#cc13 x reader

You had learned to say no without making it sound like one.

It was a skill you had perfected during the six years you had spent raising Oliver “No, sweetheart, we don’t need that cereal. The one at home tastes exactly the same.”

“No, we can’t get the dinosaur backpack today, but maybe we can put it on your birthday list.”

“No, honey, Mommy isn’t hungry. You can have the last piece.” The words always came with a smile, a kiss to his hair, and some kind of promise that distracted him from everything you couldn’t give him.

You had gotten pregnant at seventeen.

While your classmates worried about university applications, graduation dresses, and who they would take to prom, you had been sitting in a doctor’s office with your mother beside you, staring at the tiny flicker on a screen that would become your entire world.

Oliver’s father had disappeared before your stomach had even begun to show.

At first, he had promised he would be there. Then his replies became shorter. His visits became less frequent. Eventually, his number stopped working altogether.

You had stopped expecting him to return years ago, it had been you and Oliver from the beginning.

You worked as many hours as you could, accepted help only when absolutely necessary, and learned how to stretch every dollar until it felt almost impossible. Oliver never went without anything important. He had warm clothes, food in his stomach, a safe apartment, and more love than he knew what to do with.

But hobbies were different.

Hobbies cost money and hockey, as far as you knew, cost more than almost anything else.

That was why you immediately shook your head when Oliver came running out of school one afternoon with a bright red flyer clutched between his mitten-covered hands “Mommy!”

He nearly collided with your legs, his backpack bouncing against his small shoulders “Careful.” You caught him before he could slip on the icy pavement. “What happened? Why are you running?”

“Look!” He shoved the paper toward you so quickly that it crumpled between his fingers.

Across the top was the Montreal Canadiens logo. Underneath it, in large letters, was an announcement for a children’s skating program being hosted at the team’s practice facility.

Several Canadiens players would be attending to teach local children the basics of skating.

Oliver stared up at you with wide, hopeful eyes “Can I go?”

Your stomach tightened, you read the flyer again, already searching for the cost before you reached the second paragraph “It says it’s free,” Oliver added eagerly, pointing to the word as though he had already anticipated your concern. “Madame Girard read it to us.”

Free, that helped, but not enough.

The program might be free, but skates weren’t. A helmet wasn’t. Gloves, pads, sticks, registration fees, and every other expense that would come later certainly weren’t.

You knew your son, Oliver did not like things halfway.

If he learned to skate, he would want to play hockey. If he played hockey once, he would want to join a team. And if he joined a team, you didn’t know how you would ever afford to keep him there “Baby…”

His excitement dimmed before you even finished, you hated how well he had learned to recognize that tone “It’s just skating,” he said quietly. “Not real hockey.”

“I know.”

“They have skates there. It says.” Your eyes moved farther down the page, all equipment would be provided. Of course he had already memorized every possible argument “You don’t even have to buy me anything,” Oliver continued. “And I’ll be really careful. I promise.”

“That isn’t what I’m worried about.”

“Are you worried I’ll fall?”

“A little.”

“I fall all the time.”

You nearly laughed despite yourself “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I always get back up.” His answer came so simply that it made your chest ache.

Oliver looked so much like you that sometimes it startled you. The same eyes, the same nose, the same determined line between his brows whenever he wanted something badly enough.

You crouched in front of him, adjusting the hat that had slipped over one of his ears “Hockey can be really expensive, Ollie.”

“But this is free.”

“This program is free. But what happens if you love it?”

His face scrunched in confusion “Would that be bad?”

The question struck harder than it should have, you looked down at the flyer in your hands.

You had spent so much of Oliver’s life trying to protect him from disappointment that perhaps you had begun preventing him from experiencing things at all “No,” you whispered. “Loving something wouldn’t be bad.”

“So I can go?” You hesitated for another few seconds, then Oliver pressed his mittened hands together dramatically “Please, Mommy. Please, please, please. I’ll clean my room every day.”

“You should already be cleaning your room.”

“I’ll clean your room too.”

That finally made you laugh “Okay.”

His mouth dropped open “Okay?”

“One session,” you clarified. “We’ll try it once.”

Oliver threw himself into your arms so hard that you almost fell backward “Thank you! Thank you, Mommy!”

You held him against you, closing your eyes as he bounced excitedly in your embrace, you only hoped you hadn’t just introduced him to something you wouldn’t be able to continue giving him.

The Canadiens’ practice facility was larger than Oliver’s entire school.

He walked beside you with one hand wrapped around two of your fingers, his head turning in every possible direction as volunteers guided families toward the registration tables.

There were Canadiens logos on the walls, photographs of players, and children everywhere dressed in red jerseys.

Oliver had insisted on wearing the Canadiens shirt your younger brother had given him for Christmas. It was slightly too big, hanging almost to his knees beneath his winter coat, but he had refused to take it off “Do you think the players will see my shirt?” he whispered.

“I think it’ll be difficult not to.”

“Do you think Cole Caufield will be here?”

You looked down at him “I don’t know.”

“He’s number twenty-two.”

“I know.”

“He scores lots of goals.”

“I know.”

“He’s not very tall for a hockey player.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile “Maybe don’t say that to him if you meet him.”

“It’s not mean,” Oliver defended. “Madame Girard says we shouldn’t be sad about things we can’t change.”

You stopped walking “Definitely don’t say that to him.”

Before Oliver could respond, a volunteer greeted you and asked for his name, you completed the registration forms while he stood pressed against your side, nearly vibrating with anticipation.

A few minutes later, he was fitted for skates, a helmet, elbow pads, and gloves. Everything was supplied by the program, just as the flyer had promised, Oliver looked down at himself in complete wonder “Mommy, look.”

“I’m looking.”

“I look like a hockey player.”

Your heart squeezed “You do.”

He lifted his helmeted head, beaming at you, for a moment, all of your fears disappeared beneath the sight of his smile, then he attempted to stand. His skates slipped in opposite directions, and he grabbed your arms before he could fall “Okay,” he muttered. “Maybe not yet.”

You laughed and helped him shuffle toward the rink entrance.

Several Canadiens players were already on the ice, skating between groups of children. Parents filled the stands, holding phones and waving whenever their children looked toward them.

Oliver stopped the second he spotted the players, his gloved hand tightened around yours “That’s Nick Suzuki,” he whispered urgently “He’s the captain.”

“I recognize him.”

“And that’s Juraj Slafkovský.” You nodded as though you hadn’t spent the previous evening looking up the Canadiens roster so you wouldn’t embarrass him “And that’s…”

Oliver gasped.

You followed his gaze, a smaller player in a red Canadiens practice jersey was crouched near the boards, helping a little girl adjust her grip on the skating aid in front of her “Cole Caufield,” Oliver breathed.

Cole looked toward the entrance at that exact moment, his eyes landed on Oliver, who was still staring at him as though he had just seen a superhero come to life.

Cole smiled and lifted one glove in a wave, Oliver immediately hid behind you.

You blinked.

The child who had talked about Cole Caufield for three days had suddenly forgotten how to function “Was that him?” you asked teasingly.

Oliver peeked around your coat “He waved at me.”

“He did.”

“Why?”

“Probably because you were staring at him.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“You didn’t blink for thirty seconds.”

Before Oliver could argue, one of the instructors called his group toward the ice, his excitement vanished, he stared at the surface in front of him, then at the other children already wobbling away from the boards “You’re okay,” you assured him.

“What if I fall?”

“You told me you always get back up.”

“That was before I saw the ice.”

You crouched carefully beside him “You don’t have to do it if you’re scared.”

Oliver looked from you to the rink “I want to.”

“Then being scared is okay.”

He swallowed “Will you stay?”

“The entire time.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

With one final nervous breath, Oliver stepped onto the ice, his skates immediately slid forward. Before he could hit the ground, two gloved hands caught him beneath his arms “Got you, buddy.”

Oliver froze.

Cole Caufield steadied him, keeping one hand against his shoulder until his skates stopped moving “You okay?”

Oliver stared at him, Cole waited. You stood on the other side of the glass, trying desperately not to laugh at your normally talkative son’s sudden silence.

Cole glanced toward you, eyebrows raised in a silent question, you smiled apologetically “He knows who you are,” you called through the open gate.

Cole looked back at Oliver “Oh, yeah?”

Oliver finally nodded “You’re number twenty-two.”

“That’s me.”

“You score lots of goals.”

“I try to.”

“And you’re not very—”

“Oliver.” His helmet snapped toward you, you gave him a warning look, Cole’s lips twitched “I’m not very what?”

“Old,” Oliver finished quickly, you covered your face with one hand, Cole laughed “Well, thank you. I think.”

Oliver seemed to relax at the sound, Cole helped him place both hands on a plastic skating aid “Have you skated before?”

“No.”

“That’s okay. I fell the first time I skated too.”

Oliver looked suspicious “You did?”

“Definitely.”

“How many times?”

“I don’t remember.”

“A lot?”

Cole glanced at you again “A lot,” he confirmed.

That seemed to be exactly what Oliver needed to hear. He pushed forward carefully, his skates moving only a few inches, Cole stayed beside him “That’s it, small steps.”

Oliver took another.

Then another.

Within minutes, he had made it halfway down the boards with Cole skating backward in front of him, every time Oliver’s legs began to slip, Cole caught him. Every time he looked toward you, you waved and smiled.

You should have been watching your son.

Instead, you found yourself watching Cole too. There was something unexpectedly gentle about him. He never rushed the children or laughed when they fell. He crouched to their level when they spoke, listening seriously even when one little boy spent nearly five minutes explaining the exact design he wanted painted on a future goalie mask.

And with Oliver, Cole seemed especially patient, perhaps it was because Oliver continued asking questions “How fast can you skate?”

“Pretty fast.”

“Faster than Nick?”

“You should ask Nick.”

“Do you ever get scared before games?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you cry when you lose?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do grown-ups cry?”

“All the time.”

Oliver considered that answer for a moment “My mom cries in the bathroom sometimes because she thinks I can’t hear her.”

Your smile disappeared.

Cole’s eyes immediately lifted toward you, you looked away, heat spreading across your face. Children had no respect for privacy “What do you do when that happens?” Cole asked carefully.

“I sit outside the door.”

“That probably helps her.”

“I think so.”

“It definitely does.”

Your throat tightened, Cole didn’t look at you again, and you were grateful for it, he simply guided Oliver forward, one small step at a time.

By the end of the session, Oliver could move several feet without holding the skating aid. He still fell constantly, but each time he pushed himself back onto his knees with a determined little grunt.

Cole was there every time, offering a hand but waiting to see whether Oliver wanted to stand on his own, when the session ended, Oliver refused to leave the ice “Five more minutes,” he begged.

“You said that ten minutes ago,” you reminded him from the gate.

“I’m practicing.”

“The next group needs the rink.” Oliver looked toward Cole for support, Cole lifted both hands “Your mom’s the boss.”

Oliver sighed dramatically and shuffled toward the exit.

Cole helped him off the ice before kneeling to remove the guards from his borrowed skates “You did really well today,” he told him.

“I fell fourteen times.”

“Only fourteen?”

Oliver’s eyes widened “Is that good?”

“For your first day? Very.” Cole held out his fist, and Oliver eagerly bumped it with his glove, then Cole looked up at you “You’ve got a natural.”

You laughed softly “You don’t have to encourage him.”

“I’m serious. He’s fearless.”

“He was terrified twenty minutes ago.”

“Being fearless doesn’t mean you’re never scared.” Cole glanced at Oliver, who was now attempting to walk toward a volunteer without lifting his skate blades from the rubber floor. “It means you try anyway.”

You watched your son nearly trip over his own feet “He definitely tries.”

Cole stood, pulling off one of his gloves “You’re coming back next week, right?”

Your smile faltered, the program ran for six sessions, but you had only committed to one, Oliver had already reached the equipment table and couldn’t hear you “I’m not sure.”

Cole’s expression changed slightly “Did he not like it?”

“He loved it.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

You knew he wasn’t trying to pry. His voice held only genuine confusion, but embarrassment still settled heavily in your stomach “There isn’t a problem.”

Cole studied you for a second. You busied yourself with gathering Oliver’s coat and shoes “The program is free,” he said gently. “And all the equipment stays here for the kids.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to buy anything.”

“I read the flyer.” He went quiet, you closed Oliver’s small backpack more forcefully than necessary “I’m sorry,” Cole said. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

The immediate apology softened you.

You sighed and glanced toward Oliver, who was telling a volunteer about the fourteen times he had fallen “I know the program is free,” you said quietly. “But hockey isn’t.”

Cole remained silent.

“He’s six. He doesn’t understand that this might be the only time he gets to do something like this.” You folded Oliver’s scarf before stuffing it into his coat sleeve. “What happens when the program ends and he asks to keep playing? What happens when he wants skates that actually belong to him or wants to join a team? I can’t afford that.”

You hated saying it aloud.

You especially hated saying it to someone whose entire life revolved around the sport you could barely imagine paying for “I just didn’t want him falling in love with something I’d have to take away later,” you admitted.

Cole looked toward Oliver.

For several seconds, neither of you spoke, then he leaned against the boards beside you “My parents made a lot of sacrifices for hockey.”

You looked at him.

“Equipment, travel, tournaments. My brother played too. It wasn’t easy.”

“I imagine NHL contracts make it worth it eventually.”

Cole smiled faintly “They didn’t know I’d play in the NHL when I was six.”

“No, but you were probably good.”

“I was six,” he repeated. “I spent half my practices looking at the ceiling and asking when we got snacks.”

That pulled a reluctant laugh from you, Cole’s smile grew “There are programs that help with equipment and registration,” he continued. “Secondhand gear, community funding, foundations. Hockey is expensive, but there are people working to make it less impossible.”

You looked back toward Oliver “I don’t want charity.”

“It isn’t charity.”

“It feels like it.”

“It’s giving a kid the chance to play.” you crossed your arms over your chest, Cole’s tone remained gentle “You’ve already decided you can’t give him hockey before you’ve found out whether he even wants it.”

“That’s because I know what it’s like to want something you can’t have.”

Cole’s expression softened “And you’re trying to protect him.”

“Yes.”

“But maybe this isn’t something you need to protect him from.”

Oliver suddenly came racing toward you in his socks, carrying a participation certificate “Mommy, look! Cole signed it!”

You accepted the paper before it could bend “That’s amazing.”

“And he said I did good.”

“You did do good.”

Oliver looked up at you hopefully “Can we come again next week?”

You felt Cole watching you, though he made no attempt to interfere, you looked at your son’s flushed cheeks and messy hair. He was happier than you had seen him in weeks “One more session,” you said.

Oliver cheered, Cole smiled, you pointed at hi “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

One more session became two, then three, by the fourth week, Oliver no longer needed a skating aid. He wasn’t graceful, but he was fast—or at least he believed he was.

He would push himself across the ice with quick, uneven strides, his arms extended for balance while Cole followed behind him. You began looking forward to Saturdays more than you wanted to admit.

Not only because of Oliver.

Cole always found you before the session began, sometimes he brought Oliver a hot chocolate from the players’ lounge, sometimes he sat beside you in the stands while another instructor helped Oliver lace his skates. Once, when your bus had been delayed and you arrived ten minutes late, Cole had been waiting near the entrance.

“We thought you weren’t coming,” he said, Oliver rushed toward the equipment room “You thought Oliver wasn’t coming,” you corrected. Cole shoved his hands into his jacket pockets “Both of you.”

You pretended not to notice the warmth spreading across your cheeks.

You also pretended not to notice how often he looked toward you from the ice, at first, you convinced yourself he was checking whether Oliver’s mother was watching him. Then you realized he did it even when Oliver was with another player.

Cole would catch your eye through the glass, smile, and return his attention to the children.

It was harmless.

That was what you told yourself, he was kind. You were grateful. Nothing more needed to happen.

Your life was complicated enough.

You worked full-time at a dental office, attended evening classes twice a week, and raised Oliver alone. You didn’t have time to date, especially not someone whose face was printed on jerseys throughout Montreal.

Besides, men your age rarely knew what to do when they learned you had a six-year-old.

Some became uncomfortable. Some treated Oliver as an inconvenience. Others were interested until they understood that you couldn’t disappear for spontaneous weekends or stay out until two in the morning.

Oliver always came first.

There was no negotiation, Cole seemed to understand that without ever being told. When he asked you to get coffee after the fifth session, he didn’t ask whether you could find someone to watch Oliver. He nodded toward the small café across from the facility “Do you guys have time before you head home?”

Oliver answered before you could “Can I get a muffin?”

Cole smiled “I think that can be arranged.”

The three of you sat near the window, Oliver happily pulling apart a blueberry muffin while telling Cole everything he had learned about penguins at school, Cole listened as though the information was vital “They can’t fly,” Oliver explained seriously.

“That seems unfair.”

“But they can swim really fast.”

“So they’re basically fish birds.”

Oliver’s face lit up “Fish birds.”

You stirred your coffee, hiding your smile behind the cup, Cole glanced at you “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are a little,” Oliver informed him.

“Thank you for defending me, buddy.”

“You called penguins fish birds.”

“I stand by it.”

Oliver dissolved into giggles, you watched them, something unfamiliar and dangerous unfolding inside your chest.

It wasn’t simply that Cole was good with Oliver.

Plenty of people could be charming with a child for an hour, it was the way he included him naturally. He didn’t speak to you over Oliver’s head or act as though your son was preventing the two of you from having a proper conversation.

To Cole, Oliver wasn’t an obstacle, he was part of the conversation, part of the invitation, part of you. When Oliver left the table to choose a sticker from the café counter, Cole leaned closer “So, I have a question.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It isn’t.” you waited “Would you let me take you to dinner?”

Your fingers tightened around your coffee cup “Cole…”

“It doesn’t have to be a big thing.”

“You’re asking me on a date.”

“That’s usually what dinner means.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you became a mom when you were seventeen.” you stared at him “Oliver told me.”

“Of course he did.”

“He also told me you make the best grilled cheese, you’re scared of spiders, and you sing in the car when you think he’s asleep.”

Your embarrassment grew with every word “I’m going to have a serious conversation with him about oversharing.”

Cole smiled “I know you work six days some weeks. I know you’re taking classes because you want to become a dental hygienist. I know you always bring an extra pair of mittens for Oliver because he loses one almost every time you leave the house.”

You looked toward your son, he was still examining the stickers “And I know you spend so much time worrying about giving him enough that you don’t realize he looks at you like you gave him the entire world.”

Your throat tightened, Cole’s smile softened “I know enough to want to know more.”

“You play for the Canadiens.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“People know who you are.”

“Sometimes.”

“My life doesn’t look like yours.”

“I’m not asking it to.”

“I have a child.”

“I noticed.”

“He comes first.”

“He should.”

There was no hesitation, no disappointment, no subtle attempt to convince you that perhaps, eventually, you could put someone else first. Cole simply accepted it “He will always come first,” you repeated.

Cole nodded “That doesn’t mean there can’t be room for anyone else.”

Oliver returned to the table with a glittery dinosaur sticker pressed to his coat “Look, Mommy.”

You smiled at him “I see it.” He turned toward Cole “Are you coming to our house?” your eyes widened “Oliver.”

“What?” He looked between you. “He asked about dinner.”

Cole pressed his lips together, clearly fighting a laugh, you narrowed your eyes at him “Don’t encourage him.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Oliver climbed back into his chair “We have spaghetti.”

“I love spaghetti,” Cole said.

“Cole.”

He finally laughed “All right. I’ll stop.” but when you looked down at your coffee, you couldn’t stop smiling.

Your first date happened at a small Italian restaurant two weeks later.

Your mother watched Oliver, though he had loudly complained that he wanted to come too “It isn’t fair,” he had declared while you stood in front of your mirror, trying to decide whether your dress looked too formal. “Cole is my friend.”

“He was my friend first,” Oliver continued. “I met him on the ice.”

“You’ll survive one evening.”

“Are you going to kiss him?”

You nearly poked yourself in the eye with your mascara wand “Why would you ask that?”

“Grandma said it’s a date.”

“Grandma needs to mind her business.”

Oliver appeared in the doorway, wearing his dinosaur pajamas “If you marry him, can I play hockey for free?” You stared at him through the mirror “That is absolutely not how marriage works.”

“Can he live here?”

“You are getting very far ahead of yourself.”

“Can I call him Dad?” Your hand stilled, Oliver’s expression remained innocent, but the question settled painfully between you, you turned in your chair “Come here.”

He walked over, and you pulled him gently between your knees “Cole and I are only going to dinner.”

“But if he becomes your boyfriend?”

“Then he would be my boyfriend.”

“Not my dad?”

“No.” You brushed his hair away from his forehead. “Being someone’s dad is a really big job. It doesn’t happen just because someone dates their mommy.”

Oliver looked down at the floor “I don’t have one.”

Your chest broke a little more every time he said it “You have me.”

“I know.”

“And Grandma, and Uncle Daniel, and so many people who love you.”

“But not a dad.” You pulled him into your arms “No,” you whispered. “Not a dad.”

Oliver rested his cheek against your shoulder “Cole would be good at it.” You closed your eyes, that was exactly what frightened you.

Cole never pushed.

Not when you hesitated to let him pick you up at your apartment, not when you refused to introduce him as anything more than Oliver’s skating instructor, not when you cancelled your third date because Oliver woke with a fever , instead, Cole showed up at your door with soup, children’s medicine, and a Canadiens blanket “You didn’t have to come,” you told him.

“I know.”

“You have a game tomorrow.”

“I’m aware.”

“You should be resting.”

“I can rest here.”

He spent the afternoon on the opposite end of your couch while Oliver slept against your chest. Cole watched game footage on his tablet with headphones, occasionally looking over to make sure you didn’t need anything.

When Oliver woke, warm and miserable, Cole played cartoons with him until he fell asleep again, he didn’t make a big production of helping.

He simply did it.

Over the following months, Cole became woven into your lives so gradually that you barely noticed it happening, his extra toothbrush appeared beside yours.

A small pile of his clothes formed in the bottom drawer of your dresser.

Oliver began asking whether Cole would be joining you before you even mentioned weekend plans, Cole attended Oliver’s school performance and sat beside your mother, clapping louder than anyone when Oliver delivered his single line.

He learned which vegetables Oliver would eat and which ones required negotiation, he knew that nightmares meant Oliver needed the hallway light left on and that thunderstorms usually sent him climbing into your bed.

Most importantly, Cole never tried to replace anyone.

He didn’t demand a title, he didn’t force affection, he let Oliver decide what their relationship would become, the skating program eventually ended, but Oliver’s love for hockey did not.

You had known it wouldn’t.

The final day, he left the ice with tears streaming down his face “I don’t want it to be over.”

You crouched in front of him, wiping his cheeks “I know.”

“I want to keep skating.”

“We’ll figure something out.” It was the same kind of promise you had made his entire life, a soft answer designed to delay disappointment.

This time, Oliver recognized it “You said hockey costs too much.”

Cole, standing a few feet away, went still, you glanced at him before returning your attention to Oliver “We can look at different programs.”

“But can I play on a team?”

“I don’t know, baby.”

Oliver’s lower lip trembled, Cole stepped closer “Hey, Ollie.” Oliver turned toward him, Cole knelt beside you “Do you remember what I said on your first day?”

“That you fell a lot.”

“Besides that.”

Oliver sniffed “That being scared is okay.”

“And what else?”

“I don’t know.”

Cole nudged his knee gently “I said you were fearless because you kept trying.” Oliver nodded “So we’ll keep trying,” Cole said. “Your mom and I will figure it out.”

Your head snapped toward him “Cole.” he looked at you calmly “We’ll figure it out.”

Later, after Oliver had gone with your mother to choose a celebratory snack from the vending machines, you pulled Cole aside “You can’t promise him things like that.”

“I didn’t promise anything.”

“You told him we would figure it out.”

“We will.”

“No, I will.”

Cole’s brows furrowed “Why?”

“Because he is my responsibility.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to pay for him.”

“I didn’t say I was going to.”

“But that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking there are a dozen youth hockey organizations in Montreal, and I know people involved in most of them.”

You crossed your arms “I don’t want you calling someone and getting him special treatment because you’re Cole Caufield.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I won’t.” You hadn’t expected him to agree so easily, Cole took out his phone “What are you doing?”

“Looking up the community equipment program I told you about.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

His fingers moved across the screen “There’s an application for registration support, it’s based on household income, not who someone knows.” You stared at him, Cole held the phone toward you “You can apply. Oliver gets the same opportunity as every other kid in the program. No special treatment.”

You looked down at the webpage “They cover equipment?”

“Some of it. There’s also an exchange program for used skates.”

Your eyes burned unexpectedly, you blinked hard, refusing to cry inside the Canadiens’ practice facility “I didn’t know where to start,” you admitted.

“That’s okay.”

“I should have figured it out.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m his mother.”

Cole’s expression softened “Being his mom doesn’t mean you have to know everything.”

“It feels like it does.”

“You’re allowed to ask for help.”

“I’ve been doing everything alone for six years.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know how not to.”

Cole slipped his phone back into his pocket “Then start small.” you looked at him “Let me help you fill out the form.”

“That’s your definition of small?”

“I was going to suggest letting me carry the equipment bag, but we haven’t bought one yet.” a laugh escaped you through the tears you were trying to suppress, Cole smiled and stepped closer “Just the form,” he promised. “You make every decision. I’ll just sit beside you.”

You looked through the glass toward Oliver, who was showing your mother a bag of chips, then you looked back at Cole “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Just the form.”

His grin widened “Just the form.”

Oliver made the team.

It was a beginner league with Saturday morning practices and games that mostly consisted of children chasing the puck in one enormous group, he wore secondhand skates, borrowed shoulder pads, and a helmet funded through the community program.

You had never seen him happier, Cole attended the first game wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead, hoping not to draw attention away from the children.

It didn’t work.

Within ten minutes, half the parents had recognized him, Cole signed a few autographs but politely redirected every conversation toward the players on the ice “I’m here for number nine,” he said, pointing toward Oliver.

Oliver scored his first goal by accident.

The puck bounced off another child’s skate, hit Oliver’s stick, and slowly slid across the line while the goalie was looking in the opposite direction, Oliver stood frozen for two full seconds.

Then he lifted both arms and screamed.

You jumped to your feet “That’s my baby!” every head in the stands turned toward you, you didn’t care. Cole was already standing beside you, cheering nearly as loudly.

Oliver looked into the crowd, his eyes found you first, then they moved to Cole. He pointed at both of you through the glass. After the game, he came flying out of the locker room still wearing half his equipment “Did you see?”

“We saw,” you laughed as he crashed into you.

“I scored!”

“You did!”

Cole crouched beside him “That was a beauty.”

“It was an accident,” Oliver admitted “They all count.” Oliver threw his arms around Cole’s neck, Cole froze. So did you.

Oliver had hugged him before, but this felt different.

Perhaps because he held on, perhaps because Cole’s arms slowly wrapped around him in return, one hand settling protectively against the back of Oliver’s helmet “You came to my game,” Oliver whispered.

“Of course I did.”

“Will you come to the next one?”

Cole looked over Oliver’s shoulder at you “As long as your mom wants me here.” Oliver released him and turned toward you “Do you?”

Your heart felt painfully full, you met Cole’s gaze.

He had never asked for more than you were prepared to give. He had stood beside you exactly as promised, never taking control, never making you feel incapable.

He loved Oliver.

You could see it in every expression, every patient answer, every Saturday morning he spent at a rink when he could have been sleeping after a game. And somewhere along the way, you had fallen completely in love with him too.

“Yes,” you said softly. “I want him here.”

Oliver smiled “Every game?”

You laughed “We’ll check his schedule.”

Cole reached for your hand, his fingers slipped between yours with an ease that still amazed you “Every game I can,” he promised.

Oliver nodded, satisfied, then he looked between the two of you “Can I call you Dad now?”

The hallway went silent, your breath caught, Cole’s hand tightened around yours “Ollie,” you began gently but Cole lowered himself until he was eye level with him “Do you want to?”

Oliver nodded.

“You know you don’t have to, right?” Cole asked. “You can call me Cole forever, and I’ll still come to your games. I’ll still help you practice. I’ll still care about you exactly the same.”

“I want to.”

Cole’s eyes turned glassy, you covered your mouth with your free hand, Oliver shifted nervously “Is it okay?”

Cole pulled him into his arms “Yeah, buddy,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “It’s more than okay.”

Oliver hugged him tightly.

You watched them, tears finally slipping down your cheeks, six years earlier, you had sat in a doctor’s office convinced that your life was ending.

In reality, it had only been beginning.

The road had been harder than you could have imagined. You had spent years counting every dollar, questioning every decision, and trying to become every person Oliver might ever need.

You had believed accepting help meant you had somehow failed, Cole had shown you otherwise, you had not failed because Oliver needed more people to love him.

You had succeeded in raising a child whose heart was open enough to welcome them.

Cole stood with Oliver still clinging to his side and reached for you, you stepped into his embrace. Oliver became squished between you, laughing as he complained that he couldn’t breathe.

Cole kissed the top of his helmet before pressing his lips to your forehead “I love you,” he murmured, you leaned into him “I love you too.” Oliver wriggled until his face appeared between you.

“I love hockey.”

You and Cole both laughed “We know,” you told him.

“And I love you.” Your expression softened “I love you too, baby.”

Oliver looked at Cole “And I love Cole.” Cole closed his eyes briefly, his smile trembling at the edges “I love you too, Ollie.”

For once, you weren’t thinking about what came next.

You weren’t calculating the price of new skates or worrying about next month’s schedule. You weren’t wondering whether something good would eventually be taken away.

You simply stood between the two people you loved most, surrounded by the sound of children laughing and skates cutting across the ice, you had brought Oliver to the program believing hockey might give him something you couldn’t afford.

Instead, it had given both of you something money could never buy.

alexander turcotte

alex doesn’t even realize he’s in trouble until you say it. Not Alex, not Turcs or babe—but very calmly, very deliberately: “Alexander Turcotte.” He freezes mid-sip of his drink like a kid who’s just heard their mom use their government name. Slowly, he looks at you over the rim of the cup, eyes wide and suspicious. “Okay,” he says, already laughing, “what did I do?” You just shrug, completely innocent, repeating it once more because it’s so funny watching his shoulders sag in dramatic defeat. “I’m sorry,” he says before you can even answer, grinning as he steps closer. “Whatever it was. Please don’t say my full name again. That’s terrifying.”

cole caufield

You open the takeout bag, already knowing something’s wrong before you even check. No fries. You look up slowly and say, very calmly, “Cole Caufield.” He’s mid-unboxing his own food when he freezes, eyes darting to the bag and then back to you. “Oh no,” he laughs, immediately guilty. “I forgot the fries, didn’t I?” You don’t even answer verbally—just nodding your head, and he’s already standing up, grabbing his keys. “I’ll go back,” he says quickly, grinning like he’s bargaining for his life. “I’ll get extra fries. Large ones. Whatever you want. Just—please—don’t say my full name again. That felt way worse than any penalty.”

jack rowden hughes

Jack’s chirping Luke from the other side of the room, smug grin firmly in place, when you cut in without raising your voice at all. “Jack Rowden Hughes.” The effect is immediate. Jack stops mid-sentence, blinking like he’s just been iced by something way scarier than a defenseman. Luke looks between you two, trying not to smile. “Whoa,” Jack says, holding his hands up, already laughing. “Okay, that’s unfair. You can’t use my full name like that.” You give him the look and tell him to be nice, and he sighs dramatically before ruffling Luke’s hair. “Fine,” he mutters, grinning anyway. “I’ll stop. But next time you say my government name, I’m telling your mom.”

jamie drysdale

You come home exhausted, shoes barely off before you notice the soft glow of candles down the hall and the familiar smell of your favorite food. Jamie appears in the doorway, a little shy, hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie. You smile, overwhelmed in the best way, and quietly say, “Jamie Drysdale.” He laughs softly, cheeks pink. “That bad, huh?” he asks, stepping closer and brushing his thumb over your hand. You shake your head, heart full, telling him it’s perfect—he’s perfect. He leads you toward the bathroom where the tub is already steaming with bubbles, music low, everything warm and safe. “You had a long day,” he says gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I just wanted to take care of you.”

juraj slafkovský

You jolt awake to yelling from the living room, some very intense Slovak mixed with English echoing through the apartment. Groggy and unimpressed, you shuffle out of the bedroom and say it once, flat and quiet: “Juraj Slafkovský.” He whips around like he’s been caught red-handed, eyes wide before he immediately mutes the TV and shuts the game off completely. “Oh—sorry, sorry,” he says, rushing over and pulling you gently back toward the bedroom. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, sheepish and soft now. “I’ll make you coffee, yeah? And I won’t yell anymore. Promise.”

luke warren hughes

You open the fridge already suspicious, and then you see it—your leftovers, gone. You don’t yell. You don’t even sigh. You just turn toward him and say, very clearly, “Luke Warren Hughes.” He freezes with the empty container still in his hand, eyes widening in horror. “I—I was gonna tell you,” he blurts, immediately guilty. You raise an eyebrow, and that’s all it takes. He’s already grabbing his jacket and keys. “Okay, I’ll go,” he says quickly, half-laughing. “I’ll get you more. Fresh. Hot. Better than before. Please don’t use my full name like that again—I feel like I just disappointed the whole family.”

matthew rempe

The door barely clicks shut before you’re on your feet, eyes immediately finding the split lip and the fresh stitches above his eyebrow. Your voice comes out soft but shaky when you say it—“Matthew Rempe.” He stills, shoulders dropping, all the fight draining out of him at once. “Hey,” he murmurs, stepping closer, careful, like he doesn’t want to scare you. “I’m okay. Promise.” You cup his face gently anyway, thumbs brushing over the bruises, and he leans into your touch with a sigh. “I know it looks bad,” he says quietly, forehead resting against yours, “but I’m here. I made it home. That’s what matters.”

mathew michael paul barzal

He’s pacing the kitchen, rambling a mile a minute about practice, the traffic, the ref who definitely missed a call—when you cut in softly, “Mathew Michael Paul Barzal.” He stops dead. Slowly turns to you. “Why did you say all my whole name?” he asks, trying not to laugh but already losing the battle. You just smile sweetly, arms crossed, and he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, okay,” he says, grinning. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what I’m sorry for yet, but I feel like I should be.” He steps closer, bumps his forehead to yours, and adds quietly, “Please don’t ever say my full name like that again. I swear it shuts my brain off.”

nico hischier

He thinks he’s being funny—waiting just out of sight, perfectly still, until you walk past. The second you do, he pops out with a quiet “Boo,” and you jump, heart racing. He’s way too proud of himself after it—standing there grinning like he just won something when you jump and yelp. You turn on him immediately, pointing a finger and saying, half-laughing, half-offended, “Nico Hischier.” That just makes him laugh. “Oh come on prinzessin,” he says, hands up in surrender, eyes bright. “You scare so easy.” You swat at his arm and repeat his name again, and he cracks completely, pulling you into a hug. “Okay, okay,” he chuckles into your hair. “I deserve that. But admit it—you love me anyway.”

quintin jerome hughes

You’re scrolling TikTok on the couch when you suddenly sit bolt upright, eyes wide. “No way,” you mutter, then look straight at him and say, very clearly, “Quintin Jerome Hughes!” Quinn barely has time to look confused before you shove your phone in his face—fans screaming, edits flying, the words HE GOT DRAFTED plastered across the screen. “You found out from TikTok?” he asks, stunned, laughing at the same time. Jack loses it immediately. “That’s insane,” he says, leaning over Quinn’s shoulder. Luke just grins, proud and smug. Quinn rubs his face, still smiling in disbelief. “I was gonna tell you,” he says weakly, and you just shake your head, laughing. “I cannot believe I had to learn this from strangers,” you say, and Jack adds, “Yeah, man—getting full-named for that one was deserved.”

trevor John zegras

You’re watching the clip on your phone when the front door opens, and you look up just in time to see the faint bruise blooming on his cheek. You don’t yell. You don’t panic. You just say it—soft but loaded: “Trevor John Zegras.” He winces like you actually hit him. “Okay, yeah,” he says quickly, dropping his bag. “Before you say anything—it wasn’t that bad. First fight. Kind of happened.” You cross your arms, unimpressed, and he sighs, stepping closer with a sheepish grin. “I know, I know,” he adds, quieter now. “But hey—I’m fine. Promise. And… I kinda won?”

william andrew michael junior nylander altelius

liked by nicohischier colecaufield yoursister and others

goldenynn Michigan Summer ‘25 is about to begin ☀️🌊 jackhughes lhughes_06

trevorzegras ew your bringing your gf jack

→ jamiedrysdale …. I’m bringing Tara ?

→ goldenynn ew is a strong word coming from you

colecaufield WAIT DOES THIS MEAN YN MN LN BAKING TASTE TESTING IS MAKING ITS RETURN

→ goldenynn you know it !

user1 cole only being excited for yn baking is sending me

→ user2 i swear these boys go crazy for her baking stuff any time they play in Jersey

elblue6 oh I can’t wait to see you

→ goldenynn I can’t wait to see you to mama Hughes <3

→ jackhughes wow mom

→ user3 her calling Ellen mama Hughes 🥹

liked by yourbff jackhughes trevorzegras and others

goldenynn tried something new & almost died jackhughes lhughes_06 _quinnhughes

trevorzegras damn I didn’t pray hard enough

→ goldenynn that’s what you mom said when you came out looking like that 🤨

→ jackhughes YN! you can’t say that 😂

user4 WAIT yn is there Quinn is there and Trevor’s on a plane (according to his story) so will we get two on one ? Quinn and Yn vs Trevor

→ goldenynn _quinnhughes hi partner

_alexturcotte its only the 4th day?

→ goldenynn I blame Trevor

→ trevorzegras IM NOT EVEN THERE

→ goldenynn it was the thought of having to be near you for 4 months

liked by _quinnhughes jamiedrysdale brockcaufield19 and others

goldenynn golfing day ⛳️ jackhughes trevorzegras colecaufield

user5 are yn and Trevor friends now ?

→ goldenynn gross he was just jealous I took a picture of jack and cole but not him

→ trevorzegras mind you jack was MY FRIEND before he was your boy toy

→ goldenynn if you want to date jack just say so ?

→ jackhughes excuse me?

colecaufield mind you she did not play

→ goldenynn I DONT UNDERSTAND GOLF

→ trevorzegras your brains to small?

→ goldenynn at least i have a brain 😚

_quinnhughes why is Zegras man spreading so much

→ trevorzegras damn can a man just be comfortable

→ goldenynn no

→ _quinnhughes no

user6 I’m just here for the two on one

liked by jamiedrysdale williamnylander lhughes_06 and others

goldenynn not to self don’t try to have a picnic date near a lake house full of guys jackhughes trevorzegras jamiedrysdale _alexturcotte colecaufield

jamiedrysdale I’m saying this now, I was dragged against my will to bother you two

→ goldenynn oh jamie i know , Trevor’s mean

→ trevorzegras COLES THE ONE WHO DRAGGED HIM WITH US TF

→ goldenynn my sweet innocent 5’8” friend would never

→ colecaufield had to bring my height into this?

_quinnhughes is this why you all were missing from the house?

→ goldenynn technically it was just me and jack at first, we invited Tara and Jamie but Tara was still sleeping then the other two (and broken ankle guy over there) interrupted us and took poor jamie as a hostage

→ _quinnhughes broken Ankle guy 😂

taramireskandari can you send jamie back thanks babes <3

→ goldenynn girl I’m already walking back with him, I left the other four to have a date with each other

lhughes_06 WAIT BRING ME SOME FOOD

→ goldenynn there’s extra in the fridge Lukey

goldenynn bonding time with my favorite brother in law lhughes_06

_quinnhughes I’m not your favorite?

→ goldenynn we don’t spend time with each other so not at the moment no

trevorzegras imaging your gf choosing to hang with your little brother over you

→ goldenynn at least jack has a gf to do that to him

colecaufiled you guys got slurpees 😔

→ goldenynn maybe don’t interrupt my picnic date with MY BOYFRIEND and you can come along

→ trevorzegras again he was OUR FRIEND first

→ goldenynn oh boohoo , does the baby miss his second boyfriend

→ _alexturcotte whos… who’s boyfriend number one?

→ goldenynn jamie (I’m sorry jamie)

→ taramireskandari YOU SEE IT TWO?

→ goldenynn bbg I’ve BEEN seeing it

→ trevorzegras me and jamie are not dating

→ goldenynn no shit ? lucky jamie

liked by lhughes_06 colecaufield bboeser and others

goldenynn from bullying the hell out of Trevor to being pool buddies, I just wanna ask… _quinnhughes did we just become best friends ?

user7 SHE SAID THE MEME

→ goldenynn had a shot and I took it

lhughes_06 did I just get replaced?

→ goldenynn your still my favorite away from Michigan

_quinnhughes not if your gonna be saying that

→ goldenynn hey you said it first

user8 oh god is Trevor alive

→ goldenynn unfortunately

→ trevorzegras EXCUSE ME

trevorzegras jackhughes if you care about me you will send her back to Jersey

→ jackhughes I do CARE about you but I LOVE her

→ trevorzegras simp

→ _quinnhughes at least he has a girl to simp for

→ trevorzegras YOU DONT HAVE A GIRL EITHER QUINNY

→ _quinnhughes yeah but I’m not getting jealous of my little brother and his gf liked by goldenynn

liked by jesperbratt brockcaufield19 elblue6 and others

goldenynn last bbq in Michigan:( jackhughes lhughes_06 trevorzegras colecaufield _quinnhughes jamiedrysdale _alexturcotte taramireskandari

griffinzegras best summer ever!!

taramireskandari gonna miss you :(

→ goldenynn gonna miss you <3

colecaufield gonna be waiting for the Montreal visits

→ goldenynn you only want me to come and bake for you

→ colecaufield noooooo

lhughes_06 was gonna say bye but then remembered your flying back with me and jack liked by goldenynn

_alexturcotte gonna miss you guys , but not the skincare stuff

→ goldenynn you’ll thank me later

njdevils come home safe, need our best players alive

_quinnhughes I think we did well teaming up against Zegras

→ goldenynn pleasure doing business with you Quinn, until next summer

→ user9 YALL LET THE MAN BREATHE

liked by griffinzegras _quinnhughes jackhughes and others

goldenynn Michigan summer ‘25 in the books , hate saying it but I’m gonna miss these losers (except luke and trevor)

lhughes_06 what did I do?

→ goldenynn um push me into the lake

→ lhughes_06 lies

→ goldenynn there’s a photo in this post

trevorzegras i hate your girlfriend jack

→ goldenynn I hate your boyfriend Jamie

→ _quinnhughes I hate your friend jack

jackhughes btw she hit me in the face during just dance

→ goldenynn I blame Trevor

→ trevorzegras …

nicohischier what is going on in the first picture?

→ goldenynn just chaos thing cap

jamiedrysdale my back still hurts by the way boys

→ colecaufield awe poor Jamie

Well, Cole’s strong. He’d find a way.

Your hand moves to curl around his bicep. He holds the remote with this hand, arm dangling partially off the couch. The smooth skin of his inner arm calls to you, your thumb finding the vulnerable vein that pops away from his skin. You can almost feel the blood running through it and even in the dark with the television glowing all different colors from scene to scene, you can see the light blue tint of the vein against his pale skin. You trace the flowing line, mimicking the pace of his back rubs.

Cole’s lips lift into a smile. You’re aware of it, even with your head on his chest and face turned toward the television. He kisses the top of your head and halts his movements, bringing his hand to the small of your back and resting it there.

You whine at the loss and turn to look at him, resting your chin between his pecs. You’re laying atop him, like you often do on movie night. You’re not sure how or when the position became your go-to, but Cole always reclines back on the pillows and beckons you forward, encouraging and sometimes imploring you to crawl into his space.

He’s shirtless today, firm muscle radiating heat. His favorite black joggers hug his thighs and his crotch, creating a delicious picture that you couldn't help but invade. He looks good enough to eat – instead, you’ve decided to cuddle. You’re in a cotton pajama set with cartoon blue whales dotting the white background.

“Such a diva,” Cole teases. “I stop rubbing your back for two seconds and you get all pouty?”

“You’re the exact same,” you say, returning your head to its place on his sternum. “You squish me in bed if I stop spooning you.”

Cole laughs quietly. “I’m just rolling over.”

“That’s what you say every time,” you grumble, then press your lips to Cole’s chest so he knows you’re playing around. You don’t mind when he crushes you in bed because he’ll pepper your face with kisses until you’re squealing and wiggling away. Then, he’ll kiss down your neck and dig his fingers into your side until you wheeze with laughter. Sometimes, you stop spooning him just to get that treatment.

The movie playing on the TV is some action flick, Cole’s choice this week, and the loud sounds emanating from the speakers are distracting more than anything. You don’t know how you’re supposed fall asleep after watching fight scenes and explosions and gunshots, so you turn your head away from the television and shift, tucking your face into Cole's neck and inhaling his natural musk.

He starts to rub your back again, raising goosebumps on your arms and sending shivers throughout your body. You feel tingly, fuzzy almost. His touch is soothing and soft, just like his presence in your life. You’re so comfortable with Cole, in love with his bright smile and deep dimples and carefree attitude. He’s so go-with-the-flow that it combats your need for routine and makes you more easygoing. Cole benefits too – your planning keeps him in line for the fun things in life, like date nights and grocery trips.

You hum against his pulse, pursing your lips and leaving a lingering kiss on the thick column of Cole’s throat. His chest rises with a breath and you press another onto his skin, opening your mouth and gently sucking a mark beneath his jawline. Your eyes are closed, breathing even.

You’re not marking Cole to excite him. That’s just a fun perk.

As small hickeys blossom over Cole’s skin, his hand grows heavier on your back. His touches are loaded, as are your kisses, and your next kiss falls on his lips.

With the movie forgotten, your mouth slots against Cole’s over and over. He tastes like your dinner, a protein-heavy taco bowl, but you chase the taste instead of pulling away. Cole chuckles as your tongue dives into his mouth, taking control. He places his hands on your hips and leaves them there, abandoning the remote on the side table. Your palms go flat on his collarbone and cradle his face respectively.

His smile quirks and you lap at his soft flesh, gently nibbling his bottom lip.

“Needy,” Cole whispers between kisses.

“Bothered?” you ask, a wet smack echoing between you.

“Never.”

Cole helps you change position, your knees now bracketing his hips and his bulge prominently resting beneath your wanting core. You bend at the waist, unwilling to part with Cole’s talented tongue for even a second.

His grip guides your bottom half, as your touch maneuvers his head.

It's the same motion: up, down. Up, down. Up... and down.

Cole shudders beneath you and you realize what he’s doing – pulling your hips over his cock, stimulating himself through your clothes, a warmth building between your bodies.

His cock has swelled, impressive for his size and mouth-watering when bared before your face. It seeks your wet hole like a moth to a flame, even with multiple layers separating the two. 

You part from him momentarily, threading his wavy hair through your fingers. You scratch Cole’s scalp, seeing his eyelashes flutter from enjoyment and head tip back. Smiling, you roll your hips. 

“Shit, babe,” he murmurs, seemingly torn between increasing your pace and halting you entirely. His fingertips bore into your sides. “What’s gotten into you?”

You exchange a kiss. “Nothing, really,” you reply. “Wanna see my pretty boy come in his pants.”

Cole’s eyebrows lift to his hairline.

You laugh, erasing his shock with a few languid licks into his mouth. Once Cole is pliant beneath you, hands sliding to grasp your behind and tug you closer, you begin to move again. You kiss him with your whole body, your beings intertwining from sheer proximity. Cole groans into your mouth and you rock into him, your wetness seeping into your panties and his natural urge for more, more, more manifesting in small blurts of precum that dampen the front of his joggers. 

You rock against each other, giving and taking and kissing all the time. The space between your legs is full, Cole’s friction satisfying but far from enough.

At least... for you.

Cole makes a guttural noise, one that plants deep in your chest and roots itself. You pull back and kiss down his neck, leaving a wet trail as far as you can reach. He throws his head back and bucks his hips. You bounce in place, biting your bottom lip to keep from whimpering as his cock nudges your clit.

“You gonna make a mess, baby?” you tease, running a light hand over Cole’s chest. You brush his left nipple with your right hand, flicking over the bud with your thumbnail. “Y’feel so good you’re going to come in your pants, make ‘em all white and wet for me?”

“Motherfucker.” Cole shivers and squeezes his eyes shut, front teeth visibly biting down to steel himself.

You emulate his own go-to move, fishing his lip free and soothing it with a sweet kiss. Your grinding is downright dirty, juxtaposing the pace between yours and Cole’s mouths. He can't decide which sensation to dive into – he switches between kissing you feverishly and letting you move your hips freely, and mouthing uselessly against your lips, jaw, and neck while his lower half dominates the moment. Whimpering when Cole's shaft nestles in your slit, running from your hole to your clit and back again, he shoves his hands beneath your pajama bottoms to get flesh on flesh.

Cole drags you forward once, twice, three times, and on the fourth, a new wetness spreads between your bodies. You both moan at the same time at the same pitch, with Cole pursuing his climax and the aftershocks and you aiming to join him.

He’s hyper-sensitive after coming, always is. You gyrate against his cock as long as he’ll let you, only stopping when he keens against you and pinches your hips like a nonverbal warning.

You pout slightly, so close to your orgasm but delayed by Cole’s discomfort.

He apologizes with a kiss. “Sorry,” Cole mumbles, massaging your side with his dexterous fingers. “Here, baby, lay down. Make it even, yeah?”

You switch places with him, laying your head on a pillow and accepting Cole’s weight between your legs. You’re braless beneath your pj set and Cole takes advantage of your hardened nipples, pinching and rolling them between the pads of his thumbs and forefingers. You arch into him, relenting to his insistent tongue and lips, and go to wrap your legs around his waist. Cole stops you.

“Spread ‘em,” he instructs, an easy smile brightening his face. He’s got a post-nut glow around him, giddiness touching his features. It makes you want to giggle, the pairing of the twinkle in his eye and the rapidly drying stain on the front of his favorite pair of athleisure-wear.

You grin and kick your legs out wide, ankle hooking over the back of the sofa. You’re still in your pajama shorts and panties, but they're loose enough that Cole simply pulls them to the side and dips his middle finger into your cunt, sheathing his digit past his second knuckle.

He pumps it steadily from the get-go, a mirthful smirk transforming his expression into something more evaluating, examining. Cole watches your reaction carefully, cataloguing each contortion and flexed muscle.

You run your fingers over your neck sensually, then eye Cole.

He shakes his head knowingly. You frown in an exaggerated, clownish way, but Cole guffaws quietly. He reaches out and fiddles with the top button on your pajama top, unfastening it and spreading the cotton so he can see the expanse of your collarbones. He pulls away and places his free hand on your knee by his side.

A flush creeps over your cheeks and neck, squirming at his intense attention.

Cole looks you up and down, quirking an eyebrow.

Wordlessly, you understand his desire and unbutton the rest of the buttons on your top. You spread the shirt panels until your chest is completely bare, Cole’s pupils dilating when he makes eye contact with your tits. You cup the warm flesh in your hands and knead your skin, paying extra attention to your sensitive nipples and putting on a show for your boyfriend.

To make things even, to torture you as much as you're torturing him, Cole adds another finger to your heat and rubs circles over your clit with his thumb.

You sigh, allowing your eyelids to drift shut, and pinch your pebbled buds. You can see, in your mind's eye, Cole’s arm veins bulging and muscles flexing as his fingers wiggle over your sweet spot. His heavy gaze weighs on you. You’re intimately aware of Cole: his thick digits inside you, his gentle caress over your inner thigh, his presence between your legs.

“Such a pretty girl,” Cole breathes reverently. “All mine, huh?”

You blink and look at him through your lashes. Your line-of-sight flickers to the mess on the front of his pants, then back up. You cock your head to the side and deadpan, “Says the boy who came from a little dry humping.”

He laughs, but you continue.

“I mean, honestly, Cole–” You jolt when he probes your g-spot, rubbing it insistently. “I’m all yours, but I haven’t even come?”

Cole leans down and shuts you up with a kiss, moving to suck a matching hickey over your carotid. He shuffles back on his knees, sucking a nipple into his mouth. He licks over it eagerly before abandoning it to go even lower. His lips grace your ribs, your stomach, your abdomen, and your hip prior to fastening around your clit and slurping it into his mouth.

His tongue swirls over the moist bundle of nerves, suction pulling you to orgasm like a lasso around your neck. You writhe on the couch, fisting Cole’s golden waves until he releases a strangled moan and shoves a third finger into your cunt, curling all three and pulsing them against the spongy spot that always makes you unravel.

“Fuck,” you squeak in a high voice, legs shaking and trying to close around Cole’s head. The corners of his lips lift in a smile and he continues suckling, pumping his fingers through your aftershocks before drawing them from your wetness and wiping them on the fabric of your pajama bottoms.

“Payback,” he chuckles before wrapping his lips around your clit again and giving it one final suck, just to hear you squeal from over sensitivity. He covers your spent pussy with your panties and bottoms and crawls up your body, laying atop you how you laid on his chest.

The credits of the movie started scrolling minutes ago. You missed the final act completely, but you can’t find it in yourself to rewind and watch it back. Cole can’t either, it seems.

He wraps his arms around your middle and kisses each of your breasts before laying his head on the swell of them like a pillow.

“You’re crushing me,” you faux-complain.

Cole sighs loudly, pushing himself up so he can start attacking your face with his lips.

you don’t remember how you ended up facedown over his thighs—just that one second he was kissing you like he had all the time in the world, all slow and steady, hand cradling your jaw like you were some goddamn delicate thing… and the next you were stripped and squirming, ass up and legs twitching as he pushed your face into the pillow.

“jesus, baby,” cole breathes it more than says it, palm dragging down your spine, slow, deliberate. “look at you. fuckin’ perfect like this.”

he’s not huge in the way guys love to lie about. he doesn’t need to be. five-eight and built like he was made to fuck through people, legs solid from years of grinding on the ice, arms that lift you like you weigh nothing. not bulky, no. dense. all that compact power bearing down on you now as he grips your hips and spreads you open.

you gasp when he spits and rubs it in with two fingers, slicking you up like he knows exactly how to drive you crazy. and he does. he’d made you come on his tongue first, just once, to get you soft for this—lazy licks, teasing pressure, fingers curling until your thighs trembled and your voice cracked.

now he’s lining himself up, and your breath catches because you can feel him. blunt, wide, low. he’s not talking shit. he doesn’t have to. he just drags the head up between your folds, slow enough to make you whine. then a slap to your ass—sharp, more to get your attention than anything.

“breathe.”

you do, but it comes out ragged, just in time for him to start pressing in.

you feel it—every fucking inch. no rush. no jackhammer pounding. just cole’s cock pushing deeper, stretching you until your arms give out and your face is in the sheets. one of his hands slides under you, hooks around your chest, pulls you up like you weigh less than the gear he throws off between periods. he wraps his arm tight and growls into your neck, “that’s it. you’re takin’ it so damn good.”

he bottoms out. your knees nearly give. your mouth opens but no words come out, just a wrecked little sound, all throat, like the noise got kicked out of you when his hips hit yours.

and then—oh fuck—he starts to move.

not fast. just deep. deep enough you feel him against that soft spot inside, slow enough you feel him dragging through you. the pressure’s unreal. you swear you can feel his cock through your whole pelvis, like he’s punching his shape into you one stroke at a time.

then he pulls you upright, not letting you fall, not missing a beat. keeps you speared on him, hand sliding down to your belly, fingers splaying just under your ribs.

and that’s when he moans. low, real, surprised like he can’t fucking believe it either.

“holy shit,” he mutters, rubbing your stomach like he’s checking the depth on something mechanical. “look at that. baby—look.”

you glance down. fuck.

there’s a bulge right there. not massive, but it’s there. pushing up under your skin every time he rolls his hips forward, vanishing when he pulls back, appearing again—throbbing up when he shoves in hard.

you choke on it, whole body locking up. you’re shaking in his lap, legs kicking weakly, but he holds you still, chest to your back, mouth at your ear.

“you’re takin’ all of it,” he says again, almost like he’s stunned. “fuckin’ perfect little hole. made for me.”

your toes curl. the pressure, the fullness, the fucking sight of him making your body bulge around his cock—there’s nothing left in your brain but noise and static and cole’s voice.

“you see that?” he presses down gently on the bump. your pussy flutters hard, clenching so tight he groans into your skin. “look at you, baby. takin’ it so deep i can see myself.”

you nod, or try to, but you’re barely hanging on. your muscles are going all jittery, legs tensing like you’re gonna bolt and melt all at once. his free hand’s on your throat now, just resting there, not squeezing—holding you in place. like you’re something his.

he starts to move faster, still grinding, still deep, but now he’s chasing it. every thrust drives that bump higher, then lower, then up again—cole breathing ragged, saying you’re unreal, baby, and keep squeezin’ me like that, and fuck, you’re gonna come, aren’t you?

he feels it before you do. those little spasms starting up deep inside, your hips jerking like you’re trying to pull off him, or onto him, or just away from the intensity. but there’s nowhere to go. he’s got you pinned from every angle—his arm tight across your chest, palm over your stomach, cock so far inside it feels like he’s not just fucking your cunt but your whole body.

and then you break.

it rips through you—sharp, blinding, a punch of heat that starts in your belly and blows your brain clean out. your thighs spasm. your mouth opens in a scream but nothing comes out. cole’s still fucking you through it, softer now, letting you ride it out.

“there it is,” he says, kissing behind your ear. “that’s it, sweetheart. that’s what i wanted. you did so good.”

you’re still twitching when he finally lets you fall forward again, lowering you to the bed like you’re breakable. you hear him spit in his hand again behind you. you hear him stroke once. twice.

home again in montreal, the city you grew up in, the one you're so deeply in love with. how could you not love a city when it holds your heart in the palm of its hand?

your family, school, pets, and cole. all of it is confined within the city limits, you feel your heart start to beat properly again when the mild summer air hits you through the exit tunnel. home.

you're walking so frantically that you almost miss him, until you hear your name in that familiar wisconsin timbre. you turn around, nearly dropping your carry-on as you rush to hug him.

cole is all solid muscle in your arms, dressed in a cozy hoodie which you already plan to steal for the ride home. he grips you so tight that the air knocks clean out of your lungs, lifting you up in sheer joy at having you back in his arms.

"coley," you breathe, a grin spreading across your lips when he kisses all across your cheeks.

"c'mere." he mumbles, one large hand cradling your jaw to bring your lips to his. it's a short kiss, nothing too heavy, not when you're surrounded by strangers. but it's enough.

the way he holds you, the way his lips meld to yours as if no time has passed at all, like he's trying to make up for the days he lost in a matter of seconds.

cole sighs when he pulls away, the short kiss feeling so much longer when he's been missing you for months. "lets go home. or out, i don't care, we could do dinner. are you hungry?" he's rambling on, thumb stroking the back of your hand where he holds it in his own.

you smile and bump your shoulder against his. "let's get takeout, i wanna go home."

The ballroom buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of conversations layered over soft music. The Montreal Canadiens charity event was in full swing—players in tailored suits, wags in gowns, cameras flashing every few seconds.

And somehow… you’d lost Juraj.

Again.

You stood on your toes, scanning the crowd of well-wishers and sponsors until finally—there. A head of dark curls towering above everyone else, shoulders hunched slightly as he nodded along to someone talking at him far too enthusiastically.

Before he could disappear again, you slipped through the crowd and grabbed him by the tie.

“Hey—!” Juraj startled as you tugged him back toward you, nearly knocking him off balance.

“Don’t move,” you said, already walking, fingers curled firmly around the cloth. “I lose you for two seconds and you’re gone.”

He let himself be pulled without protest, cheeks warming as he followed obediently behind you. “I was just talking to—”

“I know,” you said lightly. “And now you’re talking to me.”

You didn’t let go. Not even when you stopped. Not even when his tie was a little crooked. Or when the knot loosened just enough that it dipped lower on his collar.

Juraj noticed. His hand hovered near his chest, uncertain, but before he could fix it—

“Ohhh,” Cole’s voice cut in, far too amused. “Didn’t realize this was that kind of charity event.”

You turned, arching a brow. Cole stood a few feet away with a drink in hand, eyes flicking pointedly to Juraj’s half-undone tie. “You two need a room? Or at least a warning label.”

Juraj’s face went bright red. “Cole—”

“Relax,” Cole laughed. “I support whatever… this is.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Very generous of you, actually.”

“That’s enough,” you said sweetly, tightening your grip on Juraj’s tie again.

You tugged once.

Juraj yelped softly as you pulled him away from the crowd, following you down a quiet hallway before he even had time to think. The moment you found a small, empty side area, you stopped and turned to face him.

Only then did you release his tie.

Silence settled between you.

“Sorry,” you said, eyes dropping to the crooked knot. “I didn’t mean to—well. I kind of did. But your tie’s a mess.”

“Oh,” he said quickly. “It’s—yeah. It’s fine. I can—”

“Hold still.”

You stepped closer, fingers lifting to his collar. The second you touched the fabric, he froze.

Like, fully froze.

His shoulders stiffened, his breath went shallow, and his eyes flicked anywhere but your face.

You paused. “Juraj?”

“I’m fine,” he said immediately. Too immediately.

You smiled, fingers still resting against his chest. “You just went statue-mode. What’s wrong?”

He swallowed. “Nothing. I’m just—uh. Concentrating.”

“On what?”

“You,” he muttered before he could stop himself.

That did it. You bit back a grin and gently straightened the collar of his shirt, carefully redoing the knot of his tie. He watched your hands like they were doing something illegal. His own resting on your hips.

“You know,” you teased softly, “we’ve been together for a while now.”

“I know,” he said.

“And yet,” you continued, tightening the knot just right, “you still get nervous when I touch you.”

“I don’t—” He stopped, sighed. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

You looked up at him then, meeting his eyes. “Why?”

He shrugged, helpless. “Because it’s you.”

Your heart melted instantly.

You smoothed the tie flat against his chest and gave a satisfied nod. “There. All fixed.”

Before he could respond, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“ You’re cute when you’re nervous,” you murmured.

Juraj short-circuited.

His ears burned, lips parting in stunned silence as you stepped back like nothing monumental had just happened. When he finally found his voice, it came out quiet.

“You can’t just… do that.”

You smiled innocently. “I can. I did.”

You took his hand this time—no tie, no dragging—and started back toward the ballroom. He followed, still dazed, thumb brushing over your knuckles like he needed to ground himself.

As you reentered the crowd, Cole spotted you immediately.

“Hey!” he called. “Tie looks much better.”

Juraj groaned.

You squeezed his hand. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

And despite the noise, the lights, and the chaos around him, Juraj smiled—soft, shy, and completely yours.

The Request: