The bar is loud just like it always is on a Friday night. You're squeezed into a booth beside Connor, his arm draped casually around your shoulders while he's laughing at something Frank just said.
You excuse yourself to get another round, weaving through the crowd of bodies and towards the bar. As you wait for the bartender to notice you, a guy slides up next to you, closer than necessary.
"Didn't think angels came to places like this," he says, his eyes roaming over your body in a way that makes your skin crawl.
You force a polite smile. "I'm just here for drinks."
"Let me get those for you," he insists, already waving down the bartender. "A pretty woman like you shouldn't have to pay for her own drinks."
"Thanks, but that's not necessary," you say, trying to create some distance between the two of you.
Before he can respond, you can feel someone coming to a halt behind you. You don't need to turn to know it's Connor.
"She said no thanks," Connor says, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable edge. He moves to stand slightly in front of you, a subtle but clear barrier between you and the stranger. His hand finds the small of your back, possessive and firm.
The guy raises his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, no harm meant. Just being friendly."
Connor's eyes narrow. "She doesn't need you being friendly to her. And she doesn't need you to buy her a drink. That's what she has me for, her boyfriend."
The bartender arrives with your order and Connor places a few bills on the counter before taking the drinks from his hands. "Come on, weβre done here babe," he says and guides you away, his arm a steel band around you. He doesn't stop until you're back at the booth, where he immediately pulls you into his side. He sets the drinks down, then cups your face in his hands.
"You okay?" he asks, his eyes scanning yours.
You nod. "I'm fine."
"Good," he says, his thumb stroking your cheek. Then, he leans in and kisses you, a deep, possessive kiss that's full of relief. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. "Hope that little fucker saw that," he murmurs before continuing to talk with Frank.
Macklin Celebrini
The coffee shop is bustling with the morning rush. You're waiting for your order with Macklin standing beside you, his hand resting loosely on your waist. As he steps away to grab a napkin, another customer approaches the counter, his eyes immediately finding you.
"Couldn't help but notice you from across the room," he says with a charming smile. "You have an incredible smile."
"Thank you," you say politely, turning slightly away.
Before the man can say more, Macklin is back. He doesn't say anything, just steps into your personal space closer than he did before, his chest brushing against your back as he reaches past you to grab a stirrer. He glances at the other man, a bored, unimpressed look on his face.
"Yeah, she does," Macklin says, his voice flat. "It's a great smile. Especially when it's for me."
He gives the guy a slow eye roll before turning his attention to you, his expression immediately softening. He rests his hand on your waist, his thumb stroking the fabric of your shirt. "Ready for our drinks?"
The other man, clearly getting the message, mumbles something and quickly walks away.
Macklin watches him go, a smug little smirk playing on his lips. He turns back to you, his arm wrapping more securely around your waist. "Finally," he sighs dramatically, though his eyes are twinkling with amusement. "I thought he was never going to leave. Some people just don't know when to take a hint."
You can't help but smile at his bratty tone. "You're terrible."
"Nah," he says, pulling you even closer. "I'm just protective of what's mine. And your attention is supposed to be for me, not random guys who can't keep their eyes to themselves."
He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I was going to tell you about this hilarious thing that happened with Will at practice yesterday, but then I had to go rescue you from Captain Obvious over there."
"Rescue me?" you tease. "I think I had it handled."
"Sure you did," he says, rolling his eyes playfully. "But you look better when you're not being bothered by losers. Besides, I like having you all to myself."
Will Smith
The rooftop bar is buzzing with energy, the city lights twinkling below as the evening settles in. You're curled up beside Will on a large outdoor sofa, his arm securely around your waist.
Your legs are draped over his lap, causing the hem of your dress to ride up slightly. Will's laughing at something Gabe said, his body relaxed against yours.
"Damn, girl, those legs are incredible," a voice says from nearby. You both look up to see a guy you don't know, his eyes fixed on your exposed legs with an appreciative, slightly lustful gaze.
Will's laughter dies instantly. The easygoing smile is suddendly replaced by something colder. He turns his head slowly, giving the guy a nasty side-eye. He doesn't say anything at first, just lets the silence stretch, making the other man squirm under his unwavering, dismissive stare.
Finally, Will speaks, his voice low and clipped. "You don't talk about a woman like she's a piece of meat." He pauses, his eyes narrowing. "Especially not my woman while I'm literally sitting right next to her."
The guy looks taken aback, his confident smirk faltering. "Whoa, man, I was just giving a compliment."
Will's jaw tightens. "Well, don't." His hand moves from your shoulder down to your thigh. "She's not here for your entertainment."
He rolls his eyes at the guy, a gesture filled with utter contempt and boredom, as if he's not even worth the energy of a proper confrontation. Then he turns his back to your group of friends, focusing entirely on you again. His expression softens, the hard edge melting away as he looks at you.
"You okay, baby?" he asks, his voice returning to its normal warmth.
You nod, leaning into his touch. "I'm fine. Thank you for speaking up."
"Always," he says, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. When he pulls back, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours, his thumb stroking the skin of your thigh. "I swear some people just have no fucking class," he murmurs, just for you to hear.
He shifts, turning his body to block you even more from the other guyβs view.
Fraser Minten
The restaurant is pretty crowded for a Monday night. You're pressed against Fraser's side in a booth, his fingers intertwined with yours. He's listening to James as heβs talking about his plans for the Weekend, but he keeps checking on you out of the corner of his eye.
"Excuse me," a smooth voice cuts in. You both turn to see a man standing by your table, his eyes fixed firmly on you. "I don't mean to interrupt, but I just had to say you have the most incredible smile."
Fraser freezes and the smile on his face dims. He just stares at the man, his mind processing the words that just came out of his mouth.
The man continues, completely oblivious, "I'm Steve by the way. I'd love to buy you a drink."
Fraser suddendly stands up, his tall frame immediately creating a barrier between you and the stranger. He doesn't let go of your hand, though, his fingers holding on tight as he steps slightly in front of you.
"She's happily taken," Fraser says, his voice quiet but firm, carrying an authority that surprises you. "And she's not interested, in case you haven't noticed."
Steve looks taken aback, his eyes darting from Fraser's stern face to where you're partially hidden behind him. "Oh, I... I see."
Fraser doesn't move, doesn't back down. "I think you should leave now."
There's no anger in his tone, just a quiet, unshakeable resolve. It's more effective than any shout would be. Steve mutters an apology and retreats quickly.
As soon as he's gone, Fraser turns back to you, his expression immediately softening. He crouches down beside the booth, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. "Everything okay, baby?" he asks, his gentle concern a stark contrast to his firmness moments ago.
"I'm fine," you whisper, squeezing his hand. "Thank you for speaking up for me."
He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Of course, baby. Can't have some random man thinking he stands a chance." He stays there for a moment, just looking at you, his thumb stroking your cheek.
He slides back into the booth beside you, pulling you closer than before. "Now that that's taken care of, where were we?" he asks, his voice returning to its normal warmth, though his arm remains a protective, constant weight around your shoulders.
Quinn Hughes
The charity gala is pretty fancy with soft music playing as people mingle in cocktail attire. You're standing by a large window, Quinn's hand resting on the small of your back. He's in a deep conversation with you about a trip you're planning, when someone approaches the two of you.
"You look absolutely stunning tonight," a voice says beside you. βThat dress was made for you.β You turn to see a man in an impeccably tailored suit with a practiced smile on his face.
Quinn's jaw tightens. He doesn't turn to face the man, just shifts his weight, his arm sliding from your back to wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. He keeps his eyes on you, as if the interruption is nothing more than a minor annoyance.
"She knows," Quinn says, his voice low. "And I picked it out."
The man's smile falters. "Right. Well, I'm James."
"Good for you," Quinn replies, still not looking at him. He raises his glass to you. "As I was saying, we should check out that vineyard."
James, not taking the hint, tries again. "I was just telling your friend here how incredible she looks."
Quinn finally turns his head, but his eyes are cold as ice. "And I'm aware that she does," he says, his voice dropping a dangerous octave. He lets the word "friend" hang in the air for a moment before his lips twist into a humorless smirk. "And friend, really? That's all you could've come up with? That's my girlfriend you're talking to." He pauses, letting the correction sink in. "Now, is there something else you needed or were you just stating the obvious?"
The directness lands with intended impact. James's practiced smile breaks. "No, just... making conversation."
"Find someone else to converse with," Quinn says dismissively, turning his full attention back to you. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Some people," he murmurs, his voice a low, sarcastic rumble.
He presses a soft kiss just below your ear, a clear, possessive mark. "Now," he says, his eyes dark as they meet yours, "where were we?"
Prompt: you go out to meet up with team canada who all adore you, and you get to meet macklin. everyone is used to sidney being quiet until he sees you, but to mack, this is shocking
requested!
Macklin Celebrini has existed in Sidney Crosbyβs world since he was a child.
Now, Macklin Celebrini has the privilege of knowing him personally, and not only that, but playing with him to represent their country. Sidney is everything people say about him, the quiet captain. That is until he finally saw you and Sidney together.
The bar is busy as you enter, your eyes immediately scanning the tables and booths until you catch sight of him. He hasnβt noticed you yet, so you take the time to notice him. His back is a bit stiff, but you watch as he engages into the conversations heβs having. Brad Marchand is telling a story, you can tell by how much he moves, and how much Seth Jarvis just canβt contain himself from laughing.
But the sound of your name being called pulls your attention away from them to Nathan Mackinnon standing a few feet away from you.
βNate!β You exclaim, hugging your friend tightly.
βI was wondering when youβd come. Someone hasnβt been able to take his eyes off the door all night.β Nate says, and your eyes instantly shoot to Sidney. Of course he knows youβre here, and you give your boyfriend a wink before turning back to Nate.
βSomebody saw me four hours ago.β
βCould have fooled us, heβs acting like he hasnβt seen you in four days.β Nate jokes, flagging down a bartender for you to order.
βWhat can I say?β You ask with a shrug. βIβm an absolute delight.β
Nate laughs, paying for your beer as you laugh with him.
βAlright, letβs get you back to captain before he loses it.β
You walk to the booth, Nate following behind you before he addresses the guys. βLook who I found!β
βOh shit!β Seth says, raising his drink in greeting. Brad lets out a whistle, and Macklin gives you a small but warm smile. And as much as these guys mean something to you, nothing means anything like Sidney. You greet them all but youβre looking at Sid.
βHi, baby.β You say, and you watch his eyes heat at the nickname.
βHi.β He says, pulling you to him, your lips crushing against his. The kiss was respectful for being in a public space and in front of people, but it intoxicated you all the same. βI missed you.β He says, taking a piece of your hair that has fallen out of the clip and tucks it behind your ear.
βGod, capβs down bad.β Brad jokes into his beer, taking a swig while Sidney doesnβt even look at him. He might not even hear the chirp as heβs so tuned into you.
You only hum in response to Brad, Sidneyβs arm going around the back of the cushion, but you can tell more than anything he wants to pull you in. But your eyes catch on the person across from you. You know who Macklin Celebrini is of course, but you smile as you officially introduce yourself.
βYou must be Macklin.β You say, sticking your hand out.
βYeah. Mack. Hi.β He says, stumbling a bit as he shakes your hand. He doesnβt seem nervous, he just seemsβ¦ stunned. And it doesnβt take you long to realize why.
βDonβt worry, your captain will be back to the high functioning player he is by the next game.β You say, smirking over the rim of your beer. The guys all laugh, looking away before Sid could death glare them. But his eyes stay on you.
βCareful.β Sidney whispers, his hand squeezing at your waist, a warm warning, but with no actual heat behind it. Well, not the annoyed kind, anyway.
Macklin must look shocked, shocked because everyone seems to be so used to this, and they are. But not Macklin. Macklin is used to the collected, composed, quiet player. But you donβt notice because youβre looking at Sidney, and Sidney sure as hell doesnβt notice because he stopped noticing anything the second he saw you in the bar.
βGet used to it kid.β Brad says to Mack, motioning towards you guys. βShe gets here and Sidney seems to forget about anything else.β
You turn to your boyfriend, but he makes no move to defend himself. Not that he even can.
The night continues on, more beers are ordered, more stories are told vastly more dramatic than they actually occurred, and you watch Mack out of the corner of your eye. The young player getting more and more comfortable with the group.
βHe seems like a good kid.β You say quietly to Sidney, and he nods as he pulls one of your thighs over his under the table.
βHe is.β Sidney states, but thereβs a soft fondness in his voice. You look deep in his eyes, and you smile at what you see.
βYouβre a good mentor, you know.β You say, his eyes snapping to you. You donβt mean to get sappy, but your voice is low enough that itβs only you and Sid.
βI know what this league can take from you.β Sidney states, watching Macklin as he jokes with Seth. βItβs kind of like looking at a younger version of me.β
βThen for the future of this league, I hope he is.β You say, and the words hit Sidney square in the chest.
βI love you.β He says, grinning at the spark in your eye.
βI love you too, captain.β You say with a wink, a wink that almost made Sidney combust on the spot. His hand snakes down from where it was resting on the back of the booth, and he squeezes your waist.
βCareful.β
βYou keep saying that, but what exactly are you going to do if Iβm not?β You tease, and Sidney groans and closes his eyes.
βOh god. Kid,β Nate starts with a laugh, noticing you and Sidney. βLook away.β
βOh hush.β You say to Nate, laughing and kicking his leg lightly under the table.
The conversation shifts after that, rolling into stories from camps, bad hotel rooms, plane delays, and which teammate everyone would least trust to survive in the wilderness.
Brad voted him self the most likely to survive, while everyone else voted Brad least likely to survive.
βMy moneys on Y/N.β Nate says with a shrug, emptying his beer and motioning to ask if anyone else needs one. Seth raises his glass in silent confirmation, and Nate nods.
βOh here we go with miss competition over here!β Brad exclaims with a laugh.
βBradley.β You state, putting your hand over your heart. βIβm wounded.β
The table chuckles as Brad blows you a kiss, causing Sidney to jokingly roll him eyes and Nate roll his as he walks back into the chaos of the team. But it was the voice of Mack that caused the next events of the evening to unfold.
βYouβre competitive?β Mack asks, meaning it as a genuine question.
βJust a touch.β You say with a shoulder shrug.
βA TOUCH!?β Brad and Seth exclaim, and even a Sidney throws his head back with laughter at that.
βNo, no.β Nate says, waving his hands. βShe is more competitive than anyone I know, which is saying a lot.β
Then, the team fills Macklin in on your stories. Betting people and winning on games of pool, darts, family game nights with the Crosbyβs.
βBut the worst,β Brad says, whispering now to add some dramatic effect. βIs this.β He says, his pointer finger tapping on his beer glass.
βDrinking?β Mack questions, and you can feel as Sidneyβs hand grips your waist for a moment, like he knows this isnβt going to end well.
βI have never in my life seen someone put back a drink like Y/N can.β Nate says, leaning back in the booth.
Mackβs eyes go over to you, and you know the words that come out arenβt supposed to be mean or cruel, actually they make you laugh.
βBut youβreβ¦ small.β Mack says, and the howling of laughter makes his cheeks turn bright pink.
βYep, youβre dead.β Seth says, giving Mack a knowing smile.
Brad shakes his head, already laughing. βDonβt do it.β
βWhy?β Macklin asks, his smile wide despite the teasing.
βTrust me.β Sidney finally speaks up. βShe can drink you under the table.β
βFuck it. Iβll challenge you.β Macklin says, looking too amused now, and maybe a little too confident.
Brad makes the sign of the cross, Nate laughs into his hand, and you scan the younger player once again. But you donβt see the need to prove himself, you donβt see someone fighting to fit in, you see someone whoβs having fun.
So you nod, agreeing to this.
βYou donβt have to do this Mack.β Sid says, but Macklin shakes your hand.
βI know.β He says, still smiling. βIs that what weβre chugging?β He asks, pointing to your beer.
βOh no.β You say, shaking your head. But Macklin only shrugs as if heβs saying, bring it on.
βKids got balls of steel.β Brad says to Seth, who still canβt contain himself from Mack calling you small.
βI respect the commitment, but Iβm not an ass.β You say as you slide your glass toward him. βTry it first.β
Macklin sloshes the thick beer around in the glass. He takes it with all the confidence in the world, and as you watch him take one sip, his face scrunches instantly.
βThat tastes like motor oil.β Mack says, rubbing his lips on the back of his hand.
The table erupts with laughs, and you slide your beer back to in front of you.
βIβll get us something lighter.β You say, untangling your body from Sidneyβs touch.
βIβll come with.β He speaks, and you laugh as you grab his hand. By the time you reach the bar, the noise from the table has dulled behind you, swallowed by the music. You lean against the counter, still holding his hand.
βDid I tell you that you look good tonight, captain?β You say, and Sidney smiles, but doesnβt say anything. You look down at your joined hands, then back up at him, but heβs already watching you. You bump your shoulder gently into his arm. βYouβre staring.β
βI know.β He says, not moving his eyes away.
βAt least pretend to be subtle.β You joke.
βI did that for years, baby. I donβt have that kind of patience anymore.β
You stop moving for a second, stop thinking about anything else but him. And your chest warms as you say, βYears?β
The flirting drops just enough for you to know how serious he is.
βYeah.β He says quietly. βYears, baby. I couldnβt look away anytime you entered a room, and I tried so hard not to stare at you because youβd realize how madly in love with you I was.β
βSidney-β
βI didnβt think Iβd ever get this, Y/N.β He says, and you can feel the sting of tears in your eyes. βI didnβt think Iβd get to have anything outside of hockey, especially not you. So yeah baby, I stare. And Iβm not going to stop.β
Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Sidney keeps looking at you like he means every word, and you know he does.
βIβm not hiding it now.β murmurs. βI get to love you. I get to look.β
The bartender appears in front of you at that exact moment.
βWhat can I get you two?β He asks, eyes moving between you and Sid. You blink at the bartender, glossy eyed as your throat tightens around your answer. Sidney glances at you, and the corner of his mouth lifting. He knows how some things he says affect you, and fuck if heβs not the snuggest man alive right now for making you forget everything else except what he just told you.
βTwo beers, please. Something light.β Sidney says, and the bartender nods and moves away.
βI love you.β You say, your voice a little quieter than before, but not unsteady.
βI love you too.β Sidney responds, and kisses you. Right now it doesnβt matter that youβre in a bar with people around you. It doesnβt matter youβre sure one of the guys is going to see and chirp you both when you get back. Right now you need his mouth on yours, so you kiss back with passion.
When you return to the table Sidney sets a beer in front of you and a beer in front of Mack.
βAre there some rules Iβm supposed to know?β Mack asks, looking at you a little unsure.
βDonβt puke.β You respond, and the boy nods.
Nate counts down from three, and you and Macklin both tip the drinks back. Within a matter of seconds youβre done, setting the empty glass on the table and raising your hands in victory.
βAnd sheβs done it again!β Brad cheers as Mack looks shocked, only a third of his beer gone.
βHoly fuck.β Mack says, but you barely hear it.
Sidney turns your head towards him, his thumb wiping along your bottom lip.
βFoam.β He says, his eyes darkening as you stare deeply into his.
βGod, get a fucking room!β Brad exclaims, and you chuckle into Sidney.
βIβm trying.β Sidney says, ignoring the following groans from everyone at the table. Except for you, you just smile while standing up, and extending your hand to him.
βLetβs get going, captain.β You say, and Sidney does not need to be told twice.
He stands, looking down at you, before smirking yet again, and throws you over his shoulder like you weigh next to nothing.
βSid!β You shout with a laugh, but he only turns to the team, says his goodbye and starts walking out.
βBye guys!β You exclaim, waving from over Sidβs shoulder. βIt was good to meet you Macklin!β
βYeah, you too!β He says back with a laugh, and then the cool night air hits you as you both exit the bar.
βYou are such a caveman.β You say, smacking his shoulder as he sets you back down on solid ground. His hand moves up to cup your face, and his thumbs moves against the side of your cheek.
βYou ready?β He asks you.
βTo go home?β
βTo start.β He teases, and you smack his chest.
βSidney Patrick Crosby.β You chide, and he laughs deeply before walking you to the car, both feeling very lucky to have the other.
β
Inside Macklin is in shock. He knows his face must be portraying it perfectly because Nate laughs lightly as he sees it.
βYou get used to that.β Nate says with a wave of his hand.
βIs he always like that?β Mack asks the center.
βWhen it comes to her?β Nate nods. βYeah, pretty much.β
βIβve just never seen him like that.β Mack says with a shake of his head, still amazed.
βMost people havenβt.β Nate says, and his voice goes a little quieter. βSidβsβ¦ Sid. He carries a lot. But when she shows up, itβs like he breathes again.β
βPlus she can be trouble.β Brad says, cutting into the conversation. βAnd sometimes thatβs just what Mr. Control needs.β
Mack sits with that for a second, realizing just how a like him and Sidney are. The go go go of hockey, and needing that escape when it all gets too much.
βTo trouble.β Seth says, and the remaining players clink their glasses together.
where there used to be nothing but pure bliss and contentment, there happens to be a deep cut ofΒ every harsh word either of us has said recently.Β
ourΒ last fight still lingers in theΒ air, even days later.Β
ourΒ typical routine as of late has been to come home, a small frustrationΒ getΒ picked up andΒ blown completely out of proportion, and both of us going to bed angry and hurt.Β
though usually, we bounce back from an argumentΒ relatively quickly, the words of our dispute a coupleΒ nightsΒ ago sting just as badly as theyΒ did in the moment.Β
and the worst part?Β
itβsΒ unbelievably easy for anyone to pinpoint exactlyΒ whatβsΒ been causingΒ allΒ this mess...Β
exhaustion.Β
between willβs tedious work schedule and his body practically shutting down at the end of each day and my personal long hours ofΒ dedication being poured into what it takes to get into the medical field nowadays,Β itβsΒ safe to say thatΒ weβreΒ constantlyΒ worn out.Β
never tired enough to avoid a fight though.Β
andΒ thatβsΒ the problem.Β
the dishesΒ werenβtΒ done?Β well, who was the last person to leave the house this morning?Β
theΒ wrong brand of something wasΒ purchasedΒ at the grocery store? it boils down to however many hours of sleepΒ the shopper hadΒ hadΒ the nightΒ before, the minimal hours being blamed on the other person for some reason.Β
the laundry isΒ piling up?Β howΒ the hellΒ do you even have time to wear so many clothes whenΒ youβreΒ so busy doing everything else?Β
itβsΒ a never-ending cycle.Β
andΒ iβveΒ honestlyΒ had it.Β
normally, regardless of how many timesΒ weβveΒ argued, what my original plans were for the evening, or even ifΒ iΒ didnβtΒ haveΒ the mental capacity to leave the apartment for anything other than chores or school,Β iβdΒ attend willβs softball games.Β
theΒ importance of my attendance at these games happened to be absolute.Β
thereΒ wasnβtΒ nearly asΒ much pressure for me toΒ attend justΒ oneΒ of his hockey games throughout the season, butΒ the idea of me missing a softball game to even float around had been completely unheard of.Β
untilΒ tonight.Β
wrecked afterΒ a long day of my work study, trying to cash in as many hours asΒ iΒ can before the cycle ends,Β iΒ have no motivationΒ left to go to this game.Β
myΒ eyes are practically closing on their own, and the thought of doing anything but showering and getting into bed is daunting.Β
against my best judgement,Β iΒ decideΒ itβsΒ probably bestΒ thatΒ iΒ donβtΒ text will about my missing attendance to avoid another spat right before he plays.Β
theΒ regret of this lapse in thought hitsΒ me when the front door slams closed, efficiently startling me awake.Β
heβsΒ crossed the apartment in a heartbeat,Β stoppingΒ in the doorway as he tosses his keys onto the dresser right next to the door.Β
itΒ sends a stack of myΒ neatly organizedΒ notes spewing across the surface.Β
squinting,Β iΒ prop up on one of my elbows, not even fully conscious yet.Β
βwhyΒ are you throwing things?Β whatΒ is your issue?βΒ
iΒ regret saying it as soon as the words leave my mouth.Β heΒ scoffs loudly, shaking his head and walking further into the room. βmyΒ issue?βΒ
hisΒ handΒ rubs atΒ his mouth in a frustrated manner, and from my position on the bedΒ iΒ can see theΒ darkΒ eye bags startingΒ to take shape from his long day.Β
βmyΒ issueΒ is thatΒ iΒ do so much for us, and none of my efforts are ever fucking returned.Β iΒ do this one thing forΒ myselfβa fun hobby thatΒ iΒ thought we both were in full support ofβjust to find out that my girlfriend doesnβt even careΒ enoughΒ to show up for me anymore,β his tone harsh, but not in aΒ diminishing way.Β itβsΒ intense in a way that tells me thatΒ heβsΒ hurtΒ beyond belief, and this is his way ofΒ deflecting his feelings.Β
on anyΒ other night,Β iΒ wouldβveΒ picked up any part of his words and just ran with it. but tonight is not like any other night.Β
not whenΒ iβmΒ tired to the point of genuineΒ tears.Β Β
the frustration of our fights, of our distance, of the small ways thatΒ iβveΒ slowly started to feel so unwelcome in his orbit.Β itΒ hits meΒ all at once.Β
itβsΒ embarrassing how quickly the atmosphere shifts, how easily my eyes produce wells of tears while my voiceΒ canβtΒ seem to form a single word.Β
iΒ sputter, opening and closing my mouthΒ several times before shaking my head and collapsing back onto the pillows, hands coming up to cover my face.Β
everythingΒ feels likeΒ itβsΒ bubbled under the surface, building up to this exact moment.Β
iβmΒ fully expecting another argument, forΒ will toΒ questionΒ why the hellΒ iβmΒ crying whenΒ heβsΒ the oneΒ whoβsΒ hurt.Β
theΒ impact never comes.Β
instead,Β thereβsΒ a pause of silence before the sudden weight of his armΒ curling around my waist tugs me into his chest. the small, but effectiveΒ gesture sending me further into my hysterics.Β
his free hand brushes my hair as the otherΒ remainsΒ around my waist, his tone quieter than it has been in weeks: βbaby.βΒ
iΒ canβt stop crying.Β snifflesΒ escape me one after another, doing nothing toΒ actually helpΒ me clear my nose.Β
βbaby,β he tries again. βwhatβsΒ the matter?Β whatβsΒ upsetting you so much?βΒ
iΒ try my best to speak, to make sense of the hundreds of thoughts circulating my mind. it only comes out a jumbled mess.Β
βi- you-β small hiccups of breathΒ interuptingΒ every other word. βfightingΒ all theΒ time.Β iΒ canβt-Β iβmΒ so tired.βΒ
his movementΒ donβtΒ stop, and his tone has entered a mode of fully trying to understandΒ whatβsΒ happening to me right now.Β
βyouβreΒ tired? of fighting all the time?β voice soft, trying his best not to put words in my mouth if thatΒ wasnβtΒ whatΒ iΒ meant.Β
but he was right on the dot.Β
iΒ can feel my head nod against his chest, my actions not feeling like they belong to me much right now.Β
βiΒ feel likeΒ i-β rubbing my eyes much harsher than anyone couldΒ deemΒ helpful in my case. βiβmΒ not even wanted around anymore,β a fresh sob escaping me.Β
βwhichΒ is fine,Β iΒ just-Β iΒ need to know soΒ iΒ can stop feeling like itβs all in my head.βΒ
thatβsΒ what gets him to stop.Β
everythingΒ feels as if it pauses in this moment.Β
myΒ words sink into every crevice of his brain, and knowing him,Β heβsΒ hearing itΒ over and over.Β not even wanted around.Β
heΒ pulls back from me with only enough distance to be able to look at my face.Β heΒ looks utterlyΒ stupefied.Β
βyouΒ feel likeΒ iΒ donβt want you around?β his voiceΒ almostΒ silentβlike if he says it any louder then it may actually be true.Β
sadly, itΒ didnβtΒ have to be said any louder to be just as true.Β iΒ nod again, my expression on display this time.Β
heΒ shakes his head slowly at first, and then faster as the horror settles in. the realization that he had made me feel this way sinking into reality.Β
hisΒ words come out rushed, as if trying to do damage control as quickly as possible.Β
βno... no, no, no, no. baby,Β iΒ would neverΒ everΒ think that.Β i-β his mouth is slightly agapeΒ as he shakes his head, shocked thatΒ heβdΒ so absentmindedly let things get so far out of hand. βiΒ love you more than anything.Β iΒ never intended to make you feel like this.Β iβmΒ so fucking sorry.βΒ
myΒ tears have mostly concluded, but my sniffles continue to reign on.Β iΒ can barely make eye contact with him asΒ iΒ speak.Β
βiΒ canβtΒ keep fighting, will.Β itβsΒ exhausting,Β iβmΒ so tired.βΒ
heΒ brushes my hair out of my face, nodding in agreement. βweΒ wonβt,β the words more certain than anythingΒ iβveΒ heard in a long time. βiβmΒ done fighting.Β iβmΒ so sorry,Β baby.Β iβmΒ not here to fight anymoreβnot over silly things, not when it makes you feel like this.βΒ
iΒ donβt respond for a moment, watching him gently.Β heΒ means it.Β itβsΒ written all over his face thatΒ heβsΒ done with the petty arguments and tiring exchanges.Β
βiβmΒ sorryΒ iΒ couldnβtΒ come to your-βΒ
heΒ cuts me off, stealing a soft kiss.Β
βyouΒ have nothing to be sorry for. you could miss every single one, andΒ iβdΒ just beΒ happy to be ableΒ to come home to you at the end of the day.βΒ
withΒ that, he tucks me into his chest again.Β Β
hisΒ heart beats loudly againstΒ myΒ ear, and for what feels like the first time in weeks, both of us catch a good nightβs rest.Β
texts between you and your bf // mc71 x y/n
part ii
: ΜΜβMARTI'S MEGA MASTERLIST* ΰΌβ§βΛβ§
pairing: macklin celebrini x reader
summary: texts between you and your boyfriend, mack.
warning(s): fluff, suggestive texts
a/n: requests are open for more of these, these but with other players in my list of players i'll write for, and any other ideas you could possibly have!
: ΜΜβTAG LIST* ΰΌβ§βΛβ§
@daylightluver here you go!
long awaited fraser post.. boyfriend im nervous; this is so nothingburger omfg for the french speakers pleak its js me and papago im sorry if its painful to read π
Maybe Fraser Minten x media manager for the Bruins, something where he really really likes her, but he doesn't really know how to tell her so he shows off a lot in front of her??β€οΈ
Off-Camera Chemistry
pairing: Fraser Minten x mediamanager!reader
description: Fraser's not-so-subtle attempts to impress you make your job as the Bruins' media manager far more entertaining.
TW: Fluff, workplace romance.
masterlist
You're standing behind the camera, adjusting the focus as the Bruins pour onto the ice for practice. It's a typical Tuesday morning. It's cold, loud and filled with the sounds of skates carving ice and pucks hitting the boards. Your job is to capture B-roll for social media, the little moments that fans eat up.
That's when you notice Fraser.
He's laughing with a few of the other guys, but then his eyes scan the rink and find you. Immediately, his posture changes. He stands a little taller, his shoulders back and suddenly he's not just participating in warm-ups. He's performing. For you.
You suppress a smile and hit record.
"Alright, let's run the 2-on-1 drill!" coach yells and you know exactly what's coming.
Fraser somehow manages to be first in line, which is unusual. He's typically mid-pack, content to let the more established players lead. But not today. Today, he's at the front, stick tapping impatiently against his skates.
When it's his turn, he moves with an intensity you haven't seen before. His crossovers are crisp and powerful. He accepts a pass smoothly, without breaking stride and executes a perfect deke around the defenseman.
You find yourself leaning slightly, the camera following his every move as if drawn by some invisible force. He scores beautifully, lifting the puck top shelf with a flick of his wrists that looks effortless.
As he skates by your spot behind the glass, he catches your eye and gives you a small, almost shy smile that contradicts the showboating of just moments before. Your heart does a little flip that you immediately try to ignore.
Throughout practice, it's more of the same. Fraser is everywhere you're pointing the camera. During shooting drills, he's picking corners like he's in a shootout. During conditioning sprints, he's always the first to finish, breathing heavily but trying to look casual as he glances over to see if you're watching.
"Someone's feeling it today," comments Jim, the veteran equipment manager, as he passes by. "Kid's been like that since you showed up."
You just shrug, pretending to be absorbed in checking your footage. "Just doing my job."
Jim chuckles. "Right. And he's just trying to impress the camera."
After practice, you're packing up your gear when a shadow falls over you. You look up to find Fraser, still in his gear but with his helmet off, sweat-darkened hair curling slightly at his temples.
"Hey," he says, his voice a little breathless. "Get some good stuff today?"
"Yeah, I think so," you reply, trying to sound professional. "You had some nice moves out there."
A flush creeps up his neck, turning his ears pink. "Oh, thanks. Just trying to work on some things the coaches have been after me about."
It's such a humble response compared to the show he put on for you earlier that you can't help but smile. "Well, it's working. Fans are going to love the footage."
There's an awkward pause as he shifts his weight from one skate to the other. "So, uh, are you coming to the game on Thursday?"
"Usually do," you say. "Gotta get those post-game interviews."
"Right, of course," he nods, looking disappointed for a moment before recovering. "Well, maybe I'll see you there."
"I'll be the one with the camera," you reply, then immediately want to kick yourself. Obviously, you'll be the one with the camera.
Fraser just smiles, though. "I'll look for you."
As he walks away, you notice that he's not walking so much as gliding, even on the rubber flooring of the hallway. You shake your head, unable to stop smiling now. It's ridiculous, really, this professional athlete trying so hard to impress you. And the worst part? It's working.
Thursday's game is a close one, but they manage to pull off a win in overtime. You're in the mixed zone, microphone in hand, waiting for the coach to finish when Fraser skates over, ignoring the reporters calling his name.
"Hey," he says, his face still flushed from the game. "We got the win."
"We did," you agree, surprised that he sought you out before any of the actual media. "You played well."
"Thanks," he says, his eyes darting around nervously. "Listen, I was wondering if..."
But just then, the media swarm descends and Fraser is pulled away for interviews. You watch as he answers their questions professionally, but his eyes keep finding yours in the crowd. When he finally escapes, he gives you a little wave before disappearing down the tunnel.
The next day, you're editing the game highlights when your phone buzzes. It's an Instagram notification, one that tells you that Fraser has started following you. You bite your lip, telling yourself it means nothing. He probably follows all the team staff.
But then a direct message comes through.
Hey, it's Fraser. Hope this isn't weird.
Your heart rate spikes as you type back a response. Not weird. What's up?
I was wondering if you'd want to get coffee sometime? When you're not working, I mean.
You're grinning like an idiot now, glad no one can see you. I'd like that.
Great! Tomorrow after practice?
It's a date.
As soon as you hit send, you want to take it back. "It's a date"? Really? But his response comes quickly, making your stomach flutter.
Perfect. See you then.
The next day at practice, Fraser is still showing off for you, but there's something different now. It's less about performance and more about⦠connection? He keeps finding ways to be near where you're filming, making eye contact, giving you those small smiles that make your heart race.
After practice, he meets you by the locker room, freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a Bruins hoodie. He looks nervous, which somehow makes him even more endearing.
"Ready?" he asks, running a hand through his still-damp hair.
"Ready," you confirm, slinging your camera bag over your shoulder.
As you walk out of the arena, he carefully brushes his hand against yours. When you don't pull away, he takes it, lacing your fingers together. It's a small gesture, but it sends a jolt through you.
"I've been wanting to do that for a while," he admits, his voice soft.
"Really?" you ask, looking up at him. "I thought you just wanted to be on camera."
He laughs, a genuine, unguarded sound that you haven't heard before. "Well, that too. But mostly, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you."
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