yves

19

[summersharkie]

𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐒𝐎 𝐁𝐀𝐃

macklin celebrini x reader smau

── .✦: Macklin Celebrini hates your boyfriend. For no weird reason; he just thinks you could do so much better than someone who treats you like an afterthought. Definitely not because he's in love with you.

... a little emotional cheating !!

you posted:

♫: purple - Olivia Rodrigo

liked by mackcelebrini, michaelmisa_, and 567 more

you sharkie better start liking the boyf bc unfortunately for her he's not going away

comments...

mackcelebrini you should really reconsider sharkies name. that's like my coworker

your.boyfriend macklin always has to make a cameo lol

↳ you well look at him in that photo so happy to be a mess

catbtoffoli 🩵🩵🩵

opening your messages...

you posted:

♫: stupid song - olivia rodrigo

liked by mackcelebrini, _willsmith2, and 658 more

you and if there is a god, he's the bond that's between us two

comments...

mackcelebrini YOURE A SOARK IN THE DARK AND MY CLOTHES ALL CAUGHT AFLAAAAAAAMEEEEE

↳ you i got ur ass on Olivia huh

your.boyfriend so sorry I couldn't help you move!!!

liked by creator

user1 so happy to have you on set 🥳🥳

liked by creator

macklins texts...

you posted:

♫: maggots for brains - olivia rodrigo

liked by mackcelebrini, your.bsf, and 618 more

you missing the boyf and now i edit in stinky hockey rinks but I am genuinely so happy !!!😁😁😁

comments...

mackcelebrini hi!!

↳ you hi :))

↳ _willsmith2 oh my FUCKING GOD😭😭😭😭😭😭

your.boyfriend can't believe sharkie is so mean to me and so nice to Mack 😔

opening your texts...

Macklins texts...

you posted:

♫: so american - olivia rodrigo

liked by mackcelebrini, aiden_celebrini, and 756 more

you van with the bestie!!

comments...

mackcelebrini hey bestie

↳ you hiii bestie :)

_willsmith2 be so fucking serious

aiden_celebrini I was there too but it's chill

this took FORRRRREVER. I am very proud of this smau. I love them so much. That last text was supposed to be earlier in the smau but I changed my mind 😭ok bye

[birdiewritesstuff]

Otherside

Dad!Macklin Celebrini x Mom!reader

Summary: Teenagers are hard, especially as a dad who's travelling for work. But Macklin makes it work, kinda, not really. You come in and save the day, as usual.

A/N: heh.. well.. i have not posted in nearly five months.. I have been lurking however.. i am very sorry for disappearing.. cannot promise it won't happen again but i am finding my love for writing again!!

Now, Macklin wasn't the most patient person out there. But he would refuse to take his anger out on his children, even when they did something bad.

It happened so fast. It felt like yesterday Charlyn was a year old and they were welcoming Jaiden into the world. Now, Charlyn was 16 and Jaiden was 15.

When did that happen? Mack had no idea, but it made him feel old. Toff old.

Macklin missed the days where his kids thought he was the coolest person ever. They barely spent time with him anymore and Macklin had no idea what to do.

He missed his kids when they were in the same house.

Damn teenagers.

You always told him it was a phase, there's gonna be a time soon where they're gonna not want to leave their dads side again, every teenager went through it.

Macklin knew that, but it didn't stop it from hurting. The feeling of excitement that filled his chest when both his kids were home but didn't want to spend time with him.

He hates that feeling. And he didn't use that word lightly. It wasn't a strong enough word, in his opinion.

Macklin was sitting on the couch, happy that the off season started as he kicked his feet up on the coffee table. He watches TV, sipping a soda. He didn't like casual drinking, especially not with his kids in the house.

He sees an ad for a horror movie, still not his favourite, but his wife and kids were stronger than him and loved them. He sighs and takes a picture so he wouldn't forget the title.

“Fuck, I’m old.” He mutters, letting out a grunt as he stands up. “That's worse.”

He walks down the hall only to hear bickering. He rubs his forehead before walking further to see Jaiden standing in Charlyn's door. “That's not fair! Mom and dad bought it for both of us!”

“Oh, shut up. It's not that deep.” Charlyn says, disinterested.

“What's going on?” Macklin says, voice stern.

“Charlyn took the PS into her room again instead of leaving it downstairs!” Jaiden complained.

Macklin sighs. “Charlyn, that's supposed to stay in the rec room.”

Charlyn groans. “You always take his side! That's not fair!”

“I’m not taking sides, I’m saying what the rules are. And if you keep taking it, I’m giving it to Jaiden.”

“That's insane!” She yells, standing up.

“Lower your tone, Char. Go put it downstairs.”

Charlyn rolls her eyes and doesn't budge.

“Now! Or I’m taking your phone.” Macklin points to the PS.

“I hate you.” She mumbles.

Macklin feels his world crumble as his daughter's words hit his ears. He frowns but before he can ask if she really meant it, she pushes past him with the PS.

“Dad, can I have fifty bucks to buy GTA?” Jaiden asks, not seeming to notice the devastation on his dads face.

The question seems to snap Macklin out of his heartbreak, he looks at Jaiden, bewildered.

“Fifty bucks?! For a game? No, you didn't clean your room and you already used your allowance.” Macklin says.

“Worst dad ever..” Jaiden mumbles as he goes downstairs.

Macklin just walks away to your bedroom, closing the door behind himself and sitting on the bed. You look up from your kindle, seeing his slumped shoulders shaking slightly. You frown.

“Macky, baby, what's wrong?” You ask, leaning over to rub his back.

“Am I a bad dad?”

His voice is small, quiet and devastated. You feel your heart break.

“Oh, no, hunny. Not at all.” You move to sit beside him.

“The kids..” Macklin trails off, wiping the tears he tried so hard to not let fall. “Jaiden said I’m the worst dad ever and Charlyn said she hated me..” He sobs.

You kiss his forehead. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sure she didn't really mean it. Teenage angst.”

“Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.” He mumbles, he looked heartbroken and you couldn't handle that. Your husband, the man that was there for you through thick and thin, was the sweetest man you have ever met. You won't let anyone, not even your children, make him feel like this.

You kiss him before standing up. You walk down the hall and bang your fist on Charlyn's door and move across the hall to bang on Jaiden's door. They open the door, already looking irritated.

“Couch. Now.” You glare, walking to the living room.

They reluctantly follow and sit on the couch. You stand in front of them, crossing your arms.

“I did not raise you two like this. He is your father and you will not be disrespectful to him. He provides for us-”

Charlyn rolls her eyes. “That's his job as our parent.”

“It's his job to provide food, water and a safe place to sleep. But it's not his job to pay for your phones, or buy you games, or give you an allowance.”

“Oh my god, mom, it's not that deep.” Jaiden says, not taking this seriously at all.

“It is that deep. He’s your father, he loves you guys and he tries to find fun things to do with you but you just get mad at him or ask him for money. He wants to spend time with you guys.”

Charlyn sits up. “He doesn't try that hard.” She mumbles, feeling the guilt settle in her chest.

“He does. He's in the off season and he hasn't touched a beer in case you guys want to go for a drive or go see a movie with him.” You say, sitting on the coffee table.

Jaiden frowns and Charlyn's shoulders slump.

“Really..?” Jaiden asks quietly.

You nod. “He's hurt, his son told him he was the worst and his daughter said she hated him.”

Charlyn gets up and runs to your room, pushing it open and running to hug her dad. Tears streamed down her face. Jaiden quickly follows, hugging him, too. Macklin, well surprised, doesn't say anything and just hugs his kids tightly.

“I’m so sorry, daddy, I really didn't mean it. I don't hate you, I love you, a lot, I promise.” Charlyn sobs, feeling awful.

Macklin kisses the side of her head. “It's okay, bug.”

Charlyn only seems to sob harder at the nickname he had demanded he stopped calling her when she was 12. Jaiden shakes his head.

“It's not okay, dad. I’m sorry, you're the best and the coolest.” Jaiden promised.

Macklin kissed his head too. “Thank you, monkey.”

Jaiden nods and tries to hold in his tears. “There's a new movie I saw, it's horror. I was gonna watch it, do you wanna watch it with me?”

“Course I do.” Macklin smiled, but he didn't want to let go yet. “In a bit, though.”

“Mom, get in here.” Charlyn calls out.

You walk in and smile, joining the hug. You kiss Macklin and the kids pretend to gag, but they love how in love their parents still are.

Macklin knew that this wasn't the end of the teen angst, but he knew his kids and wife loved him. That's all he needed.

[rimouskis]

happy 39th, Sidney

(a spiritual continuation of the baking timeline, by request)

[sillyliliess]

🏎️ - best rivals. (kimi antonelli)

pairing: kimi antonelli x driver!reader

genre: angst, fluff, secret relationship, rivals to lovers

warnings: heavy kissing, implied freakiness, swearing

synopsis: being an 18-year-old F1 rookie already comes with many pressures, nonetheless being the little sister of Charles Leclerc, one of the most notorious drivers in formula 1 history. Not to mention, you're moving up along with your rival since your karting days, Kimi Antonelli. Over time, your rivalry with him has become more- still a rivalry, just a few benefits, and complicated feelings included.

main series:

part 1

part 2

part 3

extras:

(coming soon!)

[r0meett33]

"I’M AN ASTRONAUT, YOUR THE MOON."

MACKLIN CELEBRINI X CROSBY!READER

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

(Credits for the flower divider!!: @strangergraphics)

SUMMARY: after weeks of nonstop drama between Macklin and Y/N, things finally come to an end.

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of death caused by disease (specifically cancer,) loss of a parent mentioned, angst, 3.8K words (not proofread much I rushed this for Sid’s bday), Fraser minten and Macklin are reader’s childhood friends, use of Y/N.

A/N: this feels like the chaotic climax of an action movie, one more part left till I’m finally done with this plot 💔 I rewrote this like 20 times cuz it got too sad so yolo

♡ TAGS OF HONOR ♡:  @zinaalwadiya, @almnsri, @amala1than7, @fathimasworld, @kindythekid, @melculmeu, @smittylovr, @budgetcupid, @jillspillian, @inthenicotime, @hevhock43, @drewstarkeyluvrr, @destinyg237, @madisonofabitch08, @idkwhatthisis2009, @zazubeyza, @lightdragonrayne, @staticletterz, @qaoiyhnh, @stanswifties, @applejackrootbeerhollis, @berriesofstraw,@lacey-the1975, @ivory-writez, @livelaughlovemattrempe, @ivory-readz, @sxphmarny, @hermionesimp, @emshrt, @hakkkuu, @ashleywinchester78, @svetabae, @xreader1989, @brookeb18, @xnatqq.

!! IMPORTANT!! This is a sequel series, before reading this SMAU please read this one: LEGENDARY LOVERS--2000s SIDNEY CROSBY X MALKIN!READER

MARCH 25TH, 2026. Texts between Y/N and Sidney Crosby

texts between Y/N and Ben Kindel

Meanwhile in the San Jose Sharks Groupchat…

Texts between Macklin Celebrini and Sidney Crosby

back in the San Jose sharks group chat

Sometimes you have to give up on people, not because you don’t care, but because they don’t. And clearly Macklin made it clear he didn’t care about you, or so you thought. The fight between you guys had felt like the end of everything, you thought you’d never hear from him ever again and he’d forget about you in a heartbeat.

And you definitely didn’t think it’d turn into a big deal, you didn’t want it to become a big deal. As Macklin said, people grow up. People grow up and drift apart, making it a big deal by telling everyone would make the heartache feel worse.  And telling Sidney specifically, would turn things into a whole different situation. Yet to your luck, he found out. Thanks to Kindy, who for some reason decided to drop the news to your dad behind your back.  

It doesn’t matter what his intentions were. As much as you're sure they were right, he still broke your trust, which was crazy since Macklin had just done so a few weeks before!

It genuinely feels like everyone you love was toying around with your feelings and trust, holding your heart tightly then just dropping it and letting it shatter into pieces.

“Ben Kindel you little fucker.”  You mumbled to yourself as you got ready to go out, after huffing and grumbling while putting on your black coat and matching gloves you figured you looked decent enough to finally go downstairs and face your dad.

 Today marks 16 years since your mother died from brain cancer,  a day that you remember so vividly it feels like it only happened last week. Your mom had been ill for a while after she quit figure skating, a bright woman who would sass people and pick at everyone lovingly was quickly becoming frail and exhausted.

She would reassure you every day that she was healthy, and everything was going to be alright in time. But quickly the words of reassurance started becoming prayers, it only took a short span of time for things to become worse.  It hit rock bottom when she was hospitalized, in critical condition after months of surgery, radiation therapy, and chemotherapy.

Your dad would spend as much time with her as possible, in fear that there wasn’t much left. Geno would visit her frequently as well, unable to hold his sobs every time he had to leave. 

You were quite young at the time, and didn’t know how to take in everything that was happening.  All you knew was that your mother was actively dying in front of your eyes, and there was nothing you could do to stop that.

The last moments you had with her were in a hospital room, she was braiding your hair as you told her about your first day at figure skating practice. The room was so silent, like everyone knew something you didn’t.

It was a blurry memory, but you still remember Sidney excusing himself and leaving for the bathroom as tears swelled up in his eyes.  At that point, you were used to seeing everyone cry when it came to your mom, but seeing your dad cry felt like seeing the last pieces of hope you had left slip away.

And on March 25th 2010, she was gone.  She died at dawn, having a soft conversation with Sidney before going to sleep, unaware that she’d never wake up.

She died peacefully, holding the hand of her lover as the line in the heart monitor flattened.

Since then, every day at this time of year, you would visit her grave with your dad and Geno.  And today was that day,  it was always a heavy occasion but today felt particularly crushing knowing there were plenty of unspoken words between you and your dad.

As you made your way downstairs every step felt like a step towards a pit made out of your dad's disappointment. You’ve never hidden anything from him,  especially something as big as what’s happening between you and Macklin.

It’s mostly cause he’d find out what you’re hiding before you even tried to hide it, that ability probably comes with being Sidney Crosby apparently.

Please don’t be in the kitchen, please don’t be in the kitchen.

You prayed internally, eyes closed while walking into the kitchen as if it was a crime scene. 

“Morning, bug.” 

Fuck.

You opened your eyes to be met with your dad, standing in the kitchen with what might be the calmest expression you’ve ever seen. 

He’s calm???

“Morning, Dad.” She hummed in response, forcing yourself to loosen your tense shoulders before sitting down at the table slowly.

He found out his daughter’s feelings got toyed with and he’s fucking relaxed????

You thought as you glanced between him and the little breakfast platter in front of you, extremely bewildered by the fact he hasn’t initiated an entire interrogation about what happened by now.

You watched him intensely as you ate breakfast, he hadn’t smiled or frowned at all. You fully expected him to be pacing around, arms crossed as he demanded to know every detail.

But here he was, washing dishes silently after finding out Macklin Celebrini broke his daughter’s heart.

You sighed dramatically, attempting to soft launch the inevitable conversation as he placed a bouquet of Daisies on the counter.

Daisies, your mother’s favorite flower, he leaves a bouquet of them at her grave every year.

“We’re gonna head out to the graveyard once Geno arrives, he’s on the way.”  He commented, breaking the awkward silence that was filling the room.

“Okay.” You replied, “y’know, Dad, this is really awkward can we address the Macklin-shaped elephant in the roo-“

You cut yourself off as he held up a finger.

“We’ll discuss that later.”

“But-“

“No, bug, I don’t wanna hear anything about this for now.” He closed the subject harshly, keeping a cool tone in fear of an argument starting.

Sidney has never yelled at you, but this was the closest he ever got to doing so.

You bury your face in your hands, trying to push down all the overwhelming thoughts in your head and the tears swelling up in your eyes. 

How ironic this happens the day you're visiting you mothers grave.

The doorbell rang and your father was out of the kitchen in a blink, you immediately sat back and exhaled deeply.  If he’s reacting like this to the topic now, then who knows how he’s gonna react later!

“Geno’s here!” You heard him call out.

Geno.

If your dad knows about what happened between you and Macklin, then Geno knows as well.

You shot out of your seat like a bullet, and jogged towards the front door. It’s only logical that Geno knows, any news that goes to Sidney Crosby must go to Evgeni Malkin as well.

And unlike your dad, Geno is definitely not going to push the topic aside. 

“Uncle Geno!” You exclaim, running to your front porch and colliding with him.

“Y/n? Y/n! Hi, good morning!” Geno stumbled over his words as you hugged him so suddenly, but he didn’t hesitate to hug back with the same amount of force.

“You know, don’t you?” Wasting no time, you ask immediately.

“Know what?? Why Sid so weird? I wish I knew! Your dad act like crazy stressed man since yesterday, I don’t know why..” he huffed, pointing at the garage where your dad was waiting for you two in the car, with exaggerated hand movements.

“Me and Macklin had a fight, then I went on a date with Luke Hughes.” 

“Y/n don’t joke with me-“

“I’m not joking, remember when you guys came home late and found me crying? That was right after Macklin basically told me he doesn’t care about me anymore.”  You cut in, briefly explaining the harsh truth of what happened.

Geno’s shoulders slouched as he pulled away from the hug, and he blinked a few times as if you’d just told him pigs could fly. Was it that disbelieving? Did everyone seriously think you and Macklin were inseparable for life!?

“Why you didn’t tell us??”  Oh gosh, that inevitable question.

“I didn’t wanna make it a big deal. He was right, people do grow u-“ 

“It is a big deal! He make you cry, you think we don’t take it as a big deal if you’re sad?!” Geno insisted, shaking his head in disappointment.  Disappointment towards Macklin, not towards you.

You opened your mouth to argue but closed it when you heard a car horn coming from the garage, there was still the rest of the day to talk about this and right now you just wanted to get things over with.

-

The graveyard had a bittersweet feeling to it, as devastating as it was coming here every year on this day was a part of your childhood since you were five. 

You stood in between your dad and uncle, eyes locked onto your mother’s grave. The daisies had gradually grown around the tombstone over time, it reminded you of how she used to put vases filled with them all over the house.

“Where do you think the daisies came from?” You poorly attempted to break the silence, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“Her heart.”  Your father replied simply, his voice threatening to crack as his eyes got glossy.

You smiled softly at the comment, resting your head against his shoulder. Now that he knew about everything that had happened in the past few weeks, you started to feel the guilt kick in.

I’m sorry, Dad. I should’ve told you.  

You thought as he pressed a soft kiss against your forehead, and Geno did the same right after. If anything they’re definitely more upset at Macklin than you, he’s the one that caused all this.

“About Macklin..” you spoke up, stepping up front and turning to look at them. It was about time that you explained everything, even if Ben probably went and spilled everything anyway.

“Macklin just…..he just dropped me one day, he didn’t talk to me for days after the Olympics then suddenly snapped when I reached out to him.” You explained, keeping a soft tone in hopes that they’d stay calm if you did.

“This has been going on since after the Olympics?” Your dad echoed, seeming genuinely shocked that you’ve been carrying this alone for so long.

“Yeah, we fought and stopped talking completely.” You nodded, cringing as you recalled the harsh fight.

“And you didn’t tell me the entire time?” 

“I didn’t wanna distract you from work…..” 

“Oh bug, even if you never told me I would’ve noticed that you were upset. You think I can focus on anything if my daughter is upset? Ask Geno, I played terrible against the Bruins yesterday.” Your dad sighed, patting your shoulder as he glanced at Geno, who nodded very seriously.

You didn’t reply to that, you knew he was right. Even if you never told him he would’ve figured it out, and he did thanks to Ben.

“Well, I didn’t tell anyone. Except for Kindy of course, you probably knew that since he’s the one who told you what happened.” You continued.

“Kindy didn’t tell me.”

“What?”

“Fraser did.”

“What?!” 

Fraser, as in Fraser Minten??? He told him?

You blinked at him in confusion, struggling to process what you just heard. You grew up with Fraser the same way you grew up with Macklin, but you hadn’t told him anything due to how busy he was lately.

“Fraser as in Fraser Minten, the boy I met at McDonald’s when I was seven??? That Fraser told you?” You clarified, laughing in disbelief as your dad nodded.

“Yes sweetheart, Fraser told me. We played against the Bruins yesterday, remember?” He repeated himself, you’ve been so caught up in your head you didn’t realize the Penguins played against the Bruins yesterday.

“Fraser asked why you and Macklin have been acting weird lately, I didn’t know why so I asked Kindy…..and he kinda just spilled everything..”

“Of course he did!” You exclaimed, continuing to laugh in disbelief. You're not surprised that Ben just gave up and told him everything; you're surprised it was Fraser out of all people.

I am going to have a serious talk with Ben Kindel after this.

You thought as you sighed in relief, relief that you finally don’t have to hide anything anymore.  The topic was closed and everything was done, you and Macklin aren’t friends anymore.

“I didn’t know how to react after I found out, the last thing I expected from Mack was this.” Your dad continued after a few seconds of silence, you really hoped he wasn’t that mad at Macklin, that would cause some tension if they ever played together again.

Geno feeling the need to lighten up the mood, finally added his two cents. “He react like aliens real, pacing around locker room like psycho!” 

You chuckle softly at the description, yeah that sounded like your dad. You never thought you’d be having a conversation about Macklin doing something like this to you, to be honest this is probably the first time he’s actually done something to hurt you.

What a way to end a lifelong friendship.

“It’s upsetting, you should’ve seen the state I was in when the fight happened. I’m sure the thought of Macklin will forever chase me.” You spoke casually, watching your dad and uncle’s reactions as you admitted the painful truth.

“Y/N!!!!!!” 

All three of you turn your heads sharply towards the yelling, you think it’s paparazzi spotting you and trying to get your attention, but it’s way worse.  

Macklin.

What the fuck is he doing here.

“Macklin?” You all say in unison, you glance at your dad and Geno in startled confusion. What was he doing here? More importantly, why is he here!?

You watch him run up to you, holding two flower bouquets as he did so.  Oh my goodness of course he knew you’d be here! He knows you come here every year, you guys grew up together after all.

“Macklin?! What the fuck!” You exclaim as he stops right in front of you, you glance back at your dad and Geno, who are also incredibly startled.

Geno isn’t exactly startled, he’s grinning as if he’s watching the climax of a rom-com! 

Macklin looked beyond exhilarated, his usually rosy cheeks were bright red and he was catching his breath like someone who just ran a marathon.

“Y/n- hi, give me a second I need to….I need to breathe...” Macklin panted, crouching down as he caught his breath. He was holding a bouquet of daisies, and another bouquet filled with lavender.

Lavender, your favorite flower.

“Hi?? Hello?? What the fuck are you doing here!” You yelled in response, this was the first time you’ve seen him in person since the fight, and seeing his face after so long was giving you mixed emotions.

You missed him, but you were way past angry. You were upset, furious, and somewhat relieved to see him. 

Macklin finally stood up, and his eyes widened immediately as he realised Sidney and Geno were here too.  You hoped this was as much of a nightmare to him as it was to you.

“Okay, I planned what I was gonna say at the airport but I forgot.”  He replied intelligently, somehow his ears turned redder than before.

You faceplaimed hard and turned around to look at your dad and Geno, silently requesting some privacy. If you were to fight with Macklin, you’d prefer to do so without an audience.

Your father grabbed Geno by the wrist and backed up casually, and Geno didn’t look pleased to know he was gonna miss this conversation.

“We’ll give you some space.” Your dad said simply, shooting a scarily cold look at Macklin before walking off to somewhere in the graveyard.

You nod and turn back to Macklin with the frustration of an angry sports coach during a losing streak, as much as you miss seeing his face you were fuming.

“Are you this fucked up in the head?? You ditch me out of nowhere then randomly run into a graveyard yelling my name!” You started, not bothering to lower your voice or think about what to say as you went off on him.

Macklin winced as he let you scream at him, it seemed he knew he was guilty.

“I knew you were gonna be here, that’s why I came! I took a flight from SanJose last night!” Macklin yelled back, shoving the bouquet filled with lavenders at you harshly.

You huffed in offense and grabbed the bouquet, it was frustratingly gorgeous.  He knew Lavender was your favorite, he once got stung by a wasp while picking some from the garden for you.

“The lavenders are for you, the daisies are for your mother….but that’s not why I’m here!” Macklin continued, blurting all his words out at once as he panicked.

“Then why are you here, Macklin. Tell me why! You disappear for weeks on end after telling me you didn’t give a flying fuck about our friendship, then you suddenly choose to show up with some half-assed apology flowers as if it’ll fix everything!” You're basically screaming at him now, if the graveyard wasn’t empty, then you’d probably be kicked out by now.

And Macklin dares to actually look offended, placing the daisies on your mother's tombstone gently before turning back to you with an expression too insulted for its own good.

“And you think going on a date with Luke Hughes will fix things?” He snapped back, placing his hands on his hips as he brought up the embarrassing detail.

You gasp slightly, the nerve this boy has??

“Why does that matter? I’m allowed to go on a date with who I want! That has nothing to do with you stop acting like you’re in love with me!”

“I am in love with you!”

It felt as if Macklin knocked the air out of your lungs, and your heart dropped harder than any failed triple axel you’ve ever done. 

I am in love with you.

Macklin is in love with you.

You stand there frozen, breathing heavily like a startled animal. You could feel your heart pounding against your chest as you processed what he just revealed, he was in love with you.

Macklin looked as taken aback as you did, as if he hadn’t planned to say that at all. He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them to look directly at you.

And gosh, he looked soulful.

“Y/n, I am in love with you. And I have been ever since we were 12 years old, I loved you when we were stupid kids making promises about our future, and I love you now as adults facing the world together.” Macklin continued, voice cracking every time he repeated the word ‘love.’

“I stopped talking to you because I was scared, scared you weren’t on the same page as me but..” he didn’t stop, not bothering to hide the fact he was tearing up now.

“But Y/N, I am painfully and deeply in love with you.” Macklin concluded, letting out a shaken exhale as he took in your reaction.

You didn’t realize you were crying, but hot tears were flowing down your cheeks as Macklin finished his confession. You’ve been alive for nineteen years, and you’ve known Macklin for sixteen. 

You’ve won an Olympic gold medal, lost your mother to cancer, faced insane public scrutiny as a female athlete, and carried pressure on your back from a young age.

And yet, the hardest few weeks of your life, were the few weeks you lived without Macklin.

You open your mouth just to gasp for air, unaware that you’ve been holding your breath the entire time.  You look back at Macklin and take a few steps forward towards him, stopping right in front of him.

Smack! 

You slap him, watching him rub his cheek as tears began to slowly stream down his face as well.  But before he could say anything you wrap your arms around him tightly, trapping him in a warm embrace.

(A/n: okay sorry to interrupt but imagine end of August by Noah Kahan playing here) 

The hug was absolutely mollifying, and it was exactly what you needed after everything that has happened. You could hear Macklin’s rapid heartbeat and you’re sure he could hear yours too, 

Closing your eyes as you melted into the warm embrace, you knew this was exactly where you wanted to be.

With Macklin.

The silence between you two lasted a few moments longer. You stayed in each other's arms, quietly enjoying the feeling of being in each other's warmth after weeks of cold disconnection and miscommunication.

“You planned that speech on the way here?” You broke the silence, speaking softly into his shoulder.

“Nah, I was supposed to bring a boombox and sing.” Mack hummed in response, causing you both to break into quiet giggles.

You pulled away slightly, keeping your arms wrapped around his neck loosely. Being in a position like this wasn’t uncomfortable after years of knowing each other, but as you took in the sight of his face turning pink again it felt more intimate than it should have.

Macklin makes a bold move and cups your face awkwardly. And you try not to continue giggling as you lean in, tilting your head slightly as you glance at his lips…

“Can you guys not kiss in a graveyard?” Your father's voice appeared abruptly.

You and Macklin separated as if touching each other would cause burns, immediately backing up and turning towards Sidney and Geno.

“Oh, hey Sid.” Macklin squeaked, rubbing his neck awkwardly as you picked up the discarded lavender bouquet from the ground.

Your father looked nothing but exasperated, and Geno was clapping smugly as if he’d just won a bet.

“No no no, let them continue! I wait years for this, Tanger said he give five hundred if-“ Geno tsked, waving his hand dramatically.

“Uncle Geno! You made bets on us????”

“Okay bug, let’s get out of the graveyard then we’ll beat up Geno together okay?” Your dad redirected smoothly, walking in between Macklin and slinging his arms around your shoulders as you guys walked back to the car.

“And possibly, beat up Macklin as well.” He added jokingly, well he’s probably joking…..hopefully.

“What?? Sidney that’s not funny-“ Macklin snapped his head towards Sidney, nervous and unable to tell if this was sarcasm or a joke foreshadowing his future.

You sigh fondly, untangling the lavenders in the bouquet you're holding.  Obviously your dad wasn’t going to beat up Macklin, but they were definitely going to have a very threatening conversation later.

“Dad, please don’t beat up my boyfriend yet, we still haven’t kissed.” You commented casually, smiling to yourself as everyone paused and Macklin almost tripped.

“Boyfriend?!” They all said in unison.

Yeah, boyfriend.  Macklin has always been the love of your life, one way or another.

Y/NUSER ✓

♪ — out of the woods - Taylor swift

Liked by SidneyCrosby.87, Benkindy_81, _Fraserminten, Mackcelebrini, e.malkin71geno, and 400K others..

Y/NUSER ✓ she’d really beat my ass if she was here…..ps: Mackcelebrini thanks for the flowers 🪻🪻🩵

creator limited comment access.

User1 my condolences and…congratulations ig? ♥︎ By creator

User2 they’re friends again someone fucking pinch me ♥︎ By creator

Y/NUSER ✓ who said we were friends we just made out

User3 WHAT??????

User4 and Macklin Celebrini SCORESSSS

_Fraserminten ✓ 👀👀 ♥︎ By creator

Y/NUSER ✓ 😒😒 you’ve spending way too much with bedsy 😒😒😒 pondering your way into questions that cause problems 😒

Benkindy_81 my parents got back together life is good ‼️ ♥︎ By creator

Y/NUSER ✓ I’m still mad at you your ass is grounded

Mackinnon29 ✓ if your mother was here she’d find you and Mack absolutely hilarious 😂😂😂 ♥︎ By creator

Y/NUSER ✓ don’t you have better things to do go stare at my dad with hearts in your eyes or smth

_willsmith2 ✓ #unblocked

Y/NUSER ✓ don’t test my patience boy ♥︎ By creator _willsmith2 ✓ hey why didn’t you like my comment??

I’m fucking EXHAUSTEDDDDDD also happy birthday Sidney Crosby 🥳 sorry if this sucks ass i did this with low blood pressure also did anyone notice the Greky crumbs orrr

[nikilauddas]

MILK & MOTORSPORT

IN WHICH....kimi antonelli can drive a racing car at three hundred kilometres an hour but cannot fold a pushchair.

warnings — each chapter has its own warnings, so please make sure to check.

۫ ꣑ৎ CHAPTER ONE

۫ ꣑ৎ CHAPTER TWO

۫ ꣑ৎ CHAPTER THREE

۫ ꣑ৎ CHAPTER FOUR

۫ ꣑ৎ CHAPTER FIVE

۫ ꣑ৎ CHAPTER SIX

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ stand alone chapters — written in chronological order

2025 monaco, baby!

corkboard inspo from @darling-flora dividers from @uzmacchiato

[bambi-onice17]

hii! i was thinking about mack x reader fic where videos of him with his ex start going viral on TikTok after she liked one of their edits or something. reader sees the videos and some comments say they should never have broken up and starts feeling jealous and insecure, mack has no idea about any of this. i want a misunderstanding too idk how lol sorry for my english 💕

Please don't apologize!! I actually have a Will fic pretty similar to this, so I tried my best to make them very different lol. 3.1k words ♡

Just Noise

The first video finds you by accident. Because why would you be seeking out edits of your boyfriend and his ex girlfriend on your TikTok feed? 

It’s almost midnight, Macklin is on a road trip somewhere in the middle of the Midwest right now, and you’re curled up in bed mindlessly scrolling through TikTok after finishing your homework.

The video starts innocently enough.

“Macklin Celebrini and his high school girlfriend before the NHL 🥹”

You almost keep scrolling, and you know you probably should, but your thumb hesitates. 

The edit is less than thirty seconds long, stitched together from old Instagram posts and blurry videos from before you knew him. Them sitting in the passenger seat of someone’s car, laughing over something the camera never catches. Another clip shows her wearing one of his hoodies at a tournament. One is the two of them at prom, his arm wrapped around her waist while she smiles up at him.

The song playing underneath is soft and nostalgic. It’s sweet, in a way. That young first relationship type of love most people have when they’re teenagers. 

The comments aren’t reflecting that kind of perspective, though, and you know that because you make the mistake of looking at nearly every single one of them. 

They were literally endgame

he looked sooooo so happy with her omg

I still can’t believe they broke up

Bring her back, plsss

she just liked this video !!!

You stop scrolling. She liked it? Your stomach sinks, immediately. Your eyes gravitate to the search at the top of the comments; her profile. You tap it out of curiosity, at least that’s what you tell yourself. 

Sure enough, her account is public, and right there in the activity section people are freaking out because she’d apparently liked an edit of the two of them a few hours earlier. All the comments under her recent post are about Macklin, and about how they should get back together. 

Now everyone is making more edits, and you’re seeing them all. Dozens. Hundreds. Every other video on your feed suddenly feels like it's about them.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

You tell yourself it’s ridiculous. She just liked a video and people saw the attention one edit got so they started making more. That’s the internet, you know that. 

But curiosity gets the best of you every time, so you read more comments, nearly every comment. 

she was with him before the fame

You can tell he loved her differently than his new gf

I like her and all but Y/N could never compare 

That one makes your chest tighten and adds an uneasy feeling in your stomach. It bothers you seeing things like that, so you put your phone down and lock it. 

Five minutes later you unlock it again. 

You hate yourself for it.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Macklin calls after morning skate in Colorado the next day.

His voice is bright, as always, when you answer. “Hey, baby.” You can practically hear the smile in his voice as he speaks. “What’re you doing?” 

You sigh lightly, and think up the most believable little white lie you can, “Just studying.”

“Liar,” he says lightly. 

“What?” you ask, sounding a little defensive and you hope he doesn’t notice. 

“I can hear your TV.” 

You glance toward the television that's been playing some random sitcom for background noise, you’d forgotten you had even turned it on. “Yeah, forgot about that.” 

He laughs. “I miss you,” he says sincerely. 

“I miss you too,” you reply. Automatic, hardly any emotion in your voice. You do miss him, you always miss him when he’s away, but your mind is so distant that you aren’t thinking about it right now, you’re distracted. 

His voice goes softer the next time he speaks, “You sound tired.” 

Your response is instantaneous, “I’m okay.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah.” 

The whole conversation is the first lie you’ve ever told him, and it comes easily.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Over the next few days, you become quieter. Not intentionally, you’re just stuck in a cycle of overthinking. 

Every time he tells you he loves you, your brain cruelly asks if he ever said it to her like that. Every time he sends you a picture from the road, you wonder if he used to send them to someone else.

You hate it.

Because none of it is his fault. He’s done nothing wrong. 

But insecurity isn’t logical, and it grows anyway. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

The road trip is about halfway over when Will brings something up to Macklin about how you’re doing.

They’re eating dinner after practice the night before a game, scattered around a long table in the hotel restaurant. Conversation bounces from one end of the table to the other until Will looks over at Macklin.

“Hey,” he says between bites of food, “you and Y/N are good, right?” 

Macklin looks up from his plate. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t we be?” 

Will shrugs. “I texted her this morning.” 

Macklin raises an eyebrow. “About?”

“I needed that cookie recipe she made after Christmas.” He grins. “The chocolate chip ones, my sister asked about them.” 

Macklin nods,” Okay…” Nothing about that is out of the ordinary, so he really doesn’t understand how asking for a recipe would give Will any sign of you being off. 

“She sent it,” Will says. “Just…”

“Just what?”

“She just sent it, she didn’t say anything else,” Will says. 

Macklin frowns. “What do you mean?” he asks. 

Will continues, “Usually she’d ask how practice went, ask if you’ve been annoying me, tell me to not let you buy any knick knacks at the airport.” 

Despite himself, Macklin smiles a little. “She does hate when I come home with that stuff.” 

“Exactly,” Will points at him with his fork. “She’s one of the easiest people to text. That wasn’t even a conversation, it was like I asked Google for it.” 

Macklin lets out a quiet laugh, but it fades almost as quickly as it came. “You really think something’s wrong?”

Will shrugs. “Maybe she’s just busy?” 

Macklin nods, “She’s been saying that school’s been a lot the past few days. She’s been saying she’s busy.” 

“Or…” Will continues, “maybe she’s got something on her mind?” 

Macklin stares down at his plate for a moment. “She keeps telling me she’s fine.” 

“Yeah,” Will says. “People do that even if they’re not fine.”

There’s a beat of silence and guilt starts sinking into Macklin’s gut. 

Then Will nudges his shoulder lightly, breaking the spiral. “Just...check in when you get home, really make sure she’s not dealing with something alone,” he says. 

Macklin nods once, “Yeah, I will.” 

But for the rest of dinner, he can’t stop thinking about it. What if something is really wrong and he’s completely missed it? And what if you’re dealing with something all on your own? He can’t dwell on it too much because if something was wrong you’d tell him. Surely you’d tell him. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Macklin starts replaying conversations in his head. There was no fight, no weird comments, no forgotten anniversary, nothing. 

You still answer all of his calls, you still text him before and after every game, asking how it went. 

But after Will brings it up, he notices that something is different. Your responses have become less thoughtful, like you don’t take any time before answering questions or asking him things like you normally would. 

It’s like your mind is somewhere else when the two of you talk.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

By the time he gets home two afternoons later, it’s driving him crazy.

He barely gets through the front door before wrapping you in a hug. “There you are,” he mumbles. 

You hug him back immediately, you always do. 

Somehow it feels different. This time you let go first, and Macklin notices. When he pulls back from the hug to look at you, you’re smiling up at him like always, but he can’t get over some kind of light missing from your eyes. 

He doesn’t want to push, when you’re ready to talk he’s confident that you’ll come to him, so for the rest of the afternoon; he continues as normal. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

That night, you’re both laid out across the couch. He’s telling you some story about Will trying to cook pasta in the hotel microwave.

You’re laughing, actually laughing, and for a second he thinks maybe everything is okay. 

Then his phone buzzes on the coffee table. He reaches for it as your laughter dies down. 

Unintentionally you see the name on the notification. 

Emma

Your heart drops, you don’t even think, you just freeze. 

“What?” he asks immediately, knowing something is off from your sudden shift. 

“Nothing,” you answer immediately.

“That face doesn’t scream ‘nothing’ to me.” 

You shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it. “I’m fine.” 

He looks unconvinced but glances down at his phone anyway.

There’s only one message.

Emma: Hey, this is really out of the blue, I know. Just wanted to say I’m sorry if all those TikTok videos have caused any problems. I liked one without thinking and now people are making it into something it’s not. Hope everything’s going okay

Macklin frowns. “Huh…” 

You perk up, wanting to know what she texted him. “What?” you ask. 

He looks back up. “Nothing.” 

“It’s obviously not nothing,” you say, repeating his sentiment from earlier. 

He hesitates. “I just need to answer this real quick.” 

Something inside you caves in. of course he does. Why wouldn’t he? Clearly they’re still talking, clearly this isn’t just some online resurgence of something. 

You stand up before you can stop yourself. “I’m gonna go shower,” you say, your tone a bit cold. 

Macklin puts his phone down immediately and stands up to try and follow you. “Baby—” 

You cut him off before he can say anything else. “I’m just tired.” 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

You cry in the bathroom. Quietly. Letting hot tears fall down your face as you undress and start your shower. 

You feel stupid the entire time. He hasn’t done anything wrong, right? Maybe you misread the name on the notification, or maybe he knows another Emma but you would know that. You’re just running mindless circles in your head, trying to figure out how to deal with this without seeming insecure or invading his privacy. 

When you come back out twenty minutes later, he’s sitting exactly where you left him. His phone is locked on the coffee table, and when he hears you come out of the bathroom he looks up immediately.

“Can we talk?” he asks cautiously. 

Your stomach sinks. “About?” you ask, wringing your hands together in front of you. 

He doesn’t say anything, he just pats the spot beside him.

You sit, not as close as usual. He notices that. 

“Okay, he exhales slowly. “I need you to tell me what’s been going on.”

You furrow your brows and shake your head, “Nothing’s been going on.”

He gives you a look. “I know you, and I can tell you’ve been pulling away.” 

Immediately you shoot down his—albeit correct—assumption, “I haven’t.”

“You have.” His voice stays impossibly gentle. “You’ve stopped telling me stories about your day, you keep saying you’re tired every night, and since I’ve been home this afternoon you’ve barely touched me.” 

You look down at your lap, almost ashamed because he’s calling you out. 

“You notice everything,” you mumble. 

“I notice you,” he corrects. 

That almost makes you cry again, so you keep your gaze on your lap. He notices you keeping the distance so he carefully reaches for one of your hands, picking it up off your lap and holding it between both of his. 

“You can tell me. You know you can talk to me, I want you to talk to me if you’re dealing with something.” 

You exhale sharply, willing yourself to just spit it out, because if you don’t you know it will get worse. 

“I saw the videos,” you say quickly, finally looking up at him. 

He blinks, clearly confused. “What videos?” 

“The TikToks,” you clarify. 

His eyebrows pull together. “What TikToks?” 

“You and…” your voice trails off a bit, knowing this part is embarrassing to admit out loud. “You and your ex, you and Emma.” 

Understanding doesn’t hit him immediately. Then…“Oh.” There’s not a ton of emotion in his voice, he’s saying it like he’s just processing something he definitely wasn’t expecting to hear. 

“I know it’s stupid—” 

“It’s not,” he interrupts, but you don’t hear him. 

“I know you guys broke up years ago, before we met. And I know you love me—” 

“I do.” 

“But,” you laugh weakly. “I kept seeing everyone saying you should’ve stayed together. That she was the one, that you looked happier with her.” 

You swallow thickly before you say the thing that bothered you the most. “And then I saw you text her earlier.” 

Then Macklin looks like a lightbulb goes off in his head. Suddenly understands everything. Oh my god.”

“What?” you ask, seeing a small smile grace his face. 

“Baby…” He scoots closer. “So that’s why.” 

You look away. “I’m sorry.’’ 

He shakes his head immediately. “No, don’t apologize.” 

He picks up his phone off the table and unlocks it. “Come here,” he says, scooting back fully on the couch and patting the seat right next to him.

“I don’t need to—”

“You do, come here.” 

He opens the text conversation with Emma, and hands the phone to you.

There are exactly three messages: 

Emma: Hey, this is really out of the blue, I know. Just wanted to say I’m sorry if all those TikTok videos have caused any problems. I liked one without thinking and now people are making it into something it’s not. Hope everything’s going okay

Macklin: Hey, no worries. I honestly had no idea it was happening but thanks for checking in, hope people leave it alone soon 

Emma: 👍

That’s it.

You stare at it. “Oh.” 

“I haven’t talked to her in…” He thinks for a second. “I honestly don’t even know, I’m surprised I still have her number.” He takes the phone back and sets it down. “She was just being nice. And I really had no idea about all the videos going around online.” 

You hum, unsure of what to say. 

“And I answered because ignoring someone apologizing would’ve been weird.”

“I know…but my brain,” you sigh. “My brain got there before logic did. Because of all the videos, which I shouldn’t have gone down a rabbit hole of in the first place, but because of all those I guess seeing her name on your phone was just a lot.” 

He nods. “I get it,” he says. 

“No you don’t.” 

“I do, sweetheart. If some guy you used to date started going viral and everyone kept telling me you belonged with someone else…I’d hate it too.” 

Your shoulders sag. “I feel awful.” 

“You don’t have to, your feelings are completely valid and everyone’s comments online were uncalled for.” 

You shake your head slightly, “I was comparing myself to someone you dated in high school.” 

He smiles. “I barely recognize who I was in high school.” 

You let out a tiny laugh.

“I mean it,” he says, scooting closer to you and reaching up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I was seventeen. I’ve lived in different cities since then, and I've become a completely different person. For the better, I’m sure.” 

His thumb traces gently along your cheek. “And somewhere in all of that, I was lucky enough to fall in love with you.” 

Your eyes immediately sting.

“You,” he enunciates. “Not some memory or somebody from years ago. You.” 

He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. “I wish you would’ve told me sooner.” 

“I didn’t want to sound crazy,” you mumble. 

“You never sound crazy to me, I want to know how you’re feeling,” he reassures.  

You shake your head. “I literally got jealous over a TikTok algorithm.” 

“No, you got hurt because thousands of strangers kept telling you something that wasn’t true,” his voice softens even more. “I would’ve been upset too.” 

You close your eyes. “I hated reading those comments, I shouldn’t have read all of them and let them get to me. And I shouldn’t have kept my feelings from you…” 

He leans towards you a little more, kissing your temple as you keep talking. “I kept wondering if maybe…if maybe she fit into your life better.” 

Macklin pulls back, and actually looks startled. “What?” 

“Before hockey,” you clarify. “Before everything, she knew you before all of that.” 

He shakes his head immediately, “No, no.” 

You open your mouth to protest but he beats you to it;

“I know exactly who fits into my life now. I don’t want the life that I had before, I want this one.”

He shifts his position on the couch and brings both his hands up to cup your face in his palms. 

“I want you, and our apartment. You stealing all my sweatshirts, making fun of my cooking, falling asleep on my shoulder during movies.” He smiles even bigger as he continues, “I want you, the girl who’s sitting in front of me apologizing for having feelings. And let me say you never, ever, have to apologize to me for the way you’re feeling.”

A tear slips down your cheek and he wipes it away immediately. “You don’t have to compete with anyone,” he says. “There isn’t, and there never will be a competition. There never was one to begin with.” 

You lean fully into his touch and light tears fall down your cheeks as he keeps talking. 

“I chose you, I keep choosing you, and I’m gonna keep choosing you every single day.” 

You finally let yourself lean forward, and the second you do, his arms are around you. Strong and certain. He holds you like he’s trying to erase every awful comment you’d read that week.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into his neck. He kisses the top of your head. “No more reading TikTok comments,” he says definitively. 

You laugh wetly. “Deal.” 

“And next time your brain starts making up stories; tell me.” 

You nod. “I will.” 

He smiles, “Good.” Then he kisses your forehead. 

Both of you stay quiet for the next few minutes, just wrapped up in each other on the couch, quiet, not thinking of much other than just being with the other person. 

After a few minutes you speak up, “Mackie..?” 

He hums in response, his hand running down your back. 

You smile sheepishly. “Can we order pizza?” 

He grins. “Yeah, baby, of course we can.” 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

An hour later, you’re curled into his side on the couch, pizza box open on the coffee table, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders.

His phone buzzes again, probably nothing but he doesn’t check it, he just flips it face down and pulls you a little closer. 

“There,” he mumbles. “My attention’ where I want it.” 

You smile into his shoulder, breathing him in. For the first time all week, the noise from strangers on the internet feels exactly like what it is; just noise.

requests are open 💕 How I'm looking at writing requests now is just whatever inspires me, whereas previously I was trying to do them in the order they were submitted. Now I'm going solely off of vibes :)

[bnwrittes]

Until you came home

SUMMARY: After disappearing for five days because she believes she’s impossible to love, YN is finally found by Amanda—giving Nico the chance to reassure her that she never had to earn his love.

WC: 5.2k

WARNINGS: Emotional and verbal parental abuse, toxic family relationships, low self-worth, fear of abandonment, self-isolation, disappearance/missing person situation, mentions of police involvement, anxiety, crying, emotional distress, and hurt/comfort.

Requested: Nico Hischier + You finally admit the reason you’ve been pushing everyone away.

Nico noticed something was wrong long before you disappeared.

At first, it was in the little things.

You stopped staying in the kitchen while he made breakfast, choosing instead to take your coffee into the living room and sit alone. You began declining invitations to dinners with the team, claiming you were tired even when you had barely left the apartment all day.

When Nicole or Amanda texted the group chat, you would read their messages without responding. When Jack sent you a ridiculous video or Luke asked whether you wanted to come over, you left them unanswered too.

Even Arseny’s frequent, slightly confusing messages had gone unopened.

Usually, you always answered him.

Sometimes it took a few minutes to understand what he was trying to say through his broken English and thick Russian accent—even over text—but you never made him feel embarrassed about it.

Now, nothing.

Nico tried not to push at first.

He knew you had difficult days. He knew there were parts of your childhood you didn’t like talking about and memories you kept hidden behind carefully constructed smiles. You had told him enough for him to understand that your relationship with your parents was complicated.

Complicated had been the word you used.

It was easier than saying cruel. Easier than saying they had spent years convincing you that you were difficult to love.

That you were too emotional, too needy, too sensitive. That every mistake you made was evidence that something was fundamentally wrong with you. They never needed to hit you to make you afraid of them. Their words had done enough damage.

Still, Nico had never seen you retreat this far into yourself.

He found you sitting on the edge of the bed one night, staring down at your phone as it vibrated in your hand. The name on the screen made his chest tighten.

Mom.

You declined the call. A second later, it rang again, you turned the phone face down. Nico stood in the doorway, watching the way your shoulders had gone rigid “Are you okay?”

You flinched as though you hadn’t realized he was there “Fine.” It came too quickly. Nico stepped into the room. “You don’t look fine.”

“I’m just tired.”

“You’ve been tired for two weeks.”

Your expression changed immediately, the walls went up “I said I’m fine, Nico.”

He stopped a few feet away from you.

There had been a time when you would have reached for him. When you would have tucked yourself beneath his arm and let him hold you until the tension left your body.

Now, you shifted farther away, it hurt more than Nico wanted to admit “Did something happen?” he asked carefully.

“No.”

“Did your parents call before today?”

Your jaw tightened “Nico.”

“I’m not trying to upset you.”

“Then stop asking.” The words came out sharper than you intended. Nico went quiet, guilt flickered through you, but you buried it beneath the panic crawling up your throat.

Because your mother had called. Your father had called.

They had returned to New Jersey after months away, and somehow, just knowing they were close again had made you feel seventeen years old. Small, powerless, unlovable.

Your mother’s first message had been almost pleasant.

We’re back. Your father would like to see you.

The second had been colder.

Ignoring us is childish.

The third had sounded exactly like every conversation from your childhood.

You always do this. You hurt people, then pretend you’re the victim.

You had stared at that sentence until the letters blurred, because some part of you believed her, some part of you always would. That was the worst thing about it.

They didn’t even have to be in the room to control you anymore.

You did it for them, you repeated their words inside your own head, you pulled away before people could reject you. You ruined good things before they had the chance to prove they were temporary.

Nico sat beside you, leaving space between your bodies “I’m here,” he said quietly. You hated how gentle he sounded, it made something ache inside you “You shouldn’t be.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

You stood abruptly “I need some air.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“I know.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“No.”

Nico stood too. “YN—”

“I said no.” Your voice cracked, for one second, you saw the hurt on his face. Then fear overtook everything else. You grabbed a sweater and left before he could stop you. You returned an hour later, but whatever fragile thread had been holding you together was already breaking.

Over the next several days, you became a ghost inside the apartment.

You slept when Nico was awake and stayed awake when he was asleep. You avoided looking at him because every time you did, you saw concern in his eyes.

Concern became pity in your mind. Pity became obligation. Obligation became proof that he didn’t really love you.

He only felt responsible for you, that was what your mother would have said. He’ll get tired of you eventually. Your father had said something similar years ago after your first serious relationship ended. People always leave once they know the real you.

The words returned now with cruel precision.

Nico loved the version of you who laughed with his teammates and cooked with Nicole and teased Jesper. He loved the version who waited after games and kissed him no matter whether the team won or lost.

He didn’t know this version, the frightened one, the bitter one. The one who could barely breathe when her mother’s name appeared on a screen. He would see it eventually and then he would leave.

So you decided to leave first.

Nico came home from practice on a Tuesday afternoon to an apartment that felt wrong. Too quiet. Your shoes were missing from beside the door, the blanket you always kept on the couch was folded neatly over the armrest. Your charger was gone from the bedroom.

At first, he called your name, then he checked every room, then he called you. Your phone rang once before going directly to voicemail.

He tried again. Nothing.

On the kitchen counter, beneath the spare key, was a note, it contained only six words. I’m sorry. Please don’t look for me.

Nico stared at it until his hands began to shake so he called Jack.

Within an hour, almost everyone knew. Amanda and Jacob checked the places you usually visited together. Nicole and Jesper drove past your favorite coffee shops, restaurants and bookstores. Jack and Luke split up across the city, calling anyone who might have heard from you.

Timo checked near the arena and the park where you sometimes walked after difficult games. Jonas contacted mutual friends.

Arseny sent message after message.

Where you?

Nico very worry.

We not angry. Please answer.

You family. Come home.

Nico barely slept. He sat at the kitchen table with your note in front of him, phone clutched in his hand, waiting for any update. Every time someone called, he answered before the first ring finished. Every time, it was the same.

Nothing.

By the second day, panic had settled into his bones. By the third, the team had quietly involved security and local authorities. Nico gave them your photo with trembling hands and tried to answer questions about places you might go.

He hated that he didn’t know. He hated that you had been hurting badly enough to disappear and he hadn’t understood how close you were to breaking.

“You couldn’t have known,” Jesper told him late that night.

They were sitting in Nico’s living room. Nicole was asleep on the couch, her head resting against Amanda’s shoulder. Jack paced near the windows while Luke refreshed his phone repeatedly.

Nico rubbed both hands over his face “I knew something was wrong.”

“That’s not the same as knowing she would leave.”

“I should’ve done more.”

Jesper leaned forward. “You tried to talk to her.”

“Not enough.”

“Nico—”

“I let her walk out that night.”

“You didn’t let her do anything.”

Nico looked toward your empty place on the couch “She thinks she has to handle everything alone.” His voice broke slightly. “And I don’t know how to convince her she doesn’t.”

On the fourth day, Arseny showed up at the apartment.His hair was disheveled, and there were dark circles under his eyes “Any news?” he asked.

Nico shook his head.

Arseny muttered something in Russian and began pacing. He had grown close to you quickly after arriving. You never laughed when he pronounced something incorrectly. You helped him order food when he became frustrated. You sat beside him at team dinners when the conversations moved too fast and quietly explained the jokes he had missed.

Once, after he thanked you, you had smiled and said, “Nobody deserves to feel alone in a crowded room.” Arseny had remembered that. Now, you were alone somewhere and he hated it.

On the fifth morning, Amanda nearly canceled Clark’s doctor’s appointment.

She had barely slept. None of them had.

Jacob had spent most of the night driving through different neighborhoods with Timo, while Amanda sat in their living room refreshing her phone and attempting to soothe Clark whenever he woke.

But Clark had been complaining about pain in his ear since the previous afternoon, and his pediatrician had managed to fit him into an appointment that morning.

Amanda couldn’t ignore it.

She dressed him, packed a small bag of snacks and toys, and drove to the medical center with exhaustion weighing heavily behind her eyes.

Clark sat quietly against her chest as they entered the waiting area, one hand curled into the collar of her sweater. Amanda approached the reception desk and gave the woman Clark’s information.

Then she turned around.

At first, she didn’t see you.

You were sitting in the farthest corner of the waiting room, partially hidden behind a large plant. An oversized coat swallowed your body, and the hood had been pulled over your head. Your arms were folded tightly across your stomach while you stared at the tiled floor.

You looked smaller than Amanda had ever seen you. Smaller and completely alone, Amanda’s breath caught. For a moment, she was convinced exhaustion was making her imagine things.

Then you shifted slightly, she recognized the sweater beneath your coat. It was one Nico had given you after you stole it so often that he finally told you to keep it “YN?”

Your head snapped up. The moment your eyes met hers, every trace of color disappeared from your face.

Amanda’s grip around Clark tightened “Oh my God.”

You stood abruptly “Amanda—”

She crossed the waiting room before you could move “What are you doing here?” Her voice was quiet because of the other patients around them, but it trembled with five days of fear, exhaustion and anger.

You looked toward the exit “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t call anyone.”

Amanda stared at you, Clark shifted in her arms, looking curiously between both of you “Everyone has been looking for you.”

“I know.”

“Nico hasn’t slept.”

Your mouth trembled “I know.”

“The police are looking for you. The team is looking for you. We’ve been driving around every day trying to find you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Amanda’s eyes filled with tears “You left us a note telling us not to look for you. What did you think we were going to do?”

“I didn’t want anyone to worry.”

“Well, we did.” The sharpness in Amanda’s voice made Clark stir, she closed her eyes briefly and took a breath, forcing herself to calm down for her son. When she opened them again, her expression had softened.

“Are you hurt?” You shook your head.

“Are you safe?”

“Yes.”

“Where have you been staying?”

“A hotel.”

“Why are you here?”

Your gaze moved toward the hallway leading deeper into the medical center “My father is in the hospital.”

Amanda’s anger faded into confusion “Your father?”

You nodded “He’s been here for three days. I’ve been coming to visit him.”

“Does your mother know where you’ve been?”

“She knows I’ve been visiting. She doesn’t know where I’m staying.”

Amanda moved closer, lowering her voice “YN, why didn’t you tell any of us?”

“Because no one would understand.”

“Try me.” You glanced at Clark, Amanda followed your gaze. He was resting against her shoulder, his eyes heavy and one hand pressed against his sore ear. She walked over to the seats beside you and sat down, adjusting Clark on her lap. You remained standing “Sit,” she said gently.

You hesitated before lowering yourself into the chair beside her, for several moments, neither of you spoke. Then Amanda looked at you “Tell me what happened.”

You twisted your hands together “My parents are horrible to me.” the words sounded childish once they were spoken aloud. Too simple for years of damage.

“They’ve always made me feel like everything is my fault. Like I’m selfish and dramatic and impossible to love.” Your voice shook. “Then they came back, and my father got sick, and my mother said it was cruel of me not to visit him.”

Amanda listened silently.

“I didn’t want to go,” you whispered. “But then I felt like a terrible person. And I started thinking that maybe she was right about everything.”

“She isn’t.”

“You don’t know them.”

“No, but I know you.”

You gave her a broken laugh “You don’t really.” Amanda’s eyebrows pulled together “You know the version of me that tries to make everyone happy. The person who listens and helps and smiles because she’s afraid that if she stops being useful, no one will want her around anymore.”

Amanda looked down at Clark for a moment before meeting your gaze again “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.”

“No, YN. It’s what they taught you.”

The distinction made your chest ache, you wiped at your face harshly “That’s why I left. Because everyone got too close.”

Amanda stared at you in disbelief “You left because we love you?”

Hearing the word made you recoil “You don’t.”

“Yes, we do.”

“You can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because people don’t love me like that.”

Amanda’s eyes softened “You think Nico doesn’t love you?”

“He thinks he does.”

“He knows he does.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand that Nico has spent five days looking like someone ripped his heart out of his chest.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks “I never wanted to hurt him.”

“I know.”

“He deserves someone better.”

“No.” Amanda shifted Clark carefully before reaching for your hand. “He deserves the woman he loves. That’s you.” You shook your head “He only loves me because he doesn’t know what I’m actually like.”

“He knows you.”

“He knows the easy parts.”

Amanda’s fingers tightened around yours “You think the rest of us have only ever seen you happy? You think we haven’t seen you exhausted, irritated, overwhelmed or upset?”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t.”

“I’m not good like you think I am.”

Amanda released a shaky breath “YN, you don’t have to be good every second for us to care about you. You don’t have to earn your place.”

You covered your mouth as a sob escaped, Amanda immediately opened her free arm. You leaned into her carefully, mindful of Clark between you, she held you against her shoulder while Clark looked up at you with sleepy confusion “Why is Auntie crying?” he murmured.

The innocent concern in his voice broke something inside you “I’m okay, sweetheart,” you whispered. Clark reached out and placed his small hand against your cheek “Don’t cry.”

You closed your eyes, Amanda kissed the side of his head before looking at you “I have to call Nico.”

Your body stiffened “Don´t.”

“He needs to know you’re okay.”

“Tell him that, then. Tell him I’m okay.”

“He needs to see you.”

“I’m not ready.”

Amanda’s expression turned firm “You don’t have to explain everything to him right now. You don’t even have to speak. But I am not letting you leave this building without someone knowing where you are.”

“I trusted you.”

“And I love you enough to risk you being angry with me.” You stared at her, she carefully reached into her bag and pulled out her phone “Please don’t run.”

“I can’t talk to him.”

“Then I’ll talk.”

Amanda called Nico, he answered before the first ring had fully finished “Amanda?”

“I found her.” Silence filled the line. Then Nico’s breath caught so sharply that Amanda pulled the phone slightly away from her ear. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Amanda could hear movement on the other end, something falling, followed by Jack asking Nico what had happened “Where?” Nico finally managed. His voice sounded broken.

“At the medical center. She’s safe.”

“Is she hurt?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m looking at her.”

Another unsteady breath “Put her on the phone.” Your eyes widened, Amanda looked at you “She doesn’t feel ready to talk.”

“Please.” Nico’s voice cracked over the speaker “Please, Amanda. I just need to hear her.”

Your lower lip trembled, Amanda slowly held the phone toward you. You stared at it “Nico,” she said gently, “she’s here.”

There was silence. You could hear him breathing, you reached for the phone with shaking fingers “Nico?” on the other end, a sound escaped him—half exhale, half sob “Baby.”

Your eyes closed, you hadn’t realized how badly you had needed to hear him call you that until it shattered you “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t hang up.”

“I’m not.”

“Please don’t hang up.”

“I won’t.”

He was silent again, you could hear him moving, keys jingling in his hand “Are you really okay?”

“I’m not hurt.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Your throat tightened “No.” Nico inhaled shakily “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m coming to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Nico—”

“I have spent five days not knowing whether you were alive.” His voice broke completely. “Please don’t tell me I don’t have to come.”

Tears began falling faster “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I thought I lost you.”

The words left you unable to breathe “I’m sorry.”

“I’m coming.” He ended the call before his voice could break again, you lowered the phone slowly. Amanda took it from you and slipped it back into her bag “I have to go,” you whispered.

“No.”

“I can’t see him like this.”

“Like what?”

“Broken because of me.”

Amanda stared at you “You didn’t break him by needing help.”

“I disappeared.”

“Yes, and he’s hurt. But that doesn’t mean he stopped loving you.”

“I can’t watch him look at me.”

“You can.”

“No, Amanda.”

“Yes.” She reached for your hand “You’re going to stay, and when he gets here, you’re going to let him decide what he feels instead of deciding for him.”

Clark’s name was called before Nico arrived, Amanda looked between you and the nurse standing in the doorway “I can wait here,” you said quietly.

Amanda hesitated “YN—”

“I won’t leave.”

She studied your face, searching for any sign that you were lying “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Amanda reluctantly followed the nurse with Clark, looking back over her shoulder twice before disappearing down the hallway. You sat alone in the waiting room again, every instinct told you to leave.

The exit was less than twenty feet away.

You could walk out, disappear into the parking lot and be gone before Amanda returned or Nico arrived, you even stood once. Then Nico’s voice came back to you. I thought I lost you.

You sank into the chair.

Less than ten minutes later, the waiting-room doors opened so hard that they slammed against the wall. Several people looked up, Nico stood in the entrance.

For one terrible second, he couldn’t find you. His eyes moved frantically across the room, wide and red-rimmed, his chest rising too quickly. Then his gaze landed on you, he stopped. You had imagined this moment countless times over the past five days.

You had imagined anger, disappointment, maybe even disgust. You hadn’t imagined the way his entire face crumpled with relief.

“Nico…”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He crossed the waiting room so quickly that he nearly stumbled over one of the chairs, you barely had time to stand before he reached you. His hands caught your face first, they were shaking.

He stared at you as if he couldn’t trust his own eyes, his thumbs moving over your cheeks, your eyebrows, your temples, checking for injuries that Amanda might have missed “You’re here.”

His voice was barely more than a breath, you nodded. Nico’s eyes filled immediately “You’re really here.”

“I’m sorry.” He pulled you against him, not carefully. Desperately. One arm locked around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head, pressing your face into his neck as though he needed to hide you there.

The force of his embrace knocked the air from your lungs, you felt his entire body trembling “Nico—”

He made a broken sound against your hair “I couldn’t find you.”

Your hands gripped the back of his jacket “I know.”

“I looked everywhere.”

“I know.”

“I called every hospital.” His voice cracked harder with every sentence “I called every person you’ve ever mentioned. I drove around all night because I thought maybe you were somewhere alone and hurt and waiting for me.”

You began sobbing “I’m sorry.”

“You left your key.” Nico’s fingers tightened against the back of your head “You left your key and that note, and I thought—” He stopped, he couldn’t say it.

You pulled back just enough to see his face, tears had slipped down his cheeks. Nico quickly looked away, ashamed of them, but you caught his jaw and turned him back toward you.

“What did you think?”

His lips trembled “I thought maybe you didn’t want to be found.”

The words hollowed you out “Nico…”

“I thought maybe I would never get to hold you again.” He pulled you back into his chest before you could answer. For several moments, neither of you spoke.

You stood in the middle of the waiting room clinging to one another while strangers pretended not to stare. Nico buried his face against your neck and breathed you in like he needed proof that you were real.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again.

“I’m angry with you.”

You nodded against him “You should be.”

“I’m so angry.” His voice shook “But I’m more scared.”

Your arms tightened around him “I never wanted to do that to you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

You pulled away again, tears running freely down your face “I thought you would be better without me.”

Nico stared at you.

“I thought if I left now, before you saw everything wrong with me, it would hurt less when you eventually realized you didn’t want me.”

His expression twisted with pain “Is that what you think this is?”

“I don’t know what else it could be.”

“Love.” The word came out harshly, almost angrily “This is love.”

You flinched, Nico immediately softened, he cupped your cheeks again “I love you.”

“You think you do.”

“No.”

His voice was firmer now “I know I do.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know that you leave mugs everywhere except the kitchen. I know you can’t sleep if the closet door is open. I know you act like you hate romantic movies and then cry harder than Nicole.” A broken laugh escaped you.

Nico’s thumbs wiped beneath your eyes “I know you call Amanda when you’re overwhelmed because she never pressures you. I know you always sit beside Arseny when he looks lost. I know you cut the crusts off Clark’s sandwiches even though he never asks you to.”

Your face crumpled “And I know you go quiet when you’re hurting because someone taught you that pain makes you difficult.”

Nico rested his forehead against yours “I know you.”

“You know the good parts.”

“I know you left me.” You pulled back slightly, the pain in his eyes made you stop “I know you scared me more than anyone ever has. I know I’m hurt. I know this will take time to fix.” His voice softened “And I still love you.”

You shook your head “My parents—”

“Are wrong.”

“You don’t know what they said.”

“Then tell me.”

“They said I ruin everything.”

“You don’t.”

“They said I’m manipulative when I cry.”

“You’re not.”

“They said anyone who loves me eventually realizes it was a mistake.”

Nico went completely still, then he pressed a kiss to your forehead “They don’t get to decide what I feel.”

“You’ll get tired.”

“Then I’ll rest.” Despite everything, a sobbing laugh broke from your chest, Nico kissed your forehead again “And then I’ll keep loving you.”

“You can’t promise forever.”

“I’m not asking you to believe forever today.” His hands slid down to hold yours “I’m asking you to believe the next five minutes.” You looked at him. “Can you stay with me for five minutes?”

Your throat tightened “Yes.”

“And after that, can you stay for five more?” You nodded, Nico squeezed your hands “That’s all we have to do.”

The door to the hallway opened.

Amanda stepped out carrying Clark, who now had a sticker on his sweater and a prescription for an ear infection. She froze when she saw you and Nico standing together.

Nico’s eyes were still wet, one of his hands remained locked around yours as though he was afraid even loosening his grip might make you disappear again. Amanda’s face crumpled with relief.

Nico looked at her “Thank you.”

Amanda’s lips trembled “Don’t thank me.” She shifted Clark higher against her shoulder “Just don’t let her leave alone.”

Nico’s fingers tightened around yours “I won’t.”

The outside doors opened again.

Jack entered first, with Luke directly behind him. Jesper and Nicole followed, then Jacob, Timo, Jonas and Arseny. Jack stopped so abruptly that Luke nearly walked into his back.

Neither of them said anything at first, they just stared at you, Jack’s face had gone pale. Luke looked as though he had forgotten how to breathe. You had never seen either of them so quiet

“They came?” you whispered. Nico looked toward them “Of course they came.”

Jack reached you first.He stopped a few feet away, his hands flexing uselessly at his sides, for once, he had no joke, no sarcastic comment, nothing “You’re alive,” he said as his voice broke on the last word.

Your eyes filled again “I’m sorry.”

Jack shook his head sharply, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. The hug was almost as desperate as Nico’s had been. Jack buried his face against your shoulder, holding you so tightly that you felt his uneven breathing “You’re such an idiot,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t hate you.” His voice cracked.

“I know.”

Luke joined before Jack let go, wrapping both arms around the two of you, for a moment, you were trapped between them. Luke’s hand gripped the back of your coat “You could’ve called,” he murmured.

“I couldn’t.”

“You could’ve sent one word.”

“I’m sorry.”

Luke pulled back enough to look at you, his eyes were red “Next time, send a period. Send anything. Just let us know you’re there.”

Your mouth trembled “Okay.”

Nicole was crying openly by the time she reached you. Amanda carefully passed Clark to Jacob before pulling you against her chest again and kissing the side of your head. Jesper squeezed your shoulder. Timo looked at you for several seconds, then nodded as though reassuring himself you were truly there.

Jonas released a deep breath “You scared us.”

“I’m sorry.”

Arseny stood slightly apart from the group. His eyes were red, and his hands were pushed deep into the pockets of his jacket. You looked at him “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your messages.”

He frowned “You see messages?”

You nodded “All of them.”

“And no answer?”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

Arseny stepped closer “You say i'm alive.”

Your face crumpled “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and wrapped his arms around you with such suddenness that you almost lost your balance.

“You family,” he said firmly against your hair. “Family answer.”

A wet laugh escaped you.

“I’ll answer next time.”

“No next time.” His broken English made several people laugh through their tears. You held him tighter for a moment “Okay. No next time.” When Arseny released you, Nico immediately reached for your hand again.

You glanced toward the hallway “My father is still inside.”

“Do you want to go back in?” Nico asked, you swallowed “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.”

“My mother will be there.”

“You don’t have to see her.”

“She’ll say I’m cruel.”

Nico squeezed your hand “She can say whatever she wants. That doesn’t make it true.” Amanda stepped closer “And you’re not going in there alone.”

You looked around at everyone who had spent five days searching for you. At Nicole’s tear-streaked face. At Jack and Luke hovering close, both of them still watching you as though they were afraid to blink.

At Clark resting sleepily in Jacob’s arms. At Arseny watching you carefully from beside Timo. At Amanda, who had refused to let you run even when you begged her not to call. At Nico, whose hand had not left yours since he arrived.

For the first time, you let yourself consider that perhaps love did not have to feel like fear. Maybe love could look like people searching every street they knew. Maybe it could look like a mother balancing her sick child on her hip while refusing to let you disappear again.

Maybe it could sound like broken English saying, You family. Maybe it could look like Jack Hughes with tears in his eyes and no joke left to hide behind. Maybe it could be Nico holding your face with shaking hands because he had spent five days believing he might never touch you again.

“I want to go home,” you whispered, Nico’s shoulders dropped with relief “Okay.”

“But I need help.” The admission frightened you almost as much as returning, Nico nodded immediately “We’ll find help.”

“I don’t want to keep doing this.”

“You don’t have to do it alone.”

You looked at him carefully “Are you sure?” Nico lifted your hand and pressed his lips against your knuckles “Five minutes at a time,” he whispered.

Your eyes filled again “Five minutes at a time.”

You still didn’t know how to believe that so many people could love you, Not yet.

The voices your parents had placed inside your head were loud, deeply rooted and cruel. But as Nico led you toward the exit, surrounded by the people who had refused to stop looking for you, another voice began to emerge beneath them.

Quieter, kinder, persistent.

Maybe they loved you because you were useful. Maybe they loved you because you were always smiling. Maybe they loved you because you made their lives easier.

Or maybe—

Just maybe—

They loved you because you were you.

[starzzz-girl]

Misunderstanding

Will smith texts x reader

Requested

Request open!

Masterlist

A/n: i decided to do it fully as texts so i hope you guys can feel the angst 🫰and thank you to anon for this amazing request i loved it!

[pucksandpaddock]

I’m not the only one - SC87

Sidney Crosby x Wife Reader Word count: 790 Summary: The wedding dress still fits. The ring is still on your finger. Sidney still comes home every night and tells you he loves you. The hardest part isn't knowing he's been unfaithful, it's deciding whether loving him is enough to keep pretending you don't Genre/warnings: Angst, Emotional Infidelity, Emotional Breakdown, Open Ending Inspired by: i'm not the only one by sam smith (listen here)

Masterlist

♡------------------------♡-------------------------♡

Your wedding dress still fit like a glove.

You hadn’t expected that.

You stood in front of the mirror, fingers smoothing the satin, as if touching it would stop the memories from coming.

Five years ago, it had felt impossibly white and beautiful.

Now it just felt heavy.

It still carried his last name, and the promises that began to unravel long before either of you admitted it.

Behind you, the house was quiet.

Sidney wasn’t home.

He'd said he had practice late at the rink.

Lately, he always seemed to have them.

Walking back into the bedroom, you glanced at the wedding photo on his bedside table.

You wondered if she knew, the girl smiling back in every wedding photo.

The girl who believed the way he had looked at her at the altar meant forever.

You wondered when she became someone that people pitied.

It hadn't been a text, a lipstick stain or even one massive piece of evidence.

It had been hundreds of tiny things.

It had been how his phone turned over whenever it buzzed, late practices that seemed to last hours longer than everyone else's, the way he would leave the room to answer certain calls, a perfume that wasn’t yours lingering on one of his hoodies.

You had spent months convincing yourself you were just imagining things, because loving someone meant trusting them.

Didn’t it?

Then one afternoon, you saw them together.

Not kissing, or touching.

Just laughing.

But it was too comfortable, too natural.

She had worn a Pittsburgh Penguins staff pass around her neck, one of the media team members.

And the way he looked at her.

It was the same way he used to look at you.

Like the rest of the room had disappeared and suddenly every missing piece found where it belonged.

You weren’t crazy or jealous.

You were simply late to the truth.

Your hands trembled against the fabric of the dress.

“I know.”

The words echoed through the empty bedroom.

You had rehearsed them thousands of times.

You imagined him walking through the front door, his keys tossed into the bowl by the entrance before he made his way upstairs.

Then he would step into the bedroom.

"I know about her."

You could already picture his face, the confusion, then the guilt, then that heartbreaking silence where neither of you would know which lie to tell.

Would he deny it? Apologise? Tell you it's over between you?

Or worse…

Would he tell you he loved her?

Your chest tightened until breathing felt impossible. “No, God, please no,” you whispered, shaking your head.

But that wasn’t what happened, because none of it had happened, not yet at least.

In reality, though, you had never confronted him.

Instead, every night he came home and kissed your forehead.

Every morning he told you he loved you and every afternoon you had wondered if he had already told someone else the same thing.

You hated yourself for accepting it, for smiling next to him at every event and game, for standing beside him in photographs, for pretending you didn’t notice when another woman couldn’t quite meet your eyes.

Did she know you knew?

Did everyone else know?

You looked into the mirror, the image blurred behind fresh tears. “I was enough.” Your voice cracked, “I know that I was enough.”

And that was the cruellest part, because his betrayal had nothing to do with your worth.

And yet it had stolen it anyway.

Another version of you reached for her phone and called him.

“Don’t bother coming home, I know about her.”

Another version packed a suitcase before he could explain.

Another signed the divorce papers without reading his apologies.

Another stormed into the arena and looked them both in the eye as she told them she knew.

Another took off her ring.

Another screamed.

Another destroyed every wedding photo in the house.

Another left and never looked back.

And you envied every single version of her.

Instead, you stood in your wedding dress, still wearing the ring he had slipped on your finger with hands that had shaken from happiness.

Still waiting, still hoping that he would come home and somehow tell you none of it was true.

You hated that hope, almost as much as you hated him for giving it to you.

The front door clicked open downstairs, and your heart stopped.

“Hey baby, I'm home,” he called.

Your tears fell soundlessly onto the dress; you could walk down the stairs, ask him how she was, tell him you knew, leave.

Or…

You could do what you had been doing for months now.

Pretend.

Your hand lingered over your wedding ring, but you didn't remove it.

Not yet.

♡------------------------♡-------------------------♡

Author's note: originally, I planned to use this song for someone else with a different idea, but then I came up with this idea and felt Sid worked better for this one, also kinda inspired by the music video.

[durandiaries]

Watch & Learn

pairing: jarren duran x fem!reader

Chapter One: The Meeting

summary: she thought she had everything figured out. senior year, a leadership position in her sorority, a bright future, and a perfect boyfriend. just a perfect little life. until her perfect boyfriend decided to dump her out of the blue. her perfect little life now had a crack, and her entire winter break was spent heartbroken. by spring semester, she’s determined to move on. then, she unexpectedly runs into her ex one night. he swore she was still hung up on him. panicked, embarrassed, and desperate to save her ass, she blurts out that she has a boyfriend. the problem? she doesn’t. the bigger problem? the arm she grabs belongs to one of the most recognizable athletes in Boston…and her ex’s favorite baseball player.

warnings: none really for this part, age gap (reader is abt to graduate, yall don’t have a cow), no use of y/n.

a/n: i’m so proud of this one yall 🤭 (buckle up, this is about to get crazy). reminiscing my sorority days so, reader is a sorority girlie (so sorry). i am also a sucker for the fake dating trope soooooo, yeah.

We all know that one girl who seems like she has her life together, right? 

Well, that was her.

She was possibly the most perfect girl you could ever think of. Her grades were perfect, her sorority life was perfect, her boyfriend was perfect, and not to mention, her looks were perfect. Had she not been taken, every guy in passing would be trying (and probably failing) to get with her. She had to work hard for this life though. She busted her ass in her classes, tried her damndest to be liked enough by her sisters so they would nominate her for philanthropy chair, and dedicated almost eight years of her life to her high school sweetheart, Brady. Brady was her constant in her crazy college life. 

Her friends swore up and down that they were about to get married. Which, she had hoped, was true. Eight years and no ring was starting to get a tad bit embarrassing. However, she just told everyone it was because they were waiting until after graduation. Time was starting to tick though. The fall semester was almost over and, soon enough, Brady would be at development camp. Another thing to add to the perfection, Brady was a Bruins prospect; she really did have it all. 

It was just another perfect day for her. The day before winter break was always an exciting one. She would finally get a much needed break. The student union at Boston University was always buzzing during this time of year. Students were either cramming for their last midterm, or winding down from one. For her, it was the winding down. She was simply just writing in her color-coded planner for the next semester. Her phone buzzed on the table, showing a text from her perfect boyfriend. 

Hey babe, can you meet me after practice? I need to talk to you.

She smiled down at her phone. Even after all these years, she still got butterflies at the thought of seeing him. She quickly typed back,

Of course, honey!

She quickly packed her things into her bag and left. She was so hopeful. Maybe they were about to discuss their winter break plans. She had been hoping that he would use winter break to propose. She had already dropped a few hints earlier in the year for ring ideas. Brady had also talked to her little about possibly taking her to a beach. He knew that a beach was her dream proposal. Maybe he was about to tell her he was taking her on a trip. 

A short drive later and she pulls into the parking lot of Agganis Arena. She hops out with a little extra pep in her step. She was extremely excited to see her perfect man. She walks towards the door, but stops short when she sees he’s already standing there outside of it. Her smile immediately widens as she closes the distance. 

“Hey, baby” She smiles, wrapping her arms around his neck. He offers a tight smile and reciprocates the hug before pulling back and lightly pushing her waist. He steps back and creates some distance. 

“Hey, bee” She doesn’t remember when exactly he started calling her Bee, she just knew it was because she was scared of bees and he thought it was a cute and funny nickname. Her smile drops a bit at his tone and the fact he basically pushed her away. 

“Everything okay?” She asks. He hesitates for a moment. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something…” He says as he rubs the back of his neck. She feels a little glimmer of hope spark. He was so about to enact his proposal plan. She smiled again, bigger this time, 

“Really?” She asks with a knowing smile. He lets out an awkward laugh.

“Yeah…” He sighs. “Look, bee…I’ve been thinking a lot about our relationship.” Brady gently takes her hands in his and starts rubbing slow circles on them with his thumbs. Her breath hitches as she waits for the question she’s wanted to hear for years. “This next phase of my life is everything to me. Going pro has always been my dream, you know that.” He smiles at her. She nods.

“I know, and I’m so proud of you, baby” She squeezes his hands. He hums.

“I do have a lot of expectations on me though. This league requires a certain level of commitment. I’m going to be spending a lot of time away from you…and that’s going to be hard for us…” She figured this was his opening to talk about marriage. So, she just shrugs while maintaining her perfect smile. 

“I know, but we’ll figure it out. We always do.” He sighs and tilts his head as he smiles at her. 

“Your optimism is one of the things that makes you so perfect…” He lets go of one of her hands to gently brush a stray hair behind her ear. “That’s why it’s hard for me to say this but…” He gently cups her face. “I think we should break up” She freezes, her smile instantly dropping. Her usual confidence slips and is replaced by a wave of heartbreak. Silence fills the air as she searches for the right words. 

“What?” Is all she can manage out through her soft, hurt, voice. Brady lets out a breath, awkward tension clouding his movements. 

“I’m sorry, babe. But, my future depends on how I handle this next year. I need to be completely focused with no distractions. You get that, right?” She flinches a bit at his words. Her eyes well with tears that are a mix of sadness and anger. 

“Since when am I a distraction?” She asks, her voice firm and offended. Brady’s hands drop from her. He shifts uncomfortably as he chooses his next words carefully. 

“Come on, bee. You know this isn’t about you. It’s about the mental space. Everything is moving so fast. The press, the training, the travel. I can’t be what you need right now, and I can’t pretend I have the energy for both.” He takes a careful step back. “It’s better if we just…cut it off. Before it hurts us any more than it has to.” She scoffs. 

“Are you serious right now? Almost eight years together. And you’re just gonna throw that away for a season?!” She raises her voice in anger. Brady flinches, his sympathetic smile faltering slightly. 

“I’m not throwing it away, bee. I’m just getting my priorities straight. I don’t want to fail just because I was too preoccupied. You understand that, right? Think about it like you think about your grades.” Her face twists into pure disbelief at his audacity. She lets out a breath and finally lets a few tears fall. 

“Do you…do you at least still love me?” She asks through her tears. Brady’s face drops. He looked like he was debating on an answer. It should’ve been a simple answer, but apparently it wasn’t. 

“Bee…I’ll always care about you. You know that. You’ll always be my girl.” He offers another sympathetic smile. He steps forward and cups her face again, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. She lets out another sound of disbelief. She steps back from him and just glares at him. He sighs. “I need to get back. Take care of yourself, babe.” With that, he turns and walks back into the arena. She’s just left standing there. 

Heartbroken and with tears streaming down her face. 

Two months later and she was officially locked back in on life. Sure, the majority of her winter break was spent crying and vegging out on ice cream. However, the last couple weeks, she got her ass back in the gym and lived by the motto “out of sight, out of mind.” She hadn’t seen Brady since the day of the break up, thankfully. She’s now feeling free and hotter than ever this semester. Her confidence was at an all time high now that she was single. It was almost like she was a new version of herself. 

The “pretty, perfect, and put together” image was now a tad bit cracked. Who cares though? What does having or not having a boyfriend matter when you’re hot and about to graduate? Though, sometimes she still catches herself missing him. Having Brady always made certain parts of her life easier. Sorority dances, philanthropy fundraisers, and plenty of other social events. Having a boyfriend for those things made her a little less stressed. 

Having a boyfriend was also helpful for nights like this. Thankfully though, she had her sisters with her. Her little, Anna, and another sister Kayla, were currently out with her at a bar. It was pretty crowded, BU had just won a hockey game. She had prayed and prayed that Brady wouldn’t be there. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t always get what she wanted. 

“Brb, I need a refill” She tells Anna and Kayla. They nod and tell her to be safe. She gets up and walks over to the bar. She wedges herself between two men. To her left, she sees a broad back and dark, curly, hair peeking out from under a hat. She didn’t see his face, all she saw was a very sexy back. She just shrugged and gave the bartender her order. 

She patiently waits for her drink, tapping her nails on the bar as she looks around. She hears an awfully familiar voice. The voice also happens to be coming from right beside her. She tenses up. 

No this can’t be happening.

The back that was to her right gets shoved back into her slightly. Probably from his teammate shoving him playfully. Brady turns around with an apologetic smile. 

“Oh my god, I’m so-” His eyes catch the all too familiar figure that he was shoved into. His lips curve up into a little smirk. “Bee” He says the nickname in a teasing tone. Her eyes meet his and she sees a totally different man. His usual sweet demeanor was replaced with something a little cockier. She could’ve thrown up at the sight. 

“Brady” She says in a cold tone. Brady just maintains his smirk at her tone. 

“What a coincidence running into you” He mocks as he crosses his arms. “It’s almost as if it wasn’t one at all.” She rolls her eyes. 

“Hop off the high horse, Thompson. I’m just here to get a drink.” She turns back to the bartender as she waits for her drink. He laughs. 

“Mhm, sure. A drink at the bar you know the team goes to after wins.” He leans against the bar. He was close enough now that she could smell his cologne. She used to adore that scent. Now, she just wanted to dowse him in the drink she was about to get. 

“There’s only so many places to get drinks, Brady. Not everything is about you.” This earns her another laugh. 

“Come on, bee. Don’t act all chill now.” He leans in a little closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I saw you stalking all my stories over break. It’s getting a little sad, babe. I thought you would be over me by now.” She finally snaps and shoves him away. 

“I am over you, asshole!” Her face is completely opposite to how she used to look around him. That gentle, sweet, loving girl was now replaced by pure irritation. Brady raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Really? Because I have ears, bee. I know that you’ve been rejecting a bunch of guys.” She scoffs.

“What? So, you’re keeping tabs on me now? Sounds like you’re the one still hung up.” She knew he was sort of right though. She had been stalking him a bit, but she was finally at a place where she was content being alone. Though, Brady refuses to let it go. 

“It’s like I told you, you’ll always be my girl” He grins, brushing her hair away from her shoulder. “You’re never gonna be over me” She narrows her eyes at him. The sheer audacity of his comment had her burning with rage. She knew that this was probably caused by alcohol consumption. Still, that didn’t stop her from opening her big mouth. 

“I am over you, Brady! In fact, I have a boyfriend!” The lie slips out before she can stop herself. Brady’s smirk drops and he pulls his hand away. His eyes narrow at her and he looks unconvinced. 

“Really?” He crosses his arms. “You have a boyfriend?” She nods. 

“Yep.” Her voice sounded a little shaky, the tell tale sign that she was lying. Brady could see right through her. He knew that she was bullshitting him right now. 

“Come on, bee. You really expect me to believe you magically found a boyfriend within the span of two months? Stop embarrassing yourself and just admit you’re still obsessed with me.” He says, stepping forward a little. She takes a small step back, trying to keep the distance. 

“I do have a boyfriend.” She holds her hand up as a motion for him to stop moving closer. “And I don’t think he’d be too happy that you’re all up on me right now” He lets out an amused noise, leaning back. 

“Is that so?” He tilts his head as he looks her over. “Where is he then? Seems a little odd that he’s not here with you right now.” She knew that she should just walk away. Tell Brady that it was none of his business and move along with life. However, her pride got the best of her and she stands firm. Panic sets in though. 

How was she supposed to show him her boyfriend if she didn’t actually have one? She was truly just digging herself into a deeper hole, but she refused to let Brady win this. She starts looking around for a solution. Suddenly, she remembers something…or rather, someone. She looks over her shoulder to see the broad, sexy, back still standing there. She gets an idea and smirks a little. This was definitely a stupid idea, but she figured she was already past stupidity. 

She doesn’t think twice before reaching back and tugging at the man's arm. She pulls him so he’s standing beside her and facing Brady. She had a proud grin as she motions to him, without looking up to see his face. 

“Here he is” She says. Brady’s face goes pale. Almost like he had seen a ghost. He looked like he was trying to find words. She wears a proud smile. The smile wears off when she looks up though. Her eyes meet the man she had just claimed was her boyfriend. They almost shoot out of her head as she sees who was standing next to her, looking down at her in pure confusion. 

“Holy shit…” She mutters. 

“Um…hi?” He said with an amused grin. Her breath hitches as she realizes how deep her grave was that she just dug. Because standing right beside her, was possibly one of the most recognizable faces in Boston. A face that she knew all too well from her time with Brady. Mainly because it was his favorite baseball player. 

“No fucking way.” Brady finally speaks. “Jarren Duran?!” Jarren looks over to Brady and raises his brows. 

“Yep…that’s me” He says, still utterly confused as to what he was just pulled into. Brady stares for a second, looking between Jarren and his ex. After his momentary silence, he bursts into laughter. 

“Oh my fucking God.” He holds his stomach as he laughs in her face. “You seriously expect me to believe you’re dating Jarren Duran?!” Jarren’s eyebrows shoot up as he looks back down to her. Brady looks at Jarren as his laughter calms down. “I’m so sorry, man. She’s just a little desperate for my attention right now. Don’t mind her. Big fan by the way.” He says. Jarren looks back to Brady, eyes narrowed a bit as he analyzes him. 

“Desperate for your attention?” He repeats. Brady nods.

“Yeah, dude. She’s trying, and failing, to prove that she’s over me.” His cocky attitude has her rolling her eyes again. She lets go of Jarren’s arm, giving up on the lie, and crosses her arms.

“Go fuck yourself, Brady.” Jarren looked back to her, his lips curving into a little smirk at her attitude. He finally had time to take her in. She sure was stunning. She also looked like she could kill him. Which he found pretty hot. This was probably a really idiotic idea to play along to. However, he was bored and she looked embarrassed despite her defiant attitude towards the other guy. 

Jarren thinks about it for another second before he internally sighs. Before Brady could come up with another jab, Jarren slid his arm around her waist. 

“Damn, baby. You’re so cute when you’re all mad.” She froze at the action. His hand was heavy on her hip as he pulled her closer. She couldn’t believe Jarren was actually playing along to this. Brady froze as well. His cocky grin fell into a confused frown. 

“Wait, what?” He asks, looking between the two. Jarren looks back to Brady with his own cocky grin.

“You’re still confused, man? This one’s mine.” Jarren’s thumb starts rubbing slow circles into her hip. She tries not to think too much about that. Though, her mind is kind of blank. A literal major league baseball player was pretending to be her boyfriend right now. Brady looks like he had just gotten shot. His jaw drops and Jarren has to bite back a laugh. 

“Wha- When-...” He stutters, looking back to his ex. “Since when?!” Brady almost sounded like a child whining. She finally snaps out of her trance and plays along. She shrugs and leans into Jarren. 

“It’s pretty new. We’ve been keeping it on the down low.” She finally uncrosses her arms and wraps one around Jarren’s shoulder; the same thing she used to do when Brady held her like this. Jarren couldn’t help but smile as she did this. He was a competitive guy by nature. Even if he didn’t know this girl, he loved that he had won her. Even if it was pretend. 

“You’ve never called me your boyfriend before, though.” Jarren teased her, letting his nose brush her temple. The scene looked like an affectionate couple, exactly what she had wanted. She tries not to get flustered by his actions, but she can’t help the smile that made its way onto her lips. She looks at him mimicking the same way she used to look at Brady. 

“It felt fitting” She teased back. Jarren squeezed her a little tighter as he smiled at her. He finally got a better look at her face. His breath nearly got caught in his throat as he saw her eyes. She had possibly the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. His own eyes softened as he looked into hers. The little moment was quickly broken by Brady’s voice. 

“You’re dating Jarren Duran?” He asks in pure disbelief. “No way” He lets out an embarrassed laugh. “No…no you…you’re just doing this to make me jealous, aren’t you?” He panics as he tries to reason with the situation. Jarren finally tears his gaze from her and looks back at Brady with a slightly annoyed expression. 

“You’re still here?” He asks. He huffs. “Look, man. I’m not sure what your obsession is with my girlfriend, but I need you to get the fuck away from her, okay?” Jarren gave him a tight smile. He didn’t need to raise his voice to be intimidating to Brady. Brady looked like Jarren just stole something from him (he sort of did). 

“Obsession? She’s my ex, dude” Jarren let out a laugh. He shakes his head in disbelief before looking back at “his girl”

“Don’t tell me you actually dated this clown.” Brady looked extremely offended by that. She had to fight back the urge to laugh. She just sighs dramatically. 

“Unfortunately, yes, I did.” Jarren winces dramatically. 

“Shit, baby. I’m sorry.” His voice drops to a gentle tone as he speaks to her. Her stomach did a weird flip that she wasn’t used to. She couldn’t remember the last time her body reacted to a man like this. She’s actually not sure it ever has. 

“Bee, are you serious right now?” Brady asks, ignoring Jarren’s insults. She just rolls her eyes and looks at him. 

“Yes, Brady. I’m serious.” She huffs. “Look, you’re irritating the fuck out of me right now. So, please leave me and my boyfriend alone.” Jarren finally lets out a loud laugh. Her attitude really had him intrigued with her. Brady looks absolutely defeated. Jarren shrugs tauntingly. 

“You heard her. Get lost, man.” Brady shoots Jarren an annoyed glare. He gives his ex one final look of hurt before turning and storming off. When he’s out of sight, she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. 

“Holy fuck” She says. Jarren laughs as he looks at her. She looks at him and immediately removes her arm from his shoulders. She backs away, creating some distance. “Oh my God, thank you. So much. I owe you big time.” She laughed awkwardly. Jarren just shrugs. 

“No worries, baby” He teases. She playfully rolls her eyes at the pet name. 

“Seriously though, you saved my ass from some major embarrassment." She leans back against the bar. She turns her head and notices her re-filled drink. She quickly grabs it and starts sipping on it. Jarren watches her with an amused smile. 

“Happy to help. Though, I gotta say, grabbing a stranger's arm and saying he’s your boyfriend is a very interesting move.” He teases her. She laughs as she sips her drink. 

“Not my best moment” She says. Jarren laughs a little. They stand in a comfortable silence for a minute. He just looks at her, almost as if he was trying to figure her out. 

“What’s a girl like you doing with an asshole like that?” He asks, genuinely curious. She sighs. She couldn’t believe she was about to tell a stranger her boy problems. To be fair though, she also didn’t expect to claim a stranger has her boyfriend either. 

“He wasn’t always an asshole. I’m not sure what happened in the last two months, but he definitely changed.” Jarren nods. 

“Sounds about right. Let me guess, he hit it big?” He asks. Her eyes narrow at him. 

“How did you know?” Jarren just laughs. 

“His shirt said BU hockey on it. I assumed that’s why his ego was through the roof.” She smiles at him. 

“That was his reason for dumping me. He needed to “prioritize his career”.” She scoffs. “Eight years of my life wasted” She sips her drink again. Jarren’s eyes shoot out of his head. 

“Eight years?” He lets out a low whistle. “Damn, baby. You would think you two would be married by now.” She shoots him a glare before huffing. 

“I know.” She turns and sits her drink down on the bar. “Don’t remind me about that crushed dream.” Jarren’s face softens a bit. He could tell she was still hurt by all of this. Even if she denied it. Her feelings underlined her words. 

“Marriage is overrated anyways.” He says. She raises her brows at him. 

“What makes you say that?” She asks. Jarren shrugs. 

“It’s just unnecessary pressure. Relationships are fun and all, but I don’t understand why people act like marriage is the finish line. If you’re happy together, why risk changing something that already works?” She looks at him with a surprised look. While what he said sort of made sense, it didn’t change her view on it.

“Marriage isn’t the finish line for me. It’s a promise that when life stops feeling all sunshine and rainbows, we still decide to choose each other.” Jarren hums at her response. It made sense, but he still thought it was a waste. 

“I doubt your life ever lacks sunshine and rainbows” He teases. She rolls her eyes. 

“You’d be surprised.” She says softly. Jarren just hums again before looking around the bar. 

“Well, this was fun. I should probably go find my buddie though” She nods and waves him off. 

“Yes, you should” She laughs “Thanks again for playing my boyfriend. Like I said, I owe you big time.” He laughs and steps closer. 

“You don’t owe me anything” He says gently. He reaches in his pocket and takes out his phone. He opens a blank contact and passes the phone to her. “A number would be nice, though” She couldn’t stop her face from flushing. She didn’t have any words. All she did was take his phone and type her number in. 

“There” She says, handing the phone back to him. Jarren smiles and puts his phone away. He leans forward and gives her a light kiss on the cheek before stepping back. 

“I’ll see you later, baby” He tells her before walking away. She felt her stomach do the weird flip thing again at his words. She just stands there replaying her night. She couldn’t believe she let things get this far. One second she was planning her perfect little life. The next second she was pretending to date a professional athlete. 

Not to mention, anticipating a text from him.

🏷️ @whiskey-princ3ss @daddyduran-blog @duranhq @jarrensweb @wildecat1996 @duranjarren @iheartbigmuscles @quinninthedepthsofhell @goalperfetti @jarrensgirl @xoxo-aubs @alisonsinclair

[deepvend]

aloof - ben kindel

summary: you accidentally caught ben's attention during one of his first practices with the penguins but, once he learned who your father was, he started pushing himself away from you at all times. you learn his true intentions after a confrontation warnings: malkin!reader, swearing, a couple of russian words here and there wc: 2.6k note: i got a request for malkin!reader and one for crosby!reader but i was kinda craving some badly translated and transliterated russian, in loving memory of the two russian lessons i followed in uni. anyways writing this was fun, i might do it again ;)

the soothing sounds of blades gliding and sticks hitting the ice filled your ears as you sat down unbothered in the stands. the penguins were back in pittsburgh for the first practice of the season, and you’d been ecstatic when your dad had asked you if you had any intention to join him.

the ambience was familiar, it was something that had been there throughout your entire life, quite literally. you recognized your dad’s tall frame first, lanky as he skated left and right with his teammates.

everyone was the same as before, a couple of new faces as per usual which you made a mental note to introduce yourself to. then, your eyes stopped on someone: young face, messy curls sticking up on his head, big and almost cartoonish eyes that scanned every single detail around and hyperaware of everything people told him. that was a rookie if you had ever seen one, and you’d seen plenty come and go.

you shook of the intense sense of curiosity you felt towards him, postponing your meeting that you assumed would eventually arrive.

something you didn’t know was that that very same boy had been staring at you for minutes, entranced and somewhat confused about your role there, sitting in the plastic chair typing constantly on your keyboard. you almost seemed like a typist in court.

he didn’t say anything, assuming it was a one time thing. you were still there the following day, and four days later. he shot you looks, trying to understand why a girl so gorgeous would spend her afternoons in a training facility, not even sparing the athletes a glance while at it.

you were a puzzle that he needed to solve.

“who’s that?” ben approached kris and nodded towards the stands, where your solitary figure was sitting, yet again with your laptop on your knees.

he was expecting his teammate to tell him you were some sort of media employee, a new intern, someone who worked for the arena, but he didn’t.

the man who was skating next to him redirected his gaze towards where he was looking. “that one? that’s geno’s daughter.”

he felt his heartbeat jump into his throat. geno’s daughter? as in, his teammate’s daughter? well, there went every chance he had of approaching you the way he’d been dreaming about.

he might have been young and new to the league, but he knew how much of a taboo and how off-the-table teammates’ families were, especially daughters.

your presence became the bane of ben’s existence.

one day, sick of seeing you sitting there by yourself, ignoring his presence so easily while he struggled to keep his eyes off of you, he approached sidney. the older man was leaning against the boards, taking a sip of water in between drills.

"is she always around?" he asked his captain, head tilting once again towards your designated spot.

"pretty much. she says the sounds help her concentrate when she has homework to do. she never bothers, she just sits there and minds her business.”

the sounds helped you concentrate. it seemed that everything he found out about you only resulted in him feeling more and more interested in figuring you out, but he knew he couldn’t.

“no, i know. she hasn’t looked up once.”

the veteran looked at him with an apprehensive shadow behind his eyes, then smirked slightly. “don’t let geno know you’ve been looking over at her so much, he tends to be a little overprotective.”

that was what sealed the deal for ben. if even someone as rational and levelheaded as sidney acknowledged that, it meant he was already so close to being a dead man walking. it could have been a joke but, being as intimidated by his oldest teammate as he was, he let it get to his head.

it took every ounce of strength ben had in him to walk past you and act like he didn’t see you, like you weren’t there, like his heartbeat didn’t speed up everytime he caught a glimpse of you sitting in the stands with the corner of his eye. he had to- he needed to get your sweet face and kind smile out of his mind.

he thought you wouldn’t notice, that you were completely indifferent towards him, but you noticed everything. every time you greeted him and he greeted you back distantly, lowering his eyes and rushing his feet away from you, every time he looked at you for a second and, when your eyes accidentally met, he looked away like your gaze had electrocuted him, you noticed.

doubts had been swirling in your mind for a while when, after yet another moment of him barely acknowledging your presence with a nod of his head before sprinting out of the family room, you were left sitting on a couch and asking yourself what exactly you’d done to him.

"do you think he hates me?" you voiced your thoughts towards madison, justin’s wife, who was sitting next to you and had watched the scene unfold.

"who, ben? girl, no, why would he?"

"i don't know, that's what i'm trying to figure out. i'd ask him directly but he doesn't seem interested in talking to me at all. he barely says hi."

she waved your concern off with a hand, head shaking slightly. "he's just a little shy, don't overthink it."

how could you not overthink it? he wasn't shy, you watched him talk to people with the brightest smiles and the utmost interest. you watched him and wished he would act the same towards you, but he never did. all you got from him were cold greetings when you brought your dad coffee and an occasional nod when you went to see the boys practice.

he was polite, sure, but it was clear he had no interest in you nor in being around you in the slightest.

the first round of the playoffs had just started when ben’s birthday came around. you’d come to learn about it through sidney, who had mentioned throwing him a small party at his house to celebrate together. he had looked at you with that knowing gaze, the one that told you he was aware of the situation you were in.

you shook off the bitter feeling of being most likely unwanted and kept going on with your life, unbothered by whatever bad grudge that boy held towards you.

that, until your dad knocked on your door the day of said party, entering your room already dressed in his going-out clothes. his head peeked inside from the door's narrow gap, coming in once he saw you still in bed, sitting down with your back against the headboard and your laptop by your side.

"you coming with me?"

"no, go without me." you mumbled, hand gesturing back towards the door. the mattress dipped slightly below your body as he sat down at its edge. "plus, i'm pretty sure ben hates me."

his brows furrowed violently and you could see the gears turning in hus brain. "what? ben hate you? why?"

"i don't know. he didn't say it out loud or anything, probably because he doesn't talk to me at all."

you hugged your knees to your chest, letting yourself vent to your dad just like you had always done. when your classmates hadn't invited you to go to an amusement park with them in elementary school, when your best friend had stolen your prom date from you, when your test had received an injustified low score, he had sat down next to you and listened to you complain and go on for hours about situations and dynamics he didn't always understand, but knew were important for you.

he mumbled something in russian, something along the lines of ‘that little bastard’, then told you not to think about it too much. naively, you assumed that was his way of telling you it wasn’t a big deal, but you should’ve known better.

still, you hugged him back as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into that awkward, sideways embrace that was so typical of him, before heading out.

the thought hit you when you watched him in the doorway, and you sat back up straight. "wait, dad, don't tell anyone i said all this!”

one thing you had come to learn about your dad throughout the years was that he was terrible at keeping his thoughts to himself. when his concerns revolved around you, however, he became completely unreasonable.

evgeni had usually been a man of his word, being at your mercy whenever you asked him to speak on your behalf just as much as when you asked him to keep something for himself. that time, there was a lingering feeling he couldn’t shake off. who did the rookie think he was to avoid you and make you feel out of place?

he spent the drive to sidney’s house, the one he’d done so often before, pondering on what to do. he wanted to grant your wish and keep his mouth shut, but he simply couldn’t. it was an urge stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. he walked inside the house and after a round of initial greetings, he found the birthday boy.

he was about to shoot off, to lecture him in a way only he could. he went to shake his hand and he was faced with a young boy, a kid even, that received birthday wishes with the widest smile. he saw a bit of you in him, you were so close in age that it was hard not to see the resemblance in your attics, your mannerisms.

after letting go of ben’s hand, his eyes narrowed on his much shorter frame, studying him. "you don't talk with my daughter?"

the boy nearly choked on his saliva, swallowing hard while his eyes buzzed. no one was in their immediate vicinity, nobody was overhearing their conversation. therefore, no one was around to save ben from what seemed to be his end.

"...i'm sorry?"

"she says you hate her."

ben’s world came tumbling down on him with that simple sentence. you thought he hated you. he’d been scared to talk to you and enrage your father, now the man himself was disintegrating him with his eyes because he hadn’t talked to you. he seemingly couldn’t win in any way.

"wait, what? n-no, i don't! not at all." he answered too quickly, head shaking with a vigor that was unlike him.

"okay, tomorrow you go talk with her."

you weren’t in the stands the following day. ben took notice of your absence while he was being yelled at by his coach. he looked up and felt his chest draining at the sight of empty seats. he gathered enough courage to ask geno, whose lips almost shifted into a smile. almost.

after learning that you were in the building, just in an office quieter than the rink full of pressuring yells and motivational speeches, he felt more at ease. his stomach still twisted at the thought of having to stand face-to-face with you and explaining just why he’d been so avoidant towards you, but that was progress in his eyes.

he ensured to make himself presentable before seeing you, since he was ridiculously sweaty and most likely emanating an unpleasant smell. he walked out quietly, leaving doors and hallways behind himself as he headed towards you.

he knocked slowly, tentatively, like he was terrified of breaking that barrier. truthfully, he was. your head picked up at the sound of his knuckles against the hard wood, but your curious expression seemed to fall slightly when you saw him in the doorframe.

"hey."

"hi. uh... mind if i sit?" he asked, index finger pointing towards the loveseat that had served as your comfortable nest for the past few hours.

you looked around briefly, as to check if there was someone else in the room. you were alone, he was really, finally talking to you.

"sure, go on."

he sat to your right slowly, every step careful and calculated. his face was pale, his eyes scanning your surroundings. something was wrong, he seemed almost nervous to be in your presence.

"look, i don't know why you think i hate you, but-"

"blyat!" you muttered under your breath, eliciting a confused expression on ben. "on skazal tibye."

"i know what blyat means, not sure about everything else."

you switched to english, translating the last part of your sentence. "he told you. he wasn't supposed to tell anyone."

"i feel like we're focusing on the wrong issue here. i don't hate you, i don't know why you would think that."

"you don't know?" you asked, eyes widening, and ben shook his head. "whenever you see me, you change direction to avoid me."

"i don't-"

you interrupted him, hand raising to prove your point. "no, you do. and you have spoken approximately ten words to me in these past few months. you look at me like you wish i could disappear. just tell me what i did wrong so i ca-"

your words were abruptly cut short when ben lunged forward, lips pressing against yours with a fervour he had never quite felt. the moment he heard you blame yourself, thinking it was you who had done something wrong, he couldn't take it. he couldn't sit there and con you into thinking he wasn't crazy over you.

one of your hands grasped his shoulder, and you gently pushed him away. your face was puzzled, your cheeks the most adorable shade of red. ben thought you looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"are you okay? like, mentally?"

"fair question." he chuckled, raising his hands in defeat as he cleared his throat. "you're right, i have been avoiding you. not because i hate you, though. it's actually the opposite."

"you avoid me because you... like me?"

"yeah, i know it doesn't make any sense. i like you and i was scared of getting too close to you because i thought your dad was going to kill me if i did."

“oh.” your lips parted, small breath coming out of them. "yeah, he does have that look to him." you nodded, lips quirking into a grin.

you sat still for a moment, trying to elaborate what you’d just learned from him. you wanted to see the worst in his words, to spot dishonesty laid between syllables. yet, his eyes were clear and truthful and sparkling with something you couldn’t quite place. one thing you knew was that he didn’t look away from you once.

he cleared his throat the way he did when he was nervous, fingers fiddling in his lap. "so... you're not going to say anything about the part where i said i liked you?"

"you're an idiot." you sighed, looking at him in a way that he swore made his head spin. "a very cute one."

he got the hint that time.

he wasn’t going to run, hide, avoid you.

he went all in, hands grasping each side of your face to pull you into another kiss. it was slow, careful, but firm in a way that the previous one hadn’t been. his lips were a pleasant pressure on your own, your hands flew right to his hair with a gentle tug to pull him closer.

ben pulled away from you, flushed in the face and short of breath, pupils wide and taking up all the light iris’ space. he muffled a laugh, taking a deep breath.

“is your dad actually going to kill me? be honest.”

you looked upwards, pretending to think about it. “behave and he might spare you.”

[bnwrittes]

Friends, whiskey and the cards we drew

SUMMARY: Quinn and you (two longtime friends) fall into an unexpected (and very tipsy) game of adult poker that strips away more than just clothing. What starts as a drunken, impulsive night turns into honest confessions, quiet morning intimacy, and the decision to finally stop pretending they’re only friends.

WARNINGS:Explicit sexual content, alcohol use, friends-to-lovers, mild jealousy, oral sex, penetrative sex, mutual non-penetrative intimacy, brief mentions of past relationships

Requested: Quinn Hughes + Friends to lovers tension explodes into frantic fucking that turns slow and emotional

You and Quinn had a routine. Most nights after practices or games it was just movies on his couch, some random action flick or whatever was on Netflix, legs stretched out, the occasional shared bag of chips, nothing more complicated than that.

Tonight the whiskey had already softened everything by the time you got curious about the cabinet under the TV. You pulled out a box you hadn’t noticed before: a glossy poker set with a little black label that said “+18 Edition.” You were too buzzed to read the fine print properly. You just held it up, grinned, and said, “We’re playing this.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop you, he didn't see the warning so cards got shuffled and bets got dealt.

You lost the first hand. The card you flipped over was blunt:

Take your shirt off.

You blinked at it, laughed, and did it without thinking your shirt landed on the floor. You were left in a thin, pale bra that didn’t hide much, pink nipples already visible through the fabric, tightening under the cool air and the sudden weight of Quinn’s eyes on you.

“You’re a fucking cheater, Hughes,” you muttered as the next hands went the same way. Pants. Socks. His shirt. The air between you kept getting thicker.

When you finally lost your bra, you hesitated for half a second before unhooking it. The straps slid down, the cups fell away, and your bare breasts were suddenly out in the open, soft and flushed from the alcohol.

Quinn’s voice came out low “…Can I touch them?”

You froze, friends, you were supposed to be just friends. The rational part of your brain still knew that, even through the whiskey haze.

You stared at him for a long second, heart hammering, then shook your head once, small, uncertain “I… I don’t know. We’re friends, Quinn.”

He didn’t push. He just waited, eyes dark, hand resting on his own thigh like he was forcing himself not to reach for you. The silence stretched. Your pulse was loud in your ears.

Then, almost against your better judgment, you swayed a little closer, the curve of your ass on display as you stepped between his knees. “Just… careful, I´m a bit sensitive” you whispered.

His hands came up slowly. Warm palms cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over the pink nipples. You bit your lip hard, trying not to react, but the second he leaned in and closed his mouth around one nipple—hot, wet, tongue flicking—you sucked in a sharp breath.

One of his hands slid lower, slipping under the waistband of your underwear. Two fingers found your pussy already slick and started rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your clit.

Your knees almost buckled “Quinn—” you started, voice shaky, but the protest died when he sucked harder and pressed his fingers a little deeper.

The dual sensation made your head spin. You were so wet it was almost embarrassing, and the five-month dry spell wasn’t helping. Every stroke of his fingers made the ache worse.

He pulled off your nipple with a soft wet sound, looking up at you with that same crooked, half-drunk smile, that smile was all the excuse your whiskey-soaked brain needed.

You dropped to your knees between his legs as repayment, tugging his boxers down the rest of the way. His cock sprang free—already hard, thick, the head glistening.

You didn’t hesitate this time. You wrapped your mouth around the shaft, sucking hard while your tongue flicked over the sensitive ridge just beneath the head.

A low groan escaped him, his hips jerking forward as he tried to thrust deeper “What… what are you doing?” he breathed, voice husky from the alcohol and the sudden surge of pleasure.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes half-lidded, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Just relaxing you,” you replied, voice raspy from the drink and the effort. “Repayment.” You dove back in, taking him deeper this time, feeling the back of your throat stretch around his girth.

His hands found your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he guided your movements, not forcing but encouraging. Each time you pulled off, a string of saliva glistened between your lips and his tip, catching the dim light from the lamp overhead.

You licked a slow, deliberate stripe from base to tip, then sucked the head hard, cheeks hollowing.

Quinn’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Fuck… you’re good at this,” he muttered, a grin spreading despite his dazed state. He bucked his hips slightly, pushing a little more of his length into your mouth.

You accommodated, relaxing your jaw and letting him slide in until you felt the tip kiss the back of your throat. A gag reflex fluttered, but you swallowed it down, focusing on the rhythm—suck, pull, swirl, repeat.

The room smelled of cheap whiskey and sweat, the cards forgotten on the table, scattered like discarded clothes. Your underwear clung damp to your skin from the way his fingers had worked you.

Quinn’s boxers lay in a heap beside him, his erection standing proud and flushed, veins standing out like tiny rivers.

You slipped a hand down to his balls, rolling them gently between your fingers while you continued to suck. His moan grew louder, a guttural sound that vibrated through his cock and into your mouth.

You could feel the tension building, the precum leaking faster, coating your tongue with a salty tang.

“Almost… there,” he warned, voice trembling. You intensified your suction, cheeks hollowing, tongue pressing firmly against the underside of his shaft as you bobbed your head faster. His hips began to thrust in short, urgent bursts, matching the pace of your mouth.

With a final, deep groan, Quinn came, hot spurts filling your mouth. You swallowed greedily, feeling the thick cum slide down your throat, some escaping to drip onto your chin and your bra-less chest.

He shuddered, his grip on your hair loosening as he rode out the aftershocks, his cock twitching softly against your lips.

You pulled back, a strand of semen still connecting your lips to his tip before breaking and landing on his stomach. You licked your lips clean, savoring the taste, and looked up at him with a satisfied smirk.

Quinn reached for you immediately, pulling you up into his lap. The kiss that followed was slow and messy, tongues sliding, tasting himself on your mouth, hands roaming your bare back and the curve of your ass.

You stayed like that for a while, just kissing, breathing each other in, the alcohol and the leftover heat making everything feel floaty and inevitable.

Then the five-month dry spell hit you all at once.

Without warning you pushed him back against the couch, swung a leg over his hips, and sank down onto his still-hard cock in one desperate motion.

The stretch was sharp and perfect.

You hadn’t been fucked in so long that the sudden fullness made your whole body jolt. You started riding him hard and fast, no rhythm, no teasing, just raw, needy bouncing, chasing the friction like you’d been starving for it.

“Fuck—oh my god—” you gasped, hands braced on his chest, pink nipples bouncing with every movement. Quinn’s eyes went wide for a second, then darkened completely.

His hands locked onto your hips and helped you slam down harder “Jesus, baby,” he groaned, thrusting up to meet you. “You’re so fucking wet—how long has it been?”

You didn’t answer. You just kept riding him like you were trying to make up for every empty night in the last five months, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the apartment. Your orgasm hit fast and messy, walls clamping down around him while you cried out against his mouth.

He followed almost immediately, burying himself deep and flooding you with another thick load while his fingers dug bruises into your thighs.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you panting, sweat-slick and shaking.

Quinn brushed a strand of hair from your face, eyes softer now, the whiskey haze thinning enough for the truth to slip out.

“I’ve wanted this for months,” he said quietly. “Every movie night, every time you left and I had to stop myself from asking you to stay. I kept telling myself we were just friends… but I’m done pretending. I want you. Not just like this.” His thumb stroked your cheek. “Go out with me. A real date. Dinner, whatever you want. Let me take you somewhere that isn’t my couch and a deck of cards I didn’t even know was filthy.”

You stared at him, heart still racing, then nodded “Okay,” you whispered. “I’d like that.”

The relief on his face was almost as good as the orgasms. He kissed you again, slower, deeper, the kind of kiss that felt like a beginning.

When he pulled back his cock was already twitching back to life inside you, still buried and slick with both of you “One more time,” he murmured against your lips. “Before we try to be normal about this.”

You smiled, rolled your hips once, and let him flip you onto your back.

This round was slower, deeper, almost careful, his forehead against yours, his voice low and steady as he told you again that he meant it, that he’d been waiting, that he wasn’t letting this stay a one-time drunken accident.

You came with his name on your tongue and his body covering yours completely. He followed right after, holding you through it like he never planned on letting go.

______

The next morning sunlight was already spilling across Quinn’s bedroom when you woke up. You were tangled in his sheets, one of his arms heavy around your waist, the other tucked under the pillow.

His body was warm against your back, and you could feel him hard again, pressed against the curve of your ass like his cock had never really gone down.

You shifted slowly, turning in his arms until you were face-to-face. His eyes opened almost immediately, still soft with sleep, and the second he saw you he leaned in and kissed you. Slow. Lazy.

The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything yet. You stayed like that for a long time, mouths moving against each other, tongues brushing, the morning quiet except for the occasional soft sound when the kiss deepened.

When his hips rolled forward instinctively, the hard length of him sliding against your stomach, he pulled back just enough to look at you.

“I don’t want to fuck again,” he murmured, voice still rough from sleep. “Not because I don’t want you—Jesus, I want you—but I don’t want this to feel like it’s only about sex. Not after last night.”

You studied his face for a second, then smiled and climbed fully on top of him, straddling his hips so your bare pussy rested right against the thick, hot length of his cock.

You braced your hands on either side of his head and leaned down until your noses almost touched “Penetration isn’t necessary baby,” you said softly. “But I still want to keep doing this with you. I know you’re not just playing with me, Quinn. I trust you.”

Something in his expression loosened. He nodded once, hands settling on your waist.

You started moving, slow, deliberate rolls of your hips, dragging your wet folds up and down the underside of his cock, coating him in the slickness that was already gathering between your legs.

He groaned low in his throat, one hand sliding between your bodies so he could rub slow circles over your clit with two fingers while you kept grinding. At the same time you reached down, wrapped your hand around his thick cock and started stroking him in time with the slide of your pussy.

It was quiet, intimate, almost careful. Just the wet sound of your hand on him, the soft drag of your folds against his cock, and the way his fingers worked your clit until your thighs started to shake.

You came first, quietly, biting your lip, hips stuttering as the pleasure rolled through you. He followed a few strokes later, spilling hot over your fingers and across your lower stomach while his other hand tightened on your hip.

You stayed on top of him afterward, both of you breathing hard, the mess between you warm and sticky. You leaned down and kissed him again, slow, lingering while your fingers absently fixed the messy strands of hair falling across his forehead.

When you pulled back just enough to speak, your voice was quieter “I used to get so jealous of the girls you dated,” you admitted, still tracing the lines of his face, still kissing the corner of his mouth between words. “They got to kiss you whenever they wanted. Touch you. Actually be with you and I just… sat there pretending I was fine with only being the friend who watched movies on your couch.”

Quinn’s hands came up immediately, one cupping the back of your neck, the other gently pushing your hair out of your face so he could see you clearly.

He kissed you once, soft and sure, then rested his forehead against yours “You don’t have to think about that anymore,” he said, voice low and steady. “None of them mattered like this. You’re the only one I want. You’re the only one I ever really wanted.”

You stayed quiet for a beat, then a small, teasing smile tugged at your mouth “Ellen’s going to be so happy about us actually trying to be together.”

Quinn huffed a soft laugh, thumbs stroking your cheeks “First of all,” he said, eyes locked on yours, “I’m not trying to be with you, baby. I’m all in with you. And second, Mom’s going to be insane that I finally came to my senses and decided to be with the person I’m actually destined to.”

He kissed you again after that, deeper this time, like he was sealing the words in. You stayed tangled together in his bed, the morning light warm on your skin, the leftover mess of last night and this morning still between you, and for the first time it didn’t feel complicated at all.

It just felt like the start of something real.

[angelsuecult]

willing and able IV | s. crosby

"i've been having a hard time adjusting i had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting"

warnings: language.

summary: the aftermath and hope

request: yes

song: this is me trying - taylor swift

word count: 14.1k

a/n: well that last part was not the last part anyway a promise is a promise and ive been trying to keep my promises lately so here you go :))))

previous part | part one

—

The thing about being held after years of not being held was that your body forgot how to let go. It didn't know how to go back to the kitchen table and the cold coffee like the whole world hadn't just come apart and put itself back together wrong in the middle of your apartment. Your body kept refeeling it over and over. Sidney's arms around you, too tight and then careful, like he was afraid of both. His mouth at your temple. The smell of him that you'd have known blind in a crowded room. The way his voice cracked around the word baby.

Baby.

My girl.

I've got you.

You didn't believe it. Not all the way. You weren't stupid enough to hand your whole heart back to a man just because he'd looked at you with those wrecked eyes and said the things you used to lie awake wanting to hear back when you were eighteen and sick every morning and scared every night. But some part of you wanted to. Some teenage part of you had crawled straight out of the box you'd buried her in years ago, dirt still under her fingernails, hair a matted mess, heart still parked on a porch somewhere in Cole Harbour. She'd heard his voice and lifted her head, and that was the worst part. That she was still in there at all.

Sid left after the light in the room turned from gray to gold.

Your father came to the doorway first. One knock and Sidney stepped back from you so fast it was like he'd been caught with his hand somewhere he wasn't allowed. You hated that. Hated that he looked ashamed to be standing close to you, like holding you was a privilege he expected to be billed for later. Hated more that you understood exactly why. Your dad stood with one hand braced on the frame, his jaw set into the same hard line it had worn for four years any time Sidney's name got too close to the family.

“Time,” your dad said. One word. It didn't need more.

Sidney nodded fast. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Your dad's eyes cut to you, just checking, the way they'd checked on you a thousand times since Beau was born, like he was permanently checking on you. You gave him the smallest nod you could manage. Sidney saw it happen and his whole body relaxed, like your nod had given him permission to leave without it counting as leaving again. Still, he looked back at you on his way to the door, and the words sat in the air between you, unsaid.

Don't disappear.

He didn't say it. You didn't either.

He stopped by the shoe mat before he reached for the door. Beau's dinosaur rain boots were tipped over next to your sneakers, one on its side like he'd kicked out of them mid-adventure and run straight into the rest of his life without looking back. Sidney looked at them one second too long.

“He likes those,” you said, because the silence had gotten too loud.

Sidney looked back at you.

“The boots.” You felt stupid the second it left your mouth. “He wears them even when it's not raining.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Says they make him faster.”

Your dad tipped his head back and studied the ceiling like he was asking God for the patience to survive this conversation, but his mouth had gone soft at the corners despite himself. He loved Beau so much it had ruined him a little. It had ruined all of you. Beau had come into the world years ago and dragged love out of places that had gone cold and locked in the months before him.

“That's good,” Sidney said, and his voice barely made it out whole.

It wasn't good. It wasn't bad. It was a fact about a little boy Sidney had never gotten to hold. A pair of dinosaur boots by a door in an apartment he'd never been inside of until an hour ago. It was three years of daycare drop-offs and puddle jumping and bedtime stories, all of it flattened down into one sentence he had to be handed like a gift he didn't know how to open.

He put his hand on the doorknob, then looked at you one more time.

“I won't just show up,” he said, low. “I know this was already a lot. I won't come here unless you tell me it's okay.”

You nodded.

“And I won't call unless you say it's okay.”

You nodded again, even though it sat wrong in your heart. You'd spent four years wishing for one phone call that never came, and now the idea of one scared you more than the silence ever had.

He took a breath like it hurt going in. “But I want to. When you're ready. Even if it's just to talk about Beau. Or not Beau. Or anything. Whatever you can give me, I'll take it.”

Your dad shifted his weight in the hallway, and Sidney straightened like a hand had landed on his shoulder and reminded him he wasn't allowed to stay.

“I know,” you said.

He looked at your face like he was searching it for permission to finally walk away from it. “Okay.”

Then the hallway swallowed him, and your father followed, and the door clicked shut softly behind them both. You stood there with your arms wrapped around yourself, listening to their footsteps go down the stairs. One heavy, one slow. The building settled back into its usual small sounds around you and for a while you didn't move at all.

Then Beau's voice came down the hall, small and thick with sleep.

“Mama?”

Your body moved before your mind could tell you to. It always did now; there was no part of you left that didn't turn toward that sound. You dragged both hands down your face hard enough to sting and found him sitting up in his little bed, hair sticking up in six directions, one cheek printed red from the pillow. His blue blanket was balled in one fist against his chest. His eyes were barely open, heavy and confused, but they were already looking for you. Always looking for you first.

“Hey, bug,” you whispered.

He held his arms up, and you crossed the room and sat on the edge of the mattress, and he climbed into your lap with the total trust of a kid who had never once in his life doubted he'd be caught. He was warm from sleep, heavier than you remembered, getting almost too big to climb onto you like this. His legs sprawled over yours, though one foot hung off the edge of the bed and his face pressed into your neck.

“You're warm,” you murmured into his hair.

“I’m sleepy.”

“I can tell.”

He shifted, one arm looping your neck, his other hand finding the collar of your shirt and closing around it. He'd done that since he was a baby. Not always to comfort himself. Sometimes, you thought, to make sure you stayed put.

You just held him for a minute. Sid was gone. Your dad was probably downstairs walking him to his car, or standing on the sidewalk looking like he wanted to say something and deciding against it. Your mom was probably in the passenger seat with tears drying tight on her cheeks, hands folded in her lap, not trusting herself to look back at the building. And you were here, on the edge of your son's bed, under the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck slightly crooked to his ceiling because your dad had let Beau help put them up.

The world could split wide open, apparently, and your son's room stayed exactly the same. Stuffed animals dropped where they fell. A plastic hockey stick leaning against his dresser. Books stacked in a pile that was bound to fall any day now. A sticker on the baseboard because Beau had decided that it needed to live there. His pajama drawer hanging open where he'd tried to pick his own pajamas the night before and thrown half of them onto the rug before landing on the shirt with the rocket ships.

Beau stirred against your shoulder. "Mama?” 

"Yeah, baby?"

"I heard talking."

Your eyes opened. He lifted his head just far enough to look at you, cheek still creased, mouth caught in that particular pout that made strangers stop mid-sentence in grocery store lines.

You smoothed his hair back off his forehead. "Is that what woke you up?"

He nodded, slow and very serious. "Voices."

"Yeah," you said softly. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You okay?"

He'd asked you that before. In grocery stores. In the kitchen. In the backseat any time you'd gone quiet for too long for his liking. He was three years old and he already knew your tells better than most adults did.

You smiled, and it wobbled halfway through. "I'm okay."

He studied you with the terrifying focus only small children have. "You got water eyes."

A laugh came out of you, small and cracked. You wiped under one eye with your thumb. "Yeah. I do."

"Why?"

Because my dad drove the boy I loved to my door at sunrise. Because the man who should've known you from the second you took your first breath stood in my living room and held me like he'd found something he thought was dead and buried. Because I kissed him. Because I still love him, which feels like a crime I keep committing against myself. Because I don't know how to tell you that your dad isn't an absence anymore, he's a person, and I don't know yet if that's going to heal you or break something in you that hasn't broken yet. Because I wanted him here and I wanted him gone and now he's gone and I already miss him, which makes me feel like the world's biggest idiot.

You kissed his forehead instead.

"Grown-up stuff," you said.

Beau made a face like you'd told him the sky was made of vegetables. "Boring."

"Very boring."

He accepted it, because he was three, and grown-up stuff lived in the same category as bills and work and waiting rooms. Your feelings, thankfully, could still be filed there too, as long as you said it gently enough and didn't let your voice shake on the way out. He yawned wide enough that his jaw cracked, then dropped his head back to your shoulder.

"Did Nana and Papa come?"

You pulled in a slow breath. "Nana and Papa were here, yeah. They didn't come upstairs, though."

"Who did?"

Your fingers went still in his hair. You looked down at your son, at the curve of his cheek, the thick lashes drooping half shut over his eyes, the boy who had spent his whole short life asking questions you'd learned to answer with careful, loving half-truths.

Who's my dad? It's just you and me, buddy. Do I have one? Everybody has one, baby. Where is he? Not here.

You could keep doing that. You could protect him for one more day, one more week, one more month, and tell yourself waiting was the safe thing. But Sidney had been standing in your living room less than an hour ago, crying over a life he hadn't known he'd lost. 

You ran a slow hand down his back.

"We had a visitor this morning," you said.

He lifted his head. "A visitor?"

"Yeah."

"For me?"

"Not exactly."

"For you?"

"Yeah," you said. Your mouth had gone dry. "For me."

Beau blinked at you, waking up in pieces, his little brain trying to work through what you were saying. "Was it Marcy?"

You had to smile, because he knew exactly four adults who came to this apartment. Your parents. Marcy from the salon. And the mailman, who Beau believed was personally, magically responsible for the stickers that showed up in your mailbox.

"No, not Marcy."

"The mail guy?"

"No, baby."

"Did he bring stickers?"

"No stickers."

Beau sighed like this was a genuine tragedy. "Bad visitor."

A laugh cracked out of you, wrecked but real. "No. He wasn't a bad visitor."

"Who?"

You looked at his face. Your son was your whole heart walking around outside your body, but he was also Sidney's face, softened by baby fat that hadn't fully melted off yet. Sidney's intensity, shrunk down small and dressed in dinosaur pajamas. You tucked the blanket higher around his shoulders even though he didn't need it, just to give your hands something to do.

"He was someone very important to me," you said.

Beau's eyes went wide. "Important like Nana?"

"Different important."

"Like Papa?"

"Different than Papa too."

He took some time to think about it. His world was small but it was full and important people in it were the ones who picked him up when he fell, fed him, fixed his broken toys, listened to stories that went nowhere and made no sense. Important people weren't abstract to him. They were hands and voices and snacks and someone at the door when he woke up scared.

"Your friend?" Beau asked.

Friend. What a tiny word for what Sidney had been. What a merciful one too.

You nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"Good friend?"

You brushed your knuckles over his warm cheek. "My very best friend."

He accepted that because he had a best friend at daycare named Ollie, though the title changed depending on who'd shared blocks with him that week. Best friends mattered. Best friends were allowed to visit.

"What's his name?"

Your heart went suddenly, stupidly loud in your own ears. You'd said Sidney's name a thousand ways across your life. Laughing into a phone at sixteen. Moaning it into a dark room at seventeen. Sobbing it into a pillow at eighteen. Whispering it by accident to your own son when his face looked too much like his father's and grief made you careless. You'd spat Crosby like a curse. Said Sidney cold as ice. Said Sid only in dreams you didn't tell anyone about.

Now you were going to say it to Beau.

"His name is Sid."

Beau blinked.

"Sid," he repeated.

It came out of him sweet and unburdened. Just a name, three letters, sitting in your son's sleepy mouth like it weighed nothing at all.

You nearly came apart right there on the edge of his bed.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Sid."

He nodded and dropped his head back to your shoulder, satisfied, like that had answered everything he needed answered for now. "Sid's a small name."

You laughed, wet and surprised. "I guess it is."

"Like Beau."

"Yeah. Like Beau."

He rubbed his face against your shirt. "Can I have pancakes?"

The whiplash of motherhood never stopped being insane. One second you were standing at the edge of a fault line that had swallowed four years of your life, and the next your son wanted breakfast, and both things were equally important.

"Yeah," you said, voice thick with something that was half laugh and half sob. "You can have pancakes."

"With chocolate?"

"No."

"With gummy bears?"

"Absolutely not."

"With sprinkles?"

You hesitated one second too long. 

"It's lazy day."

You stared at him. "Who told you that."

"You."

"Traitor."

His grin was Sidney's grin. God help you, it was Sidney's exact grin, dropped whole onto a three year old's face. "Sprinkles?"

You sighed. "Fine. A few sprinkles."

"Lots."

"A few."

"Lots few."

You poked his side and he shrieked with laughter, squirming in your lap, suddenly loud and bright and completely alive in the way only Beau ever managed to be first thing in the morning. You carried him into the kitchen even though he could walk on his own, because he asked, and because you needed the weight of him against your hip more than he needed the ride. He hung off you like a koala the whole way. You made pancakes one-handed while he perched on your side and supervised.

"More milk."

"No, chef."

"More egg."

"We already put the egg in, chef."

"More."

"We're not making egg soup, chef."

"Chocolate chips?"

"No, chef."

"Sprinkles?"

"After, chef."

"Now?"

"Beau."

He grinned and pressed a sticky palm flat against your cheek. "Mama."

"Don't Mama me."

"Mamaaaa."

You closed your eyes. "You're lucky you're cute."

"I'm handsome."

You tense up. It was such a small thing to level you. He said it sometimes, because your mom said it, because strangers said it, because old women in grocery stores bent down and called him a handsome little man while he hid behind your legs and grinned around his thumb. It shouldn't have mattered. You looked down at him. He blinked back up at you, completely unaware he'd just pressed his thumb straight into a bruise you didn't know you still had.

"Yeah," you said softly. "You are."

He nodded, matter of fact. "Papa says."

"Papa's right."

You finished the pancakes. Beau spilled sprinkles across the floor and you pretended to be furious about it, and he helped you pick them up one at a time, eating two before you caught him doing it. Cartoons ran at a volume of twenty-three in the living room, a number Beau had settled on months ago and refused to negotiate. The sun moved slow across the kitchen floor. You drank coffee that had gone bad from being reheated twice and forgotten about both times.

Every few minutes your eyes went to the door anyway. Sidney wasn't coming back today. He'd said he wouldn't. He had to let you breathe. He had to let you be Beau's mother a while longer before he started asking, with just his eyes, whether he could be Beau's father too. Still. You looked.

By ten, Beau was fully dressed in jeans and a hockey shirt your dad had bought him while insisting he did not, as a rule, support hockey as a concept. No team logo. Your dad had limits, apparently, even when it came to spoiling his grandson. Beau had dragged his little plastic net into the living room and was taking dramatic shots on an invisible crowd, narrating the whole thing to himself at top volume.

"He skates, he skates, he shoots, he scores! The crowd goes ahhhh!"

"That's screaming, not cheering," you called from the table.

"Same thing!"

"Not really."

"Mama, watch."

"I'm watching."

"No, watch with your eyes."

You widened your eyes at him dramatically. "These?"

He dissolved into giggles. "Yes."

He took another shot. The foam puck ricocheted off the couch leg, went sideways, and landed square in the laundry basket.

"Score!"

"That was nowhere near the net."

"It's trick hockey."

"Oh. My mistake."

~

At noon, your parents came back.

You heard them before you heard the knock, because Beau heard keys jingling and shouted "Papa!" and abandoned his stick mid-shot, socked feet skidding across the floor as he ran for the door. You stood too fast, wiping your palms down your jeans, suddenly aware you'd done nothing with your face all morning, hadn't fixed your hair, hadn't hidden the fact that you'd spent the last few hours walking around your own apartment with your heart hanging on by a thread outside your body. Your dad let himself in with his key, because he had exactly zero respect for the concept of knocking when his grandson was screaming for him from the other side of a door.

"There he is," your dad said, voice booming warm as Beau crashed into his legs. "There's my guy."

"I have a game," Beau announced. "Moosey is goalie."

"Is he any good?"

"No."

Your dad nodded, gravely serious. "Tough break for Moosey."

"He doesn't move."

"Lazy goalie."

Beau gasped like he'd been personally offended on Moosey's behalf. "Papa!"

Your dad scooped him up with an exaggerated groan, like Beau weighed twice what he actually did. "Good Lord, did you get bigger since breakfast?"

"Yes."

"What have you been eating? Rocks?"

"Pancakes."

"Rock pancakes?"

"Sprinkle pancakes."

Your dad looked at you over Beau's shoulder, one eyebrow climbing.

You shrugged. "Lazy day."

His mouth twitched. "I see."

Your mom came in behind him slower. Her eyes found yours first, careful and so full of feeling you nearly had to look away from it.

"Hi, sweetheart."

"Hi, Mom."

Just two words. Nothing special about them. But your voice cracked on the second one, and her whole face changed. Your dad must have heard it too, because he hitched Beau higher on his hip and bounced him once.

"Come on, bud. Show me this Moosey goalie situation. I need to scout the talent."

"He's bad," Beau said again.

"We'll work with him. Every goalie deserves a chance."

"Even bad ones?"

"Especially the bad ones."

Beau considered this but didn’t seem full convinced. "Can we make him good?"

"We can try."

Your dad carried him into the living room, making a big production of nearly tripping over the hockey stick, the blanket, the small toy mountain Beau had somehow assembled in under an hour.

Your mom watched them go, then turned back to you.

"You look pale," she said.

"Thanks."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah."

You wiped your damp palms on a dish towel and sat down at the kitchen table before she could ask, because you were tired of standing, because your legs had that watery, unreliable feeling they used to get when you were pregnant and had cried too hard for too long. Your mom sat across from you. For a few seconds, neither of you said anything at all.

Out in the living room, your dad made an exaggerated buzzer sound.

"Oh, big save by Moosey!"

"No, Papa! Moosey let it in!"

"Then why'd you put him in net?"

"Because he's the goalie!"

Your dad let out a loud sigh. "Management has questions."

Your mouth twitched, but the smile didn't hold.

Your mom reached across the table and covered your hand with hers. "Talk to me."

And just like that you were eighteen again. Standing in your parents' living room with your hands shaking and your whole future disappearing before your eyes, saying I'm pregnant and waiting for the floor to open up so you wouldn't have to watch their faces fall. You were twenty-two now. A mother. A working adult who paid rent and remembered which day was recycling and could get a screaming toddler dressed for daycare in under four minutes flat. Someone who had survived the thing she once thought would kill her. But the second your mom said talk to me, you wanted to put your head in her lap and sob until there was nothing left inside you to sob with.

"I don't know what to do," you said.

Her fingers tightened around yours. "I know."

"No, Mom." Your voice broke on it immediately. "I really don't know. I don't know what's right. I don't know what's safe. I don't know if letting him in is the smartest thing I've ever done or the dumbest. I don't know if I'm protecting Beau or hurting him by keeping all of this away from him. I don't know."

Your mom listened like she had all the time in the world to give you, even with dishes stacked in the sink and laundry piled in the hall and Beau shrieking with laughter in the next room.

You pressed your free hand hard against your forehead.

"What if all I do is hurt him more?"

"Beau?"

"Yes, Beau. Who else."

Your mom's eyes followed the sound of him.

From the living room, your dad's play by play carried through the rooms. "And Beau's got the puck, he's flying down the ice, Moosey is panicking, the crowd is going insane."

"I'm fast!" Beau shouted.

"So fast!"

Something in you cracked a little wider.

Your mom looked back at you. "Sweetheart. Look at him."

"I am."

"No. Look at him, and then tell me where."

You couldn't. You couldn't, because Beau was joy given legs and a voice. Beau was loud and loved and sticky-fingered and bossy about goaltending. Beau believed with his whole chest that a pair of dinosaur rain boots made him faster. Beau made your dad crawl around on the floor and your mom buy more pajamas than any child needed and you put sprinkles on pancakes because he'd invented a national holiday called lazy day. Your mom's thumb moved slow over your knuckles. He was loved. God, he was so loved, by you, by your parents, by every daycare worker who let him talk about hockey until he tired himself out, by coworkers who sent home cookies shaped like hearts because they adored him. He had toys and routines and fishing trips with Papa and a mother who would tear the world apart with her bare hands before she let it touch him.

He wasn't unloved. He wasn't unwanted. He wasn't broken.

Your silence answered for you anyway.

Your mom's thumb kept moving. "He's been loved every single day of his three wonderful years. Every day."

You blinked hard, and it did nothing.

"And he'll be loved as long as the three of us are breathing," she said. "You already know that."

"Mom."

"No. Listen to me. If Sidney is serious, if he really means to be in Beau’s life for the right reasons, what harm is one more person's love?"

Your throat closed so tight it hurt to talk. "It can be a lot of harm if that person leaves."

"I know."

"No, you don't." It came out sharper than you meant it to. "Sorry. I just, you don't know what it felt like to read those texts. You don't know what it felt like to sit there and understand that he knew, and he still didn't want us."

Her eyes went glassy. "You're right. I don't."

"And now he says he never sent them." You laughed a bitter sound. "And he looked, God, Mom, he looked destroyed. He looked like someone had thrown him into traffic. He looked like he was telling the truth."

Your mom didn't answer right away.

You looked at her, desperate now, chasing something you needed. "Do you think he was?"

She hesitated. The hesitation scared you worse than any answer could have.

"Mom."

She took a slow breath. "What do you think?"

Your pulled your hand out from under hers.

"No." Your voice trembled. "No, I need you to just tell me. I need someone to tell me, because I can't risk it again. I can't be wrong about him twice. I can't let myself believe him and then find out I was stupid all over again."

"You weren't stupid."

"I was." Your eyes burned. "I loved him so much and I thought that meant he'd love me back enough to stay. And then I had Beau, and I couldn't even love him right at first because I was too angry and too sad and too scared, and now Sidney's standing in my kitchen telling me it wasn't him, and I just have to figure out what to do with that?"

Your mother stood up so fast her chair scraped the floor. You clapped a hand over your mouth, but it was already too late. The sound had already gotten out. Small and wounded and awful, a sound you hadn't made out loud in years.

"Oh, baby," she said.

Then she was pulling you up out of the chair and into her arms, and you went. You hated how easily you went. You hated how badly you'd needed it. You weren't a teenager anymore. You had a whole child of your own. You'd spent years telling yourself you didn't need to be anybody's baby anymore, because being someone's baby hadn't saved you the last time it mattered.

But your mother held you, and you fell into her the way you had at eighteen with your stomach turning and your phone dead silent on the nightstand. The way you had when Beau was two weeks old and screaming and you thought maybe you were defective somehow because you couldn't get him to stop. The way you had on your nineteenth birthday, blowing out candles over a cake you didn't have the heart to make a wish on.

"I can't do it wrong," you sobbed. "I can't do it wrong with Beau."

"You won't."

"I might."

"You might make mistakes," she said, her hand moving in slow circles over your back. "That's different."

"I don't want him hurt."

"I know."

"I don't want him confused."

"I know."

"I don't want him to think he wasn't enough. I don't want him thinking he was missing something his whole life just because he didn't have a dad."

"He won't."

"You don't know that."

"No," she said quietly. "I don't. But I know you. And I know that little boy. And he knows he's loved. That much I know for certain."

You cried harder. Your mom didn't hush you, didn't tell you to calm down, didn't do anything but hold on while you came apart in the kitchen and your father kept Beau laughing louder than usual in the next room, probably because he could hear enough to know you needed the cover. That made you cry harder too. Everything made you cry today.

"I wanted Sidney to know him," you admitted, the words tearing loose. "That's the worst part. Even when I hated him, I wanted him to know his own son. Every time Beau did something that looked exactly like him, that stupid little scowl, that grin, I wanted to tell Sid. I wanted to send him pictures. I wanted to say, look, look what we made, look how perfect he turned out."

Your mom's hand stopped for a second against your back, then kept moving.

"And I wanted Beau to know him," you said. "I wanted him to have that. I wanted him to know where his face came from, where all that goddamn stubbornness came from. I wanted him to know his dad didn't leave because he wasn't good enough. And now maybe he didn't leave at all, and somehow that makes it worse."

She pulled back just far enough to look at you. "Why?"

"Because then it was all for nothing."

Her eyes filled.

You wiped angrily at your own face. "All that pain. All those nights alone. Beau's first steps, his first word, his first Christmas, Sid missed all of it, and I spent years telling myself it was because he didn't care. But if he did care, if he would've been there, then somebody stole that from him. From us. From Beau."

Your mother's lips pressed into a thin line.

"So what am I supposed to do with that," you whispered. "What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"

She smoothed your hair back the way she used to when you were small. "You grieve it."

You shook your head. "I don't want to."

"I know."

"I already grieved him once."

"I know."

"I don't want to do it again."

"You're not grieving him this time," she said softly. "You're grieving the years."

The years. The pregnancy without him. The birth without him. Beau's first birthday cupcake, mashed into frosting on his own fat cheeks, babbling mama with nobody else's name to fill in the blank. Beau learning to walk. Beau learning to skate. Beau asking, with his whole clear-eyed trust, if he had a dad, and you handing him scraps of an answer because the truth was too mean to give a three year old. You'd survived every bit of it because you thought there'd never been another choice. Now it turned out there had been one all along. It just hadn't been offered to either of you.

"I don't know how to tell Beau," you said.

"You don't have to tell him everything right now."

"He deserves the truth."

"He deserves the truth in a way he can actually understand."

You let out a wet, wrecked laugh. "That sounds like it's straight out of one of your parenting books."

"It might be."

"Did you read those for me?"

"I read everything for you."

Your face crumpled all over again.

Her hand found your cheek. "You were my baby. You still are."

"I'm twenty-two."

"And?"

You laughed, miserable and helpless. "And I have a baby."

"That didn't stop you from being mine."

You leaned into her palm before you could stop yourself.

"I need you to tell me what to do," you whispered.

"I can't make this choice for you, honey."

"Mom."

"I know you want me to. I know exactly why." She brushed another tear off your cheek with her thumb. "But this one has to be yours."

"I don't trust myself."

"I do."

"You shouldn't."

She smoothed your hair back again. "Listen to me. None of this is your fault. It isn't Sidney's fault, either, if he truly didn't know. And it is absolutely, one hundred percent not Beau's fault. The fault belongs to the adults who looked at two scared kids and made the choice for them"

You nodded, but it still hurt to take in.

"You can't get those years back," she said. "I wish to God you could. I wish I could hand them to you wrapped up with a bow. I wish I could've put Sidney in that delivery room and given you the life you should've had. But I can't. What you can do is decide what you want the next ones to look like."

"I don't know."

"That's alright."

"What am I even supposed to tell Beau?" you asked. "After three years of no dad, what am I supposed to say? Hey, good news, buddy, turns out there's this whole person who helped make you, and he didn't know, and now he wants in. How do I explain that to a three year old?"

"Slowly."

You gave her a look. "Mom."

"I mean it. Slowly. You don't have to give him the whole adult story, because he doesn't need it. Not yet. You tell him Sid's someone special who wants to know him. You let Sid become a person to him first."

You glanced toward the living room. Beau was sitting on your dad's stomach now, waving Moosey directly in his face.

"Kids are stronger than we give them credit for," your mom said.

Your head snapped up. "I don't want him to have to be strong."

"I know."

"No, I mean it. He shouldn't have to be. He shouldn't have to be strong because a bunch of adults made a mess before he was even born. He should get to be little. He should get to think sprinkles are the most important decision of the day and that thunder happens because clouds are bowling. He shouldn't have to be brave about his dad."

Your mom's eyes filled again.

"I wanted Beau to know Sidney this whole time," you whispered. "And I wanted Sidney to know him. I know I said I hated him. I know I said we were better off. But God, I wanted them to have each other. Every time Beau did something that looked like him I wanted Sid to see it. I wanted him to know. I wanted–" your voice broke clean in half. "I want all those years. I want them so bad it hurts."

Your mom pulled you back in.

From the living room, Beau shouted, "Mama! Moosey got traded!"

Your dad called back, "It's a business decision!"

Despite everything, you laughed.

Your mom smiled, eyes still wet. "Sounds serious."

"Very."

Beau came running into the kitchen, socked feet sliding on the tile, and crashed straight into your legs before looking up and catching your tear-streaked face.

His grin dropped instantly. "Mama?"

You bent to him without thinking twice. "I'm okay."

"You crying."

"I know, baby. Sometimes grown-ups cry."

"Why?"

You glanced at your mom, and she said nothing, gave you nothing but the space to decide. Your choice. Always yours.

You looked back down at your son and pushed his hair off his forehead. "Because I was thinking about something I missed."

He frowned, working it over. "Like camping?"

Your chest hurt, but you managed a smile. "Yeah. Kind of like camping."

He nodded, then shoved Moosey into your arms because it was the best thing he could think to do. "You can hold him."

"Wow. That's generous."

"He got traded."

"To me?"

"Yeah. You need a goalie."

"I absolutely do."

He patted your shoulder like he was consoling a teammate. "Don't cry. Papa's bad at hockey."

Your dad appeared in the doorway behind him. "Papa can still hear slander from three feet away, thank you very much."

Your mom laughed under her breath. You hugged Beau with Moosey crushed sideways between you. You still didn't know what you were going to do. But for the first time all morning, the not knowing didn't feel like drowning.

~

September came.

Time had always been cruel like that, indifferent to whatever was happening during it. It kept moving while you were pregnant. It kept moving while Beau screamed through colic and teething and every bad night in between. It kept moving while Sidney won games and hoisted trophies and turned into the kind of man people said his name about with something like wonder. It kept moving while you learned how to cut hair for a living, how to budget a paycheck down to the dollar, how to bring down a fever at two in the morning, how to answer a three year old's question without your voice breaking in the middle of it.

Now it moved while Sidney flew back to Pittsburgh with no real plan at all.

He left Nova Scotia in the first week of September, and for the first time in his life, going back didn't feel like forward motion. Usually Pittsburgh meant a shift in his body, camp coming, the season coming, structure snapping back into place. The relief of knowing exactly where he fit in the world. Sidney had built his whole life inside schedules. Practice at this hour. Lift after. Media here. Game there. Sleep when the body allowed it. Eat what helped. Repeat until the machine ran itself and the mind followed along because it had no other choice.

But he boarded that plane with his chest hollowed out and his whole life in pieces that didn't fit into any one bag. His passport. His wallet. Two duffels. A carry-on stuffed with clothes he barely remembered folding. Your photo, still tucked behind his driver's license, the edges gone soft now from how many times he'd pulled it out in the last few weeks and just looked at it, like looking hard enough might change something. And a new silence where his family used to sit.

His body got on that plane. His mind stayed behind in Halifax, in your kitchen, with you standing in front of him with tears still wet on your face. In the doorway of Beau's room, where he hadn't let himself go, because he didn't think he'd earned the right to watch his son sleep just because he wanted to. He thought about that a lot. About the doorway he hadn't crossed.

He had a son.

It was the first thing in his head every morning before his eyes were even fully open, and the last thing he thought before whatever counted as sleep finally took him.

He had a son.

And he did not know the first thing about being anyone's father.

He landed in Pittsburgh with the sick, floating feeling of having misplaced his entire life somewhere between the jet bridge and baggage claim. Usually there was someone waiting. His dad, if he was in town. Mario, most years. A team car sometimes. Sometimes someone arranged by someone in Pat's office. There had always been people. Too many people, probably. Now he stood outside arrivals in the warm end-of-summer air and realized that he had zero desire to call any of them.

His phone felt poisonous in his hand anyway. His mother's name sat unanswered in the call log, over and over. His father's, the same. Taylor's too, and that one made his chest hurt worse than the others, because Taylor hadn't done anything to deserve his silence. She was fourteen. She was probably scared and confused and furious at him for disappearing, and he couldn't even blame her for it. She was the same age he'd been when he first started noticing you in a way that made him feel stupid and shy and too big for his own body. Fourteen. Still a kid, even if she'd have rolled her eyes if she heard him say that. But calling her meant risking his mother picking up. Or worse, his father, saying the right thing in exactly the right voice, making Sidney feel eight years old again and desperate for his dad to somehow still be the good guy in this. He couldn't survive that today.

Mario had called twelve times over three weeks. Nathalie, twice. Pat more than either of them, until Pat's calls thinned out and turned into short texts instead.

Call me when you land.

We need to discuss housing.

We need to discuss the media approach.

Sidney, this silence is not productive.

Neither was stealing four years of someone’s life, but apparently productivity had its limits and Pat had reached his fast. Sidney hailed his own cab, an oddly, almost unusually normal thing for him to do. He had money. He had status. He had an entire team of people who would've handled it in ten seconds flat if he'd let them. Instead he climbed into the back of a cab with cracked vinyl seats and a pine tree air freshener spinning slow on the mirror, and when the driver asked where to, he found out he didn't have an answer.

Not Mario's. That was the first thing he was sure of. He loved them. That was the hell of it, that he still loved them, loved Mario, loved Nathalie, loved their kids, loved the family that had opened their home to him at eighteen when he was overwhelmed and homesick and so far from anything he knew. But Mario had known. Mario had known about you. Mario had known about Beau. And Sidney could not stay under his roof with that knowledge.

"Downtown," he said finally.

The driver glanced at him in the mirror, probably recognized him, chose not to make anything of it. "Anywhere specific?"

Sidney closed his eyes. "Just a hotel."

He stayed there four nights. The first, he slept maybe two hours total, lying flat on top of the comforter in his travel clothes, staring at the ceiling while the city moved below the window in sirens and traffic and muffled voices bleeding through the wall.

He thought about Beau's voice. About you crying in your kitchen, telling him you still loved him and hated yourself for it. About your hands closing around his wrists. Your mouth against his. The way you'd said you wanted things to work, like the words had to be dragged out of somewhere deep and unwilling in you.

He replayed all of it until it turned into a kind of torture. Then he replayed it again anyway.

By the second night, he called a realtor whose number he'd had saved since the previous summer, back when buying a place in Pittsburgh had felt like a natural next step for a young captain putting down roots, making the city home in some more permanent way.

She sounded thrilled to hear from him.

He barely heard half of what she said.

"Something private," he said.

"Of course."

"Not too flashy."

"Absolutely."

"Enough space."

"For entertaining?"

He paused.

A kid running down a hallway. A plastic hockey stick banging against a wall. You in a kitchen that belonged partly to him too, someday, if he was lucky enough to be let into that kind of future.

"No," he said, throat tight around it. "Just space."

The realtor went quiet then recovered smoothly. "I can send some options."

"Thanks."

In the meantime, his agency found him an apartment. Not Pat directly, since Sidney still wasn't taking his calls. It came through a junior guy named Dan who sounded genuinely terrified to be involved at all. Sidney didn't blame him. The place was in a new glass tower, polished concrete and neutral furniture picked out by someone who thought grey made luxury, a gym downstairs, underground parking, a concierge who worked hard not to stare and a view of the city that would've impressed him a month ago. Now it just felt like a place where nobody knew him well enough to ask if he'd eaten today. He moved in with what little he'd brought. Socks in a drawer. Suits on a rod. Groceries he mostly didn't touch.

Do not call Y/N because she hasn't given you permission.

Do not call your mother, because you'll either scream or start crying and you don't know which is worse. Do not call your father, because you might say something you can't take back. Do not call Mario. Do not call Pat.

Do not call Y/N.

Do not call Y/N.

Do not call Y/N.

Baby steps, he kept telling himself. Eat. Skate. Sleep. House hunt. Therapy, maybe.

That last thought scared him. Therapy. Sidney Crosby didn't do therapy. Sidney Crosby handled things. Trained harder. Compartmentalized. Made eye contact with reporters and said the right combination of words. Focused on the next shift, the next game, the next season. But this wasn't a slump. This wasn't bad press. This wasn't the usual pressure he knew how to handle himself. This was you sobbing in his arms about the year it had taken you to feel like Beau's mother. Maybe handling everything alone, the way he'd been taught to, was exactly how they'd all ended up here in the first place.

So he found someone. Not through the team, because that felt too close, too likely to become a line item in some file somewhere. He asked Dan for a private recommendation and hated himself a little for needing anything at all from that office. Dan sent three names, then added: for what it's worth, I'm sorry you're dealing with whatever this is.

Sidney stared at that text for a long time.

Whatever this is.

He typed back, Thanks.

The first therapist he called had no openings. The second did.

His first appointment was on a Tuesday afternoon in a quiet office with green chairs and a plant so aggressively healthy he wanted to feel if it was fake. The therapist was a woman in her fifties with kind eyes that reminded him of yours. He sat on the couch with his hands clasped tight between his knees and gave her the short version, because the long version felt like too much to survive saying out loud twice in one lifetime.

High school girlfriend. Pregnancy. A message intercepted that he never even knew existed. A son who was three years old. A family that knew. A career full of people who knew. Everyone had lied.

She listened without a flicker.

Then she said, "What do you want help with first?"

Sidney stared at her.

First. Like there were categories. Like his whole life had become a menu of emergencies he needed to rank in order.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"That's alright."

He looked down at his own hands. His hands were familiar, hands that had won faceoffs and lifted the Cup over his head and signed a decades worth of autographs and cupped your face like it was the only thing in the world worth being careful with. Hands that had never once held his son.

"I need to not mess him up," he said.

She nodded. "Your son."

"Yeah."

"And his mother?"

His throat closed. "I need to not mess her up either."

"Okay."

"I already did."

"You didn't know."

"I still wasn't there."

"Those are different things."

"They don't feel different."

"No," she said. "I imagine they wouldn't."

"I don't want to rush her because I'm panicking. I don't want to turn Beau into some way of fixing my own guilt. I don't want to..." He shook his head, hunting for the end of the sentence. "I don't want to be my father."

She let him sit with that for a while.

Then, quietly: "That's a good place to start."

By late September, Sidney had a routine that looked functional to anyone watching from far enough away. He practiced on his own. He started training. He answered team questions normally enough that most people left him alone. He ate when Flower cornered him about it or when hunger got annoying enough to deal with on its own. He looked at houses on Sundays. He went to therapy on Tuesdays. He handled Pat exclusively through email with replies so short and flat that even Pat eventually stopped trying to warm them up.

Pat wanted a meeting. Sidney put him off for ten days, then finally agreed, because the business side couldn't be avoided forever no matter how badly he wanted it to be. They met in a private room off a hotel restaurant, because Sidney had refused, flatly, to let the man into his home. Pat arrived in a suit, carrying a leather folder under his arm like this was a contract negotiation and not the wreckage of every ounce of trust Sidney had ever given him.

Sidney didn't stand when he walked in. Pat noticed. Sidney watched him notice.

"Sidney."

"Pat."

They sat across a polished table from each other. A waitress came and went. Sidney ordered water. Pat ordered coffee. Neither of them touched the menus.

Pat folded his hands together. "I'm glad you agreed to meet."

"I'm not here because I wanted to see you."

Something flickered across Pat's face. "Fair enough."

Sidney looked at him and felt no simple feeling. The rage had burned hot enough back in Nova Scotia to leave something colder behind it now. Pat had been part of his life for years. Trusted. Respected. One of the adults who'd run the machinery around him back when Sidney was too young to understand how much power he was handing over just by trusting the wrong people with it. And Pat had looked at you, or maybe never really looked at you at all, and decided you were a liability.

"My attorney is reviewing every agreement I have with you," Sidney said.

Pat's jaw tightened slightly. "That's your right."

"I know."

"I hope you understand everything done at the time was done with your future in mind."

"Don't."

Pat's mouth closed.

"Don't sit there and tell me it was for my future."

"Sidney, you were eighteen."

"She was eighteen."

Pat looked away, just for half a second.

That was enough.

"She was eighteen," Sidney repeated, quieter now, and somehow that was worse. "And pregnant. And terrified. And every one of you treated her like a threat."

"We didn't know she'd keep the baby."

Sidney's hand closed around his glass hard enough that his knuckles went white. For one full second he went blind with anger.

"Say that again," he said, very quietly.

Pat held his gaze for a moment, then dropped it. "I shouldn't have phrased it that way."

"You shouldn't have thought it that way."

A muscle worked once in Pat's jaw.

"I missed my son being born," Sidney said. "I missed his first word. I missed three years, Pat. Do you understand that? Do you have any idea what you took from me?"

Pat didn't answer.

"I can't trust you," Sidney said. "I don't know if that changes. I don't know if there's a professional path forward from here. I don't know if I even want there to be one."

"Sidney."

"No." His voice stayed level, which was somehow scarier than if it hadn't. "You don't get to manage this. You don't get to decide what's productive, what the media strategy is, how to minimize the damage. They're not damage. She isn't damage. My son isn't damage. If I hear one more person in your office talk about either of them like a liability, we're done. Completely."

Pat nodded slowly. "Understood."

"I want full transparency from now on. Everything. Every call, every meeting, every decision that has my name anywhere near it."

"Of course."

Sidney stood.

Pat looked up at him. "That's it?"

"For now."

"We should discuss Pittsburgh media before camp opens."

"No."

"Sidney."

"No," he said again, and this time there was no room left in it for negotiation. "You don't get anywhere near that part of my life. Not unless she wants you there. And she doesn't even know if she wants me there."

Pat had nothing left to say to that. Sidney left before the coffee ever arrived. Outside, the air still held the last warmth of summer, but there was a thin edge of fall underneath it now. He walked home instead of calling a car. The apartment was fifteen blocks off. His legs needed the movement. His head needed the noise of the city drowning out everything else in it for a while.

He passed a toy store on the way and made it three steps past the window before he stopped walking.

"Fuck," he muttered, to nobody.

He turned around and went back.

Inside, the store was bright and crowded, shelves of puzzles and stuffed animals and wooden trains and picture books and little plastic worlds built for kids who hadn't learned yet that adults could ruin things. Sidney stood just inside the door with his hands shoved in his pockets, overwhelmed in a way he hadn't braced himself for.

He had no idea what a three year old liked. He walked the aisles slow, feeling ridiculous, feeling like a fraud. Buying something felt presumptuous, like trying to purchase love he hadn't earned. Like skipping steps he didn't have the right to skip. Like one wrong toy could somehow say exactly how little he knew about his own son.

An employee asked if he needed help.

He almost said no on reflex.

Then he said, "I'm looking for something for a three-year-old boy."

"What's he into?"

Sidney swallowed hard.

"Hockey," he said. Then, softer: "And dinosaurs."

She smiled. "We've got a few things for that."

He left with a small dinosaur book, a soft green stegosaurus, and a mesh bag of foam balls for indoor play. He didn't send any of it. He put the bag in the hall closet, because looking at it hurt too much. Took it out an hour later and set it on the dining table instead. Moved it to the bedroom. Moved it back to the closet. Finally he just sat down on the floor in front of the closet door with the dinosaur book in his hands and read it cover to cover, twice, like it might tell him something.

It was twelve pages long. The stegosaurus found his family at the end.

He found a house.

Not the final house, maybe. Not a dream house. Not some huge place bought to prove a point to anyone. It was private and tucked far enough back from the road that he could breathe; it had a fenced yard, a kitchen that caught the morning light early. The realtor talked resale value, entertainment potential, security systems, proximity to the rink. Sidney nodded along at all the right places.

He didn't give a single shit about entertaining. He cared about how many bedrooms. He cared about the stairs, whether they were the kind a little kid could take two at a time without cracking his head open. He cared whether there was yard enough for a three year old to run flat out with Sammy at his heels. He cared whether the kitchen was big enough for you to stand in without feeling cornered by him. He cared whether the street was quiet, whether the windows locked properly, whether the driveway had room, whether there was a bedroom that could someday, maybe, if you ever let it, belong to Beau.

Not soon. Maybe not for a long time. Maybe never, if you decided Pittsburgh was too far, decided he was too much, decided Beau should only ever know him in careful, supervised afternoons back in Halifax. Sidney made himself hold that possibility without cracking down the middle over it. Therapy helped with that. Barely. But it helped.

Still, he let himself imagine anyway.

Beau tearing down a hallway in dinosaur pajamas. You sitting on the edge of a bed reading him a story in a voice Sidney had loved since he was fifteen years old. Himself standing in the doorway, not intruding, just allowed. Just watching. Just learning how to be there.

He walked into one of the upstairs bedrooms and stood in the middle of it. Pale blue walls. A window looking out over the backyard. He could picture a small bed under it, maybe dinosaur sheets, maybe not, maybe Beau would've moved on to something else entirely by then, cars or space or some cartoon Sidney had never even heard of. Maybe he'd want nothing to do with any of it. Maybe he'd stand in this exact doorway someday, small and wary, and ask where his mama was.

He put in an offer the next morning.

He didn't call, because you didn't have a phone. That was the practical excuse. He didn't call because calling your parents' landline felt like stepping onto a live wire. That was the honest one. He didn't call because he was terrified he'd hear your voice and immediately ask for more than he had any right to. That was the one he never said out loud, not even to the therapist with the kind eyes.

Mike called bullshit.

They were in the temporary apartment when Mike came by to drop off Sam. Temporary was a generous word for it. There were boxes still sat stacked by the front door. Sam's bowls sat on a towel in the corner. His hockey bag leaned against the wall in the hallway like the only real sign that anyone actually lived there.

Sidney sat on the floor because the couch still felt too stiff. Sam had her head on his thigh, one paw twitching through some dream. Mike had come down partly because he was a good friend and partly, mostly, because he'd appointed himself in charge of making sure Sidney didn't vanish completely into whatever dark hole he was clearly building for himself one silent night at a time.

"You're being stupid," Mike said.

Sidney stared at the wall. "Thanks."

"No, I mean it. Fully stupid."

"I got that part."

"You have her parents' names. My parents know people who know them. Half of Cole Harbour knows the other half of Cole Harbour, Sid. Somebody could get you the landline in about ten minutes."

Sidney's hand kept moving slow over Sam's head. "And then what?"

"And then you call."

"She told me not to disappear."

"Exactly."

"She also told me to be patient."

Mike stared at him from the couch. "Calling a landline is not the same as breaking into her apartment through a window, man."

Sidney's jaw flexed.

Mike leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You're hiding behind careful."

That landed. Sidney glared at him.

"I'm not hiding."

"You are."

"I'm trying not to scare her."

"No," Mike said. "You're trying not to scare yourself."

Sidney looked away first.

Mike sighed. "Look. I'm not saying call and demand anything. I'm not saying call and ask when you can see him. I'm saying call and tell her you made it to Pittsburgh. That you're figuring things out. That you're not gone."

Sidney dragged both hands down his face, careful not to wake Sam. "What if her mom answers?"

"Then be polite."

"What if her dad answers?"

"Then be very polite."

Sidney gave him a flat look.

Mike shrugged. "Or let the man threaten you. Honestly, you've got a few of those coming."

"I know."

"I don't think you do."

Something shifted across Sidney's face. Mike saw it land wrong and decided he could be gentler. He hadn't meant to hurt him. But he'd been the one standing in that grocery store aisle. He'd seen Beau with his own eyes before Sidney had known a single thing. He'd watched your anger at Sidney's name. He'd carried all of it alone for days before anyone else caught up, and guilt had made him clumsy too, in his own way.

"I'm sorry," Mike said.

Sidney shook his head. "Don't."

"You don't need everybody taking a swing at you."

"I kind of do."

"No," Mike said, firmer now. "You don't. You need to get your head on straight."

Sidney let out a laugh with nothing funny in it. "Yeah. Sure."

"I'm serious."

"I know you are."

"So start somewhere."

Sidney looked around the apartment. Somewhere. That was the whole problem. Everything needed starting from scratch. His living situation. His relationship with his parents, which currently didn't exist. His relationship with Taylor. Mario and Nathalie, who he still couldn't think about for longer than a few seconds without feeling sick to his stomach. His agent. His own career, even, though that was the least of it. You. Beau.

He pressed the heel of his hand hard into one eye.

Mike's voice dropped low. "You thinking about him?"

Sidney didn't answer. He didn't need to.

Mike leaned back into the couch. "Yeah."

"I don't know how to do this."

"Nobody knows how to do this."

"That's not helpful."

"It's true, though."

"I'm supposed to be his dad," Sidney said, and his voice came out rough. "How am I supposed to do that from here?"

Mike's mouth twisted sideways. "Badly, at first."

Sidney looked at him.

"I'm not trying to be a dick," Mike said. "Okay, maybe a little. But you're gonna be bad at it, because everybody's bad at it at first. Difference is most guys get to be bad at it with a newborn who doesn't know any better. You're starting with a three year old who's already fully conscious."

Despite himself, Sidney's mouth twitched.

Mike pointed at him. "There it is. Almost a smile. Somebody mark the calendar."

"Shut up."

"Gladly. Right after you call her."

The almost-smile disappeared.

Mike groaned. "Dude."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"No, Mike," Sidney snapped, then dropped his voice fast when Sam's head popped up, ears half raised. He stroked her back down until she settled again. "I can't. Not yet."

Mike went quiet.

Sidney stared down at Sam's fur, hand moving without thinking. "If I call and she doesn't want to talk to me, I don't know what I do after that."

"You survive it."

"She shouldn't have to make me survive anything else."

Mike's expression shifted.

Sidney swallowed hard. "I already made this whole thing about me. I get that I didn't choose to not know, but that doesn't matter to her, does it. It's all the same for her. She was alone. She raised him alone. I don't get to just show up and start taking."

"So send a letter."

Sidney looked up.

Mike shrugged, like it was obvious. "You don't have to make her answer you in the moment. Send it to her parents' place. Or her apartment, if you know the address."

"I know the building."

"Of course you do."

Sidney sat with that a second.

A letter felt old fashioned. Maybe cowardly. Maybe just careful, or maybe both at once, no way to tell them apart from the inside. It would give you something you could hold in your hands, or tear up, or shove in a drawer and never open again. It would let him tell you he'd made it to Pittsburgh, that he wasn't gone, without you having to pick up a phone and hear his voice before you were ready to.

"What would I even say?"

Mike gave him a look. "Sid. I know you've been mentally writing this letter since the second you found out."

That was probably true. He'd been drafting a thousand versions of it in his head for weeks.

I'm sorry.

I know I'm not supposed to say sorry too many times.

I got to Pittsburgh.

Sam came with Mike.

I keep thinking about pancakes because your mom told me Beau likes them.

I don't know how to be here when you're there.

I want to do this right.

I don't know what right even is.

Please tell Beau I said hi.

No. Too much. Don't put Beau's name in it yet. 

I'm not gone.

That was the only piece of it that actually mattered. Everything else was noise around that one true thing.

Sidney stood up so fast Sam startled awake, head shooting up, ears half raised, blinking at him.

"Sorry, girl," he murmured, dropping a hand to her head.

Mike watched him. "Where are you going?"

"To find paper."

"You own paper?"

Sidney stopped mid-step. They both looked around the apartment at the same time. He did not, in fact, own paper.

Mike sighed and got to his feet. "I'll drive."

They ended up at a pharmacy, because apparently the first written word from Sidney Crosby to the mother of his child, after four stolen years and the discovery of a lifetime, would be drafted on a legal pad picked up next to the toothpaste and the discount sunscreen. Mike found the envelopes. Sidney stood too long in front of a half-cleared display of Father's Day cards, leftovers nobody had bothered pulling from the shelves.

World's Best Dad.

Dad, You're My Hero.

For the Man Who Taught Me Everything.

Sidney stared until the words blurred into nothing but blurs. Mike appeared at his elbow and quietly took the legal pad out of his hand before he could crush it in his fist.

"Come on," he said.

Sidney nodded and followed him out.

Back at the apartment, he sat at the kitchen counter for almost two hours. Mike kept the TV low in the living room. Sam settled at Sidney's feet, sensing something in him worth staying close for. He wrote three versions.

The first ran too long, spilled everywhere, dragged in his whole childhood, your relationship, the draft, the phone, Ottawa, Pittsburgh, the night he'd driven around Cole Harbour with the truth burning a hole through him, Beau's sleeping face in the backseat of his car. It felt like bleeding straight onto the page and asking you to help him one last time so he tore it out.

The second came out too careful. The kind of thing an agent might have approved before it went out. It sounded like a statement, not a man. He tore that one out too.

The third was short. He sat with it a long time after he finished, just looking at it. Then he folded it before he could ruin it by reading it one more time. He didn't send it that night. Cowardice again, maybe. Or maybe just that he didn't own a single stamp. Or maybe because once it left his hands and reached yours, there was no taking it back.

He set it on the counter next to his keys.

Sam sniffed at it, curious.

"Don't eat that," he muttered.

She wagged her tail once, mildly offended by the accusation.

He slept badly that night, and it became the pattern. Pittsburgh resumed around him and Sidney didn't resume with it. Team training started up. Informal skates. Gym sessions. Medical check ins. Equipment fittings. Familiar hallways, familiar noise, the sound of pucks off boards, guys chirping each other across the room, somebody laughing too loud at nothing, somebody asking how his summer went, someone making a joke about the Cup day, about his birthday, about whether Cole Harbour had finally recovered from the Crosby parade.

Sidney smiled when he was supposed to. Answered what he was asked. Skated. Shot. Worked. But hockey, for the first time in his entire life, felt like something standing between him and the rest of himself, and that scared him more than anything else had in weeks. Hockey had always been the simplest thing in his life. You worked, you got better, you won or you lost, and the pressure meant you mattered somewhere in the world. As a kid the rink had been the one place everything narrowed down into something he actually understood. Edges. Breath. Hands. Vision. Want.

Now he stepped onto the ice and thought about you only weeks pregnant on the night of his first preseason game, sitting alone in your room while he skated a thousand miles away with no idea. He took a faceoff and wondered if his son's hand had ever curled around one of your fingers in a hospital room he'd never seen. He taped his stick and thought of the little plastic one Beau might have. He heard a teammate complain about being tired and thought about you at nineteen, pacing your apartment at two in the morning, begging a baby to sleep. He saw fathers pressed up against the glass with their kids at practice and had to look away every time.

The game hadn't done this to him. He knew that much. Hockey hadn't stolen his phone. Hockey hadn't typed those words. Hockey hadn't blocked your number or convinced your mother he should be kept away. But hockey had been the god everyone around him sacrificed things to, his future, his focus, his image, his path forward. He hated that. Hated that something he'd genuinely loved his whole life had been used as the excuse for tearing apart something that might have mattered more.

Sam stayed close through the nights he cried, which was most of them. He cried for you at eighteen, alone with a positive test and no one to call. He cried for Beau being born into a room Sidney should have been standing in. He cried for the first time Beau said mama and meant, a moment Sidney would never get to have witnessed. He cried for every year he'd spent in arenas full of people screaming his name while, somewhere else entirely, his son learned to walk without him in the room. He cried for Taylor because he missed her and couldn't call. He cried for his mother because he didn't know how to love her right now. He cried for his father because some kid part of him still wanted Troy to say he was sorry and make it all better.

It couldn't go back. That was the wall he kept slamming into, over and over, no matter which direction he tried to come at it from. No matter what he did now, no matter how careful or patient or good he managed to be, he couldn't go back. Couldn't hold your hand in a doctor's office he'd never been in. Couldn't rub your back through morning sickness he'd never witnessed. Couldn't hear Beau's first cry. Couldn't sit in a hospital chair with a newborn weight against his chest and say, hi, buddy, I'm your dad.

He couldn't go back. The best he could do was not run forward so fast he ruined what was left.  That turned out to be harder than anything hockey had ever asked of him, because what he actually needed was four years back. He needed to go back to Ottawa and keep his phone in his own hand. He needed to read your text himself and answer it himself. He needed to call you and be terrified right alongside you instead of finding out years too late. He needed to hear you cry and be the one to say okay, okay, we'll figure it out, I've got you. He needed Beau as a newborn against his chest. He needed to know if his son's hand had ever fit around one of his fingers. He needed to know what you'd craved when you were pregnant, what songs you'd hummed to your own belly at night, every ultrasound, every appointment, every three a.m. feeding, every fight the two of you would've had because babies were hard and you were young and he'd have been gone too much even if he'd tried his best.

He needed the impossible and he kept needing it anyway.

~

You were in the middle of a haircut when your mom called the salon.

Not called you, because you still didn't have a phone, an increasingly ridiculous detail in the ongoing tragedy of your life. She called the front desk, and your coworker Jenna came over to your station with the cordless pressed to her shoulder, eyebrows already up near her hairline.

"It's your mom."

You froze with the scissors still in your hand.

Your client, Mrs. Donnelly, caught your eyes in the mirror. "Everything all right, dear?"

"Yeah," you said quickly, setting the scissors down on the counter. "Sorry. One second."

Jenna mouthed, You want me to finish?

You shook your head and took the phone.

"Mom?"

"Nothing's wrong," she said immediately which made it worse.

Your knees nearly buckled with relief and irritation at the exact same time. "Jesus, don't do that to me."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"What happened?"

"A letter came."

The salon fell away from you completely. The blow dryers dulled to a wind somewhere far off. The hairspray and shampoo and hot flatiron smell faded out of your senses like someone had turned a dial. You watched your own face go blank in the mirror in front of you.

"A letter," you repeated.

"Yes."

"From him?"

"Yes."

Your fingers tightened around the phone hard enough to hurt. Mrs. Donnelly, bless her, suddenly found the magazine in her lap fascinating. Jenna hovered two stations down, pretending not to hover at all.

"What does it say?"

"I didn't open it."

"I know, but the envelope."

"It's addressed to you."

"At your house?"

"Yes."

You closed your eyes. He hadn't called. He hadn't forced your parents into being messengers in some pressured, awful moment. He'd written it down instead. Careful, maybe. Cowardly, maybe. Or both, tangled together the way most of his choices seemed to be lately.

"You want me to bring it by?" your mom asked.

You glanced at the clock. Three more clients this afternoon. Beau needed picking up at five. There were towels tumbling in the dryer and rent due Friday, and somewhere in the states Sidney Crosby had mailed you a letter like it was 1942 and your heart was the single most inconvenient organ on the planet.

"No," you said. "I'll come get it after work."

"All right."

"Don't read it."

"I won't."

"Don't let Dad read it either."

"He won't."

"Mom."

"He won't," she said again, softer this time. "I promise you."

You nodded, even though she obviously couldn't see it.

"How are you holding up?" she asked.

You let out a small, humorless laugh. "I'm doing haircuts right now, so, dangerous question to ask a girl."

"Fair."

"I have to go."

"Okay, sweetheart."

You handed the phone back to Jenna, who gave you one long look. "You okay?"

"Nope."

"Cool. Coffee?"

"After Mrs. Donnelly, assuming I don't cut bangs I'll regret for the rest of her natural life."

Mrs. Donnelly lowered her magazine just enough to peer over the top of it. "Take your time, dear. At my age, a little suspense is good for the circulation."

You laughed, because honestly, what else was there to do?

You finished the haircut. Then the next one. Then a trim for a teenager who wanted layers but not too many layers and absolutely, under no circumstances, wanted to lose any length. You swept hair off the floor. You smiled at the right moments. You booked next appointments. You pretended your whole body wasn't focused on an envelope sitting on your parents' kitchen counter waiting for you.

When you picked Beau up from daycare, he came barreling out with a construction paper crown on his head and glitter bits stuck to his cheek.

"Mama!"

"Hi, baby."

"I made a crown."

"I see that."

"I'm a king."

"Of course you are."

"King Beau."

"Very fancy."

He threw himself into your arms and you caught him with a grunt, lifting him onto your hip. "Oh my God, you're getting heavy."

"I'm growing."

"Stop that."

"No."

"Rude."

He grinned up at you, delighted with himself. "Can we see Nana?"

You hesitated then you looked at his face, at the glitter and the crooked crown and the total certainty in him that of course you'd say yes, and you understood there was no version of this afternoon where you walked into your parents' house without him. Beau was part of this. Not the letter, exactly, but the life in it, yes. Always yes.

"Yeah," you said. "We can see Nana."

"And Papa?"

"And Papa."

"Can I bring my crown?"

"Obviously. Kings need crowns."

Your dad had the door open before you even knocked, because Beau announced himself from the walkway at a volume that carried clear down the street.

"Papa! I'm royalty!"

Your dad gasped like he'd been personally struck. "Your Majesty."

Beau held out one hand, palm down, waiting. Your dad, a man who had sworn up and down he'd never be one of those grandparents, bent at the waist and kissed his knuckles with a loud smooch.

You stared at him. "Seriously?"

He looked up, unbothered. "Show some respect. We're in the presence of the crown."

Beau nodded, grave as a judge. "Yes, Mama."

"Unbelievable."

Your mom appeared in the doorway behind him and the sight of her made you nervous because she had the envelope in her hand. Plain white. Your name across the front. His handwriting. You knew the slight lean to the letters before you ever got your hands on it. The way he wrote your name like he was concentrating hard on getting it right. You hadn't seen his handwriting in years, not outside old birthday cards and notes shoved into the garbage bag at the back of your childhood closet, the ones you'd never had the heart to burn.

Your mom didn't hand it over right away. She waited until your dad had lured Beau off with the promise of juice and a snack, and only then did she step toward you and hold it out. You took it like it might scorch you on contact. The paper felt heavier in your hand than it should have. Or maybe that was just you.

"You can read it here," your mom said. "Or take it home with you."

You stared down at your own name in his handwriting.

"Here," you said.

She nodded and let you go.

You went out to the back porch.

It had always been your thinking place. At fifteen you'd sat out here after Sidney asked you out for the first time. At eighteen you'd avoided it entirely, because the porch reminded you too much of waiting for a phone that wasn't going to ring. When Beau was a newborn you'd stood out here in the freezing dark for thirty seconds at a stretch, just to breathe air that didn't smell like babies. Now you sat down on the steps with Sidney's letter in your lap. You opened the envelope slowly, like it might tear if you rushed it. One page. Blue ink.

You stared at the first line a long time before you let yourself actually read it.

I got to Pittsburgh.

That was it. That was the whole first sentence.

You pressed your lips together hard.

I don't want this letter to ask anything from you, so I'm going to try hard not to. I just wanted you to know I got here, and I'm not gone. I know those are two different things.

You breathed in shakily.

Sam is with me. Mike says she slept almost the whole way and then acted like she did all the work once they got here.

A laugh broke out of you at the thought of his dog before you could stop it, sudden enough that you had to cover your mouth with your free hand.

I'm in an apartment right now. It's temporary. I'm looking for somewhere more permanent. I'm trying to make sure my life has room before I ask for any place in yours.

Your eyes blurred.

I don't know what the right pace is. I don't know what to say to Beau, or when I'm allowed to say anything to him at all. I don't know how to do this without making it harder on you. I'm scared of doing it wrong. I'm scared of doing nothing and having that be wrong too.

You wiped at your cheek with the back of your hand.

I keep thinking about what you said. If I'm scared, I call. If I don't know what to do, I say that. I don't have a number to call, so I'm saying it here instead.

I'm scared and I don't know what to do but I'm here. I always will be

The last line sat by itself at the very bottom of the page.

Sid.

Not Sidney.

Sid.

Your very best friend. You folded the letter carefully along the creases his own hands had made. Then you unfolded it and read the whole thing again. And again. And again, until you could hear his voice reading through every sentence like he was sitting right beside you on the step.

Your mom came out onto the porch a while later. She didn't ask what it said. She sat down next to you with a cup of tea in one hand and a juice box in the other, handed you the tea, set the juice box on the step for whenever Beau inevitably came looking for it, and turned her face out toward the yard. You held the letter in your lap.

"He says he's scared," you said.

Her eyes softened.

"He says he doesn't know what to do."

"That sounds honest."

You nodded.

"He says he's not gone."

Your mom took a slow breath in.

Inside the house, Beau's voice rang out. "Nana, where are you?"

"Porch," she called back.

A second later the screen door banged open and Beau came out with his crown listing sideways off his head and a cracker clutched in one fist.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Having tea," your mom said.

He eyed her cup. "I don't like tea."

"You haven't tried this tea."

"I don't like that tea."

You smiled despite everything.

He saw the letter in your lap. "What's that?"

Your fingers tightened around it. Your mom went very still beside you, waiting, giving you nothing but room. You looked at your son and understood that you didn't have to hand him everything today. You didn't have to make this moment bigger than his small shoulders could hold up under. You didn't have to say the word father. You could start small and let the rest come later. Five minutes at a time. That was all anyone was asking of you. That was all you had to give right now.

"A letter," you said.

"From who?"

You swallowed hard.

"From Sid."

Recognition lit up his whole face. "Your best friend?"

"Yeah," you said softly. "My best friend."

He nodded and leaned his weight against your knee. "What'd he say?"

You looked down at the page. Then at your mother. Then back at your son's waiting face.

"He said he got home safe."

"Oh," Beau said, satisfied. "That's good."

"Yeah," you whispered. "That's good."

Beau grabbed the juice box off the step and climbed into your lap without asking because he never asked. He was getting too big for this too and neither you nor anyone with a soul was ever going to be the one to tell him that. You wrapped an arm around him, the letter still held careful in your other hand.

The porch boards were warm under your bare feet. Your mom sat quiet beside you. Your dad yelled something from inside about King Beau abandoning his kingdom and someone needing to explain the resulting constitutional crisis.

Beau hollered back, "I'm busy!"

You laughed for the first time all day.

—

previous part | part one

[durandiaries]

jarren smut with a when did you get hot by sabrina carpenter vibe

oh i luhv this idea 😛

Since When?

pairing: jarren duran x fem!reader

summary: catching up with her old friends led her to a shocking realization. the short awkward boy from high school —who used to have a crush on her— is no longer short or awkward. he’s actually really hot.

warnings: SMUT (read at your own risk), masturbation? kind of, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v (smd), choking, overstimulation, porn with a cutie patootie plot, no use of y/n.

a/n: small break in the series bc my smau apps want to test my patience. anyways i love this song so much. never thought this man was ugly, but he def daddy now 😛

It had been a hot minute since she’d been back home. She loved California, obviously, but work kept her from going back as often as she liked. Fortunately, she had a week off to spend in her hometown. She decided to meet up with a couple of her friends from high school for dinner, Meg and Casey. They were possibly the cutest couple she had ever seen. They were recently engaged as well, so that was all the more reason to take them out to dinner.

What she didn’t expect, was the text she got from Meg a couple hours before,

Don’t hate us, but Casey invited another old friend

Why would I hate you guys? The more the merrier!

She sent the text as she was finishing tugging her skirt on. She walks over and grabs her black heels —the ones she always saved for nice dinners—and starts slipping into those. Her phone buzzes with another text from Meg.

Uh…well…it’s one of Casey’s old friends, I should say.

They’ve been out golfing all day and he just invited him without running it by me or you.

I still am not seeing the issue here 🧍‍♀️

She taps her finger on the side of her phone as she watches the typing bubbles dance in front of her.

It’s Jarren

She freezes. She hadn’t heard that name in years. Last she heard was that he got into some school in Long Beach for baseball then got drafted. Which, was a shock to her. She didn’t really keep up with baseball, so she never really thought about him. Well, until now.

Jarren?? As in Jarren Duran?? That awkward little short kid who was obsessed with me??

Yeah…like I said, please don’t hate us!!

Look, he’s changed. A LOT. And I’m sure he’s gotten over his little crush. Just, please don’t be mad.

She huffs, turning her phone off and shoving it in her purse.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” She grabs her keys and starts heading towards her car.

The restaurant was pretty calm when she walked in. She looked around before her eyes settled on a back booth. Meg waved her down with a big smile. She immediately runs over to Meg and pulls her into a hug.

“Ugh! It’s so good to see you!” Meg says, giving her one more squeeze before pulling back. “Casey and Jarren should be here any minute.” She smiles through her annoyance and sits down. She was hoping to just have a nice dinner without disruption. But, of course, she can never win. She talked to Meg for a few more minutes before Meg’s gaze shifts.

She smiles and flags someone down again.

“They’re here!” She looks over her shoulder towards the entrance. She sees Casey walking over. Then, her gaze shifts. Her eyes almost shoot out of her head as she looks at the man walking next to Casey.

“Who is that?” She says. Meg laughs and looks at her as if it were a dumb question.

“Jarren.” Meg grins as she sees her friend’s flushed face.

“Since when?” Meg tries to hold back her laughter, but ends up letting a small giggle slip out.

“Told you…he’s changed a lot.” And boy did he. The man was now taller than Casey with a lot more muscle than she remembered. He was covered in tattoos and now had some hair on his face. She could tell that he had grown his hair out. He walked with a lot more confidence than she remembered. She immediately turned back to face Meg, doing her best to fix her flushed expression.

“Holy shit…” She mutters under her breath. Casey and Jarren finally make it to the table. Casey immediately greets his fiancee with a kiss and then turns to her.

“Well, look who it is” She finally fixes her face and stands up to offer a friendly hug.

“Hey, Case” Casey gives her a friendly pat on the back, before pulling away and sliding into the seat next to Meg. She turns and nearly runs into the wall of muscle behind her. His hands come up, hovering to make sure she didn’t fall. There goes her face flushing again. He grins, lowering his hands as he gets a good look at her.

“Hey, you” The feeling of tilting her head to look at him was new. But, she can’t lie, it felt good. How was this the same kid who would blush every time he was around her? Now, there was no sign of a blush. Just a grin that showed her he knew how good he looked. He also knew the effect he was having on her.

“Hey, yourself” She finally pulls herself together and offers a friendly smile. He gives her an appreciative once over before crossing his arms.

“Wow. I swear, you got even more stunning.” The words went straight to her core. She internally scolded herself. There was no way that Jarren was having this effect on her right now.

“And you…look different.” She lets out a flustered laugh. He just shrugs.

“Different good or different bad?” He teases. Meg clears her throat and both of them turn to look at her.

“Can you two finish this conversation sitting down?” Her friend awkwardly nods before taking her seat. Jarren slides right in next to her. He doesn’t even think twice before spreading his legs under the table and knocking knees with her. He just leans back and smirks. He knew good and damn well what he was doing.

The night begins and it’s going well for the most part. The only problem is Mr. Sex on legs who was sitting right beside her. Every time he would lean forward, his leg would bump hers under the table. Every time she spoke, his eyes were locked on her face. Every time he made a joke, he would look over at her to see if she was laughing. Meg was so wrong. His crush didn’t go away, he just finally grew up and learned how to make a woman’s thighs clench.

“So, how have you been, beautiful?” Jarren leans closer to her as he asks the question. Here she goes again squeezing her thighs. His voice somehow got hotter as well, making her think certain thoughts.

“Pretty good” She answers simply. “How’s baseball?” She asks, trying to keep a casual conversation.

“It’s good. Not my best season, but I’ll be better next season.” His bicep was now grazing her arm as they lean against the table. Holy shit his arms were huge now. So were his legs. It made her mind go to what else was big…

“I’m sure you did great. I remember how good you were at it.” She smiles, playfully bumping his shoulder with hers. A flash of his old self came back and she could see a faint blush paint his cheeks. Instead of getting quiet though, he leaned in a little closer.

“You should come watch me play sometime. I’m a lot better now than I was in high school” Thank God Meg and Casey were too wrapped up in each other. Because, the way her and Jarren looked, it looked like they were about ready to tear each other’s clothes off.

“I’d like that” He grins at her words.

“Yeah? You finally ready to give me a shot?” He teases. She laughs and rolls her eyes.

“No…it’s just me being a supportive friend.” She looks down at her water glass and traces the rim.

“Mhm…” He leans back a little and looks over her face. He leans back in again, his grin never faltering. “I’m a little different now, gorgeous. I’m sure I’d know how to handle you.” Her face flushes again and she can feel her panties soaking under her skirt. She turns and raises her eyebrows at him.

“Is that so? I don’t know about that…” She teases. Jarren could see it in the way her pupils were dilated. He knew she saw him differently now, and he was going to use the hell out of it. I mean, it’s not every day your old crush eye fucks you.

“How about you find out for yourself” That did it for her. Her confidence didn’t falter, but she knew she needed a second. She suddenly felt claustrophobic in the small booth. She gently taps his arm.

“I need to use the restroom” She motions for him to let her out. His arm flexes under her touch and he just stares at her for a second. He finally gets up and lets her out. Not before “accidentally” grazing her arm with his. She bolts to the bathroom and finds the farthest stall from the door. This was ridiculous, he barely said anything to her and she was clenching her thighs together.

She ends up hiking up her skirt and pulling her panties down to the middle of her thighs. She braces herself against the stall with one of her hands before reaching down to run a finger through her slit. She gasps when she feels how wet she was.

“Fuck” She groans. There was no way that Jarren Duran, of all people, got her this wet from doing so little. She can’t help it though. Her mind kept drifting back to his arms. How big they were, how the one felt against hers, how she would absolutely love if one of his biceps was wrapped around her throat from behind. “God damn it” She mumbles.

Her fingers find her clit before she could even think twice. She starts rubbing slow circles, biting down on her lip to control the noises she wanted to make. She let the thoughts come as they pleased. Thinking about how she wanted Jarren to absolutely ra-

“Are you in here?” Meg had called out her friend’s name from the other side of the stall door. She quickly yanked her fingers away from herself. She tugs her panties back up and pulls her skirt down.

“Yeah! Just…fixing a wardrobe malfunction!” She unlocks the stall door and opens it, finding Meg standing there with a concerned look.

“You okay? You look flushed. Are you sick?” Her hand immediately goes to her friend’s forehead. She’s quick to remove Meg’s hand.

“I’m fine. I just needed to fix my thong.” She lies. Meg laughs and shrugs.

“That’s real” They both laugh as they start walking out of the bathroom. They head back to the table where the boys were waiting. She tried her best to avoid Jarren’s gaze. Though, it’s hard to do that when he’s sitting right next to her. Jarren noticed immediately.

He always had a knack for reading her. Mainly because, that’s all he could ever do for years. It’s not like he ever had the courage to do much else. He knocks her shoulder with his when he slides back into the booth.

“Everything okay, pretty?” There goes her composure. Still, she schools her emotions and nods. She still doesn’t look at him, making him want to press even more. He leans in a little closer, nose brushing her ear. “Anything I can help with?” She had to bite back a moan. His voice was so sexy. And so was everything else, but his voice especially.

The way he would say things and flirt with her made her want to pounce on him. He knew how to flirt with a woman now. Which, would only get her in more trouble. Though, she did always like trouble. She also hadn’t gotten laid in a while. Maybe she should give him a shot…see what all he had learned over the years.

“Probably not.” She finally gains some confidence back and sips her water. She turns to him and smirks. “You know…since you’ve definitely grown out of your crush.” He lets out a laugh and leans back a bit. His eyes take over her and he shakes his head.

“Never said that.” He leans back in, voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s actually gotten worse. Especially seeing you in this skirt” She raises her eyebrows.

“Really?” She asks in a teasing tone. He bites his lip and nods.

“Oh yeah. It’s making me feel like a teenage boy again” He jokes. She laughs a little.

“Yeah…a horny teenage boy” It slips out before she can think and she just burst into laughter. “I’m sorry” He laughs a little and shakes his head.

“Don’t be. That was funny.” As she comes down from her fit of laughter, his hand cautiously slides on to her thigh under the table. He hovers for a second, waiting for her to push him away. When she doesn’t, he lets himself touch her, making his grip firm. “And you weren’t wrong” He whispers. He feels the tightening of her legs under his hand and just grins.

“Oh yeah?” She asks. She quickly looks over at Meg and Casey to make sure they were still talking (they were) and then turns back to Jarren. “Where’s that shy kid who couldn’t even form a sentence around me?” She picks, poking his shoulder teasingly. He just shrugs.

“He grew up. He realized that being shy didn’t get him the girl. So, he’s trying a different approach this time around.” Her teasing grin drops to a flustered smile. She tilts her head as she looks at him.

“You could get any girl you want now…and you still want me?” She lets out a soft laugh. He just shrugs.

“Why would I give up on my dream girl?” He says low. Despite all the teasing banter, and even his hand on her thigh, that was the hottest thing he had said all night. It wasn’t because he was cocky or flirty with it. It was because she could tell he genuinely meant it. Deep down, he was still the same kid who crushed on her. The same kid who she now realized…was always kind of cute.

“Did you um…” Her voice drops a bit “Did you want to get out of here?” She noticed how his pupils dilated. He gives her thigh a little squeeze and nods. He leans close to whisper in her ear.

“I’ll leave first” He pulls back and she nods. He pats her thigh one last time before pulling his hand away. He turns to Meg and Casey who were still mid conversation. “Alright, I’m out.”

“Really? I thought we could go find a bar or something” Casey says. Jarren just shrugs.

“Sorry man, you know how it is. Work out in the morning.” He nods to Meg. “Good to see you” He turns back to her. “I had a good time catching up with you, beautiful.” He gives her a little wink before standing up. He gives the table one final wave before walking towards the door. Everyone else just shrugs it off and continues their conversation.

After around ten minutes, she looks at her phone. She starts gathering her things.

“I should probably get going.” Meg’s eyebrows knit together.

“What? Really? You too? What happened to the reunion??” Meg asks her friend. She just laughs and walks around to wrap her arm around her neck.

“I’m here the whole week, babes. Just text me.” She presses joking kiss to Meg’s head and waves at Casey. “Love you two, talk to you guys later!” Then, she’s bolting for the door. She didn’t think to ask which car was Jarren’s. So, she spent the better half of her time in the parking lot walking around like an idiot. Then, a truck pulls up next to her.

Jarren had leaned over the center console to throw the door open for her. She doesn’t think twice before climbing in.

“So…where am I taking you?” He asks. “I mean…my place isn’t far, but I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” Some of the old Jarren had crept up the second she climbed into his truck. His ears were a little pink and he was fidgeting in his seat. She thought it was the cutest thing ever. She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek before pulling back.

“Your place sounds perfect.” Jarren’s confidence came back hearing her words and his lips curve back into that mischievous smirk. He waste no time shifting the gears and booking it out of the parking lot. He definitely was breaking a few traffic laws, but he couldn’t care less. He had his old crush in his truck and was taking her back to his place. The man was excited, and he didn’t care how it looked.

They pull into his apartment building and get out of the truck. He takes her hand and guides her up the stairs. When they make it to his door, he has to play off the fact he almost dropped his keys. It’s not like he’s never brought a girl back to his place before. He’s just never brought this girl back. The girl that he literally compared every other girl to (hence why he was still single). When he pushes the door open, he lets her walk in first.

The tension from the restaurant was still there, but Jarren didn’t quite know what her intentions were. She walks around a little, just looking around. Some of his nerves creep back up and he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Sorry, it’s a mess. I didn’t plan to have anyone over.” He laughs awkwardly. She turns to look at him and smiles. God, he was cute when he was all nervous. She felt like an absolute idiot for not seeing it sooner.

“It’s fine” She drops her purse and takes a few steps towards him. “So…what’s the plans?” He chokes up a little, stuttering as she got closer. He wondered where his confidence went. He had enough to get her here, but the closer she got, the more he felt like the same awkward kid.

“Uh…I didn’t really think that far ahead…” He laughs. She smiles at his nervousness. She finally closed the distance and rested her hands on his broad shoulders.

“You sure you didn’t?” She asks, almost as a whisper. His breath hitches and his eyes darken. He was holding back so much out of respect for her. He refused to fuck it up with her. However, the look she was giving him right now made all of that control snap.

“Fuck it” He says before grabbing her waist and pulling her flush against him. He crashes his lips to hers in a heated kiss and backs her into the nearest wall. She moans against his lips as her back hits the wall and her hands trail up to his curls. He bends a little, without breaking the kiss, to hoist her up by the backs of her thighs and wrap her legs around his waist. He pushes her farther up the wall as their tongues tangle.

His lips trail from her lips to her jaw, then, to her neck. He nips at the spot that made her gasp and tilt her head back. He pulls back to look her over. His expression could only be described as pure awe.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamed about this” He laughs, she does too. She bites her lip as her thumb runs along his jawline.

“What else did you dream about?” She asks teasingly. He grins and turns to carry her towards his room.

“I could tell you…” He says before pushing the door open. He walks a few more steps before dropping her down onto the mattress. “But, I think I’d rather just show you” He says as he hovers over her. He doesn’t give her any time to respond before his lips are on hers again. His hips started pressing into hers, his erection prominent through his jeans.

She moans against his lips at the friction. Just like that, her panties were soaked again. He pulls back and tugs his shirt off, giving her the perfect view of his chest. She had to bite back the moan that wanted to come out. He was definitely built a little different now. Her hands come up to gently run over his chest. Jarren shivers a bit under her touch before trapping her hands and pinning them to the mattress.

“We’ll have time for that later” He gives her another searing kiss before pulling back and resting his forehead against hers. “I need to taste you” He kisses her again before trailing his lips down her body. He kisses over her top, stopping just at the hem of her shirt and above the waistband of her skirt. He looks up at her, as if asking for permission. When she nods, he waste no time yanking it down along with her panties.

Jarren stands back and just looks down at her. It looks like he was ready to devour her (he was). He slowly kneels down and grabs her legs, placing them on his shoulders. He slowly trails kisses up her thighs until he’s hovering near where she needed him most.

“So fuckin’ pretty” He murmurs before leaning forward and licking a long strip through her folds. She jolts a little at the contact before relaxing back into the bed. He grins against her before doing it again. He starts off slow, testing the waters and learning what makes her moan just a little louder. When he gets it down, he starts going all in. He began to eat her as if she were his last meal.

Her fingers grip his hair as she moans uncontrollably. She started squirming a little as he added more pressure to her clit. His left hand comes up to splay across her stomach and pin her down. She has no choice but to just lay there and take it now. When he adds his fingers, oh it was game over. He plunges two fingers into her pussy, curling them just right to hit that spot that made her scream. He grinned against her when he drew a particularly loud moan from her.

“Come on, baby. Cum on my face. Make a mess for me.” He spoke into her pussy. She was happy to oblige. Her fingers tugged at his hair as she arched off the bed, letting her orgasm take over. He didn’t let up, letting her ride out her high. When she finally came down, he pulled away. He pulled his fingers out, licking them clean as he looked down at her. “That’s my girl”

He helps get rid herself of her shirt and bra before shoving his jeans and boxers down. He kisses his way back up her body before lining himself up with her entrance. He pushes inside of her with a groan. His head drops to her shoulder as he bottoms out.

“Shit. So tight, baby” He kisses over her collar bone as he gives her time to adjust. When he feels enough time had passed, he starts thrusting slowly. “Perfect fuckin’ pussy. Fuck, I knew you’d feel good” He murmured into her collarbone. Soft moans fell from her lips as he fucked her slow. He wanted to take his time with her. He finally got to fuck his crush, do you really think he’d rush this?

“Fuck” She moans out, almost as a whisper. That was his cue to start thrusting a little harder. He begins hitting a little deeper with each hard thrust, drawing more and more sounds from her. He loved hearing the noises she made. It made him want to go all night with her…which, is exactly what he planned to do. He hiked her legs up higher on his waist as he drove even deeper into her.

“You like that, baby? That feel good?” He asks, watching her face contort in pleasure. She nods.

“Yes…” She manages out through her moans. He grins, loving how desperate she sounded. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t have been so slow. He’d be chasing his own release and then calling it a night. However, with her, he loved the little whimper she let out right before she came the first time. He wanted to hear that sound all night. So what if he didn’t get to cum?

“You’re so pretty like this. Taking my dick like you were made for it.” He reaches down to rub slow circles on her clit, matching his thrust. For such a slow pace, he sure was making her feel so good. He was hitting spots she didn’t even realize she had, causing her to dig her nails into his arms. “You’re so close, baby. I can feel it. Come on, beautiful. Give me another one”

She only needed a few more of his thrust before she was tightening around him and letting another orgasm tare through. His thrusts don’t falter as she rides out her second orgasm. After she comes down from this one, he pulls out. She was about to ask if he came, but he had her flipped over before she could say anything. He lifted her hips, putting her ass in the air, and knelt behind her on the bed.

“You didn’t think I was done with you, did you?” He pushes inside of her again. This time, a little rougher. “We gotta make up for lost time, baby.“ He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a punishing pace this time. She buries her face into the mattress as he plows into her. This was a world away from the gentle sex they just had. This time, he was harder, faster, and definitely rougher.

He didn’t like that he couldn’t hear her. That was the whole reason he wanted to keep going. He wraps his arm around her neck, pulling her back up to press against his chest. His bicep was around her throat, not squeezing, just holding her in place as he fucked her.

“Let me hear you, baby. Let me know how good I’m fucking you.” He says low into her ear. She was moaning uncontrollably now. She couldn’t form words as he fucked up into her. He reached around and started rubbing her sensitive clit again. “All that time that was wasted. All those years we could’ve spent doing this. Fuck, baby. Why’d you have to be such a stubborn little brat?”

His words only added to the building pleasure. She was close to another orgasm. By now, she wasn’t even sure she could come again. Of course, Jarren had proved her wrong, fucking her through her third of the night. He released her neck, letting her gently fall back to the mattress. He lets her catch her breath again, but that didn’t last for long. He pulled out again and flipped her back over on to her back.

“One more, baby. I know you can do it” She doesn’t really have time to protest. In a flash, one of her legs is over his shoulder and he’s plunging into her again. She cries out, feeling the overstimulation kicking in. Her pussy was so sensitive right now, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was making her cum again and again. He would stay balls deep in her all night if he could.

He starts fucking her in the same brutal pace that he just did. He doesn’t even need to touch her clit this time before she’s clamping down on him. He still does though.

“So good, baby. You feel so fuckin’ good.” He feels his own orgasm approaching, so he speeds up his movements a little. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. Cum with me, baby. Come on.” She shakes her head.

“Fuck- I can’t” She cries out, he just adds more pressure to her clit.

“I know you can, sweet girl. Give me one more, baby. Then, I’ll cum inside you. You want that? Want me to fill you up? Make you mine?” His dirty words drive her to the edge.

“Shit- Yes! God- Fuck- Please!” She grips the sheets as her last orgasm approaches. When she does finally let go, she swears she saw stars. He fucks her through it, chasing his own release.

“That’s my girl. Fuck, gonna cum. Gonna fill this pussy. You’re fuckin’ mine now.” He only needs a few more thrusts before she feels him twitch inside her. He fills her up with a loud groan. He lets her leg fall off of his shoulder and drops his head to her chest. He trails kisses along her breast and collarbone as they come down from their high. She sighs, letting her fingers gently scratch the back of his head.

Jarren pulls back and smiles down at her. He leans forward and gives her a sweet kiss on her lips.

“So…” He says pulling away. “Do I get a chance now?” She just lets out a laugh.

“I’ll think about it…” She teases. He raises his eyebrows.

“Think about it?” She sees the look in his eyes and immediately regrets saying it (not really). He pulls out of her and flips her over again, giving her ass a firm smack.

“Guess I’ll just keep going until it’s a yes.”

Oh shit…she was in for it now.

🏷️ @whiskey-princ3ss @daddyduran-blog @duranhq @jarrensweb @wildecat1996 @duranjarren @iheartbigmuscles @quinninthedepthsofhell @goalperfetti @jarrensgirl @xoxo-aubs

[cherrymemoir]

Pulse

Quinn Hughes x reader

Summary: He falls first, you let yourself feel it… until Quinn signs a transfer without a word. Hearts break, secrets surface, and just when you think it’s over, life throws a new pulse your way.

╰┈➤ ☽ Chapter 1 ☾

╰┈➤ ☽ Chapter 2 ☾

╰┈➤ ☽ Chapter 3 ☾

╰┈➤ ☽ Chapter 4 ☾

╰┈➤ ☽ Chapter 5 ☾

╰┈➤ ☽ Chapter 6 ☾

╰┈➤ ☽ Chapter 7 ☾

╰┈➤ ☽ Chapter 8 ☾

╰┈➤ ☽ Chapter 9 ☾

╰┈➤ ☽ Chapter 10 ☾

[lee-laurent]

Playoff Bound -- John Marino

Summary: only girlfriends and wives get WAG jackets and elise definitely, DEFINITELY wasn't john's girlfriend

content: situationship, miscommunication, tiny bit of angst, some fluff

wc: 2.3k

notes: this one is for the icon herself @johnnys-girl6 !! still trying to get back into writing like i used to! hope you enjoy!! requests are OPEN

The NHL playoffs always made everyone lose their minds.

Elise had figured that out sometime around nine-thirty that morning, when a customer she'd never seen before asked if they could split a six-dollar order into three separate transactions.

Since then, the café hadn't slowed down for more than five minutes at a time.

The line stretched to the door. The espresso machine was hissing nonstop, and someone had dropped an entire tray of iced drinks halfway through the lunch rush. Her manager was starting to look like she was considering a career change.

It was chaos.

By the time Elise finally got a chance to check her phone, she'd been on her feet for almost seven hours.

She leaned against the counter in the back room, taking advantage of the brief lull while another barista handled the register.

Three texts from her mom.

A notifcation from her bank.

An Instagram DM request.

She almost ignored it. The profile picture looked vaguely familiar, but not enough for her to immediately place it.

Curious, clicked on the notification.

A girl. Blonde. Pretty. Definitely hockey-adjacent.

Then it clicked. Elise had met her once... maybe. At one of the team events earlier in the season.

The message itself was friendly.

hey!! can you fill this out when you get a chance? we're trying to get everything submitted by friday <3

Attached beneath it was a Google Sheets link.

Elise frowned.

What?

She tapped it anyway, and the spreadsheet opened.

At first, it looked nonsensical.

Rows, columns filled with names and numbers.

Then her eyes landed on a familiar one.

And her stomach dropped immediately.

WAG Name: Elise Norris

Player Name: John Marino

For a second, she genuinely thought she was reading it wrong.

She blinked, looked away, looked back. Nope. Still there.

Elise Norris and John Marino. Right beside each other, waiting to be filled out.

"What the fuck?"

The words slipped out.

A barista stalking syrups nearby glanced over.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Elise looked back down at her phone, her pulse picking up.

Why was she on this list?

Who had put her on this list?

Who knew her last name?

How many people had access to this spreadsheet?

How many people thought she was John's girlfriend?

Her thumb hovered uselessly over the screen.

The message had said nothing about confirming her eligibility. It was just a casual request to fill out her measurements.

As if this was completely normal, like everyone just expected her to, as if everyone thought she was part of the group.

A realization settled in her chest.

Oh my God.

Had they all been calling her John's girlfriend?

She wanted to throw her phone across the room. Because she wasn't sure which was worse.

That they weren't dating and everyone thought they were. Or that she apparently had no idea what her own relationship status was.

The problem was that from the outside...

Elise groaned softly, dragging a hand down her face.

From the outside, it definitely looked like they were together.

They spent most nights together. Not every night. But enough.

Three nights a week at minimum. Sometimes more.

She knew the code to his building. Had her own toothbrush in his bathroom.

She knew which cabinet held the plates. Which one had the bowls. Which drawer always got stuck when you tried to open it.

She knew what days he usually brought food home from the training facility and which meals he always traded away because he hated them.

She knew exactly where he'd leave his keys when he got home.

She knew wich side of the couch he always sat on.

And there was currently a gray hoodie of his living permanently in the backseat of her car because the air conditioning at the café was always freezing.

Then were the dinners... the family dinners.

Her parents had met him. His parents had met her.

There had been holidays, birthday dinners, team events, movie nights, road trip weekends. A hundred little things that looked suspiciously relationship-shaped when she lined them all up in a row.

"Oh my God."

The more she thought about it, the harder it was to argue against her name being on that spreadsheet.

Which was irritating because she wasn't upset that people thought she and John were dating.

She was upset that they weren't. "You've got to be kidding me," she mumbled.

The barista with the syrups looked over again. Elise waved her off.

She refused to unpack her relationship status with her co-worker in the middle of a shift.

She locked her phone and shoved it into the pocket of her apron.

Thirty seconds later, she pulled it back out. Opened her messages, and clicked on her pinned conversation with John at the top.

We need to talk

She typed.

His response came within seconds.

Okay Are you okay? Did something happen?

Elise just left him on read.

Good, let him panic for a little while.

She'd been panicking since she opened that DM.

The rest of her shift suddenly couldn't end fast enough.

~~

Gabi, her work bestie, arrived thirty minutes later and immediately knew something was wrong.

Not because Elise said anything. Because she'd been standing there in silence near the espresso machine since Gabi had walked in.

"Okay," Gabi said, tying her apron. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying."

"I'm not lying."

"Elise, you're such a shit liar."

Elise sighed, then pulled out her phone.

Two minutes later, Gabi was leaning against the counter reading through the spreadsheet while Elise chewed on her lip.

"...You guys aren't dating?"

Elise nearly dropped a carton of oat milk. "No."

Gabi blinked. "What do you mean no?"

"I mean no."

"Like... actually no?"

"Yes, actually no."

Gabi looked back down at the spreadsheet. "That's crazy."

"Thank you."

"No, I mean the fact that you're not dating is crazy."

Elise groaned. "Can you not?"

"I'm serious."

Gabi handed her phone back.

"I thought you were together."

"Apparently everyone does."

"Well..." Gabi shrugged. "Can you blame us?"

Elise hated that question, because she really couldn't.

A rush started to pick up again before she could answer, forcing them back to work. Unfortunately, Gabi wasn't finished. Not even close.

The second they found themselves alone again, she picked the conversation right back up.

"Wait."

Elise already didn't like that tone.

"Aren't you sitting in the family section for playoffs?"

"Yes."

Gabi stared at her. "And isn't that why we spent forty minutes looking for shoes after work the other day?"

Elise looked away. "... Yeah."

"The heels?"

"Yes, Gabi."

"The ones that you said were definitely going to give you blisters?" Gabi's expression somehow became even more incredulous. "And you're going to one of the away games too, aren't you?"

"...Yes."

"Babe."

Elise dropped her forehead against the wall. "Oh my God."

"No, seriously," Gabi laughed. "What do you mean you aren't dating?"

"I don't know!"

The answer came out louder than she'd intended. A customer glanced over.

Elise immediately lowered her voice. "I don't know."

Gabi's face softened. "Have you asked him?"

"No."

"Has he asked you?"

"No."

"Then maybe that's the problem."

It was true. That was the problem.

Not the spreadsheet or the WAG jackets.

Not the wives and girlfriends. Not even the fact they thought she and John were already together.

It was the fact that John had never actually asked.

The more she thought about it, the more it bothered her.

Because if they were dating...

She would've known, right?

There would've been a conversation. A moment. Something.

Maybe not flowers and a grand gesture. John wasn't really the type.

But surely there should've been something. Anything.

The rest of the shift dragged. Every time her phone buzzed, she checked to see if it was John.

Every time it wasn't, she got annoyed.

When closing finally rolled around, Elise practically threw her apron into her locker. Gabi watched from across the break room.

"You gonna talk to him?"

"Yes."

"Try not to kill him."

"No promises."

Gabi laughed.

Elise grabbed her keys.

The drive to John's usually took twenty minutes.

Today, she spent the entire time trying to figure out if she was about to accuse a man of making her his girlfriend without her permission.

~~

John opened the door before she had a chance to knock.

"Hey."

Elise brushed past him without answering.

"Okay," he said slowly. "Good talk."

She made a beeline for the living room.

John followed behind her, watching with increasing confusion as she pulled her phone from her pocket.

Without a word, she dropped it onto the couch, and he sat beside it.

"Why am I getting messages about playoff jackets?"

John looked at her.

Then at the phone.

Then back at her. "...What?"

"The jackets, John."

He picked up the phone, tapping in her passcode and scrolling to the message. He clicked on the spreadsheet and then looked back up at her.

"Oh."

Elise crossed her arms.

Waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally--

"Well?"

John frowned. "Did you fill it out?"

Elise stared at him. "I'm sorry?"

"The measurements." John handed the phone back. "They probably need them soon."

"That's your takeaway?"

Now he looked genuinely lost. "What?"

Elise made an incoherent noise. Then pointed dramatically at the spreadsheet.

"Why am I on that list?"

"Because you're getting a jacket."

"Why am I getting a jacket?"

John blinked. "Because of the playoffs?"

"John."

"What?"

"Why do they think I'm your girlfriend."

The question hung in the air.

John's confusion vanished instantly. "Oh."

Finally, some progress.

Then... "Because you are."

Elise's brain completely stopped working. "What?"

John looked at her like she'd asked him what colour the sky was.

"You're my girlfriend."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No."

"Elise."

"John."

He set the phone down, and neither of them spoke for a second.

Then John laughed. Not a mean or amused laugh. The kind of laugh you let out when you think the other person is joking.

"Oh."

His smile faded when she didn't laugh with him.

"Wait."

Now he looked concerned. "You're serious?"

"Very."

John stared and Elise stared right back.

"What do you mean we're not dating?"

"What do you mean we are?"

"Elise." He sat forward slightly. "You practically live here."

"That doesn't mean we're dating."

"You have a key."

"And? You have one to mine too."

"You spent New Year's with my family."

"That also doesn't mean we're dating," she argued.

"You came to my cousin's wedding."

"Because you asked me to."

"Exactly."

Elise threw her hands up. "John!"

"What?"

"You can't just assume we're dating!"

"Why not?"

She actually hated him. Not really, but maybe a little. Because he sounded genuinely confused. Like this whole conversation made absolutely no sense to him.

John shook his head. "You come to all my home games."

"A lot of people go to games."

"You sit with my family when they're here."

"That's not--"

"My mom asks about you more than she asks about me."

Elise opened her mouth, then closed it. Unfortunately, he wasn't finished. "You know where everything in my apartment is."

"John."

"You helped me move."

"John."

"You were at my birthday dinner."

"John."

"You made me soup when I got the flu."

The worst part? None of that made it sound like it was unreasonable to assume they were together. Which just made her even more frustrated.

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

Elise swallowed, then said the one thing she'd been circling around for hours. "You never asked."

Silence.

John stared at her. The confusion finally disappearing, replaced by understanding.

"Oh."

Which made Elise want to crawl into a hole and die.

John leaned back against the couch. Thinking. Really thinking.

Elise had started to pick at her nails.

After a few seconds, he looked at her again. And said, very quietly, "I thought you knew."

It wasn't defensive or dismissive. Just 100% honest.

It was like the possibility had never occurred to him. Somewhere along the way, he'd decided she was his girlfriend. And had simply just continued living his life accordingly.

Neither of them spoke.

Elise stared at the floor because somehow she'd walked into John's apartment prepared to accuse him of misleading half the organization and discovered he'd considered her his girlfriend for months.

Slowly, she sat down beside him on the couch. The cushion dipped beneath her weight.

John immediately leaned into her side, like he always did.

"I can't believe I found out through a spreadsheet," Elise mumbled.

John laughed. "Yeah."

"That's insane."

"A little."

Elise shook her head. Then glanced over at him. "How long have I been your girlfriend?"

John actually thought about it. Which was not the response she was looking for.

"What?"

He frowned. "Probably December."

"Probably?"

"Definitely before New Year's."

Elise groaned. "John."

"What?"

"You can't just assign relationship statuses retroactively."

He shrugged. "Pretty sure I can."

She laughed despite herself and John smiled.

He reached for her phone again, opening the spreadsheet. "You still need to fill this out."

Of course.

Elise rolled her eyes but shifted closer anyway, looking over his shoulder at the form.

At the top were the jacket mockups.

"They're cute."

"Mhm," John handed her the phone.

She started filling everything in while he watched. Every so often he'd make an entirely unhelpful comment.

"No way that's your sleeve length."

"You don't know my sleeve length."

"I feel like I do."

"You absolutely do not."

When she finished, she stared at the screen for a second before hitting submit.

Done. Just like that.

WAG jacket ordered.

Relationship crisis resolved.

All in the same day.

"You know," she said, setting her phone down, "most people usually have this conversation before they start introducing each other as boyfriend and girlfriend."

John shrugged. "Just assumed you told people I was your boyfriend too."

Elise barked out a laugh. "No."

His eyebrows shot up. "No?"

"No, John."

"Huh."