brandon bussi you were amazing tonight I am sorry for every inappropriate joke I made about your last name and my first child will be named after you and also you are very clark kent in those glasses of yours and ive thought that since I first saw a picture you in them way back in like february
Hii I saw your requests are open and I was wondering if you could do a fraser x reader and maybe reader gets sick and Fraser takes care of her and just a lot of cute fluff please also I love your work your writing is amazing🫶🏻
Thank you, lovely!! I hope you like it 🫶 2.2k words
When Fraser’s alarm goes off, he notices that for the first time in maybe the entire time he’s known you, you don’t say a word about it. Normally there’s something, a sleepy groan, or your hand reaching across the bed searching for him. He doesn’t even hear your usual, “five more minutes.”
His alarm goes off at seven, and you’re still lying completely still beside him. At first he thinks you’re just really tired, more so than usual. You’d been up later than usual, unable to sleep for reasons you didn’t know, and of course he had stayed awake until you fell asleep just to make sure you were okay.
So Fraser reaches over, silences the alarm, and turns back toward you.
“Baby?” he whispers, running his thumb over your forehead.
You hum, barely.
Your face is buried into your pillow, hair everywhere. He notices you feel hotter than normal, and your face looks flushed. Not in a sleepy way, but in a way that really seems off.
“You awake?” he asks softly.
You stay silent for a moment, and he assumes that means the answer is no, until you mumble, “Little bit awake.”
He almost smiles, almost. Usually you’d say something dramatic to make him laugh, or something to get him to go back to sleep with you instead of getting up. But today your voice is much quieter, it sounds scratchy, and when you finally look over at him he can tell why.
Your face is flushed like he noticed before, your nose looks almost swollen, and your eyes are glassy and fever-red.
“You don’t feel good,” he immediately says.
You blink slowly, “I feel really bad,” you say. It nearly breaks his heart in half, because you don’t admit it when you’re sick. You’re the kind of person who will insist you’re fine while looking like you haven’t slept in three days. The kind of person who says “it’s just a cold” and then tries to continue your day like nothing’s wrong.
So the fact that you’re staring at him with swollen eyes and actually admitting you feel awful? It must be really bad.
Fraser shifts closer.
“How bad?”
You make a face, “Really bad.”
He brushes the back of his fingers against your forehead again. “You’re warm,” he says.
“I feel cold,” you tell him.
“It’s probably a fever then, baby,” he says softly.
You close your eyes again and bury your face into his pillow, “I just woke up, I don’t wanna feel like this all day.”
“I know, hopefully this is just a one-day thing.”
His voice is laced with concern. You open one eye to look at him again. “You’re doing the thing,” you say.
“What thing?”
“Where you act like I’m falling apart.”
He tilts his head, and a tiny smile pulls at his mouth, “Well I know you aren’t falling apart but I don’t want you to feel like you are.”
“I’m not.”
“You just told me you feel terrible.”
“Yeah, but that was a minute ago.”
That actually gets a quiet laugh out of him, then his expression softens again. “Stay here,” he whispers as he rubs your side one last time before he gets out of bed.
You immediately frown, “Where are you going?”
The question comes out before you can stop it.
“I’m just getting you water, sweetheart,” Fraser says.
“Oh...”
The relief in your voice is so obvious that his whole expression changes, because you’re not just sick. You’re sick sick, and apparently that means you want him close today.
“I’ll be right back,” he reassures you, and you nod.
When he comes back less than two minutes later with water, medicine, and a thermometer, you’re still exactly where he left you. Curled up in the middle of the bed, blankets twisted tightly around your body, and your face buried on his pillow.
Which is another thing that tells him you feel awful, because normally you’d either be up or begging him to get back in bed for a little extra sleep. Usually you’d insist that you could get up and get yourself water and medicine if you thought you needed it, but now it’s like you’ve completely shut down.
“Thank you,” you say as you weakly reach for the water.
Fraser sits on the edge of the bed next to you, “You’re welcome.”
As soon as he sits down you lean into him, laying your head on his hip. No explanation, no asking, just wanting to be close to him.
Fraser goes still for a second, not because he doesn’t like it, but because he does. It’s just rare that you get like this. You’re usually affectionate but you’re also independent, always trying to take care of everyone else. So when you curl into him like this, when you let yourself be taken care of, he knows you really need it.
His hand slides gently through your hair, “You feel that bad?”
You nod against him. “Yeah,” you admit quietly. “I hate it.”
“I know you do.”
You take the medicine with a small grimace, immediately making a face at the taste.
“That bad?” he asks, trying not to smile.
You glare at the little cup in his hand. “It tastes like chemicals, don’t know why they even make this be a liquid anyway, makes no sense,” you mutter.
“It’s medicine, baby. It's not supposed to taste good.”
You make another face, “That doesn’t mean it has to taste like that.”
He hums like he’s considering your argument seriously, even though there’s a small smile pulling at his mouth, “You’re right. I’ll let them know next time.”
You look up at him, tired and unimpressed, “Thank you.”
He smiles, genuinely. “You’re welcome.”
The fact that you don’t even argue with his obvious sarcasm makes him smile a little more. Usually you’d call him ridiculous and you’d have some comeback ready. But today you just let your head fall back against his leg and close your eyes.
Fraser realizes that might be the biggest sign of all; you’re too tired to fight him on anything.
“I feel so gross,” you grumble.
“You’re not gross, you’re just sick.”
“I am gross, my face is swollen and I feel achy and my eyes are burning,” you sigh against his leg.
“Well you might feel like that but I promise that doesn’t make you gross, honey,” he says softly.
You sigh, “You have to say that.”
“I actually don’t.”
You look up at him, and he just shrugs.
“You’re sick. Not gross. Simple.”
Something about the way he says it makes your expression soften a little, like he isn’t trying to convince you, but instead he understands and knows how you feel, and he knows those little reassurances make you feel better.
He watches you for a second, then reaches down and gently pulls the blanket higher around your shoulders. “Are you cold?” he asks, noticing your small shiver.
You nod, “Yeah.”
“Okay.” He says it so simply, like the solution is obvious, and your discomfort is something he can fix if he just pays enough attention. He gets up, grabs the thicker blanket from the closet in your bedroom, and when he comes back, you’re still exactly how he left you.
“Fraser,” you mumble.
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to do all this.”
He just looks at you, “I know.”
The answer catches you off guard, because he isn’t doing it because you can’t. He isn’t doing it because he thinks you’re completely helpless. He’s doing it because he loves you. In sickness and in health, they say.
“Okay,” you whisper.
Fraser’s expression softens because you’re not fighting him, you’re just letting him.
⊰══════════════════════⊱
Normally getting you to move from the bed to the couch would be a whole conversation. You insisting you’re fine, saying you didn’t need anything, and arguing the entire time that he’s being dramatic.
Instead, when Fraser stands at the end of the bed and holds his hand out, you just look at it. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says quietly. “I think you’ll be more comfortable out there.”
You hesitate for maybe two seconds before placing your hand in his. Seeing you simply let him guide you through the apartment, still half asleep and wrapped in blankets, does something to him. Because this is the exact opposite of what happens.
“You okay?” he asks.
You nod, “Just tired.”
“I know.”
He doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re settled.
Once Fraser has successfully moved you from the bedroom to the couch, you’re bundled up in blankets, wearing one of his sweatshirts, while he moves around the apartment quietly. Every few minutes, he checks on you.
Water? Food? Temperature? He’s always checking. If you need anything? The answer is usually no, but he asks anyway.
Until after a while it isn’t.
“Fraser?” you call while he’s in the kitchen.
He looks up immediately, “Yeah?”
“Can you come here?” you ask, your voice small.
He doesn’t even hesitate, he stops what he’s doing in the kitchen and walks over to the couch.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. He knows asking for things isn’t something you like doing, and in all honesty you’d rather be uncomfortable doing something yourself than ask for help out fear of inconveniencing another person.
So when he gets to you he isn’t surprised that you look embarrassed. Which is ridiculous, because you’re sick, and also because it’s him.
You sink into the couch further, “Nothing, nevermind,” you say, your voice becoming even smaller.
He raises an eyebrow, “You okay? You called me over.”
“I know I just...wanted you.”
That sentence alone nearly ruins him, because you never say things like that. Not because you’re somebody that doesn’t want to be close to their partner, but because you don’t need constant reassurance. You’d never ask him to drop everything he’s doing for you.
So when you ask now, he knows exactly what it means, and he immediately sits beside you, “Come here, sweet girl.”
You curl into him immediately. No argument, no telling him to go back to what he was doing beforehand, you just tuck yourself against him while he wraps his arms around you.
“You know,” he murmurs, “I’m starting to think you might actually be sick.”
You groan, “Not funny, Frase.”
He smiles, “There’s my girl.”
“I hate you,” you say, and he can hear your smile.
He smiles too, “No you don’t.”
You shake your head a little, “No.” You close your eyes, “I don’t.”
⊰══════════════════════⊱
The rest of the day passes slowly, painfully slowly. It’s like when you’re sick everything is moving at a completely different pace, because all you want is for this day to be over and to feel better in the morning.
Fraser makes soup for an early dinner. You take three bites out of your bowl and declare you’re full. He doesn’t argue, he just says okay and saves the rest.
He watches whatever show you pick, even though you fall asleep halfway through every single thing. He answers texts quietly, cancelling any plans he had that day because you’re napping against him.
He brushes your hair back when you wake up, checking your temperature again. He brings you fresh glasses of water before you even ask or realize you need a new one.
By evening, you’re still miserable, but a little less miserable. Mostly because Fraser has spent the entire day making sure you don’t have to think about anything except feeling better.
“You’re being too nice to me,” you mumble. He looks down, “You’re sick.”
“Duh.”
“So?”
You shrug, “I don’t know.”
He smiles slightly then says, “You’d do the same.”
You don’t answer, because you would, but you don’t want to talk about that.
His voice softens, “You’re allowed to let me take care of you, you know.”
The words make you quiet, then you tuck yourself even closer, almost entirely in his lap now. “Okay,” you mutter sleepily. Simple, small, but Fraser knows what that means.
He presses a long kiss to your forehead, “Good,” he says against your skin. You open your eyes and look up at him. “Are you happy I’m sick?”
His eyes widen, “No, I hate that you’re sick, I don’t want you to feel like this.”
You smile faintly, “Just checking.”
You don’t say anything for a while after that. Then, barely above a whisper; “I like when you take care of me.”
Fraser looks down, “Yeah?”
You nod against him. “I just don’t like needing it. I don't want to be a burden.”
His thumb brushes over your arm. “You're never, ever a burden to me. You don’t need to be sick to let me love you,” he says.
That one sits with you, because he’s right. You spend so much of your life proving you can handle things on your own that sometimes you forget you don’t always have to. You’re allowed to be tired, you’re allowed to just reach for him.
"Love you, Fraser," you say as you drift off to sleep again.
“I love you too, honey. I’m happy you’re letting me help,” he says. He hates that you feel awful, but at the same time he loves the fact that for once you aren’t trying to carry everything yourself. You’re just letting him be there.
He knows that even if you won’t let him, no matter how stubborn you get, he’s going to be here to take care of you for the rest of your lives if you’d let him.
Macklin and his brother Aiden Celebrini brought a stick and jersey and stayed for a long visit. Mavrik was in and out of sleep but continued to tell Macklin to lay in his bed with him. Which was very cute, and Mavrik was very happy. He has been playing as Macklin on NHL since his visit. The Sharks are lucky to have him!! [x] [GoFundMe]
Can you do one with Fraser minten where he makes the reader look in the mirror and watch him hit it from behind? Like reader is bent over the bathroom counter or something?
ofc <3
Reflection of Desire
pairing: Fraser Minten x female reader
description: Fraser makes you watch in the mirror as he takes you from behind.
TW: MDNI, Smut, bathroom sex, dominance, dirty talk, spanking, hair pulling.
masterlist
The bathroom is filled with steam from the shower you just took, the mirror slightly fogged but still reflecting your naked form as Fraser presses against your back. His hands roam over your hips, pulling you flush against his growing erection.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and husky against your ear. "So fucking perfect."
You shiver at his words, leaning back into his touch. His lips trail down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin where your shoulder meets your neck. Your eyes meet in the mirror, dark with desire and anticipation.
"I want you to watch," he says, his hands guiding you forward until you're bent over the bathroom counter, your palms flat against the cool marble. "I want you to see what I see when I'm inside you."
Your breath hitches as he positions himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips. The angle has you looking directly at your reflection. You can see your face flushed with desire, eyes dark with need and your breasts hanging freely beneath you.
"Look at yourself," Fraser commands, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. "See how beautiful you are like this?"
His other hand guides his cock to your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts that leave you wanting more. You arch your back, pushing against him in silent invitation.
"Please," you whisper, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
"Please what?" he teases, though his voice is strained with restraint. "Tell me what you want."
"You," you gasp as he finally pushes inside, stretching you deliciously. "I want you."
He groans, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. The sensation is overwhelming and you can't help but cry out as he fills you completely.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," he pants, stilling for a moment to let you adjust. "So tight around me."
His eyes remain locked on yours in the mirror, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face. The visual aspect of this encounter adds a new layer of intimacy, a new dimension to your shared pleasure.
"Ready?" he asks, though it's less a question than a warning.
You nod, bracing yourself against the counter as he begins to move. His thrusts start slow and deliberate, each one hitting deeper than the last. Your breasts sway with the motion, a visual feast that Fraser seems to be enjoying as much as you are.
"Look at us," he murmurs, his grip on your hips tightening. "Look how well you take me."
His words send a jolt straight to your core, and you push back against him, meeting his thrusts with equal enthusiasm. The sound of skin against skin fills the bathroom, mingling with your increasingly desperate moans.
"Faster," you beg, your fingers curling against the counter. "Please, faster."
He complies, his pace quickening until he's pounding into you relentlessly. The force of his thrusts pushes you against the counter, the edge digging deliciously into your pelvis. His free hand comes down on your ass with a sharp slap, the sound echoing in the small space.
"Fuck!" you cry out, the sting adding to your pleasure.
"You like that?" he asks, repeating the action on the other cheek. "You like it when I mark you as mine?"
"Yes," you gasp, your eyes never leaving your reflection. "God, yes."
His hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head back slightly. The angle changes, allowing him to hit that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. Your eyes roll back, overwhelmed by sensation.
"No," he commands, tugging gently on your hair. "Eyes on the mirror. I want you to watch yourself come."
The command sends you spiraling toward the edge and you struggle to keep your eyes open as pleasure builds. His other hand slides around to find your clit, circling it with practiced precision.
"Come for me," he demands, his voice rough with desire. "I want to see you fall apart on my cock."
His words are your undoing. With a cry of his name, you shatter, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over you. Fraser continues to move through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure until you're completely spent.
He follows moments later, burying himself deep inside you with a final, possessive thrust. You feel him pulse inside you, his warmth filling you as he finds his release.
For a moment, you both stay frozen, the only sounds in the bathroom your ragged breaths. Fraser's weight is comforting against your back, his hands still gripping your hips as if he's afraid to let go.
"God," he finally says, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "That was..."
"Incredible," you finish, slowly straightening up as he withdraws.
He turns you in his arms, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. When you finally pull apart, you're both breathless.
"I love watching you," he admits, his forehead resting against yours. "Seeing the pleasure on your face... it's the hottest thing I've ever seen."
You smile, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "I love it when you take control like that."
"Good," he grins, scooping you into his arms. "Because I have a feeling we'll be doing that again. Soon."
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