#babygirl mimic), Bo Bichette (#babygirl man bun), Matt Chapman (#babygirl chapstick), Ross Stripling (#babygirl chicken strip), Ryan Borucki (#babygirl free elf), George Springer (#babygirl lovebug)

M*A*S*H: Father Francis Mulcahy (#babygirl himbo priest), Maxwell Klinger (#babygirl section 8), Margaret Houlihan (#babygirl cinnamon candy)

X-Files: Fox Mulder (#babygirl spooky), Dana Scully (#babygirl doctor fbi)

Babyboy Info

Hockey: Frederik Andersen (#babyboy pastry), Erik Källgren (#babyboy babygoalie), J.T. Compher (#babyboy jimothy timothy), Nick Suzuki (#babyboy small coffee enthusiast), T.J. Brodie (#babyboy mayor of chatham), James Reimer (#babyboy optimus reims)

Baseball: Kevin Gausman (#babyboy powdered donut), Randal Grichuk (#babyboy rocky mountain bird), Danny Jansen (#babyboy sports goggles), Alek Manoah (#babyboy mamas boy), Adam Cimber (#babyboy joe dirt), José Berríos (#babyboy mouthguard), Brian Serven (#babyboy love child), Jack Suwinski (#babyboy almighty), Trevor Richards (#babyboy silver fox)

M*A*S*H: B.J. Hunnicutt (#babyboy anything you want), Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce (#babyboy last of the mohicans)

X-Files: Alex Krycek (#babyboy fbi double agent)

Mass Effect: Kaidan Alenko (#babyboy biotic child)

Babyperson Info

Hockey: Alexander Kerfoot (#babyperson ivy leaguer), Cale Makar (#babyperson movie pun)

Baseball: Luke Maile (#babyperson mailbox), Jordan Romano (#babyperson canadas closer)

due South: Benton Fraser (#babyperson wolf tamer)

Other Info

Other content you may see on this blog includes: M*A*S*H, due South, X-Files, Zelda, Mario, Stardew Valley, Animal Crossing, Mass Effect, animals, Marvel, food, nature/plants, paranormal, and just anything I find interesting/appealing.

I sometimes write fanfiction. Right now, the fandoms I write for are hockey, baseball, M*A*S*H, X-Files, due South, Mass Effect, and Marvel. And, for reference, I write/take requests for self-inserts and ship pairings. The ship pairings include hockey and baseball rpf so do with that what you will.

I’ve had a rough mental time recently, so I’m changing my URL to, hopefully, get some much needed happiness. I’ll fix the masterlists once I’m feeling back to my old self. Sorry for the sudden change. I just need this for my own mental well-being.

#about r.t.#dont reblog #blog post

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comphy-and-cozy · 2 years

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Nothin’ Better Than This - JT Compher

(gif by @hockeylvr59)

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f)

Summary: The second part of Something to Dream About. Seven months in, your secret relationship with JT is still going strong. Will winning the Stanley Cup give you the confidence you need to go public to the world?

Word Count: 6.6K

Author’s Note: I can’t look anyone in the eye after this one. Here’s another extremely self indulgent fic that might be a tiny bit out of character for our sweet ginger king, but I know you sluts will enjoy it anyways.

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY) with a tiny bit of plot. Chaotic Colorado Avalanche himbos. Swearing, alcohol use/mention, cocky Compher, unprotected sex, spitting, oral sex (m + f receiving), deep-throating, spanking, choking/breath play, a little bit of degradation/mild humiliation, facial. Sydney queen if you ever see this, I’m so sorry.

Masterlist

212 days. 30 weeks. Seven whole months you’d been dating JT Compher. It had been a whirlwind, but they had truly been seven of the best in your life. In that time, you’d met his family, exchanged I love you’s, and had key copies made for your respective apartments. You had a drawer designated for you in his dresser, and his toothbrush lived beside yours next to the sink. But still, seven months later, neither his teammates nor your colleagues knew about any of it.

You had always been one to keep a healthy line between work and personal life, but even you had to admit that this was a bit far, especially considering you knew all of his teammates, and vice versa. You’d read the employee handbook section titled ‘Interpersonal Relationships’ enough times that you all but knew it by heart by now, and you felt a pang of guilt every time you passed HR’s office. It would be so easy to just set up a meeting, sign a couple forms, and be on your merry way, but you were still hung up on what it would mean for your career, anxiety getting the best of you each time.

So, here you were – seven months later, in an illicit relationship with the man you knew was ‘The One’, waiting for the day that you could make that statement publicly.

The whole ‘secret relationship’ had gotten easier with time, falling into a routine of stolen glances, staggered arrivals, and secret text messages — though you had almost gotten caught making out in his car once.

As the Avs got further into the playoffs, it got even harder to conceal. Your heart yearned to be able to wear a 37 proudly on your chest along with his sisters, his name etched onto your back like a public statement that was so much more than the jersey of a favorite player. Instead, you opted for a neutral Avalanche shirt to avoid making any public allegiances, and you sat with your colleagues more often than not.

Then there were his teammates, who, while maybe not the sharpest tools in the shed, weren’t that thick, easily deducing that their soft-spoken centerman had met someone, sending covert text messages and showing up to practice littered in hickeys on more than one occasion. At first, it was harmless, the normal teasing that boys do, heckling him over finally getting it in for once. But over time, the secrecy got more and more suspicious, nearly six months into the relationship and still none of them had met his mysterious and enigmatic girlfriend or even knew her name.

“JT, you gonna bring your girl around if we win tonight or what?”

“Yo, Comphs, is your lady gonna ever make an appearance?”

“Do we finally get to meet Mrs. Comphy?”

“Starting to think he’s made her up and this girlfriend is just his right hand.”

“Maybe he paid her!”

The voices of your boyfriend’s teammates echoed through your head, harassing him relentlessly. Each time, he made up an excuse – we’re taking things slow, she’s out of town, she’s not feeling well – but the excuses could only last so long, each one that was used up bringing you one step closer to the inevitable.

Seven months — but who was counting?

Tonight, though, your clandestine relationship is being put to its biggest test yet, when the Colorado Avalanche make history and win the Stanley Cup in Tampa Bay. It’s a whirlwind, the pure jubilation and exhilaration of the win making the evening fly by in a blur of cheers, tears, and lots of champagne.

What’s worse is, when you go down to the ice with your colleagues, you’re stepping onto the ice as an extended member of the Colorado Avalanche team, and nothing more. Your title is Executive Director of Community Engagement for the Colorado Avalanche, rather than your dual role doubling as the girlfriend of a now-champion. You send Jesse and Morgan a wistful smile, ignoring their pleas to just come with them to greet JT with their family, aware that while everyone else was distracted in their own way, someone would catch you. And, you knew yourself — and JT — well enough that if you saw each other now, in the heat of the moment and high of the win, neither one of you would be able to resist the pull of your lips, surely ending up kissing him square on the mouth right in front of your boss.

So, it isn’t for another painstaking, heart-wrenching three hours that you get to truly congratulate your partner and, ultimately, the love of your life, on his lifelong dream finally coming true.

He’s grinning, beaming really, when he opens the door to his hotel room, and you launch yourself into his arms. He’s warm and almost literally buzzing, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he embraces you, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist as you koala him.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper in his ear, voice thick with emotion. You’ve been trying to think of the words to say, to even begin to convey how you feel, and everything falls short. So, you keep it simple, knowing that he’d pick up all of the unspoken words in between.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmurs back, voice muffled by your hair as his face is buried in your neck. “Thank you for everything. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, J.”

It’s a few minutes later that he finally sets you down, unable to wipe the grin off your face. “I just… I can’t even believe it!”

“We did it, babe. We fucking did it!” he cheers, reaching for the champagne that’s been delivered to each player’s room. You cheer as it foams when he uncorks it, pouring a glass for each of you and toasting your glass.

“So fucking proud of you, J.”

“To the motherfuckin’ Stanley Cup, baby!”

He downs his glass, and you follow suit, the burn of the champagne pleasant in your throat heady as you look at him.

“You want me to show you how proud I am of you?”

The air in the room shifts immediately. Though neither of you touched the thermostat, the room has heated to what’s got to be at least 110 degrees. You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, the clear hitch in his throat at the question, the warm brown of his eyes swirling into a deeper shade almost instantly.

“Well, do you, champ?” your words are teasing, slipping out of your mouth as if you hadn’t been imagining this exact moment for the last two weeks, as soon as you realized this win could — and would — become a reality. You’re over-the-moon ecstatic for him, but you can’t deny that you’ve also been waiting for the opportunity to worship him like the champion he is. Fucking a Stanley Cup Champion certainly had a different air to it.

He blinks at the nickname, then his lips curl upward into a half-smirk, as if he’s only just remembered what you’re really celebrating. “You want this Stanley Cup dick, huh?”

It’s your turn to smirk, stepping closer to him until your faces are inches apart. You can smell the beer on him, the champagne in his hair, but he’s looking at you like he’s never been more sober, heartbeat ticking in his throat as his eyes zone in on your lips, parted in anticipation. When your hand presses forward, palm against the already half-hard bulge in his jeans, he breaks into a grin, and your heart melts at the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“Oh, she wants it.”

“Uh huh,” you murmur with a squeeze of your hand that earns a grunt from him, “She wants it bad.”

You can feel the grin of his lips as he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue quickly delving into the space and shattering the invisible barrier of tension hung between you. Even the way he kisses you is different, the energy thrumming through his veins tangible, palatable, like he’s completely invincible — and honestly, tonight, he probably is. Hands reach for your face, tugging you toward him as he nips at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. His beard is thick, coated in champagne, scratching at your face as the overgrown whiskers above his lip tickle your nose.

You can feel his growl, more than hear it, when your hand runs along his length through his jeans, like you’re assessing your prey, but really you’re just admiring the hardware. His hips push forward, into your hand, and you have half a mind to scold him for his impatience, but you can’t really blame him.

JT stutters a protest when you pull away, the words dying on his lips when he sees you lowering to your knees. His lower lip is tugged between his teeth as he regards you, eyes locked with yours as your hands resume their previous actions, running over his erection through his pants. You press your mouth to the zipper of his jeans, and he hums, louder when your tongue flicks out against the denim.

“Want it in my throat first,” you say, hands plucking at his belt as you begin to unbuckle it. “Want to know what a Stanley Cup winning cock tastes like.”

He’s buzzing, straining against the zipper you slowly tug down once his belt has been discarded and button undone. You run your tongue along him again, this time just through the thin material of his boxers, and this time you can feel the heat of him throbbing against your tongue.

Your fingers tuck into the waistband of his boxers, and you look up at him, already disheveled, as you lick your lips. There’s a fiery anticipation in his eyes, like he might die if you don’t get your mouth on him soon.

“And after I’ve had it in my mouth, I want to have this Stanley Cup winning cock stuffed in my pussy.”

JT lets out a sinful groan, twitching against his boxers. You smirk, pleased with his reaction as you finally tug the material down his muscular thighs. Biting back a moan at the sight of him, hard and standing proudly at attention, leaking slightly from the tip, your mouth waters and you’ve suddenly forgotten that you wanted to tease him.

Your tongue flicks at the tip, tasting the drop of precum that melts into your mouth. Almost immediately, his head falls back, and you smirk. “I’ve barely touched you, baby.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be rewarding me?” he sasses.

“Even Stanley Cup champions have to be patient.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but pauses when he sees your hands reaching for the hem of your top, watching the Avs logo wrinkle as you pull the material over your head. Toying with the strap of your bra, you look up at him and ask coyly, “Should I take this off, or are you too impatient?”

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” he breathes.

“But I like you when you’re desperate,” you taunt, enjoying the way you can see the burn in his eyes.

When your hands caress your chest, sensually dragging your fingers along your collar bones, his dick twitches in interest, a silent encouragement to please, don’t stop. You reach behind you to unclasp your bra, slipping your arms through the straps before tossing it behind you. JT’s eyes grow glassy, staring at your bare tits, your nipples pebbling in the air.

You resist the urge to laugh at how much of a boy he is, instead opting to give him more of what he wants to see. Your hands come up to cup your breasts, feeling the weight of them in your hands while your thumbs run over your nipples, a sigh escaping your mouth.

His dick twitches again when one hand slides down your torso and between your legs. The sound he lets out is a mix between a growl and a whimper, watching the way you cup your sex over your jeans. It’s not enough, not nearly close enough to what you actually want, but the contact to your clit even through the layers of fabric has you letting out a moan.

“Babe — please,” he whines. The desperation in his voice has you looking up at him, and part of you curses the side of you that melts for him. You’ll never be able to last like this, not with the eyes he’s giving you that rival that of a lost puppy.

He’s so hard that his dick is standing straight up, twitching against his shirt and leaving a thin wet spot on the blue fabric. Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his balls. Your tongue follows the path of your lips as you make your way up to his tip, the pulsing vein on the underside of his dick a road map to heaven.

“God, babe, you —” JT stutters. “Fuck.”

You are pleased that he’s been reduced to a series of groans and half-finished sentences, but you want to render him utterly speechless, a true reward for your champion. Finally, you give him what he wants and take him in your mouth, wrapping your lips around him as you begin to move on his length. It’s difficult to smirk when he groans again, loudly, so instead you keep your motions steady to keep the sounds coming.

The bob of your head finds a rhythm in synchronicity with your tongue, reveling in the feel of him in your mouth, hard and heavy and everything you want to be able to show your admiration. JT’s whines encourage you to keep going, the velvety smoothness of his skin sliding against your tongue as he goes deeper with each pass. Relaxing your throat, you glance up at him, wrecked and panting, before slowly pressing yourself forward until he’s lodged firmly in the back of your throat.

“Jesus Christ,” he chokes out, hand flying to the back of your head, fingers tangling in the hair at the crown.

Wordlessly, you move your mouth back and forth, trying to encourage him to take control. Eventually, he catches your drift, and his eyes look down to lock with yours as he thrusts his hips forward. Broken curses fall from his mouth as he watches himself slide between your lips, feeling the tip of his dick sliding down your soft, warm throat.

It’s hot, filthy actually, and the tension in the air between you is thick like the dick in your mouth. He’s the one controlling the pace, taking your throat, but somehow there’s an unspoken air that you’re still the one who’s calling the shots.

Your vision blurs with the tears brimming your eyes, frothy spit escaping from the corners of your mouth and dripping onto your chest, something JT will appreciate later when he gets a good look at you. The sound of your gags fills the room, the slick of his cock adding a wet noise like a deliciously slutty harmony.

You whine at the feeling of emptiness when he slips out of your mouth, a thick trail of saliva keeping your lips connected to his tip. You know the sight is lewd and salacious, your tits out and covered in a pre-cum and saliva mixture, knees pressed into the cold tile flooring, eyes wet and lips swollen. JT’s hand slides to your jaw, holding your head in place, and you obediently remain still while his eyes regard you hotly, looking at the swell of your lips and trails of spit dripping down your chin.

“So pretty like this, all wrecked out,” he murmurs, thumb running over the saliva on your lip before slipping into your mouth. Instinctively, your lips wrap around the digit, sucking on it, and his eyes glitter at the way your tongue slides over the pad of his finger. “Such a good fucking girl for me.”

His words send heat to your core, the praise making your pussy throb with desire. He smirks when you whine against his thumb, shifting on your knees to create even the slightest friction of your now soaked panties against your sex.

“Only for you, J,” you say, voice slightly hoarse from the abuse on your throat. “My Stanley Cup champion.”

His smug smile is prideful, and you don’t blame him — for all of the teamwork mentality and group praise he’ll be preaching the next few days, he should be allowed a moment to let himself feel successful, to be proud of his hard work and sacrifice to get here.

“You gonna let your champion fuck you now? Hmm?”

“Wanted you to cum down my throat,” you mumble, shyly, though the growl in his chest sends a wave of confidence through you.

He leans down to kiss your lips, his grip on your jaw still strong. The feeling of his plush lips on yours has your heart leaping to your chest, quickly turning from mush to flame when you see them purse, letting a thick wad of saliva fall into your open and waiting mouth. Feeling the spit sliding down your tongue, you moan, and he smirks again in what is one of the sexiest expressions you’ve ever seen grace his already beautiful face. It’s intimate and equally scorching hot, the throb between your legs growing deeper with every passing minute.

“We have plenty of time for that later,” he says, breaking you out of your hazy eyed daze. “But right now I want to be inside your pretty little cunt.”

And, well, how are you supposed to say no to that?

His strong arms pull you up to your feet, another hungry kiss pressed to your lips before he’s stripping you of your pants, flinging them blindly behind him. His hands can’t move fast enough, growing more and more restless as more of your skin is revealed to him.

When you’re in just your panties, he lays you back onto the bed, taking a leg in each hand and parting your thighs as if they are curtains revealing a broadway show. You can feel heat rise in your cheeks when you see his eyes fix on your center, and you know that your panties are visibly wet, can feel your arousal pooling in the fabric, undeniably turned on from having his dick lodged in your throat.

JT hums and echoes that same sentiment. “You liked that, huh, baby?”

Licking your lips, you nod, watching the way his tongue immediately licks a stripe up the fabric, saliva mixing with your juices to wet your panties even more. He hums, savoring the taste of you before he glances up at you with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Think you taste sweeter when you’re desperate. Maybe instead of my good girl, I should be calling you my good slut.”

“J,” you whimper, practically ready to come from his filthy mouth alone. He’s always more than satisfied you in the bedroom, but this version of him is something you’ve never seen from him, the confidence and the high from the greatest win of his life finally settling into his veins. Tomorrow, he’ll go back to being a humble team player, but tonight, he’s your Stanley Cup champion, the best player in the world.

“Oh, you like that?” he teases. “You want to be my pretty little slut?”

“Jesus, J.” You don’t have to confirm or deny for him to know you do; he can see the want in your eyes and the hitch of your throat when he says it.

His fingers are warm against your hips when he presses them underneath your waistband, pulling your panties down your legs. His eyes are on your pussy, but he’s talking to you when he responds, “I can tell by how fuckin’ soaked you are, baby. Could slip my dick right in, right now, no problem.”

“JT — J, please —” you cry out, the emptiness between your legs overwhelming as you feel yourself clench around nothing, desperate to have him inside of you.

But he’s not done, sending you a glance as he tugs his shirt off, and your fingers itch to touch the warm, creamy skin that he reveals, run over the sinewy muscle that he’s spent so long sculpting. “You’re desperate for me, aren’t you? Just dying to have this Stanley Cup winning dick in your cunt, huh?”

Ignoring him and the way he’s turning you feral with each velvety whisper of his filthy words, your hands reach up when he kicks off his boxers the remainder of the way down his legs. He’s quicker than you, though, hands catching your wrists and pinning them down above your head as he settles his muscled body between your spread thighs.

“If you made me wait to get your mouth on me, you’re gonna have to wait to get fucked,” he murmurs, fully aware of your desperation and determined to get his revenge. Temporarily, he distracts you from your aching desire with a hot kiss, provoking a lewd moan against his mouth. One hand moves to meet your chest, the skin on skin contact enough to set you on fire as he palms your breast, massaging the flesh roughly. When your back arches into his touch, his hand releases your wrists to slip behind you, fingers grazing the ridges of your spine while he pulls you into him, like he can’t get you close enough.

You can feel your hips rolling against nothing, barely brushing his thigh. His mouth trails hotly down your neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin on his way down to your nipple, where he takes the bud between his lips. His tongue is warm, wet, on your chest, pulling more sighs from your mouth. The trail he leaves is hot, wet, down your body, over your rib cage and tickling your belly, mouthing at your hips before he finds himself between your legs. His beard scratches you, and fuck, you want more, later, but now you’re so keyed up you think you might die if you don’t get him inside you soon.

But he’s got other plans, putting the teasing aside for a moment to delve his tongue between your folds, groaning at your taste. His hands are quick to latch onto your hips, holding them in place as they buck against his face. You want to protest, to beg him to quit teasing and fuck you already, but the words die in your throat, his pillowy lips too sinful for their own good.

JT’s mouth is greedy, lapping up every bit of your nectar that he can like it’s the elixir of life, bound to make him invincible like this forever. He’s moaning against you, enjoying it almost as much as you are, wanting your juices to coat the thick, coarse hair of his beard for the rest of the night. He’d eat your pussy for days, if you let him. And honestly, on any other occasion, you would let him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, sticky from sweat and champagne and Lord knows what else, gripping for traction while his tongue assaults your clit. The buzz in your belly is right there, has been steadily building all night since you watched him squirt water on his hair during warmups, only growing stronger and hotter as the night progressed. All it takes is one precise flick of his tongue to send you flying into euphoria, a long, lewd cry out into the darkness. Part of you knows your hotel neighbors can hear it, but you can’t be bothered to care, not with the way his mouth is riding out your orgasm, sending pulsing waves of pleasure through you.

“Feel better?” he asks, sarcastic, with a dirty grin. “Barely had to work for it, you were so desperate.”

Your cheeks burn at his words, would be embarrassed if you didn’t know he was loving how strung out you are, pliant in his hands and needy for him. “You gonna fuck me now?”

He chuckles darkly, the sound low in his throat. “Such a filthy little slut that even an orgasm can’t tide you over, huh?”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to be inside my pretty little cunt,” you retort, referencing the words he’d choked out earlier. He smirks, and you know you’ve got him when he slides back and rises to his knees.

“This what you want?” he asks, voice oozing smugness, hand moving to stroke himself slowly.

“Yes, God, J, please,” you whine, your temporary facade of confidence thrown away as you watch the swollen tip of his dick fucking his hand, any remaining humility you might have left completely flown out the window. “Want you. Need you.”

“Need me, or just need my cock?”

“Both,” is your broken plea, hips bucking against nothing as he kneels before you. He’s getting off on watching you beg, desperate for him, crying out his name, stroking his ego — literally — in a way that’s so unlike him, but then again this is a special occasion.

The immense relief you feel when he finally positions himself between your legs is unmatched. You don’t quite know where to look, torn between his dick and the molten chocolate of his eyes, burning with lust as he bumps your clit. The moment is briefly paused when he leans forward to kiss you, sweet and caring in a manner that starkly contrasts the tension in the air, hot and thick with raw desire.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips, chasing them to kiss you again, as if to prove his point.

“I love you, too,” you reply, breathless, mouth falling open when you feel him grazing against your sensitive labia. “Why don’t you show me how much?”

You feel the hot breath from his chuckle, mouth still pressed up against yours. His lips slide over the seam of your mouth, swallowing the pornographic moan you let out when he finally, finally pushes into you, slow and steady. Temporarily, you’re paralyzed, only able to focus on his rigid length, feeling each inch as he fills you up.

JT scatters soft, tender kisses up your jaw, allowing both of you a moment to revel in the simple pleasure of being connected so intimately. He’s thick, and rock hard, and you can feel yourself clench tightly around him. Your fingers press into his shoulders, an arm sliding around his neck to hold him close to you, and you murmur, “Move, J.”

“Greedy girl,” he snickers, but obliges, done with the teasing game now that he’s finally sheathed inside your snug heat. His hips begin to move, creating a steady rhythm that has whines tumbling from your lips, breathless sighs of his name into the darkness.

It’s always good with him, but tonight, it’s different, Stanley’s magic casting a spell over you both in a way that has each stroke lighting off fireworks between you. Your arms wrap around his back, holding his body close to yours and trapping the heat and all of the intimacy between your bodies, the hard muscle of his chest sliding against yours.

“J,” you moan in his ear, and it’s like the call spurs him into action, picking up his pace until he’s pounding and you can do nothing else except clutch onto him for dear life.

“Fuckin’ made for me, sweetheart. Always so good for me. God, I fuckin’ love you.”

JT’s lips connect with yours, soft despite the harsh metronome of his hips. His tongue slips against yours, accepting the mewls that you offer, exhaled softly on his mouth. One of his hands trails down your side, gripping your thigh and hitching it over his hip, then repeating the action on the other side so he can press deeper into you with a groan.

“You like being fucked by a Stanley Cup champ, huh?” the question is scalding hot, whispered against the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your reply is less of a yes and more of a mangled cry, unable to form a real sentence for the way he’s fucking you. You can feel the way your body squeezes him, tight, sending him the message to please, don’t stop, without having to speak.

“Feels so good, baby. So fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, the depth of his voice sending a tingle down your spine. “‘Specially for a little puckslut like you.”

“Fuck, J, I’m gonna –”

With his words, the fireworks in your belly are exploding, powerful waves coursing through you as you climax. Distantly, you hear him groan, feeling the way you’re gripping him tightly, fingernails surely leaving crescent-shaped marks in his otherwise unmarred porcelain skin.

JT coaxes you through the dying pulses of your orgasm, beard scratching your jaw as he presses kisses against your cheek. He chuckles, amused at only needing one sentence to make you scream his name.

“God, you really are a slut,” he jokes, the easy smile on his lips offering a lighthearted reprieve, temporarily bursting the cloud of lust that looms over you. You smile back, lips curling up against the place where his thick beard meets smooth skin of his cheek.

“Only for you,” you whisper.

He hums fondly. “That’s fuckin’ right, baby.”

The intimate moment has passed, and in a flurry of movements, you find yourself being flipped over onto the mattress, large hands tugging your waist back as you settle onto your hands and knees. Instinctually, you sway your hips back and forth in a little show, earning a growl from him before his hand is cracking against the bare skin of your ass. He guides himself back into you, slipping in almost too easily with the excess lubricant you provide, practically dripping for him.

He’s rough, quick, and you love every second of it. The force of his hips slapping against your ass has the mattress shaking, rhythmic bumping that will leave no question about what’s happening in your room, accompanied by the occasional smack of his palm against your bottom, faint handprints in its wake. His hands are gripping your sides, pulling you back onto him, though his urgency is less about his own release and more about yours, wanting to make you come over and over again – because even on a night that’s completely about him, he still wants to please you.

You feel his hand sliding hotly up your spine, chasing the bumps until it reaches the back your neck, fisting your hair and pressing down, firm but not so hard it hurts. The air in your throat is restricted, slightly, and you moan when he shifts his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts to have you crying out as he presses deeper into your greedy cunt. His hard body looms over yours when he leans forward, beard scratching your ear and jaw when he brings his mouth close to you.

“Can you give me one more, sweetheart?”

His hand releases the pressure, allowing you to gasp out an affirmative yes, and he’s back to his relentless pace. One hand returns to your neck, while the other moves to the top of yours, lacing your fingers together. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass, hard, echoes off the walls of the fancy hotel room, the few breathless gasps you let out muffled by his heavy breathing.

Your third one comes quickly, suddenly, a broken sob making its way out of your throat. He groans in satisfaction behind you, pleased with his track record and the way your body goes completely rigid underneath him. You’re barely out of your aftershocks, blinking away the stars in your eyes, when he’s nudging you to flip over, pulling out and moving to spill his release onto your face with a grunt. Your mouth opens in a moan, the hot liquid spurting over your cheek and onto your lips, the tanginess resting on your tongue.

JT looks at you, soft, with a smirk, admiring his handiwork. “You’re so pretty.”

When you lick your lips, catching some of his cum and humming as you swallow, he groans. “Do I look like a proper puck slut now?”

“A perfect little puck slut,” he says, leaning in to kiss you. “But only if you’re all mine.”

After you’ve cleaned up, you’re tucked into his arm under the crisp white sheets, blissfully happy. He’s recollecting some of his favorite memories of the run, reflecting on the journey to get to this point.

“I’m so… I’m so happy for you, J,” you whisper, craning your neck to kiss his jaw.

He hums, hand absently stroking circles into the skin of your shoulder blade. Your body is still tingling from the pleasure he gave you, and you feel the electric sparks from the light touch. “You know what would make me even happier?”

“Another blowjob?”

He laughs. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t say no to that.”

“What could possibly make you happier than you are in this exact moment, JT Compher?”

“Let’s tell them.”

“What?”

“Let’s tell everyone,” he repeats, pulling away slightly so he can look you in the eyes.

“J —”

“Babe, come on,” he says. “I just won the Stanley fucking Cup. I literally just achieved my dreams, and I want to celebrate it with you. My girl. I want to kiss you in public, to see you wearing my fuckin’ jersey at the parade, to have you there with me on the float — not hide you away in my secret hotel room and wave to you in the crowd in some generic jersey.”

You’re quiet, and you know he’s right. Truthfully, you’d been preparing for this moment since the day he asked you out all those months ago, the thought of making your relationship public one that got more comfortable with every day that passed. It’s not just the high of the win talking, but it certainly gives him the confidence to push the thought out into the universe, hanging heavily and loudly in the air.

“I just… I love you, so fucking much, and I want the whole world to know. I’m ready, if you are.”

“Okay, J,” you nod, pushing away the last little shred of uncertainty that lingers in your chest. You’ve known the time was coming, for awhile now, and, admittedly, no time could feel better than after winning the Stanley Cup. “You’re right. We can tell them. Let’s do it.”

He smiles, and distantly you think to yourself that his face must hurt from all of the grinning he’s done today — then again, so does yours. When he kisses you, he murmurs, “Can’t wait to do that in front of everyone. I’m gonna grab your ass so hard. Bo has a thing for you, you know.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. “He’s like, 12. Besides, I’m only a puck slut for you, remember?”

He hums, nodding in approval with a soft chuckle. You shift, sitting up on your elbows to look him square in the eye.

“Let’s talk about all of this in the morning. For now, how about that second blowjob?”

*******

The morning after winning the Stanley Cup is the same as that John Mayer song, Dreaming With a Broken Heart, except instead of a broken heart, it’s pure, unfiltered joy. You blink, adjusting to the light and the strange surroundings, and all at once the realization comes crashing down on you that you won the Stanley fucking Cup.

The same thing goes for being the girlfriend of a Stanley Cup winner, waking up to watch the love of your life remember all over again what he accomplished mere hours ago.

After some slow kisses and another round of celebratory intimate morning sex, the two of you discuss how you are going to break the news to the team. Ultimately, you decide that he’ll keep it casual, starting with Landy and working his way through the group, to avoid making it overly uncomfortable or awkward for you.

The hotel has reserved an entire ballroom for the team and extended guests to gather, and they are serving breakfast this morning to kick off another day of celebrations before the team flies back to Denver. When the group chat lights up to signal that everyone is moseying their way down, you and JT shower to freshen up and follow suit.

Once you’re ready, you open the door, not even thinking about the optics of you leaving JT’s hotel room the morning after winning the Stanley Cup. Unfortunately for you, Cale is also leaving his room, and turns to greet you, freezing when he sees JT standing behind you, and quickly puts two and two together.

“Uh –”

You freeze, heat flooding your cheeks, and JT sighs behind you.

“Oh. My. God.”

“Cale –”

“Nate, get out here! I finally figured out who JT’s girl is!”

JT glances at you, apologetic, his face saying, Hope you’re ready, because here it comes.

Nate’s door opens a few moments later, kitty corner to where you’re standing. He looks at Cale, then you, then JT, and then back to you.

“You’re Mrs. Comphy?” he asks incredulously, his mouth falling open.

The commotion causes a few others in the hall to burst out of their rooms to solve the Compher mystery, each more loud than the last. When JT finally manages to convince the group to at least head down for breakfast, you’re five hugs deep and feeling overwhelmed, but in a good way — mostly.

“I knew it!”

“Shut the fuck up, Burky, no you didn’t.”

“Does Josty know?” asks Gabe, nudging your shoulder in an affectionate gesture.

“Of course he knows,” JT scoffs. “That’s the privilege of being on a different team now.”

“Well, everyone’s gonna know now. Kept half the damn wing up last night,” Logan chimes in, earning a few guffaws from the group that’s formed around you.

“Oh my God, JT, harder!” Erik mocks in a high-pitched voice, tossing imaginary hair over his shoulder with a moan. “Right there, JT, don’t stop, Daddy!”

“Oh my God,” you cry, covering your face in your hands, desperately wishing that you could spontaneously combust right on the spot. “I’m quitting my job, right now.”

“If you quit, does that mean you don’t have to disclose it to HR?”

“‘Course she does, she’s been fucking our resident cranky ginger for months. That shit needs to be on record forever.”

Gabe laughs, his perfect smile gracing his perfect face. He slips an arm around your shoulders and says, “I know you’re already part of the Avalanche family, but welcome to the inner circle.”

Your face is still burning, but you appreciate the gesture. “Gee, thanks. Public humiliation is definitely a warm welcome.”

Later, though the celebration continued all day, JT pulled you aside after some of the commotion had died down to check in. “You good? I know that was… a lot. Obviously, I was hoping to be a little more tactful about it.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a kiss against his lips – your first ever in-public kiss – as your response (a wolf whistle sounded from behind you, and JT flipped them off). No, it wasn’t exactly as planned, but somehow it was just right anyways. “I’m just happy I get to do that now.”

He grinned, the elation clearly written all over his face – he had the Cup, and now he had his girl, to show off for the entire world to see.

And three days later, when he lifts the Cup at the parade, kissing you proudly in front of millions, you think to yourself that you couldn’t be happier with the decision.

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