⚪ i write hockey imagines, oneshots, full blown aus, fluff and lil bit of smau if u look closely ;)
🫧 i'm a, tho(t)ught daughter, right window seat, 18, sagittarius, in a sza + summer walker + snoh aalegra way .. ctrl(ing) life thru writing and reading.
💨 who do i write for?
i write mostly for macklin celebrini, will smith, william eklund, igor chernyshov, sam dickinson, ivar stenberg +other sharkies. fraser minten, ben kindel, connor bedard, beckette, gabe perrault, andrei svechnikov, matt barzal, evgeni malkin. but fret not bcs it really depends on the request and other nhl players i like! (bears, canes, penguins, candiens, ducks, rangers)
💢 who don't i write for?
vegas golden knights, the hughes brothers. i will NOT write for: anyone who’s racist, maga, misogynistic, or homophobic so please do not request people who are.
🥽 dive deep the tank!
oneshots, mini series, headcannons, nhl players as songs, boyfriends, how will they react to you if.
est. 2026 | everything on this blog is owned by @baobeishark . do not repost, plagiarize, translate. every story written on this blog is for fun! nothing here reflects any actual athlete. the stories are completely fictional.
I love ur writing sm and I was wondering if you could write another Ivar fic?? It can be about literally anything I've been yearning for more of stenny😭😭😭
coffee black. (ivar stenberg x reader)
word count: 1000+ words
a/n: post number thirty two! i swear bro why are there LESS x reader or blurbs w mi stenbug like jail.
i've been spending the last eight months/ thinking all love ever does is break/ burn and end, but on wednesday, in a cafe/ i watched on begin again
the autumn air in san jose was just starting to bite, and the small coffee shop two blocks from the arena was packed with the morning rush.
you were working the register, three hours into a double shift, moving as fast as your tired feet would let you. the bell above the door chimed, and in walked a tall, blonde man in an oversized grey hoodie, his hood pulled low over a baseball cap.
ivar was having the absolute worst day of his life.
he had been completely chewed out by the coaching staff at morning skate, missed a meeting because his alarm didn't go off, and his head was pounding with a dull, throbbing migraine. on top of that, he was homesick, exhausted, and desperately needed caffeine before his brain completely shut down.
he stepped up to the counter, his jaw set into a rigid line, his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his hoodie. he didn't make eye contact. he didn't say hello.
"large drip coffee. black," he muttered, his voice flat and heavy with a thick accent.
you blinked, taken aback by the coldness in his tone, but kept your customer service smile fixed on your face. "sure thing! would you like room for cream, or—"
"black," he cut you off abruptly, his voice dropping an octave, a irritated edge creeping into his words. "i said black, liksom. just... quickly."
a few people in line behind him shifted uncomfortably.
your smile instantly dropped. you had been working on your feet for six hours, dealing with polite people and rude people alike, but something about his dismissive tone snapped the last of your patience.
"okay," you said, your voice dripping with sarcastic icy politeness as you tapped the screen. "that’ll be four fifty. and just so you know, a hello or a please doesn't cost extra."
ivar froze.
he slowly lifted his head, his tired eyes rising to meet yours for the first time. he looked genuinely shocked that someone had called him out. for three long seconds, he just stared at you, his lips parted slightly, his brow furrowed as he tried to process your words through his fogged, exhausted brain.
he didn't apologize. he just swiped his card, grabbed his cup the second you set it on the counter without a word, and walked out, the bell chiming sharply behind him.
"what a jerk," your coworker muttered beside you.
you just shook your head, wiping down the counter. "whatever. hope his day gets better."
the afternoon rain had started falling, turning the streets slick and dark. you pulled your coat tight around yourself, stepping out the back door of the coffee shop into the quiet alleyway to take out the heavy trash bags before heading home.
as you tossed the second bag into the dumpster, a soft groan caught your attention.
you turned around. sitting on a low concrete ledge near the back entrance, completely drenched by the light rain, was the exact same guy from this morning.
his hood was pushed back now, revealing messy blonde hair sticking to his forehead. he was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his large hands, a discarded, empty paper coffee cup crushed on the wet ground beside his sneakers. he looked so small, so completely defeated, that the anger you felt toward him this morning instantly evaporated.
you stood there for a second, holding your umbrella over your head.
"you know... sitting in the rain isn't going to fix whatever went wrong today," you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet drizzle.
ivar flinched, his hands slowly coming down from his face. he looked up, his dark eyes wide and glossy as he recognized you standing there in your jacket.
"oh," he whispered, his voice rough and scratchy. he looked away immediately, his jaw tightening as he rubbed the back of his neck. "it's... you."
"yeah. it's me," you said, taking two slow steps closer, tilting your umbrella just enough so it covered him from the rain too. "are you okay?"
ivar let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head as he stared at his wet sneakers. "nej. i am... not okay, i think."
his english was soft, the scandinavian lilt far more pronounced now that he was entirely stripped of his defensive wall.
"i was very rude to you this morning," ivar murmured, his voice dropping into a low, quiet almost whisper tone. he didn't look at you, his fingers nervously picking at the wet fabric of his sweatpants. "i am... very sorry. is no excuse, but... my morning was very bad. everything go wrong, you know? and i take it out on you. it was... how do you say... shitty of me."
you looked down at him, watching the genuine remorse in his eyes. the guy who had barked at you three hours ago was completely gone; in his place was just a tired and probably has a long way from home, drowning under a bad day.
"it's okay," you said gently, a small, warm smile finally tugging at your lips. "apology accepted."
ivar slowly raised his head, looking up at you in confusion. "ja? just like that?"
"just like that," you nodded. you reached into your bag, pulling out a fresh, unopened hot tea you had made right before your shift ended, stepping closer and handing it down to him. "here. it's chamomile. it helps with... whatever mood you're in."
ivar stared at the steaming paper cup in your hands, then up at your face. he slowly reached out, his large, cold fingers brushing against yours as he took it, the warmth radiating through his palms.
"thank you," he whispered softly, his dark eyes searching your face with a quiet intensity that made your pulse skip a beat. "i am... ivar, by the way."
"i know," you smiled softly. "i recognized you. you play for the sharks."
ivar let out a small, breathless laugh, a faint pink flush creeping up his neck, though this time it wasn't from anger. "ah. usually i play better than i order coffee, i promise."
"i'll believe it when i see it," you teased gently.
ivar took a slow sip of the tea, letting out a long, shuddering exhale as the heat settled into his chest. he looked up at you, the rain tapping softly against the fabric of your umbrella above both of your heads, shielding the two of you from the rest of the cold city.
"can i... buy you a coffee tomorrow?" ivar asked quietly, his voice hesitant, as he fumbled slightly over the words. "to make it... properly right? i come in, i say hello, i say please... and then I pay for yours?"
"only if you actually use your manners this time, ivar," you murmured, your smile widening.
ivar’s face relaxed, a real, breathtaking smile breaking across his lips for the first time all day—the tired shadow completely disappearing from his face.
"okay," he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours with a soft, steady warmth. "i promise. best manners you ever see."
a/n: i can't wait for hockey season like im getting giddy and jitty and excited 🥹
eyes on the ice- wherein macklin got jealous because another player is checking you out.
end game- you're the newest face of san jose's pwhl extension and what's a girl with skills and agility along side with talent and a beautiful face and her biggest secret?
up to no good- you and macklin play a dangerous game outside the ice, the catch? secret proximity.
together- shoulders aren't made to carry burdens and your boyfriend knows you better than anyone else.
movies and a few worries- after being rejected by macklin in high school, you showed him a new you, a new sexier you.
with me- you couldn't stand macklin's girlfriend, she doesn't either. what should you do as his long time, diaper best friend?
cup crazy- being macklin's secret girlfriend isn't hard. you are loved, by him and maybe by the fans too!
wsh2
sweetest medicine- your boyfriend is a big sick baby and he needs your more than anything else.
red lines- too much words could hurt and a dozen jokes are half meant. in which his mom and sister talks to you, and believe me not even close to a sweet way, it was worse.
a goal and a date- you're a rink side reporter at the tank and will smith always work his charm around you, he scores, ice or you.
family night- the sharks are good at singing, and your dork boyfriend has a talent too?!
mad- wherein will is stressed and overwhelmed, both of you found yourself shouting and arguing about...
4 letters- in which you find yourself in will's apartment crying.
sd6
+number- in which you're far more interested than your career but oh well what's a girl gotta do when you see #6 on ice?
make a wish- your text mate dickie missed you and you surprised him on his birthday.
cb98
all is well- he argued, you left. in which your boyfriend thinks he's too weak and too much for a girl so eager to help him recover.
best friend ring?- you're connor's best friend and ever since then you were too oblivious to see him as a lover.
fm93
swap it out- wherein a toxic substance was taken but not drunk or inhaled but rather, kissed. and maybe fraser is your drug, your secret drug.
be each others?- a game of cat and mouse? toxic proximity and maybe tension between you and fraser keeps on worsening than ever.
is41
pretty?- in which ivar finds himself stumbling his words and called you pretty on national tv.
🫧 bestfriend to lovers- ruin the friendship: you were drunk and inlove with your best friend.
ruin the friendship
ruined the friendship
wsh2
🫧 bestfriend to lovers- lanes and lines: in which you grew up with will navigating through lifeaand bullies, but then he saw you've changed and something ignited in his heart.
001. the north end and the hand me downs
002. the jackpot out west
003. some junkie pal
004. peace be with us plan
005. whiskey on ice
006. glassy border
007. tacos and the kiss
💢 ex to lovers?- bet game: in which you find yourself into a game you never knew the mechanics but played along so well.
001. the bet
002. belle, please
003. the state of living in the same city/what's more culturally significant? the renaissance or seeing your ex?/ of all the odds in favor.
a/n: post number thirty one! 🩵 erhm i got bored nd wrote this, do enjoy :)
soo instead i'll just call your bluff like, fuck this charade enough is enough but no, stick around even if it's just for the temporary show...
the cold air of his apartment always felt different at two in the morning.
there were no lights on in the living room, just the low, amber glow of the city skyline peaking through the floor-to-ceiling windows, cutting long shadows across the dark hardwood.
you were sitting on the edge of the mattress in his spare bedroom, your sweater pulled tightly around your knees, watching the back of his head as he stood by the window, a half-empty glass of water in his hand. he was wearing just black sweatpants, his broad shoulders resting heavily against the frame of the glass.
from the outside, people thought will smith was untouchable—sharp, focused, and completely composed. but right now, in the quiet darkness between you two, he was just tired.
and you were drowning.
the agreement had been simple enough when it started eight months ago. no labels. no expectations. no dramatic conversations about where things were heading. you were his escape from the crushing pressure of the season, and he was the person you ran to when the rest of your world felt too loud. a secret, late-night convenience. friends with benefits, plain and simple.
except nothing about the way he held you in the dark felt like a convenience.
"you're quiet tonight," will murmured, his voice low and scratchy, breaking the heavy silence of the room. he didn't turn around to look at you.
"just thinking," you whispered, pulling your sleeves down over your hands.
"about what?"
about how much it hurts when you treat me like a secret during the day, you wanted to say. about how you kiss me like you love me when the lights are off, but step back three feet the second anyone on the team walks into the room.
instead, you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a tiny, hollow laugh. "nothing really. just tired."
will turned slowly, his eyes locking onto yours in the dim light. he set his glass down on the nightstand, his footsteps making no sound as he crossed the room toward the bed. he didn't say a word as he sat down beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight.
he reached out, his large, calloused hand gently wrapping around the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into the ends of your hair as he pulled you closer. he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his warm breath fanning across your lips.
"don't lie to me," he rumbled softly, his thumb tracing the sharp line of your jaw. "i know you."
the cruel irony of those three words made your chest physically ache. i know you. he knew every mark on your skin, he knew how you took your coffee, and he knew exactly how to make your breath catch in your throat—but he didn't know that every single time you left his apartment before sunrise, you cried the whole way home.
"do you?" you choked out, your voice trembling so hard it barely carried in the space between your lips.
will’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes searching your face in the shadows. "what is that supposed to mean?"
you slowly pulled back, breaking the contact of his forehead against yours, though his hand remained lingering near your shoulder. you looked at him—really looked at him—taking in the sharp line of his jaw, the exhaustion in his eyes, and the absolute wall he kept built around his heart.
"we can't keep doing this, will," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
will went entirely still. his jaw set into a rigid, stubborn line, his hand slowly dropping from your skin as if he’d been burned. "doing what?"
"this," you gestured vaguely between the two of you, tears hot and sharp pricking at the corners of your eyes. "this whole act. you call me at 1:00 am when you're stressed, you hold me like I'm the only thing keeping you grounded, and then by 8:00 am, i'm just another person you nod at in the hallway. I'm exhausting myself trying to pretend i don't feel anything for you."
the room went deathly quiet.
will stared at you, his face completely unreadable, but you could see the muscle in his jaw ticking frantically. he didn't yell. he didn't run. he just sat there, looking at you like you had just rewritten the rules of a game he thought you were both playing by.
"you knew what this was, y/n," he said, his voice dropping into a sad mixed with a low register, completely guarded. "we talked about this from the very beginning. i can't give you a real relationship right now. i don't have the space for it."
"then stop kissing me like you do!" you cried out, a single tear finally escaping and tracking down your cheek. "stop holding my hand when we're asleep! stop looking at me like i'm the only thing that matters when we're alone in this room! if i'm just a distraction to you, will, then treat me like one. don't make me fall in love with you and then punish me for it."
will flinched. the word love hung in the cold, still air between you like a physical weapon, stripping away the last remaining layer of protection either of you had left.
he swallowed hard, his eyes dropping down to his lap as his left hand gripped the edge of the mattress so tightly his knuckles turned white. for a second, just a fraction of a second, the cold barrier shattered, and you saw the overwhelming panic in his eyes—the fear of someone who had let himself get far too attached to something he knew he couldn't keep.
"i never asked you to fall in love with me," he whispered, his voice rough, cracking near the edge.
"i know," you breathed, wiping the wetness from your cheek with the back of your sweater sleeve. "that's the worst part. you didn't even have to try."
you stood up from the bed, your legs feeling weak and hollow beneath you. you grabbed your phone and your jacket off the chair near the door, your hands shaking violently as you pulled the zipper up.
will didn't move. he stayed sitting on the edge of the mattress, his head bowed, his broad shoulders slumped forward as he listened to you put your shoes on in the dark.
"where are you going?" he asked quietly, his voice stripping down to something raw and deeply unsettled as he heard the jingle of your keys.
"home, will," you said, standing near the doorway, looking at the silhouette of the boy who had consumed your entire heart without ever giving you his. "i can't be your secret anymore. if you only want me when the rest of the world is asleep... you don't actually want me at all."
you turned toward the hallway, your hand reaching for the front door handle.
"y/n, wait," will called out, the sound of his bare feet hitting the floor as he stood up, his voice carrying a sharp, desperate edge you had never heard from him before.
you didn't turn back. you pulled the heavy door open and stepped out into the carpeted hallway, the soft, final click of the latch shutting behind you, leaving him standing alone in the dark.
a/n: post number thirty two! 🩵 WHERE IS MY WHITE BOY.
my advice is always ruin the friendship, better that than regret it for all time, should've kissed you anywayAnd my advice is always answer the question, better that than to ask it all your life
the smell of cheap arena popcorn and stale ice always seemed to follow connor home, but tonight, it was mixed with the faint scent of rain.
he was sitting on the floor of your living room, his back propped against the base of your couch, wearing a oversized grey hoodie with the sleeves pulled over his hands. his hair was still damp from the post-game shower, curling slightly at the nape of his neck.
you were sitting on the couch right above him, a bag of ice resting gently against his cheekbone where he’d taken a high stick during the second period.
"you need to hold it still," you scolded softly, leaning down to adjust the pack. "if you keep squirming, it's going to swell up by morning skate."
connor didn't complain. he just tilted his head back, letting his head rest against your knee, looking straight up at you. his eyes were soft, completely stripped of that intense focus he carried on the ice.
"i'm not squirming," he murmured, his voice low and scratchy from screaming over the crowd all night. "you're just pushing too hard."
"i am not," you laughed, poking him gently in the ribs with your free hand.
connor flinched, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. he reached up, his large, warm hand wrapping around your wrist to stop you, but instead of letting go, his fingers just stayed there—loosely resting over your pulse point, his thumb gently tracing a slow, absentminded line back and forth across your skin.
you didn't think anything of it. connor had been doing things like this since you were fifteen back in vancouver. he was just a "physical guy"—always leaning his shoulder against yours on the couch, dragging you into suffocating side-hugs when he was tired, or resting his chin on your shoulder while you made coffee in his kitchen.
to you, it was just connor being connor. your best friend.
"so," you said, shifting slightly as you kept the ice in place. "the girl from the PR department—the one with the blonde hair who was waiting by the tunnel tonight? she was totally checking you out."
connor’s thumb immediately stopped moving against your wrist.
he blinked, looking up at you like you had just spoken in a completely different language. "what?"
"sarah. or soft-spoken sarah, whatever her name is," you teased, nudging his shoulder with your knee. "she literally gave you that look when you walked past with your suit bag. i think you should ask her out, con. you’ve been single forever. it'd be good for you."
connor stared at you for three long, seconds.
exhausting frustration washed over his features was something you completely missed because you were too busy trying to keep the ice pack from dripping onto his collar. he let out a heavy, quiet breath through his nose, his jaw setting into a tight, stubborn line.
"i don't want to ask sarah out," he said flatly.
"why not? she's cute! and she actually understands your crazy schedule."
"i don't care if she's cute," connor muttered, pulling your wrist down so the ice pack moved away from his face. he turned his entire body around on the floor, resting his forearms on the edge of the couch cushion right next to your thighs, crowding into your space. "i don't want to date someone from PR."
"okay, fine, not PR," you sighed, shaking your head at how stubborn he was being. "what about that girl from your gym back home? or literally any of the hundred girls who slide into your requests every day? con, you're a literal NHL star. you could date anyone you want, but you act like you're completely immune to romance."
connor looked up at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that should have tipped you off, but you just stared back, waiting for his usual quiet deflection.
"i am not immune," connor whispered, his voice dropping into a low, rough register.
"then what is it? what's your type? you've literally never told me."
connor slowly reached out, his hand coming up to gently cup the side of your neck. his palm was warm, his touch so unbelievably tender it made your breath catch in your throat for a fraction of a second. his thumb brushed softly over your cheekbone, right where a stray lock of your hair was resting.
"someone who stays up until 1:00 am just to put ice on my face," he murmured softly, his eyes fixed dead on yours, not blinking, not hiding a single thing. "someone who knows how i take my coffee. someone who doesn't treat me like a hockey player."
you blinked, staring at him as a little laugh bubbled up in your chest.
"connor," you smiled, shaking your head as you reached up to pat his hand affectionately. "that's literally just a assistant. or a really good mom. you need to raise your standards."
the silence that followed was deafening.
connor’s hand went completely limp against your cheek. he slowly pulled his arm back, resting his forehead against the edge of the couch cushion, letting out a long, muffled groan of absolute defeat.
"i'm going to lose my mind," he muttered into the fabric of the couch.
"what?" you asked, totally confused, leaning down to look at the top of his head. "what did i say?"
connor lifted his head, looking at you with a look of pure exasperation that was almost funny. "you are literally the densest person on the entire planet."
"hey!" you swatted his shoulder. "i am trying to help your love life!"
"i don't need help with my love life, y/n," connor said, his voice rising just a inch, a sudden spark of reckless emotion cracking through his usual quiet shell. he stood up from the floor in one fluid motion, towering over the couch, his broad shoulders blocking out the light from the hallway lamp.
"then what do you need?" you asked, standing up too, crossing your arms as you faced him.
connor stepped right into your space, stopping so close that the toes of his socks were touching yours. he reached out, taking both of your hands in his, his fingers weaving tightly through yours before you could pull away. his chest was heaving slightly, his jaw tight, his eyes searching your face with honesty.
"you," connor breathed, the word hitting the quiet room like a lightning strike.
you froze. "what?"
"you," he repeated, his voice shaking just a tiny bit as he squeezed your hands. "i don't want sarah. i don't want anyone from the gym. i don't care about anyone else. i have been in love with you since we were sixteen years old, y/n. every goal i score, every time i look up at the family section, every late-night ride home from the airport—i only care if you're there."
your mouth opened, but no sound came out. the room felt like it had completely lost all oxygen.
"i bring you coffee every morning because i want an excuse to see you," connor blurted out, the years of quiet restraint finally pouring out of him like a broken dam. "i let you sit on my lap on the team bus because i just want to hold you. i stay on your couch until 2:00 am every single night because going back to my empty apartment without you in it physically hurts. i have dropped every single hint a guy could possibly drop, and you just think i'm being friendly.
"connor..." you whispered, your heart hammering so hard against your ribs you thought he could hear it. "i... i thought you just saw me as a sister, or—"
"a sister?!" connor almost choked on the word, a incredulous, breathless laugh escaping him as he pulled your hands up to press them flat against his chest, right over his wildly beating heart. "does my heart beat like this when i look at my sister? do i look at my sister's lips every time she talks to me?"
your eyes dropped to his mouth, then snapped back up to his face. your cheeks flushed with a heat so intense it felt like fire.
"you... you look at my lips?" you stammered, completely out of your depth.
connor let out a low exhale, dropping your hands only to immediately bring both of his palms up to cup your face, his fingers burying into your hair. his touch was firm, and completely unwavering.
"all the time," he whispered, leaning down until his forehead was resting directly against yours, his warm breath fanning across your mouth. "every single day. i am completely, hopelessly obsessed with you, y/n. and if you tell me to get out of your apartment right now, i'll go... but please stop pretending you don't see it."
you stood there, pinned under the absolute weight of his confession, the entire history of your friendship suddenly rewriting itself in your head—every lingering touch, every jealous look he gave other guys, every time he chose to spend his rare days off sitting in silence on your couch.
it wasn't platonic. it had never been platonic.
"con," you whispered, your hands slowly rising up to rest against his waist, feeling the solid, trembling warmth of his broad frame.
"yeah?" he breathed, his eyes dropping down to your mouth, waiting, terrified, but completely unable to pull away.
"you're... really bad at giving subtle hints," you murmured, a small, breathless smile finally touching your lips.
connor let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, his entire body visibly relaxing as he pressed his forehead harder against yours. "i literally bought you a ring for your birthday last year."
"i thought it was a best friend ring!"
"who buys a best friend a diamond ring, y/n?!" connor groaned, a gorgeous, genuine smile breaking across his face as he closed the tiny remaining gap between you, pressing his lips against yours in a deep, agonizingly slow kiss that completely shattered whatever was left of your friendship, replacing it with something infinitely better.
a/n: reminder this is just an imagine please don't fucking fuck around and find out AND confess to your bestfriend type shit, belive me— been there and done that it WAS HELL.
a/n: post number thirty! 🩵 i miss my lil three apples tall chud bro.
beer sticking to the floor, cheers chanted, cause they said, there was no chance, trying to be the greatest in the league—where's the trophy? he just comes running over to me..
the tension inside sap center was thick enough to cut with a knife. it was game seven of the stanley cup finals, overtime, and the entire arena was caught in a suffocating state of paralysis. thousands of fans stood on their feet, completely frozen, too quiet to breathe but too excited to function. every single eye in the building was glued to the ice.
except yours.
because while everyone else was praying for a game-winning goal, you were praying for your bladder.
oh, for the love of fuck, you just really couldn’t hold it anymore. you’d been chugging nervous water since the first period, and now your body was strictly punishing you for it. your knee was bouncing violently in your lower-box seat, your hands tightly gripping your teal jersey as you stared at the clock. just whistle, you pleaded internally. any stoppage of play. please.
but the play kept going. back and forth. up and down the ice.
finally, you hit your absolute limit. you couldn't do it. championship on the line or not, you were going to have a literal accident right behind the bench. with a desperate gasp, you stood up and ran off completely, abandoning your seat and sprinting up the stairs toward the concourse like your life depended on it. the halls was an absolute ghost town. every single concession worker and security guard was staring at the nearest TV screen. you practically burst through the restroom doors, sighing in pure, unadulterated relief.
and that’s exactly when it happened.
while you were trapped in a stall, a sound began to build from the main bowl of the arena. it started as a sudden, sharp gasp from eighteen thousand people—and then the entire stadium absolutely exploded.
the walls of the restroom literally vibrated. a deafening, thunderous roar ripped through the concrete, followed immediately by the blaring shrieks of the goal horn. he scored. the sharks had just won the stanley cup.
"are you fucking kidding me?!" you screamed to yourself washing your hands and sprinting back out of the bathroom.
by the time you made your way back to the tunnel, the arena was in absolute, beautiful anarchy. siren noises were blaring, confetti was already raining down from the rafters in giant teal and white sheets, and the entire sharks bench had emptied onto the ice in a massive, crying, hugging pile of hockey gear.
you stepped back out into the crowd, completely breathless. up on the jumbotron, the replay showed it all—#71 had forced a turnover at the blue line, driven hard to the net, and buried a backhanded shot straight into the top corner. macklin celebrini had just won the cup.
down on the ice, the team scrum was finally breaking apart. macklin was standing near the blue line, his helmet gone, his hair soaked in sweat and sticking to his forehead. he was grinning wider than you had ever seen in your entire life, but his eyes weren't on the trophy being wheeled out.
he was looking at the crowd. specifically, he was looking straight at your empty seat behind the glass. even from the tunnel, you could see the exact moment his smile faltered. his eyebrows knitted together, his eyes frantically scanning the row. where the hell were you? he had just achieved his lifelong dream, and his secret girlfriend was entirely missing in action.
the arena announcer's voice boomed over the speakers, and the crowd started chanting his name. “CE-LEB-RINI! CE-LEB-RINI!”
you panicked, quickly trying to make your way back. "excuse me, sorry, coming through," you muttered, straight up squeezing your way through the rowdy, screaming fans to get back down to the lower box seats. you were pushing past people spilling beer, fans crying on each other's shoulders, completely desperate to get back to the glass so he could see you.
but you didn't even make it to your row.
because the second macklin caught sight of your jersey moving through the crowd near the tunnel staircase, he didn't care about the unwritten rules anymore. he didn't care about the cameras, the media, or the secret.
macklin straight up skated away from the trophy presentation, heading directly toward your section of the boards. he met you halfway, skating right up to the glass just as you finally managed to squeeze your way down to the front row. the collision of his pads hitting the boards made you gasp. you threw your hands up against the glass, and macklin immediately pressed his own gloved hands right over yours, staring at you through the heavy plastic.
"where the hell were you?!" macklin shouted over the deafening roar of the chants, his voice raw, breathless, and completely emotional. his dark eyes were wild, a massive, disbelieving grin breaking across his face as he looked at you.
"i had to pee!" you screamed back, a ridiculous, laughing flush creeping up your cheeks. "i'm sorry! i couldn't hold it!"
macklin let out a loud, booming laugh, throwing his head back against the roar of eighteen thousand people chanting his name. he looked down at you through the glass, his eyes softening into that pure, intense look that was meant strictly for you and no one else.
"you missed the goal!" he yelled, leaning his forehead right against the cold glass, directly opposite yours.
"i heard it!" you laughed, your tears finally spilling over as you stared at him. "baby, you did it! you won the cup!"
"yes love i did," he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring the television camera that had just panned directly onto the two of you, broadcasting your face to millions of people watching at home. macklin didn't care. he tapped his gloved hand against the glass right over your heart. "i'm coming up there to get you. you're coming on the ice."
"but, the cameras—"
"i don't care," he interrupted, his voice thick with pride and adrenaline. "everyone is about to find out anyway. wait right there."
by the time the security guards unlatched the ice gate, a beautiful, chaotic crowd was already forming on the rink. several families of his teammates came pouring onto the ice to congratulate their sons and husbands. you could see crying joys, proud fathers clapping the backs of heavy pads, and the air thick with pure, unyielding celebration. standing right near the bench entrance was macklin's family. they were beaming, waiting to embrace him—and while mack's family knew the secret of your relationship, they were really shocked bout the reveal he was about to pull.
macklin didn't even wait to lift the trophy first. the second he saw you clear the gate, he bypassed the cameras, the staff, and the lingering teammates. he stroked forward on his skates, reached out with his huge, gloved hands, and completely pulled you out of the seats and onto the ice.
you let out a loud yelp of surprise as his strong arms wrapped completely around your waist. macklin didn't just guide you to the rink—he used his momentum on the ice to lift your feet right up off the frozen surface, spinning you around and around in a circle right in the center of the rink where the teal confetti was falling the thickest.
you laughed breathlessly, your hands clutching tightly at the heavy pads of his shoulders as the world spun, the bright stadium lights and showering confetti blurring together.
the arena once again exploded. with love.
the jumbotron caught the exact movie-moment of the sharks' young franchise captain spinning his girl around the championship ice, and a deafening, collective roar of approval ripped through the eighteen thousand fans. his family was watching with wide, shocked, but utterly ecstatic grins, his mom clapping her hands over her mouth in pure surprise at his boldness.
when his skates finally slowed to a stop, he didn't let your feet touch the ground just yet. macklin caught your jaw with his hand and kissed you. it wasn't a quick, hidden peck. it was deep, breathtaking, and filled with all the months of pent-up hiding, celebrating his massive victory in the loudest, most public way possible.
when he finally pulled back, he lowered you down, his forehead resting against yours as both of you breathed heavily, the stadium continuing to shake with cheers.
"happy now?" he whispered, his eyes glittering with tears and absolute triumph.
you slid your hands up to his neck, smiling through your own tears. "happiest i've ever been. now go lift your cup."
a/n: post twenty nine! 🩵 stenbug is def will and macklin's son.
you're so gorgeous i can't say anything to your face— just look at your face.
the bright lights of the SAP Center media room hit the glass of the tunnel, casting sharp reflections across the concrete. it was your third week on the job as the new rinkside reporter for the san jose sharks, and you were still fighting the constant urge to prove you belonged here.
most of the roster was easy enough to interview—veterans who could churn out media-trained answers in their sleep.
and then there was ivar.
the team’s swedish rookie was electric on the ice, but off it, around the press, he was pretty quiet. his english was good, but he had those subtle swedish habits—a soft accent, using "how" instead of "what". he kept his answers short and usually avoided looking straight at the cameras.
especially when you were holding the microphone.
whenever you walked into the room, ivar seemed to freeze up. if you asked him a question, he’d glance at your forehead, stumble over simple words, and wrap up his answer in five seconds flat before leaving. you were convinced he either thought you were bad at your job or was just annoyed by you.
what you didn't know was that every single time you stepped into his line of sight, his brain went totally blank. he wasn't annoyed; he was just completely overwhelmed by how pretty you were, and he had no idea how to act around you in front of twenty reporters.
---------—————————————---------
the post-game energy in the locker room was loud. the sharks had just secured a massive 4-3 win, driven entirely by ivar’s two-goal night.
the press pack crowded around his stall. you managed to squeeze your way right to the front line, holding your microphone steady.
ivar was sitting on his wooden bench in his compression shirt, his hair still wet from the ice. he was answering generic questions about power-play setups in a low, steady voice, looking down at his skates.
when the beat writers finished, you took a breath and stepped forward.
"ivar, huge win tonight," you said, keeping your voice professional. "you found a lot of open ice on that second-period breakout. can you walk us through the chemistry on that line right now?"
ivar paused. he slowly looked up from his skates, his eyes resting on yours.
the locker room chatter faded into background noise. he looked at your smile, the flush on your cheeks from the cold rink air, and the way you were watching him, waiting for his answer.
three seconds of total silence stretched between you. ivar opened his mouth, but no english came out. he blinked, cleared his throat, and let out a quiet, flustered laugh at his own inability to speak.
"vacker," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
it was just one quiet word in swedish— slipped out so softly you barely caught it over the rumble of the room.
his ears instantly turned red. he caught himself, clearing his throat again as he tried to reboot his brain.
"ah—ja, sorry," he stammered, his accent suddenly much thicker. "we... we play hard, liksom. the pass from defense was good. we just... push the pace in the third, you know? thank you."
before you could even ask a follow-up, ivar grabbed his towel, stood up, and quickly walked down the hallway toward the showers, leaving you and the camera operator staring at his empty stall.
----------———————————————-----------
by midnight, you were sitting on your couch in your sweatpants, scrolling through your phone with a hot cup of tea.
then, your group chat blew up.
"Ivar Stenberg losing his train of thought post-game lol.."
PLEASE TELL ME YOU SAW THIS????
he literally forgot how to speak english when
you asked him a question 😭
you tapped the link.
the official sharks social media team had posted the routine interview on twitter and tiktok right after the game. they hadn't edited out the pause or his quiet muttering, assuming he was just cursing at himself in swedish for blanking.
the comments had already caught it.
the video was blowing up, and the top comment read:
@dubainanabread: he literally stopped mid-sentence, looked at her, and whispered "vacker" (pretty) to himself before completely short-circuiting. HE IS DOWN BAD 😭!!
@smitty1347: holy face card tho
@hwhwjwj: @ivarstenberg???? EXPLAINNN????
underneath, fans were losing their minds over how red his ears got and how flustered he looked. you replayed the clip, your face burning as you watched the moment again.
----------———————————————---------
the next morning at 9:00 am, the practice rink was quiet.
you were sitting in the bleachers with your laptop on your knees, drafting notes for the afternoon show while trying to ignore your phone notifications.
the heavy glass doors to the tunnel opened, and slow footsteps stopped near your row.
ivar was standing there in his grey team hoodie, holding a coffee cup. he looked like he hadn't slept much, and the red tint was already back on his neck the second he saw you.
"hey," he said quietly, before catching himself. "uh, hi."
"hi, ivar," you said, lowering your laptop screen slightly.
ivar cleared his throat, glancing at the empty seat beside you. "can i... sit here, or?"
"yeah, go ahead."
he walked up the steps and sat down, keeping a respectful distance. he stared down at his coffee lid, tapping his thumb against the cardboard.
"i am... very sorry," ivar murmured, his voice soft. "my friend from home, he sent me this tiktok video this morning, you know? i did not think people would... hear that."
you let out a soft laugh. "it's okay. it kind of blew up, though."
ivar rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a quiet groan. "ja, i know. i feel like an idiot. i make your job uncomfortable today, i think. you are trying to be a professional reporter and i act like that."
"ivar," you said gently, leaning back against the seat. "did you actually say that?"
ivar paused, turning his head to look at you properly.
"yes," he admitted, his voice quiet. "it is... what i said. every time you hold the microphone, i try to listen how you ask the question, but then i just look at you and my brain stops.."
you looked at him, feeling a sudden flutter in your chest.
"i thought you were annoyed by me," you said softly. "you always leave after like two questions."
ivar offered a small, shy smile, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "nej, i am not annoyed. i am just... nervous around you."
"around me?"
"yes," ivar said, shifting a little closer and looking right at you. "because you are... very pretty. it is hard to pay attention."
you stared at him, caught off guard by how straightforward he was being now that there weren't ten cameras in his face.
"well," you said, a quiet smile touching your lips. "if you ever want to practice your english without a microphone in your face... i'm usually around after practice."
ivar’s smile widened, a genuine, easy look on his face.
"ja?" he said softly. "okay. then no cameras next time."
a/n: i can't wait for hockey szn ALSO i just searched on google how to say pretty on swedish 💔💔 please let me know if it's right or wrong!
wtf wtf wtfw rfw wrtfffffff babe you actually left me buzzing with your latest fraser fic are you kidding??? the build up was insane i waa hooked from the beginning, what a treat that was. love ur writing!!!
would you ever be up to writing a part 2 to that story? i loved it 2 much babes
be each others? (fraser minten x reader)
word count: 1500+ words
tw: !cheating, lil make out smut if u look closely.
a/n: post number twenty-eight! 🩵 you asked and you shall receive ;)
let's set each other's lonely nights, be each other's paradise.
-> part one <-
the morning sun hit the ice through the high, arched windows of the practice facility, creating a sharp glare that made your eyes ache. you sat three rows up in the bleachers, wrapped in a heavy jacket, the cold rink air seeping right through your jeans.
beside you, an older player’s girlfriend was talking—her voice a steady, rhythmic buzz about apartment hunting and game-day outfit trends—but you couldn't process a single word. her voice felt muffled, like you were listening to her from underwater.
down on the ice, the energy was thick and just entirely wrong.
the drills were simple enough, but every time fraser and your boyfriend lined up against each other, the air in the building seemed to thin out. your boyfriend was playing with his usual loud, flashy cockiness, dropping a shoulder hard into fraser along the boards during a two-on-two drill. fraser didn't stumble. he barely even flinched, he just absorbed the hit, stole the puck off your boyfriend’s stick with a clean efficient pocket-strip, and skated away without a word.
a couple of the veterans on the bench shared a quick, quiet look— eyebrows raised, a low whistle passed between them—sensing the strange, venomous undertone between the two young players. but nobody said anything. in hockey, guys hit hard; tension was just written off as competitiveness.
then, fraser glided back toward the red line to reset for the next line rush.
he slowed his stride, his eyes rising up from the white ice, moving straight past the coaching staff, straight past the glass, until they locked directly onto yours.
the noise of the rink completely evaporated.
the sound of skate blades carving into fresh ice, the loud thuds of pucks bouncing off the boards, the non-stop chatter of the girl sitting next to you—it all fell entirely silent. the world shrank down to a terrifyingly narrow corridor between your bench seat and his place on the red line.
fraser didn't blink. his gaze was heavy and possessive, and so rawly intense that a sudden wave of heat crept straight up your neck, flushing your cheeks. your heart gave a hard, erratic skip against your ribs, sending a tremor through your entire chest. he held your eyes for three seconds before the whistle blew, turning effortlessly to join the drill, leaving you completely breathless in the cold air.
-------------------------------------------------
when practice finally wrapped up, you stood up, smoothing down your jacket.
"i'm gonna wait by the hall for him," you told the girl next to you, forcing a small, tight smile onto your face.
she nodded warmly, giving your arm a quick squeeze. "see you at the game on friday!"
you made your way down the concrete stairs and stood near the back hallway that led to the locker rooms, pulling your sweater sleeves down over your hands. you were supposed to be waiting for your boyfriend. you were supposed to be his dutiful, patient partner waiting to drive home.
then the heavy double doors groaned open, and fraser came out first.
he was already dressed in his street clothes—a dark wool coat over a simple black sweater, his wet hair pushed back from his forehead. he was carrying his duffel bag over one broad shoulder.
the moment he stepped into the quiet hallway and saw you standing there alone, his stride didn't pause, but his jaw set into a hard, rigid line. he walked straight past you, close enough that the scent of his clean cedarwood soap washed over you, cutting through the damp rink air.
as he passed, his left hand dropped to his side. without looking at you, his fingers brushed against the back of your hand—a quick, burning drag of skin against skin—before he kept walking down the corridor toward the exit.
seconds later, the doors pushed open again, and your boyfriend walked out, laughing loudly with another rookie, his arm flying over your shoulders the second he reached you.
"ready to go?" your boyfriend asked, not even waiting for an answer as he steered you toward the car, entirely oblivious to the lingering warmth on your knuckles.
------------------------------------------
what followed over the next forty-eight hours was a quiet game of hide and seek—but not behind doors or under the covers, but in plain sight, right under his nose.
under your boyfriend's nose.
it was toxic, the heart-in-your-throat adrenaline of existing in the same small ecosystem. at the team dinner that evening, your boyfriend sat you right beside him at the long wooden table. fraser sat directly across from you, three seats down. every time your boyfriend reached over to casually pat your knee or drape a possessive hand over your chair, fraser’s knuckles would turn white around his glass of water.
you kept your head down, focusing on your plate, but every time you dared to glance up, fraser was watching. he didn't join in the loud jokes. he just watched the way your boyfriend talked over you, the way you shrank into yourself, his eyes burning with an unspoken promise: i'm right here. just look at me.
by midnight, the game moved into the actual shadows.
your boyfriend had fallen asleep early, completely knocked out from two intense practices, snoring softly on his side of the bed. you lay awake in the dark, watching the ceiling, your chest aching so heavily you could barely breathe.
your phone buzzed silently against the nightstand.
fraser
front door.
your heart hammered frantically against your ribs. you slipped out of bed, your bare feet making no sound against the carpet. you didn't change; you just pulled your hoodie over your shoulders and unlocked the front door, stepping out into the dimly lit, carpeted hallway of the apartment complex.
fraser was standing right there, leaning his broad shoulder against the doorframe of the emergency stairwell just three doors down.
the second the stairwell door heavy-clicked shut behind the two of you, locking you into the narrow, concrete space, fraser moved.
he didn't say a word. he crossed the small landing in two massive strides, his hands coming up to cup the sides of your neck, his thumbs pressing firmly against your racing pulse. he lifted you slightly, pinning your back flush against the cold concrete wall, his entire frame crowding into your space until there wasn't a single inch of air left between you.
"you're killing me," fraser whispered, his voice a low rasp that vibrated directly against your lips. "watching him touch you all night. watching you pretend."
"f-fraser..." you gasped, your hands flying up to grip the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer even as the guilt clawed at your throat. "he's right down the hall. if he wakes up—"
"let him wake up," fraser rumbled, his eyes burning into yours in the dim emergency light, entirely reckless, completely unhinged from his usual disciplined self. "let him come out here and see who you actually run to when the lights go out."
his head dipped down, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss so heavy, deep, and possessive it completely shattered whatever sanity you had left. his tongue slid against yours, tasting like mint and dark coffee, his large hands sliding down to grip your waist, anchoring you to him like you were the only solid thing in his world.
you let out a soft, broken whimper into his mouth, your fingers tangling into his damp hair, kissing him back with the same desperate, starving intensity. this was wrong. it was messy, toxic, and completely insane—a game of hide and seek played on the edge of a cliff.
but fuck—he kiss you so good you started seeing stars.
when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of your chests heaving in the quiet stairwell. his hands were shaking against your waist, his eyes dark and heavy as he looked down at your swollen lips.
"company," fraser rumbled softly, his thumb tracing the flush on your cheekbone. "that's all we are, right? just keeping each other company."
"just company," you breathed back, a lie that tasted like ash, because as fraser leaned down to press another slow kiss to the corner of your jaw, you both knew neither of you was ever going to walk away from this clean.
tw: emotional distress, profanities, use of y/n, angst.
a/n: post twenty-seven! 🩵 my tl was full of bedsy spotted and he is all smiles. but this fic isn't...
no one tried, to read my eyes—no one but you. wish it weren't true
the heavy hum of the air conditioner in his vancouver apartment was the only sound that had filled the room for the last three hours.
ever since the surgery on his shoulder—the brutal, season-altering injury from summer camp that had completely derailed his mind and body—connor had become a ghost of himself. the hyper-focused, confident boyfriend you knew had been replaced by someone who was drowning in a toxic mix of frustration and absolute self-pity.
his left arm was strapped securely into a dark medical sling against his chest, locking him into a state of physical helplessness that he despised more than anything in the world.
you walked out of the kitchen, wiping your hands on a dish towel. you had spent the last hour meticulously making the exact chicken and rice dish he liked, cutting the chicken into perfectly small pieces so he wouldn't have to struggle with a fork and knife. you set the warm plate on the coffee table in front of him, along with a fresh glass of water and the two white pain pills he was supposed to take at six o'clock.
"food's ready, con," you murmured softly, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch, giving him the space he had been demanding all week. "you need to take those pills before the ache gets bad again tonight."
connor didn't look at the plate. he was staring at the blank tv screen, his jaw set so tightly the muscle near his ear was ticking frantically. his hair was messy, hanging into his eyes, and the dark circles underneath them made him look entirely hollowed out.
"i'm not hungry," he muttered, his voice completely flat.
"you haven't eaten anything since breakfast, baby. you need to eat to heal," you said gently, pushing the plate just an inch closer to him.
"i said i'm not hungry, y/n," he snapped, his voice suddenly rising and biting. he finally turned his head to look at you, his eyes entirely cold, completely guarded by the walls he had been building since the moment he woke up in the recovery room. "just leave it. stop hovering over me."
the silence that followed his outburst was deafening.
the sheer injustice of his words felt like a physical slap to the face. the exhaustion of the last three weeks—the sleepless nights, the alarms set at 3:00 am to rotate his ice packs, the absolute terror you felt watching him get wheeled into the operating room—all of it came rushing up your throat at once.
a hot, heavy tear spilled over your lashes, tracking quickly down your cheek. you didn't even try to wipe it away.
"are you kidding me?" you choked out, your voice trembling violently as you stared at him.
connor's face faltered for a second at the sight of your tears, the cold anger in his eyes flickering, but you didn't let him speak. you stood up from the couch, your hands shaking as you crossed your arms tightly over your chest.
"you think i'm doing this out of pity?" you cried, your voice breaking on a sob as you looked down at him. "you think i'm cutting up your food and sleeping on the floor next to your bed so i don't accidentally bump your arm because i feel obligated?"
connor swallowed hard, his left hand slowly releasing its death grip on the cushion. "the word isn't obligation, y/n. i'm just saying—"
"no, shut up and look at me," you cried, pointing a shaking finger at him, the tears falling freely now. "how dare you. how dare you think so little of me, and of us, that you think i look at you like you're broken. you are the one pitying yourself, connor! i'm here because i love you. i'm here because when you hurt, i hurt. i cook for you because i want you to get strong again. i remind you about your pills because i can't stand seeing you in pain. and all i've done since the moment you got hurt is try to be whatever you needed me to be... and you're just sitting there punishing me for it because you're mad at the universe."
the anger completely drained out of connor's face, leaving behind nothing but absolute devastation. he looked at the plate of food you had carefully prepared for him, the pills set out perfectly on the napkin, and then up at your face, red and stained with tears.
you couldn't even look at him anymore. the suffocating walls of the apartment felt like they were closing in on you, trapping you in a room filled with his bitterness. before he could even gather the words to answer, you grabbed your keys and your phone off the kitchen counter.
"y/n, wait," connor called out, his voice instantly losing its sharp edge, dropping into a panicked register as he tried to shift his weight to stand up.
you didn't turn back. you slammed the front door behind you, the loud, echoing thud cutting off the sound of his voice as you walked down the hall and into the cool vancouver evening.
it was exactly midnight when the soft click of the front door unlocking broke the silence of the dark apartment.
the city outside had gone quiet, and the anger that had carried you out of the building hours ago had completely dissolved, leaving behind a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. you gently pushed the door open, slipping your shoes off at the entryway, intending to just crawl into the guest bed without making a sound.
but when you stepped into the living room, the amber light from the streetlights revealed a silhouette on the couch.
connor hadn't gone to bed. he was sitting straight up, his left hand loosely gripping the edge of the fabric, his head slumped slightly forward as he drifted in a light, uncomfortable sleep. the television was completely off, plunging the room into shadows. on the coffee table in front of him, the plate of chicken and rice sat entirely cold, but the napkin next to it was empty—he had taken the two white pain pills you left for him.
the slight creak of the floorboard made his eyes instantly snap open.
connor blinked heavily in the dim light, his gaze shifting around the room until his eyes landed right on you standing near the hallway. the terrifying relief that washed over his features made his shoulders visibly drop, his chest letting out a long, shuddering breath.
"you came back," he whispered, his voice rough and hoarse from hours of sitting in the dark alone.
you stayed where you were, your fingers tightening around your phone. "i live here too, connor. i just needed to breathe."
connor swallowed hard, his eyes tracking down to his lap. he looked small in the shadows, the heavy black medical sling strapped across his chest looking like a permanent weight pulling him down.
"i sat here the whole time," he murmured quietly, his left hand coming up to nervously rub the back of his neck, his hair messy and tangled from the long day. "i kept looking at the door. every time a car drove past the window, i thought it was you coming back to pack your things."
"is that what you think of me?" you asked, your voice incredibly soft, the anger replaced by a dull sadness as you took two slow steps closer to the couch. "you think the second things get hard, i'm just going to walk out on you?"
"no," connor choked out, his eyes snapping back up to yours, completely glossy and wide with fear in the dark. "no, baby, that's not it. i'm just... i'm so terrified that i'm turning into someone you can't love anymore. i look in the mirror and i don't even recognize the guy staring back at me. i can't skate. i can't train. i'm just a useless weight in this apartment, and i hated myself so much today that i forced you to hate me too."
hearing him admit it, hearing the raw vulnerability of your boyfriend who had the weight of the entire hockey world on his shoulders and felt like he was failing, completely broke the last of your resistance.
you walked over to the couch, slowly sinking down onto the cushion right next to his left side, leaving enough space so you wouldn't touch his bad shoulder.
"i don't hate you, connor," you whispered, looking at the profile of his jaw in the moonlight. "i could never hate you. but you hurt me today. you made me feel like all the care i've been putting into you was just a chore to me."
connor immediately shifted, turning his entire body toward you as much as his sling would allow. his left hand reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as his palm came to rest flat against your cheek, his thumb gently stroking the skin right under your eye where the tears had dried hours ago.
"i know," he breathed, a single tear finally escaping his own eye and cutting a path through the dark. "i'm an idiot. i looked at the plate after you left. i saw how small you cut the pieces so i wouldn't have to struggle. i sat here for four hours thinking about how i treated the only person who actually gives a damn about me when the cameras are off. i'm so sorry, baby. please don't let me push you away."
you closed your eyes, leaning your face into the warmth of his palm, the familiar scent of his soap finally making the knot in your chest unwind. "you have to stop fighting me, con. we're supposed to be a team."
"i'm on your team," he whispered, his forehead leaning down to gently rest against yours, his warm breath fanning across your lips as he held you close with his one good arm. "i promise. i'll eat the food tomorrow. i'll take the pills. just don't leave the apartment again."
a/n: i hope he feels better and heal sooner, he recently signed and i wish him well omfg evil eye for you connor. #divinely protection.
a/n: post twenty-six! 🩵 this is my own niche my goat my everything my minty.
follow my lead, that's what you oughta do, no pressure, swapping out ain't ever been a crime. if it was, then i'd do the time.
-> part two <-
the apartment was completely dark except for the pale, amber glow of the city streetlights cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows. the quiet hum of the refrigerator was the only sound filling the space, a sharp contrast to the bass that had been rattling your ribs at the team party just forty-five minutes ago.
you were sitting on the edge of fraser’s kitchen counter, your legs dangling over the side, completely shivering. you weren't cold because of the weather; it was the kind of the hollow chill that only hits you when you finally realize you’ve spent months letting someone make you feel entirely invisible.
your boyfriend wasn't a monster. that was the worst part of it, the thing that kept you trapped in a cycle of making excuses for him. he didn't call you names, he didn't yell, and he didn't intentionally try to break your heart. he was just... careless. he was a nineteen-year-old hockey player riding the high of making the roster, and his emotional capacity simply didn't extend past his own reflection. to him, you were a gorgeous accessory to be pulled out for team galas and dinners, a comfortable habit to return to when the rink emptied out.
tonight had been the exact definition of that indifference. you had spent two hours doing your hair, zipping yourself into a tight, emerald-green sequin dress he had casually pointed out in a window weeks ago, wanting so desperately to see his eyes light up when he looked at you. but when you stepped into his car, he had just grunted, checked his phone, and immediately started talking about his power-play minutes.
at the club, the separation had been seamless, almost casual. he hadn't dumped you at the door out of malice; he had simply seen a group of his rookie teammates waving from a VIP booth, squeezed your waist once, and said, "i'm gonna grab us drinks, stay here."
three hours later, you were still standing near the edge of the velvet ropes. you had watched him laugh, take shots, and completely forget you existed, his back turned to you as he dissolved into the loud, golden circle of his team. he hadn't even noticed when you walked out into the rain. he hadn't checked his phone.
but fraser had.
fraser had been watching from across the room, the same quiet ache pulling at his chest that had been there since training camp. he knew how wrong this was. he knew the unwritten rules of the room—you don't look at a teammate's girl, you don't notice the way her laugh rings out, and you damn sure don't memorize the exact shade of hazel in her eyes when she's disappointed.
fraser was a guy built on logic, discipline, and respect. he was supposed to be the steady one, the future leader. but looking at you standing alone by the velvet ropes while your boyfriend ignored you, fraser realized he didn't care about being right anymore. he just wanted to be the one who didn't let you drown. how could something feel so entirely right when every rule said it was a betrayal?
it had started so simply months ago—just brief conversations in the arena corridors after games, polite smiles when the team went out for dinners, and the quiet, dangerous realization that he actually listened to you. while your boyfriend talked over you, fraser remembered the small details, the names of your childhood pets, the stress of your midterms. it was a slow toxic leak, a quiet emotional infidelity that neither of you acknowledged until it became too massive to ignore.
when you finally texted him from the sidewalk, your hands shaking too hard to call an uber, he had been there in six minutes flat, pulling his car up to the curb before the tears could even dry on your face.
now, fraser walked into his kitchen, his soft padding socks making no sound against the hardwood. he had already shed his heavy team jacket and his button-down, now just wearing a plain, oversized grey hoodie and dark sweatpants. in his hands, he held a steaming mug of chamomile tea, the loose tags dangling against his knuckles.
the secrecy of it felt like a suffocating weight in the room. if anyone on the team found out you were here, in fraser’s apartment at 3:00 am while your boyfriend was still out drinking, it would completely fracture the room. but fraser didn't even flinch as he stepped into your space. he just placed the mug down on the quartz beside your thigh, his intensely serious eyes scanning your face.
you immediately looked down at your lap, your fingers frantically picking at the sequins of the dress. "i'm sorry," you whispered, your voice cracking so hard it barely carried in the quiet room. "i shouldn't have called you to pick me up, frase. you were probably enjoying the party too. i- i’m just... i'm such a mess."
"stop apologizing, y/n," fraser murmured, his voice dropping into a low tone that always made your chest feel tight. "you don't ever have to apologize to me for needing a place to land."
he took another half-step forward, his large, solid frame fitting perfectly right between your knees. his hands, usually so rough and calloused from gripping a hockey stick, came up to cup your jawline. his touch was shockingly warm against your freezing skin, and his heart gave a heavy, painful thud against his ribs just feeling how small you felt in his space.
"look at me," he whispered, his eyes locked on yours, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones. "remember what i told you after the home opener? when things got heavy? i told you that no matter what time it is, or what's happening in that room, i'm right here. i meant it then, and i mean it right now. let me hold the weight for a little bit."
with a gentleness that completely broke whatever armor you had left, fraser tilted his head down and used the soft fabric of his hoodie cuff to carefully, meticulously dab at the wetness slipping over your eyelashes. he didn't care about the mascara smudging the grey cotton.
he didn't care about the time.
when you let out a ragged, trembling sob, he didn't hesitate. he pulled you forward by your waist, burying your face right into the crook of his neck. his arms wrapped around your back like iron bands, holding you so tightly against his chest that you could feel the steady, reassuring thud of his heartbeat against your cheek. you gripped the fabric of his hoodie, burying yourself in the scent of his laundry detergent and clean cedarwood, crying for everything you had tolerated for the last six months.
"you don't have to put on a performance for me, y know" fraser rumbled against your hair, his large hand coming up to cup the back of your head, his fingers gently tangling in your locks to anchor you to him. "you don't have to wear a dress you hate or stay quiet just to keep someone interested. with me, you just get to exist. exactly like this."
you pulled back just an inch, your hands lingering on his broad shoulders as you looked at him, your heart hammering a terrifying rhythm against your ribs. the guilt was creeping in now, toxic and hella sharp, reminding you of whose logo fraser wore on his chest every day. "fraser... we can't do this. he’s your teammate. it’s too complicated. i can’t ruin your life just because mine is falling apart."
fraser’s jaw locked, a sharp, stubborn line forming near his ear. his eyes dropped to your mouth for a split second before rising back to yours, burning with a quiet, desperate intensity that made your breath hitch.
"let's just be honest for once," he whispered, his thumb moving in a slow, intoxicating circle across your cheekbone. "you give him everything you have and he leaves you standing alone on a street corner. let me just show you what it feels like to have someone actually show up for you. just give us a chance, y/n. see how it feels before you decide we're a mistake."
"what are you saying?" you breathed, your lips almost brushing his with every word.
"i'm saying give me a week," fraser said, his voice dropping into a low register that felt like a physical weight against your chest. "no labels. no team drama. just let me be the one who takes care of you. let me make your coffee, let me listen when you talk, let me actually be there. just try it. if it's too much, or if you tell me you want the way he treats you, i'll step back and i'll never bring it up again. but don't walk away before we even give this a fraction of a second."
you stared at him, completely paralyzed by the honesty in his face. fraser minten didn't play games. he was steady, he was calculated, and right now, he was laying his entire heart out on a dark kitchen counter for you to tear apart.
"fraser..." you whimpered, your heart screaming at you to just lean in and close the small distance between your lips. "i'm so scared."
"i know," he murmured, his forehead gently coming down to rest against yours, his warm breath fanning across your skin. "we don't have to rush into anything. we can go as slow as you need. but don't shut the door on me now. just let me in, y/n. please."
the space between you was thick with months of unspoken hesitation, the ghost of your toxic relationship clawing at your back, while the boy who had loved you in silence stood right in front of you, waiting for your permission to burn it all down. you closed your eyes, your fingers tightening on his shoulders as you slowly, agonizingly began to tilt your chin up.
and then, the loudest—most violent vibration of your phone broke the silence.
the screen lit up on the counter right beside fraser’s mug, the bright white light illuminating the text message banner from your boyfriend.
where the fuck are you? i'm back at the apartment. open the door.
fraser didn't move his forehead from yours, but his entire frame went completely, terrifyingly rigid. his eyes opened, staring directly into yours from inches away, the warm and tender vulnerability in them instantly freezing over into something sharp, dark, and utterly guarded as he waited to see if you were going to pull away to answer it.
a/n: my first time writing minty w a mix of toxicity (i find this hot lol) i am just a girl writing and undiagnosed BUT WHATEVA!
word count: 1800+ long ass ass ass narrations ahead!
tw: 😇
a/n: post number twenty- five.🩵 hi, sorrows sorrows prayers..
part six
007. tacos and the kiss .
the bedroom door didn't click all the way shut, a tiny, jagged sliver of light remaining in the gap. you stayed entirely frozen in your chair, a single hot tear cutting a stinging path down your cheek as your breath hitched in your throat.
"oh so they like each other..."
the soft, stunned mumble from the doorway made your heart completely drop into your stomach. you snapped your head around, your vision blurry as you looked at the small opening. the door pushed inward another inch, and grace’s face appeared in the gap. she wasn't looking at the history textbook on your desk or your messy bed; her wide, brown eyes were locked entirely on your face, taking in the panic and the wet tracking on your cheeks. right behind her, leo’s tall frame blocked out the light of the hallway, his jaw slightly slack as he stared down at you.
they hadn't gone to the taco truck yet. they had been right outside.
"grace," you choked out, your voice cracking as you quickly swiped the back of your hand across your face, trying desperately to pull the detached mask back over your features. "i—i thought you guys left."
grace didn't answer right away. she stepped fully into the room, leaving leo to close the door quietly behind them. the silence in the small space was suddenly so heavy it felt like it was crushing your ribs. she walked over to the side of your desk, leaning her hip against it as she stared at you with a terrifying mixture of immense guilt and absolute disbelief.
"seven years?" she whispered, her voice incredibly small, almost fragile. "y/n... you've been sitting across from my brother at the kitchen table for seven years, watching him look at you like you hung the stars, and you didn't say a single word to me? while i was literally crying on your shoulder about leo back in boston?"
"it's not like that," you lied, your voice trembling as you stared down at your lap, your fingers twisting the fabric of your sweatpants until your knuckles turned white. "he doesn't—he thinks of me as a sister, grace. you heard him. i just... i had to settle it. i had to make sure things didn't get weird."
"he does not think of you as a sister, you absolute idiot," leo’s deep voice cut through the room from his spot by the door. you looked up, surprised by the lack of irritation in his tone. instead, your brother just looked tired, his eyes fixed on you with a strange sort of sad understanding. "smitty hasn't looked at you like a sister since we were sixteen years old where he spent three weeks of his allowance buying you that stupid signed jersey for your birthday. everyone knows it, y/n. except apparently the two of you."
"it doesn't matter," you whispered, a sob finally breaking through your throat as you buried your face in your hands. the weight of the entire trip, the diner parking lot, the suffocating ride from the arena, and the cold look in will’s eyes just moments ago finally broke you completely. "don't you get it? look at what happened with the two of you last night. one spilled secret and the whole dynamic shattered. will is your best friend, leo. grace is my sister. if... if will and i tried anything and it went bad, it wouldn't just ruin us. it would burn the whole group down. i can't do that to our families."
grace let out a shaky breath, sitting down on the edge of the desk right next to you and pulling your hands away from your face. her fingers were warm, squeezing yours with a fierce, protective tightness.
"so you decided to just destroy yourself to keep us safe?" grace asked, her own eyes swelling with tears. "y/n, i am so sorry. god, i am so sorry. i've been so wrapped up in my own stupid drama with leo that i didn't even notice you were drowning right next to me."
"i'm fine," you sniffled, pulling your hands back to wipe your eyes, though the emptiness in your chest screamed otherwise. "i am. i just need everyone to drop it. i told him he's like a brother, and his face... he went so cold, grace. it's over. i killed it. let's just go get the tacos. please."
grace and leo exchanged another long, loaded look, but for the first time all weekend, they didn't push. they just nodded quietly, giving you the space to wash your face in the bathroom before forcing yourself out into the blinding california sun.
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the stadium lights of the sap center were dizzying, a massive sea of teal and white jerseys swirling all around you as the three of you took your seats just three rows back from the glass.
not to mention—the car ride over had been an absolute nightmare.
will had driven, fully dressed in his custom team suit, his hair parted. he looked every bit the professional nhl athlete—and he treated you like a complete stranger. he hadn't looked at you through the rearview mirror once. when you got out of the car, he didn't hold the door or linger back to walk next to you like he always did. he just walked ahead with leo, his broad shoulders stiff under his blazer, leaving a cold, unreadable distance in his wake.
now, the loud, booming music of the pre-game warmups vibrated through the concrete under your feet.
"he's coming out," grace murmured, leaning close to your ear over the noise of the crowd.
the sharks flooded onto the ice, the sharp scrape of skate blades against fresh ice echoing through the glass. your eyes instantly found number two. will skated out with his usual easy, powerful strides, circles forming as the team began their shooting drills.
usually, during warmups, will had a routine. the second he skated past your section, he would look up, find your face in the crowd, and give a specific, quick tap of his stick against the boards—a private little acknowledgment meant just for you.
you braced yourself as his circle brought him down your side of the rink. your heart hammered against your ribs, your eyes locking onto the dark tint of his visor as he glided closer.
will skated right past.
he didn't look up. he didn't tap his stick. his eyes remained locked strictly on the puck at his feet, his jaw set in a hard, expressionless line as he fired a shot into the net and skated away. he looked completely through you, as if the seat you were sitting in was entirely empty.
the absolute icy sting of it made you flinch, a physical ache blooming right in the center of your chest. you had gotten exactly what you asked for. you had built the wall, and will, with all his stubborn, bruised pride, had accepted it. he was treating you with the exact distant politeness you had given him in the kitchen, and it felt like a slow, agonizing death.
"okay, that's it," leo muttered from your left.
before you could even ask him what he meant, the buzzer sounded to end warmups, and the players filed back into the tunnel. leo stood up, his large frame towering over the stadium seats, his face set in a stubborn, unyielding expression that looked exactly like the one he wore when he was about to start a fight on the ice.
he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a heavy, laminated credential on a black lanyard—the family pass that allowed access to the lower locker room corridors after the game. he pressed it firmly into your hand, his fingers forcing yours closed around the plastic.
"leo, what are you doing?" you whispered, trying to push it back toward him. "i'm not going down there."
"yes, you are," your brother said, his voice entirely firm as he looked down at you. "smitty is going to play like he's got a dark cloud over his head, you look like you're about to faint, and grace and i are sick of watching the two of you ruin your lives for some stupid rule that doesn't even exist. he doesn't look at you like a sister, y/n. go down to the tunnel after the final horn and tell him the truth before he flies back to boston and never speaks to any of us again."
grace nodded fiercely next to him, pushing your shoulder gently toward the aisle. "go, y/n. we'll wait right here."
the plastic of the credential felt incredibly heavy against your palm as you stared down the long, concrete steps leading toward the underbelly of the arena. the game hadn't even started yet, but the countdown had officially begun, and you were completely terrified of what was going to happen when the glass finally shattered for good.
-----------------------------------------
the first two periods were nothing but a blurry smear of teal jerseys and the deafening, hollow roar of the arena crowd.
you sat between grace and leo, your thumb endlessly tracing the smooth, laminated edge of the pass in your lap. down on the ice, will was playing with reckless sort of aggression. he wasn't talking to his teammates on the bench; he wasn't doing his usual high-fives after a good shift. he was just hitting hard, skating too fast, and returning to the bench to stare blankly at the dark rubber matting between his skates.
by the time the third period buzzer finally echoed through the rafters, signaling a hard-fought win, your stomach had twisted itself into complete knots.
"go," leo said quietly, his hand coming down on your shoulder with a firm, grounding squeeze. "don't let him get on that team bus thinking you actually mean that 'brother' garbage."
grace gave you a small, encouraging push, her eyes soft with an apology that didn't need to be spoken anymore.
you stood up on trembling legs, separating yourself from the swarms of fans heading toward the exits, and made your way toward the security checkpoint near the lower bowl. the guard checked your laminated pass with a dull, practiced nod and unhooked the velvet rope, gesturing you down into the concrete underbelly of the sap center.
down there, the glamorous, bright energy completely vanished. it was all exposed pipes, grey concrete walls, the sharp, pungent scent of damp hockey gear, and the distant, rhythmic thud of heavy footsteps. you stood a few yards away from the heavy double doors of the visiting locker room, your back pressed against the cold wall, trying to breathe through the sheer panic suffocating your chest.
ten minutes passed. then twenty.
finally, the heavy metal doors groaned open. a few coaching staff members walked out first, talking in low, serious voices, followed by a couple of the older players carrying sleek rolling suitcases. and then came will.
he had showered, his hair still damp and curling slightly at the nape of his neck, but the sharp, immaculate lines of his suit looked like a suit of armor. his eyes were fixed entirely on the concrete floor in front of him, his large hand gripping the handle of his duffel bag so tightly the leather creaked.
as he neared your spot against the wall, his instinct must have kicked in. his eyes flicked up, adjusting to the shadow you were standing in. the second he recognized you, his entire stride hitched for a fraction of a second.
the cold, guarded wall you had forced him to build earlier that morning immediately slid over his features. he didn't stop walking. he just adjusted his bag on his shoulder and gave you a tiny, polite nod—the kind of nod you give a stranger you accidentally make eye contact with on the subway.
"hey," he said, his voice dropping into that scratchy, formal tone that felt like a bucket of ice water over your head. "leo and grace outside?"
he was going to walk right past you.
"will, stop," you choked out, the words slipping from your lips before your brain could even process the sheer terror of it.
he halted. he didn't turn around completely, just pausing two paces ahead of you, his broad back rigid under the tailored fabric of his blazer. the silence between you in that gray concrete hallway felt so heavy it was deafening.
"i'm tired, y/n," he muttered, his voice dropped incredibly quiet, rough around the edges from the three periods of hockey and whatever hell he’d been putting his own head through. "if you're here to tell me about midterms or schoolwork again, i really just... i want to get to the hotel."
"i lied," you whispered to his back.
the words seemed to hang in the chilly arena air. slowly but deliberately, will turned around. his eyes searched your face, completely unreadable, his jaw tight. "you lied about what?"
"everything," you said, taking one small, hesitant step forward until you were standing in the light, right in front of him. your hands were shaking, so you shoved them into the pockets of your jacket. "this morning... in the bedroom. when I told you that you were like a brother to me. it was a lie. the biggest, stupidest lie i've ever told in my life."
will didn't move. he didn't look relieved or angry; he just stood there like a statue, his eyes tracking the slight tremble in your lower lip. "why would you say something like that then?"
"because i was terrified," you breathed, a tear finally breaking free and slipping down your cheek, though you didn't even care to wipe it away this time. "i looked at grace and leo, and i saw how seven years of secrets almost broke them in a single night. and i got so scared, smitty. because my secret isn't like theirs. my secret is seven years of watching the clock until you come home for summer break. it's seven years of keeping every single hat you've ever left at my house. it's seven years of blushing in the dark because you looked at me for two seconds too long by the fridge."
will’s breath caught. you could see the sharp rise and fall of his chest beneath his suit jacket, the muscle in his jaw twitching.
"i thought if i told you that we were just family, the circle would stay safe," you continued, your voice cracking completely as you looked up into his intense gaze. "i thought i could just force myself to get over it. but then you skated past the glass tonight during warmups, and you didn't even look at me... and i realized i'd rather burn the whole world down than have you look through me like i don't exist."
will dropped his duffel bag.
the heavy canvas hit the concrete floor with a loud, dull thud, but neither of you flinched. in two massive, sweeping strides, he closed the remaining distance between you, completely invading your space until his intoxicating scent of vanilla soap and the cold ice rink air filled your lungs.
his large hands came up, his palms burying themselves into the sides of your face, his fingers sliding into your hair with a desperate roughness that made your breath hitch. his thumbs wiped the tears from your cheeks, his touch burning hot against your skin.
"you absolute idiot," will rumbled, his voice thick with an emotion that was raw and painful it made your heart ache. he leaned down, his forehead pressing firmly against yours, his eyes wide and searching as they locked onto yours from inches away. "you think you're the only one who's been suffocating for seven years? you think i want to be your brother, y/n? i have spent half my life trying not to look at your mouth because leo is my best friend and i didn't think i was allowed to have you."
"will..." you whispered against his lips, the proximity making your brain completely melt.
"no, listen to me," he commanded softly, his grip tightening just a fraction on your face, keeping you anchored right there against him. "don't you ever say that to me again. don't you ever look me in the eye and pretend i'm just the boy next door. i don't care about the circle. i don't care if leo throws me into a wall. if you're burning it down, you're burning it down with me."
and before you could even draw in another breath, will tilted his head and closed the distance, his lips pressing against yours in a kiss that felt less like a beginning and more like a dam finally bursting after seven years of pressure.
it was a heavy mix of frantic, and slightly messy, his mouth moving against yours with a desperate sort of hunger that told you everything his quiet, guarded shell had been hiding since you were thirteen years old. you let out a soft, shaky sigh into the kiss, your hands flying out of your pockets to grip the fabric of his blazer, pulling him closer until there wasn't a single inch of cold arena air left between your bodies.
when he finally pulled back just a fraction, his lips lingered against your mouth, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. he didn't let go of your face. his thumbs just stroked your cheekbones, a slow, breathtakingly beautiful smile finally breaking through the hardened exterior of his face.
"so," a loud, familiar voice echoed from the end of the concrete hallway.
you both froze, your eyes widening as you slowly looked past will’s broad shoulder.
leo was standing near the security rope, his arms crossed over his chest, a massive, smug grin splitting his face, while grace stood right next to him, practically vibrating with excitement as she held up her phone.
"does this mean i don't have to eat my tacos in complete silence on the ride home?" leo called out, his deep voice bouncing off the concrete walls.
will let out a low laugh against your forehead, his shoulders finally losing every single ounce of the tension they’d been carrying all week. he didn't drop his hands from your face. he just turned his head slightly, throwing a lazy, victorious smirk back at your brother.
"shut up, leo," will called back, his fingers gently tangling in your hair as he pulled you right back in. "go buy the extra hot sauce. we're gonna be a while."
a/n: aaaaaand that's it! sorry the ending SUCKED i aM so sorry .. writing this felt wrong and long at the same time but fuck i really felt so burned out these past few weeks and life has been hard fucking me and writing the ending for this made my head ache 💔. bBbut fret fuckin not i am back in business! any requests are pretty much open, i am thinking about writing for another teams too lmk what you think! i solemnly swear that i will give u guys more quality of writing from now onnnn...
a/n: post twenty-four! 🩵 did not proof read pls send me to the writers jail 💔
¡series masterlist
006. glassy border
the car engine finally cut off, the sudden silence of the rental house driveway hitting the four of you like a physical wall. out in the backseat, the shifting of fabric broke the quiet as leo groggily opened his eyes. for a split second, he didn't move, his eyes blinking heavily in the dark as he realized grace’s head was still slumped deeply into the crook of his neck. you watched through the rearview mirror as his entire frame went completely rigid. he cleared his throat roughly, scrambling to sit up straight and press himself against the window mirror, his face a mix of panic and intense awkwardness.
"we're here," will muttered, his voice flat as he unbuckled his seatbelt.
the extraction was a messy, silent affair. leo slid out of his side first, completely refusing to look at grace as she let out a sleepy, pathetic whine from losing her human pillow. will opened her door, reaching into the backseat with his massive arms to hoist her up. you moved to her other side, hooking your shoulder under her armpit, and together, you and will carried her side by side up the concrete walkway.
even completely wasted, grace’s filter was totally shot. as your shoulders brushed against will’s with every heavy step, her head lolled forward, her eyes fluttering open just enough to squint at leo’s rigid back as he unlocked the front door ahead of you.
"y/n..." she mumbled into your shoulder, her breath smelling heavily of whiskey. "tell... tell that grumpy man to stop wearing that red flannel shirt. it's causing... structural damage to my brain."
leo froze dead in his tracks at the front door, his broad shoulders tensing up so hard his jacket fabric strained. will let out a sharp, growl from deep in his chest, his jaw locking as he threw an absolute death glare at the back of leo's head. you had to bite the absolute shit out of the inside of your cheek, the mixture of wanting to laugh hysterically and cry from the suffocating tension making your stomach twist into knots.
they finally managed to dump her onto the guest bed. leo immediately muttered something entirely incoherent about getting a glass of water and shut himself inside his own bedroom, the heavy click of his door signaling his complete retreat. the door to grace's room clicked shut a second later, leaving only the sound of her soft, drunken snores echoing through the hallway.
------------------------
it was officially 2:00 am, and the alcohol was rapidly draining from your system bit by bit, leaving behind a throbbing headache right behind your eyes. the rental house was pitch black, illuminated only by the pale moonlight filtering through the kitchen window as you stood by the sink, desperately gulping down a massive glass of ice water.
the soft padding of socks against the hardwood flooring broke the quiet.
the familiar scent of soap and wind immediately filled the small kitchen space, sending a frantic jolt straight to your ribs. will walked out of the dark hallway, having already shed his heavy team jacket. he was just in a plain, faded grey t-shirt and dark sweatpants, looking entirely too broad, too tired, and way too close as he leaned his hip against the counter just inches from where you stood.
he didn't say a word at first. he just stood there in the shadows, his sleepy eyes fixed rigidly on your face, watching the way your throat moved as you finished the water. the ghost of the diner parking lot from yesterday was suddenly screaming in the tiny space between you, the air thick enough to choke on. you were completely alone with him for the first time all week, without the buffer of a loud arena or siblings' miserable silence, and it felt completely terrifying.
he broke the silence with a soft, scratchy cough and pulled open the stainless-steel fridge, the sudden flood of bright yellow light cutting across the dark room. you looked down at your glass of water, your cheeks burning hot against the dark. if there was one thing you needed to stop—one stupid, agonizing monstrosity that had been growing steadily inside you for over seven years—it was blushing every single time will smith so much as looked your way.
he grabbed a sports drink from the shelf, the fridge door clicking shut and plunging the kitchen back into the quiet moonlight. instead of heading back to his room, he pulled out one of the high stools across the kitchen counter and sat down, letting out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to vibrate through the entire room.
"you still awake over there, or are you just haunting the kitchen?" he asked, his voice a loe rumble that sounded completely worn out.
you cleared your throat, tracing the condensation on your glass with your index finger. "still awake. just trying to pretend my brain isn't trying to escape through my forehead. whiskey was a bad choice."
"yeah, well," will muttered, cracking the cap off his drink with a faint click. "could be worse. you could be grace right now, mumble-confessing her sins to the front door."
a soft, tired laugh escaped your lips, your shoulders finally losing a bit of their tension. "she’s going to actually die of embarrassment when she wakes up tomorrow. like, literal spontaneous combustion. i don't think she'll ever look at a piece of red flannel again without throwing up."
will didn't laugh. he just took a slow drink, his eyes fixed on the counter between you. "it's not funny, y/n. your brother looked like he was about to jump out of a moving vehicle."
"he was panicked, smitty," you whispered, leaning your elbows on the cool quartz. your head was still spinning slightly, that lingering, messy tipsiness making you braver than you usually were. "but... honestly? sober thoughts. what do you think? about them?"
will heaved another sigh, rubbing the back of his neck where his hair was slightly messy from the long day. "i think it's messy. i think it's stupidly complicated. but..." he paused, his gaze shifting up to look at you through the shadows, his expression softening just a fraction. "if it's her? if it's grace... i know leo. he’s an idiot, and he's grumpy, but he isn't a bad guy. he'd probably let her walk all over him if she asked nicely enough."
hearing him say that made something ache in your chest. because that was the thing you loved most about will—beneath the tough nhl exterior and guarded shell, he would do absolutely anything for his family. especially his sister. and you knew better than anyone else that your brother wasn't entirely perfect. leo tended to forget his gym bag, his dirty socks, his keys—honestly, he eventually forgot everything. but you knew down to his core that he was a decent, deeply lovable person. he had his flaws, sure, but what is a person without mistakes?
besides, grace and leo balanced each other. ever since you were all in grade school, grace was the glue. she was the one who made sure you and will were forever a part of each other's lives, dragging the two of you along to every neighborhood adventure. she was a literal ray of sunshine on a gloomy monday. a sweet shot of espresso in a bitter latte. maybe you were being dramatic, but she was the sister you always wished you had—though you shouldn't get too greedy. in some ways, they would soon realize it. once grace sobered up and the initial terror wore off, they would eventually have to talk it out.
but then... what happens next?
if your brother dated your best friend, the circle would close. the boundaries would be locked. and what would happen to the seven years of unspoken feelings you had buried for the boy sitting right across from you? if you let yourself give in to the way will looked at you, the whole fragile structure of your childhood group would shatter under the weight of it.
the sudden realization hit your tipsy brain like a slap in the face. without thinking, you placed your glass down way too harshly, a loud thud echoing through the silent house.
will actually jumped slightly, his eyes widening in surprise as he looked at you. "woah. you good?"
"sorry," you mumbled frantically, your heart hammering against your ribs as you backed away from the counter, completely terrified of how close he felt. "i'm—i'm good. goodnight, smitty."
before he could even open his mouth to answer, you turned on your heel and bolted down the hallway, shutting the spare bedroom door behind you and locking yourself in the dark.
----------------------
the faint, pale sunrise peeked through the white faux-wood blinds a few hours later, casting shadows across the bedsheets. you hadn't really slept; you had just floated in that uncomfortable, half-awake limbo where every time you closed your eyes, you saw the sharp line of will’s jawline in the moonlight.
when you finally dragged yourself out of bed, the house smelled like burnt toast and strong coffee.
you walked into the kitchen, your eyes instantly landing on the dining table. it was a complete scene. grace was sitting rigidly in a chair, looking pale, ghostly, and clutching a massive mug of coffee like her life depended on it. she looked like she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole. across from her sat leo, fully dressed in a plain white t-shirt—thankfully no flannel—stubbornly staring down at a plate of scrambled eggs, his face a deep, flush pink as he aggressively chewed.
nobody was talking. the silence was different now—less angry, more entirely overwhelmed by the teenage-level awkwardness of it all.
"morning," you muttered cautiously, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.
grace let out a low, pathetic groan, burying her face in her hands. "don't look at me like that. i am a hollow shell of a human being. i am a ghost."
"you're a loud ghost," leo grumbled from across the table, not looking up from his eggs, though his ears were bright red. "eat your toast. you look like you're gonna faint."
grace sniffled but reached for a piece of toast, her fingers brushing against his plate for a split second. both of them flinched like they’d been zapped by electricity, immediately looking in opposite directions. you couldn't help the small smile that touched your lips; they were idiots, but they were their idiots. they were going to figure it out, even if it took them another seven years of blushing over breakfast.
the soft click of the front door opening signaled will’s return from his early morning skate at the rink. he walked into the kitchen, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his hair damp from the post-practice shower. the moment he entered, the air in the room shifted growing thick and heavy.
his eyes immediately scanned the room, bypassing the misery of grace and leo, and locked straight onto you.
your chest tightened. crush it, you reminded yourself. you have to let it go.
"hey," will said quietly, his eyes lingering on your face, trying to catch your gaze like he always did. he walked toward the counter, stepping directly into your personal space to reach for the coffee pot, his broad shoulder nearly brushing against yours. "headache any better?"
usually, you would have leaned into him. you would have made some witty, sarcastic comment about his damp hair, or let your eyes trace the line of his throat. instead, you kept your eyes glued strictly to your coffee mug, taking a step back until there was a cold, clear foot of space between your bodies.
"yeah. much better," you said, your voice entirely flat, stripped of all the usual warmth you reserved just for him. you didn't look up. you didn't give him a single inch. "grace, do you want to go over the midterm notes today? we need to finish that study guide."
will froze, his hand still holding the handle of the coffee pot. from the corner of your eye, you saw his jaw lock tightly, a sharp, confused line forming between his brows. he wasn't used to you ignoring him. he wasn't used to the wall.
"but you're on vacation? maybe it could wait for a day we're going out, remember?" he asked, his voice dropping.
"college doesn't wait, smitty," you added quickly, finally looking up but keeping your eyes entirely blank, treating him with the exact distant politeness you’d use on a stranger at a bus stop. "gotta catch up on schoolwork."
you grabbed your mug and turned toward the hallway, refusing to look back at the way his eyes went hard and guarded, or the way his fingers tightened around the counter until his knuckles turned white. it felt like a knife twisting directly into your heart with every step you took away from him.
at the dining table, grace stood up and placed her empty dish in the sink along with her mug. leo, too, was now done, and he snuck up behind grace's back to set his own plate down. it was a terribly awkward moment, and then grace finally leaned in, lowering her voice.
"what does y/n mean by a study guide? she already finished that back in boston, right?" she whispered, peaking a glance at her brother who had walked out onto the balcony to take a call.
leo shifted, facing her. "i don't know. did they fight?"
grace looked at him and let out a heavy, stressed sigh. "do i look like i was okay last night? i barely made it to the bed, and—and i said some crazy things, i don't even know! but the point is, we need to get to the bottom of whatever y/n is planning."
a rosy color crept into leo's face, a sudden heat flushing his cheeks as he nodded, staring at her. god, he thought, just how does this girl have this effect on me?
-------------------------
the rest of the morning passed like a slow-motion car crash. you stayed cooped up in the spare bedroom, staring blankly at a textbook page you hadn't actually read a single word of. every time you heard a heavy step in the hallway or the low rumble of will’s voice from the living room, your chest squeezed so tight it made your throat ache. you were doing the right thing. you kept repeating it like a prayer, but god, it felt like punishment.
around noon, a soft knock rattled your bedroom door. you braced yourself, pulling your knees up to your chest before calling out a quiet, "come in."
the door swung open, but it wasn't will. grace slipped inside, looking significantly more human than she had at breakfast, though her eyes were still heavy with a lingering hangover. right behind her, leo hovered in the doorway like a giant shadow, his hands jammed awkwardly into his pockets.
"hey," grace said softly, walking over to plop down on the edge of your mattress. she nudged your ankle with her foot, her eyes searching your face with that annoying, terrifying best-friend intuition. "you've been in here for hours. leo and i were thinking about hitting that taco truck down the street. you coming?"
"i really can't, grace," you said, forcing a small tight smile that felt incredibly heavy on your face. you tapped the screen of your laptop for emphasis. "i'm entirely buried in this history seminar essay. if i don't finish the draft today, i'm screwed for the rest of the trip."
grace's eyebrows knit together. she glanced back at leo, who was leaning his broad shoulder against the doorframe, his dark brows furrowed as he looked between the two of you.
"y/n," grace sighed, her voice dropping into a gentle, careful whisper. "i looked at your school portal when we were packing back in massachusetts. your history draft isn't due until next friday. you finished the outline days ago."
your heart stopped for a fraction of a second. you scrambled for a lie, your fingers tightening against your sweatpants. "well... the professor changed the syllabus. he sent an announcement."
"bullshit," leo grumbled from the doorway, his blunt instinct cutting straight through your defense. he crossed his arms, staring you down with a stern look that looked entirely too much like your dad's. "you're a terrible liar, kid. you've been avoiding the kitchen since seven am. did smitty do something?"
"no!" you blurted out, your voice a little too loud, a little too frantic. "no, will didn't do anything. he's fine. i'm fine. i just... i really just need some space to focus. please."
grace exchanged another long, worried look with leo. it was weird seeing them on the same page again—the silent, high-strung tension from the weekend replaced by this strange, unified front. it was exactly what you had wanted for them, but right now, it just highlighted how incredibly lonely your own side of the fence was.
"okay," grace said quietly, standing up from the bed with a heavy sigh. "we'll leave you to it. but we're bringing you back three carnitas tacos, and you're eating them. no excuses."
leo gave you one last lingering suspicious look before he turned, following grace down the hall. as the front door clicked shut behind them, the house fell into a completely deafening silence.
you let out a shaky breath, closing your laptop and burying your face in your crossed arms on the desk. the silence lasted for maybe five minutes before the floorboards outside your room groaned under a heavy, familiar weight.
the door didn't knock this time. it just pushed open slowly.
will stood in the entryway, his massive frame practically blocking out the light from the hallway. he had changed into a clean black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows to reveal his thick, pale forearms. his face was completely stripped of that sleepy, easygoing grin he usually wore around you. his jaw was set so hard a small muscle was twitching right near his ear.
"they're gone," he said, his gravelly voice dropping into the quiet room like a lead weight.
you didn't look up from your arms, keeping your eyes fixed on the grain of the desk wood. "cool. hope they get good food."
"look at me."
the command was quiet, but it had that possessive edge that always made your blood run hot. you swallowed the lump in your throat, slowly lifting your head and forcing your face into the blankest, most detached expression you could muster.
"what's up, will?" you asked.
will flinched. it was tiny, just a slight narrowing of his eyes, but you saw it. he took two slow, deliberate steps into your room, crowding the small space until the scent of soap and ice-rink chill completely filled your senses. he stopped right beside your chair, looming over you.
"stop doing that," he muttered, his voice dropping into a rough register. "stop looking at me like i'm some guy you just met at a rink. what happened between last night and this morning?"
"nothing happened," you said, your voice entirely flat, though your fingers were gripping the edge of your seat so tight your knuckles were turning white. "i told you, i have schoolwork—"
"i don't give a damn about the schoolwork, and neither do you," will cut you off sharply, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours. his eyes were burning, entirely focused on yours, searching for the girl who used to laugh at his stupid jokes and steal his team hats. "last night in the kitchen, you were fine. you were talking to me. and then you slam your glass down, run into your room, and today you won't even look at me when i stand next to you. did leo say something to you? did he tell you about what happened in boston?"
"no, will!" you snapped, the sudden break in your composure making his eyes flare with a quick flash of victory. you forced yourself to breathe, pulling back into the seat to create whatever distance you could. "leo didn't say anything. nobody said anything. i'm just... i'm realizing things, okay?"
will’s brow furrowed, his jaw locking tighter. "realizing what?"
"that we're not kids anymore," you whispered, the words feeling like actual glass slicing through your throat. you looked him dead in the eye, forcing every ounce of seven-year longing to die right there on your tongue. "look at grace and leo. they've been harboring this weird, messy secret for seven years, and the second it leaks out even a little bit, it completely ruins the dinner, ruins the trip, and turns everyone into freaks. i don't want that, will. i like our life. i like that you're my neighbor, and you're my brother's best friend, and you're... you're like a brother to me, too. i don't want things to get complicated."
like a brother.
the lie tasted like copper in your mouth.
will went entirely, completely still. the furious energy that had carried him into the room suddenly evaporated, leaving his frame rigid and cold. his eyes searched your face, lingering on your mouth, then your nose, then your eyes, looking for any sign that you were bluffing. but you held his gaze, keeping your eyes as blank and unreadable as the ice he skated on.
seconds stretched into an eternity. the silence in the bedroom grew so thick you could hear the distant hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.
slowly, will stood up to his full height, his broad shoulders tensing under the black fabric of his hoodie. intense, burning heat in his eyes completely died out, replaced by a cold wall that made him look exactly like the professional athlete the media saw every night.
"a brother," he repeated, his voice dangerously quiet, stripped of all the gravelly warmth you loved.
you didn't answer. you couldn't. if you opened your mouth, you were going to sob.
will gave you one single, slow nod, his jaw tight. he didn't say anything else. he didn't reach out to touch your hair, he didn't crowd your space. he just turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind him.
a moment later, you heard the heavy thud of his bedroom door closing down the hall.
you collapsed back against your chair, a jagged, trembling breath escaping your lips as the first hot tear finally spilled over your cheek. your chest felt completely hollow, like someone had reached inside and torn your heart out through your ribs. you had done it. you had put up the glass boundary. you had saved the family from burning down.
but as you sat alone in the quiet, sunlit room, looking out the window at the unfamiliar california trees, you realized that the fire hadn't been prevented at all. it had just trapped you inside, burning you alive from the inside out, while the boy next door walked away in the cold.
"oh so they like each other..." a soft mumble in the door that was slightly opened.
(jfdhdshhbk IM SORRY THIS IS DUE FOR SO LONG IM SORRY SORRY SORRY 😿 but i hope u guys emjoy!)
a/n: post number twenty-three! 🩵 i love his teefth so much bro, neways enjoy!
¡series masterlist
005. whiskey on ice
with what happened yesterday, the tension between you and will just made it so—damn awkward. you were sitting at your bedroom window, the cool breeze moving the glass pane slightly as you stared out at the backyard, but you weren't really seeing the trees or the flowers you and leo used to plant.
your mind was entirely stuck in the gravel parking lot from sunday.
you could still feel the exact spot on the hem of your cardigan where will’s thick fingers had clamped down, tugging just enough to anchor you to the earth. your heart did that same erratic lap against your ribs just thinking about how close his broad frame had gotten, crowding your space until the scent of vanilla soap and cold wind completely filled your nose. “tell me you’re coming,” he had whispered, his mouth so close to your ear it had sent a shiver straight down your spine.
he wasn't just the will you knew anymore. there was something humming beneath his eyes—something heavy and dangerous that made your knees go entirely weak, and again and again. you were thoroughly distracted, your fingers absentmindedly tracing your collarbone as you tried to process how a lifetime of being childhood friends had blurred into something this suffocatingly intense.
your thoughts were abruptly cut off by the sound of voices from down below.
you looked through the glass, your eyes narrowing as you spotted will and leo standing near the edge of the lawn. will had his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders tense, while leo was pacing slightly, his jaw completely set. you couldn't hear what they were saying, but the vibe was entirely wrong. usually, when they talked hockey, there were loud gestures, shoved shoulders, and stupid grins. right now, they looked like two soldiers negotiating a ceasefire.
suddenly, leo cut will off mid-sentence, shaking his head aggressively. he pulled out his phone, making a long, heated call right in front of him, leaving will just standing there in the grass, looking thoroughly stressed. it left you completely confused. what the hell were they talking about? did will tell him about the yesterday? were they fighting about you?
a few minutes later, the screen door slammed downstairs, and you heard the soft bustle of shoes tapping against the grass right beneath your window. it was leo.
"hey," he said, looking up at you through the screen, holding a half-empty bottle of an energy drink.
you hummed softly, leaning your chin on your palm as you looked down at him. "what's up with you and will out there?"
he shook his head, cleared his throat roughly, and sat right down in the grass, staring at his boots. "nothing. just, you know, hockey talks."
but hell, that's not how hockey is supposed to be talked. sure—it was pissing when someone mentioned the vegas knights or how dumb a certain defenseman was, but they looked way too serious for a simple hockey talk.
"hockey talk isn't that serious, and on the day he leaves is crazy," you added, not convinced at all.
"does hockey blurbs need a schedule? hockey talk is that serious anytime, believe me, kid." he shifted on the grass, drinking his red bull.
he stood up a second later, shaking the dirt off his shorts, and looked up at your window with a sudden, forced grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "race to the car. the last one to arrive loses and sits in the backseat." he mumbled, and before you could even process the sudden change in energy, he took off. a second later, both of you were running your lungs out down the stairs.
----------------------
well, guess who lost the race and ended up in the backseat?
the original plan was for all of you to fly out together, but will had to head to san jose early the next morning to prepare for his next stretch of nhl games. you couldn't leave with him either because you had a mountain of midterm assignments to crawl through at school. that left you, leo, and grace stuck back in massachusetts for a few extra days.
and god, those days were a complete fever dream.
the second will left, a massive weird confusing whatever you want to call it awkwardness settled over the house. you were expecting the usual chaotic, loud chatters, but instead, you got a front-row seat to a silent movie.
it all started on the day after will left, monday. you walked into the kitchen, leo leaned against the counter staring directly into his coffee mug like it held the secrets to the universe, completely tight-lipped. then on wednesday, grace would suddenly bolt into the room, freeze like a deer in headlights upon seeing him, and immediately start reading the ingredients on a cereal box like her life depended on it.
"did you guys, like... mutually decide to forget how english works?" you asked one afternoon, chewing on a piece of toast while looking between them.
leo just cleared his throat loudly, grabbed his car keys, and muttered something about checking the truck tires. the second the screen door slammed, grace let out a breath so loud you thought her lungs might collapse.
"is he mad at me?" she whispered, her eyes wide with frantic panic.
"mad at you for what?" you blinked, totally bewildered. "his default setting is grumpy. why would he be mad at you?"
"nothing! no reason! i'm just asking!" she squealed, her voice jumping an octave before she aggressively started wiping down a counter that was already sparkling clean. it was hilarious, but mostly, it was just deeply confusing.
the awkwardness reached an absolute peak during the flight and the subsequent drive from the airport.
leo was in the driver's seat of the rental car, his were tight on the steering wheel his knuckles were paper white, while grace sat in the passenger seat, staring rigidly out the side window as if the california highway was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. you were stuck in the back, leaning your head against the cool glass, shifting your gaze between the back of leo's tense neck and grace's completely stiff shoulders.
the silence in the car was so heavy it felt loud and deafening. you pulled out your phone, desperately typing a text to
will 🐇
your sister and my brother have officially lost their minds. they aren't speaking. i am trapped in a vehicle of pure psychological warfare. help me.
you just couldn't wait to see will at the arena and tell him what the hell was happening.
-------------------
when game day finally arrived, you thought the excitement of the arena would break the curse. after the weird days between the three of you, you guys went to the city for the weekend game, watching from the massive crowd. the arena was packed, loud, and vibrating with energy.
your family and the smiths were in the family seats right behind the players' bench. you and grace wore sharks jerseys—hers being a smith one and yours being the celebrini. it was three minutes before the puck drop when the players skated out, and it was will's turn. god, he looked so good. he was in his own element wearing his jersey, exactly where he had always wished to be, and your heart skipped a beat.
he skated with his teammate macklin, and suddenly will's eyes locked onto yours. his eyes met yours, lingering there before his gaze dropped down toward the celebrini jersey you were wearing. you swore you saw a sudden shift in his gaze—a flash of jealousy flaring up in his jaw before he ripped his eyes away.
the puck dropped and hell went loose. the puck was with the opposing team, but in a swift second, it was passed to celebrini, then to eklund, and then to smith—and a goal!
but even with the stadium screaming, the weird energy in your row didn't die down. grace was acting incredibly stiff, barely cheering, just keeping her hands folded tightly in her lap.
the buzzer loudly blared through the whole arena. a few more goals followed, and the sharks won.
after the sharks took the win in a massive, high-scoring blur, you, grace, and leo headed down toward the tunnel to wait for will. your face and grace's face had popped up on the jumbotron earlier, and you were trying to bring back the fun.
"let's take pictures, come on," you said, pulling your hair up into a messy bun. you unzipped your celebrini jersey and tugged it off, nodding at grace. "switch with me. i want to take a picture in smitty's jersey."
grace hesitated for a second, her face turning slightly pink, but she nodded and handed you will's jersey. the second the fabric left her hands and you slid your arms into will’s massive numbers, leo completely transformed.
he stopped complaining about the crowd and just went entirely quiet. when you handed him your phone to take the pictures, he didn't even make his usual witty comments. he just held the camera up with a stern, grumpy expression, taking the photos incredibly messy and ugly. half of them were blurry, and in the other half, he cut off the top of your head.
"leo, what the hell? my arms are literally cut off in this one," you complained, showing him the screen.
he didn't even look at you. he just shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes fixed darkly on the tunnel entrance. "it's fine. let's just go," he grumbled. you swear, it just became weirder and weirder.
--------------------
the celebratory dinner at the diner was supposed to fix things, but instead, it became the ultimate breaking point.
the place had a massive 80s vibe—well-lit, vintage booths, and very few customers. will had brought you here because it was his secret spot where nobody bothered him. but the air was thick. grace was completely quiet, staring down at her paper place mat and tracing the edges with her finger. will sat next to her, looking thoroughly annoyed, his eyes throwing daggers across the table at leo.
it all escalated over a damn menu.
"we're getting the family platter," leo announced flatly, not even looking up. "it makes sense. it's smart."
"nobody wants the platter, leo," will shot back, his voice dropping into a harsh, defensive rumble as he slammed his menu down flat on the table. "the burgers are better if you order them separately, y./n wants the sourdough one anyway."
"stop telling my sister what she wants, smitty," leo snapped, his posture flaring up as he leaned over the table, his broad shoulders tensing. "i order for the family. you order for yourself."
"i'm paying for the damn dinner," will muttered, his jaw locking tight as he glared back.
they were literally fighting over a menu like two territorial weirdo, the tension were personal and sharp. you were just about to open your mouth to scream at both of them when grace suddenly snapped.
"what the fuck is wrong with you two!?" grace's voice broke through the air. she wasn't just annoyed—she looked like she was on the verge of tears. "stop it! just stop fucking fighting over everything."
the boys immediately stopped, completely paralyzed by her tone. before anyone could even breathe, grace stood up, her face flushed a deep panicked red. she didn't even look at will or leo. she grabbed your wrist with a trembling grip and literally dragged you out of the booth, leaving leo and will just sitting there, frozen and completely silent in the empty diner.
----------------------
the second the cool evening air hit your face on the sidewalk, grace kept walking, her grip on your arm never loosening. she had been weird and quiet ever since you were back in boston, but right now, she looked entirely unraveled.
"grace, wait, stop," you breathed, pulling her to a halt under a dim streetlamp. "what is going on? are you okay?"
she stopped, her shoulders shaking as she let out a jagged breath. "i'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking as she looked at you with tear-filled eyes. "i'm so, so sorry. i didn't mean to ruin the dinner. i didn't mean to make everything so horrible."
"grace, it's fine. it's not your fault, they were being idiots—"
"i like him," she blurted out, the words practically spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "i l-like leo. i've liked him for so long and it's killing me, y/n."
your mouth went completely agape, your brain short-circuiting as the confession hung in the air. you stared at your best friend, completely shocked, while she buried her face in her hands. without a single word, you grabbed her hand, turned on your heel, and dragged her straight into the neon-lit entrance of the nearest bar down the block. you both needed a drink immediately.
---------------------
you pulled her into the dark corner booth, waving a hand at the bartender before you even sat down. a couple of minutes later, two double shots of whiskey on ice and two bright pink, overly sugary cocktails were dropped onto the sticky wood between you.
grace didn't even hesitate. she reached out with a trembling hand, the ice clinking against the glass, and knocked the first shot back like she was trying to sanitize her entire throat. she let out a harsh, watery gasp, slamming the empty glass back down.
"okay, start talking right now," you demanded, leaning over the table so far your chest was practically pressing into the edge. you took a giant gulp of your own drink, the burn instantly making your eyes water. "how? when? where? since when do you look at my giant, annoying, rye-bread-eating brother and think, 'yeah, i want that' ? grace, he literally still does his laundry at our dad’s house and leaves his smelly-ass hockey pads in the middle of the living room. that leo?"
"i know! i know he's disgusting, y/n, you think i don't know?!" grace wailed, burying her face in her hands, her voice already starting to slur as the alcohol hit her empty stomach. she looked up, her eyeliner slightly smudged, her eyes glassy. "i'm clinically insane. i'm going to hell. i should be institutionalized."
"bitch, forget hell. you're sick in the head," you laughed loudly, the tipsy buzz starting to make your brain feel fuzzy and warm. but then you stopped, the reality of it hitting you, and your smile dropped. "wait. why the fuck didn't you tell me then? grace, we literally share the same braincells. we've known each other since we were in tampons. how do you hide something that massive from me for a whole entire year?"
"it hasn't been a year," grace whispered, her face turning a deep miserable shade of crimson. she grabbed the sugary cocktail, taking a huge, desperate sip through the little black straw. "it's been... it's been seven years, y/n."
your jaw dropped. you literally froze, your glass hovering inches from your mouth. "seven... what?"
"seven years," she repeated, a tear finally escaping and tracking down her hot cheek. she looked so small, huddled in her oversized jacket. "remember the summer before he went away to juniors? when he spent three weeks helping my dad rebuild the back porch? he’d come into the kitchen covered in sawdust, his hair all messy, smelling like cedar and sweat, and he’d just... he’d laugh at my stupid jokes and buy me those terrible gas station popsicles. i was just a kid, and i thought it was a stupid little crush that would go away. but it never went away. it just grew into this giant terrifying monster in my chest."
you stared at her, your heart breaking a little at the weight of what she had been carrying all by herself. "seven years, grace... you sat at my dinner table, you watched him eat his stupid rye bread, you listened to me complain about him, and you didn't say a single word to me? i would have helped you, or, i don't know? i would have mocked him into oblivion for you."
"that's exactly why i couldn't tell you!" grace cried out, hitting her fist weakly against the table. "if i told you, it would make it real. and if it became real, it would ruin everything. what if he laughed at me? what if he looked at me like i was just will's annoying sister? i couldn't risk the lanes we all shared, y/n. i couldn't risk losing the only family i've ever known."
she leaned her head back against the vinyl booth, her speech getting incredibly sloppy now as she stared at the dim ceiling lights. "but then... remember that night last week? on the porch? when you and smitty were screaming at each other about those stupid sweatpants?"
you blinked, the mention of that night making your stomach do a sudden, nervous flip. "y-yeah."
"leo came outside to pull you back into the house," grace murmured, her eyes unfocused, a soft tragic smile touching her lips. "will was so furious, but leo just stood there. he was wearing his oversized red flannel shirt, his jaw was so tight, and he looked so big... so safe. right before he closed the screen door, he looked back at me through the mesh. just for a second. just to see if i was okay. and i swear to god, y/n, the tension in the air was so heavy it felt like it was crushing my lungs. i looked at him and i realized i'm twenty years old now, and i'm still the same stupid girl staring at him through the kitchen window. i can't pretend anymore. it's literally killing me."
you sat there, the tipsy warmth in your veins suddenly feeling heavy and complicated. you reached across the sticky table, grabbing both of her hands and squeezing them tightly. "you're an idiot, grace smith. a complete dramatic idiot."
"i know," she sniffling, her head dropping forward until her forehead was resting flat on the wood of the table. "but his arms looked so big in that flannel, y/n... i wanted to die right there on the linoleum."
"okay jeez, wrap it up, you're officially cut off," you wheezed, shaking your head in a mix of shock and amusement.
suddenly, your phone started vibrating violently against the table, the screen lighting up. will’s name popped up across the glass for the tenth time, accompanied by a barrage of angry, formatting texts from leo.
with a heavy sigh, you typed out the address of the bar and hit send to will.
--------------------
it didn't take even ten minutes before the heavy glass doors of the bar swung open.
the familiar scent of husky perfume and cold winter wind cut through the sticky air of the room. will walked in, his massive frame packed into his black team jacket, his face set in a hard line. behind him, leo walked in, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed rigidly on the floor as he looked toward the table.
"you two are unbelievable," will muttered, his voice sending a sudden, sharp jolt straight to your stomach.
"smitty!" grace cheered sleepily, her head dropping heavily against the table. "look, it's the professional hockey player..."
will let out a tired sigh, sliding into the booth and immediately wrapping arm around his sister's waist to hoist her up. you moved to her other side, and together, you and will carried grace side by side, her dead weight supported between your shoulders as you navigated out into the cool city night.
as you walked toward the rental car, will's broad shoulder brushed against yours with every single step, his hand occasionally catching your waist to keep you steady on your sandals. the proximity was suffocatingly close, his warmth completely enveloping you in the dark.
leo opened the back door without a word, his expression still confusing, but as soon as he saw how truly wasted grace was, his jaw softened just a fraction. will practically shoved his sister into the backseat, and leo climbed in right after her to make sure she didn't faceplant onto the floor mats.
"you're up front," will muttered quietly to you, gesturing to the passenger side before walking around to the driver’s seat.
the moment you pulled the heavy car door shut, the quiet of the night sealed the four of you inside. will started the engine, the low hum of the car filling the space as he pulled out onto the dark, streetlit roads of san jose.
you rested your head back against the headrest, the tipsy buzz from the whiskey making your limbs feel heavy. out of curiosity, you glanced into the rearview mirror, and a soft, breathy laugh almost escaped your lips at the sight.
the backseat was a complete picture of exhaustion. grace was completely passed out, her head slumped heavily sideways right onto leo's broad shoulder. and leo—the guy who had been throwing a silent, angry tantrum for three days straight, who doesn't know he was the reason grace was like that in the first place—was completely slouched against the window mirror on his side, his eyes closed, his head resting right back against hers. they were completely tangled together in their sleep, all that aggressive tension from the diner melting away into a quiet pile of limbs. they looked so peaceful it almost made you forget how chaotic the night had been.
you turned your head back around, looking at the dashboard. the car was quiet, save for the low click of the turn signal as will made a slow left turn.
"she really did a number on herself, huh?" will's voice broke the silence.
"she was stressed," you whispered, turning your eyes to look at his profile. the passing streetlights cast amber shadows across his jawline and the bridge of his nose. "she told me. she told me everything."
will didn't take his eyes off the road, but you saw his fingers tighten against the leather of the steering wheel. he let out a low, heavy breath through his nose. "about leo?"
"yeah." you swallowed hard, shifting in your seat to face him a little more. "how long have you known?"
"not long just two days ago," he muttered, his voice dropping "i caught her staring at his pictures like a total idiot. i told her she was gonna blow up the whole friendship if she didn't fix it. that's why leo's been acting like a lunatic. he knows i'm keeping something from him, but i couldn't just sell out my sister."
he glanced over at you for a split second, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made the whiskey buzz in your veins feel twice as strong. "i was just trying to protect them. protect all of us. once things get complicated like that... you can't just go back to being the kids from the neighborhood."
you looked at him, your throat suddenly feeling incredibly dry. his words hit you like a physical blow. you can't just go back.
you looked back into the rearview mirror, watching grace sleepily shift her head closer into the crook of leo's neck, completely oblivious to the world. seven years. she had hidden her feelings for seven years just to keep the peace, and the absolute second the truth had even leaked a little bit, it had turned your brother into a hostile stranger and will into a defensive shield, completely fracturing the lanes you all shared.
if grace liking leo could ruin everything they had built since childhood, then whatever was happening between you and will—whatever dangerous, magnetic pull was developing between you and him—had to be crushed immediately. your brother's life and your best friend's life were already on the verge of being completely unraveled by love. you couldn't do the same. you couldn't let the fire burn the whole thing down.
"y/n?" will whispered softly, noticing your sudden silence as he pulled the car up to a red light. he reached across the console, his large, warm hand hovering just an inch over your knee, his thumb brushing the edge of your dress. "you okay?"
you forced a small, tight smile and nodded, gently pulling your leg away before his hand could actually make contact. "yeah. just tired, smitty."
as will turned his eyes back to the road, his hand dropping back to the gear shift, you looked out the passenger window into the dark california night, a suffocating ache squeezing your heart. you made a silent, devastating promise to yourself right then and there: you had to completely forget your feelings for will smith, no matter how much it killed you.
(uh ohhhh.......sorry this took longggggger than i expected.... what's a baobei series without a little angsty angst? all your requests are on hold rn msorriii, i have to finish this series first then we are back to regular posting and requestss!! hope u guys understanddd n i hope u enjoyed the plot twist with this one!)
a/n: post number twenty-two! 🩵 i did not proof read this please forgive me 💔 but do enjoy reading!
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004. peace-be-with-us plan
the quiet that settled into the house after that porch night was suffocating kind that belongs solely to people who have known each other too long to lie well.
you had been in your room for three days. yes, three.
you knew it was dumb, but you were deeply hurt. you just couldn't grasp what the hell will’s problem was, completely blowing up over a simple tank top and those damn sweatpants that were currently sitting in the laundry basket right beside your bedroom door. why the hell did he care if you had a guy in your life? tsk. did he think you were that ugly, that you weren't even capable of being liked by someone? you thought and thought and thought until your head practically ached.
the night the porch fight happened, you had also completely surprised your dad—well, more like he surprised you. you and leo had been way too distracted by the residual tension to notice the front door opening, and your dad had burst inside. he was all smiles, fresh from his shift, and hell, he was getting old. but he was still handsome, exactly the same warm, grounding pops he had always been.
you really had to thank your dad for raising you the way you were right now. he was the one who always reminded you to be yourself, no matter what and no matter how. it’s always mind over matter, kiddo. but fuck—you couldn't exactly quote your way out of the mess that had happened with will.
on the fourth day of your so-called isolation, a soft knock rattled the wood. "hey kid, are you alright?" your dad asked, peeking his head through the crack. you nodded quickly, trying to look fine, but he pushed the door open anyway. leo was trailing right behind him, casually eating a thick slice of rye bread slathered with butter.
"i'm 'kay," you mumbled, shifting on your pillows. "you know, college stuff... i just need to rest and just—"
before you could even finish your sentence, they both walked right in. your dad sat heavily on the edge of your mattress, while leo claimed your desk chair, spinning it around backward to face you.
"your brother told me what happened," your dad said gently. he reached down, pulling the heavy blanket away from your face, and heaved a soft sigh. "how are you feeling?"
you swear your dad always chose the most random timing to drop his serious phrases, but you knew this wasn't about jokes anymore. he knew you were sad, mad, and completely overwhelmed. you didn't say anything; you just let out a heavy sigh, sat up, and buried your head straight into his chest, hugging him tightly.
your dad's rough hand caressed your hair, fixing the messy strands as you leaned into his flannel shirt. leo, watching from the desk chair, met your dad's eyes over your shoulder. oh, just how both of their hearts melted at the sight of their prime princess looking so small.
"i'm just mad, you know?" you mumbled against your dad's chest, your voice thick and frustrated. "smitty's words really hurt. i don't know if it was just the alcohol in his system or what, but it hurt me knowing how hard i've been trying to fit into that damned college, pops."
you weren't crying; you were just thoroughly exhausted. your dad let out a deep sigh, his large hands coming up to cup your face and pull you back slightly.
"oh, you poor prince princess," he joked softly, using his thumb to playfully wipe an imaginary saliva stain from the corner of your lips. your brother snorted, finally sliding off the desk chair to sit at the end of your bed.
"you know smitty, don't you?" leo asked. you just nodded mutely. "and you know he wouldn't say those things if it weren't for the sake of you? maybe okay, well—he completely overdid himself. he was a caveman. but you know he’s been with you ever since you guys were kids, right? he saw how those idiots bullied you back in middle school. maybe he just doesn't want that happening to you again."
your dad shifted on the mattress, wrapping one massive arm around leo on his left and the other around you on his right, pulling the two of you into his sides.
"pfft, as if i don't know what i'm doing," you heaved heavily, leaning your head on his shoulder. "and pa... do you ever think a guy would even like a girl like me? for fuck's sake..."
"yeah, i don't thi—" leo started to chime in, but your dad shot him a terrifying side-glance that made him immediately shut his mouth and swallow his bread.
"what i'm trying to say is, he’s worried," your dad added, his voice steady and warm. "he is in the nhl now, and he knows how these guys move. he has a lot of knowledge about the kind of crowds that hang around athletes and colleges. who knows, maybe he's just trying to protect you from those ugly idiots." he patted your head, standing up from the bed. "i missed you, kiddo. and it's a sunday—you can't just rot in this room forever. think about it, get ready, and we're heading to church, okay?"
he kissed the top of your head and grabbed leo by the neck on his way out aggressively shuffling his hair while leo resisted, looking thoroughly annoyed. you laughed at the sight and nodded. god, thank you for the best dad ever.
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it was 11:00 am by the time you finished getting ready. you had put on a soft baby-blue dress with a delicate white touch along the embroidery of the hems. sliding into a pair of sandals, you let your hair fall naturally down your back. looking in the mirror, your freckles were completely visible, and the cut of the dress complimented you perfectly.
"what took you so long, jv lineman, for christ's sa—oh."
your brother busted through your door, stopping dead in his tracks when he looked at you. "wow you look nice. you actually showered, right? you didn't just put that on with a stinky body?" he teased, pointing a finger at the fabric. you threw a pillow straight at his head and followed him out into the hall.
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the drive to the church wasn't far—a good ten minutes filled with your usual bickering and your dad loudly shouting from the front seat to just shut the both of you up.
the church was a beautiful, serene building covered in fresh white paint that felt completely peaceful against the autumn sky. you swore you could almost feel the second coming of christ—but then grace approached you on the steps, and you realized hell was standing just three feet away.
will was right beside her.
his hair was neatly tidied up, completely free of the usual messy hockey helmet look, and he was wearing a crisp blue polo with white trousers. he looked devastatingly handsome.
"hey—how are you? i-i'm so sorry for will—" grace started quickly, her eyes wide with apology. before she could even finish her sentence, you threw your arms around her, hugging her tightly and pulling her straight inside the church foyer. your dad greeted mr. and mrs. smith with a warm chuckle, following the two of you into the pews.
the mass was a peaceful, quiet time—or it was supposed to be. with will standing just a few feet away, peaceful was the absolute last thing on your mind. leo had deliberately slid into the middle of the two of you, acting like a massive human shield, but the arrangement did nothing to stop your hyper-awareness.
your thoughts were suddenly cut off by the pastor's voice booming during the homily.
"love is what showed god that he was helping us, brothers and sisters," the pastor announced, raising his hands toward the congregation. "as we gather here for our loving father, we must remember that he is the strength of our bodies, the one who cleanses us from our sins. but love also requires us to swallow our pride. we cannot let stubbornness build walls between us and the ones we care about. when we let anger fester, when we snap at each other out of fear or jealousy, we are failing the people who share our burdens. love your enemies, yes, but learn to extend grace to the fools close to you who don't know how to use their words."
you swear to god, the homily was a bit too true to what you and will were currently experiencing. you wished you could just bury yourself alive and meet christ himself right then and there, but you were just a young girl trying to survive a sunday. from the corner of your eye, you saw will clear his throat roughly and fix his composure, adjusting the collar of his blue polo. you just snickered under your breath and glared at the side of his face. he tried to look over at you, but you kept your eyes fixed rigidly on the altar.
suddenly, leo leaned over and nudged your arm. "i gotta go," he whispered. you immediately grabbed the fabric of his shirt, tugging him back and begging him with your eyes not to leave. he just slapped your hand away playfully, giving you a goofy grin. "the rye bread made my stomach ache, kiddo. i'll be right back."
you could have punched your brother right in his face as he slid out of the row. and now, there was an empty space between you and will.
and just on cue, the pastor spoke. "let us offer each other the sign of peace."
when you were kids, the sign of peace was the ultimate joke. you used to use it to tease grace and leo because they had accidentally kissed each other during a game of tag once; both of them had been so thoroughly disgusted by it that you and will had laughed until your stomachs hurt. it had been an inside joke ever since.
but now, you were stuck standing right next to him.
it was so awkward. you turned, placing a soft, quick cheek-to-cheek with your dad, then grace, and then mrs. smith. and then you turned around, and there stood will.
fuck it—fuck it. you both just stood frozen in the aisle, the silence between you thick and heavy.
"peace be with you," he muttered, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register.
you just nodded, your throat dry. "peace be with you," you mumbled, trying to sit right back down to escape the proximity.
"how about smitty, y/n? you guys used to hug each other every time!" mrs. smith said happily, wrapping her arms around mr. smith's arm as she beamed at the two of you.
when will this end?
you had no choice but to stand back up, facing will. you leaned in, giving him a quick, stiff side-hug. will wrapped his broad arm around your shoulders, but he didn't entirely place his hand flat against your back, his fingers hovering awkwardly against the baby-blue fabric as if he was afraid to touch you. your heart did a dizzying lap against your ribs before you both broke away and sat down, staring straight ahead.
you're going to kill leo. you just knew that.
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the end of the mass was quick and chaotic. the second the final hymn concluded, you quickly made your way out into the side courtyard, excusing yourself early before will could catch up to you. standing near the brick arches, you patted down your hair and checked your reflection in the glass of a small window, trying to calm your breathing.
"hey."
"what the fuck!" you yelled, jumping slightly as you whirled around. your heart completely skipped a beat.
will was scratching the back of his neck, his ears turning a bright red under his neat hair. you cleared your throat quickly, smoothing down the front of your dress to hide how rattled you were by his presence.
" 'm sorry."
the words were a tiny whisper, a muffled mumble that barely carried over the wind.
"what?" you asked, crossing your arms and glaring at him, forcing him to say it properly.
"i said i'm sorry," he repeated a little louder, his eyes finally snapping up to meet yours, completely wide and full of a raw, flustered sincerity.
you let out a slow sigh, looking at him. standing there, one thing you know two things for certain: one, you were absolutely going to forgive him. two, he had no right to look that damn good in a simple blue polo. you felt your stomach flip all over again, a sudden heat rushing into your cheeks.
"i was just out of my mind, and the words just slipped," he stammered, the explanation pouring out all at once as he took a step closer, his broad frame cutting off the draft from the street. "i was just scared, you know? you know how guys move, and i see how things are now that i'm in the nhl. i know how bad grace's ex-boyfriend was, and i just—i didn't want some idiot..."
"it's okay, smitty," you cut him off gently, reaching up to playfully shuffle his perfectly tidied hair just to break his panicked rhythm. you let out a soft sigh, a small smile finally touching your lips. "i forgive you."
"and just like god's miracale, drum roll please....! they reconciled, thank you jesus! whacha think, grace, how did our plan work?"
you both snapped your heads around. leo was standing by the walkway, grace right by his side, both of them grinning like absolute idiots.
"what plan?" you and will synced perfectly, your eyebrows raising in identical looks of pure suspicion.
"the peace-be-with-us plan," leo chuckled, thoroughly proud of himself as he high-fived grace.
"i knew it! you don't have a stomach ache from the damn rye bread! you're immune to that shit!" you yelled, your old tomboy instinct flaring up in a split second. you lunged straight at your brother, your sandals clicking against the stone as you started aggressively slapping his arm and his chest.
will let out a low, ragged sigh of relief, and a second later, your parents emerged from the church doors, watching the three of you cause a scene and laughing quietly. the afternoon quickly transitioned into a loud, comfortable sunday brunch at the local diner, the table filled with the smell of coffee, pancakes, and a few familiar jokes.
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by the time the afternoon began to wind down, everyone drifted out into the diner's gravel parking lot. your dad and mr. smith were deep in a conversation about the upcoming freight schedules at the pier, and grace was helping mrs. smith carry a box of leftover pastries to their truck, leaving you and will walking a few paces behind the rest of the family.
the autumn sun was high now, casting long, crisp shadows across the gravel.
will was walking close to you—so close that his broad shoulder brushed against yours with every step. the loud anger from the porch was completely gone, replaced by a strange, quiet shyness that made the space between you feel entirely fragile.
"so," will murmured, his hands shoved deep into his white trousers, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground in front of his boots. "baby blue, huh?"
"what about it?" you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes, your fingers twisting the edge of your small cardigan.
"nothing," he muttered, his jaw twitching as a faint smirk tucked into the corner of his mouth. he cleared his throat, his neck turning that familiar shade of pink as his eyes flicked down to trace the clean, feminine line of your collarbone before quickly snapping back to the horizon. "just... it looks better than leo's old hoodies. a lot better, y/n."
your heart did a sudden erratic thud against your ribs. you looked away, your cheeks flushing warm as you tried to hold onto your steady, independent composure. "thanks, smitty. glad to know i have your stamp of approval."
"yeah, well," he mumbled, his pace slowing down until the two of you were lagging a full twenty feet behind your parents. he stopped near the side of your dad's truck, turning his massive frame fully toward you. he reached out, his thick fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second before he gently caught the hem of your cardigan between his thumb and index finger, tugging it just enough to keep you from stepping up onto the running board.
you froze, your breath hitching in your throat.
will stepped closer, crowding your space until the clean scent of the wind and his expensive soap completely filled your senses. he didn't say anything. he just stared down at you, his pupils wide and intense, holding your gaze with a unblinking focus that made the sounds of the parking lot completely fade away. his hand stayed clamped on the fabric of your sweater, his knuckles warm against your hip, his jaw tight as if he was fighting a massive urge he couldn't put into words.
there was something humming beneath his expression—something hidden so deep it made your knees go entirely weak. it was different from before. he wasn't just the boy next door anymore or will from the porch night.
he leaned down slightly, his mouth hovering just inches from your ear, his breath warm against your cold skin.
"i have to fly back out for the road trip tomorrow morning," he whispered, his voice dropping into a rough, low tone that sent a shiver straight down your spine. his thumb rubbed a slow, heavy circle against the fabric of your sweater, his grip tightening just a bit. "but you're coming back down to the city for the weekend game, right? tell me you're coming."
you looked up into his waiting eyes, the silence between your mouths stretching out until it felt terrifyingly dangerous, leaving the answer hanging in the crisp harbor air.
(GAHAHAHAHHS im dead ts so trash, but would you like the chapters longer or no, lmk! thank you all for your kindest comments and support, thank you!!)
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