if i look back, i am lost
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MASTERLIST
FORMULA ONE
HOCKEY
BAD OMENS
MOTIONLESS IN WHITE
THE MARAUDERS
important note: please know that when i write about celebrities i am writing about characters inspired by the public personas that these celelbrities present! i am in no way trying to realistically represent these people as i do not know them personally and also do not wish to be invasive of their personal lives!
Inspired by your recent work, Macklin hurt to comfort where he says something to the media that is completely taken out of context and looks really bad (something about you, your relationship, another girl, prioritizing hockey, or something). Reader would usually just bring it up to Mack right away and talk it out, but he’s on a longer roadie and reader doesn’t want to have that conversation over the phone, but then ends up stewing on it while he’s gone. Reader kind of unconsciously starts to pull away as she start to get doubts, but Macklin notices while he’s gone and clears everything up and reassures reader as soon as he gets back. Lots of fluff after the original hurt please! Also, I missed your work the few days that you were gone, you are genuinely so talented, I’m so excited for the other ideas you are working on 💜💜
You're so sweet, thank you 💜 I've got a few more things in the work right now, and they should be posted over the next few days! Thank you for the support, happy reading! 4.2k words
Something is wrong the minute he says “I miss you” over the phone, and you hesitate to respond. It’s the smallest of hesitations, but he notices. Usually you respond immediately, with “I miss you too,” or “Can’t wait to have you home.”
“You okay?” he asks carefully.
“Yeah,” you answer too fast, “I’m just tired.” It’s not entirely a lie, you are tired. Not the normal kind of tired, though, you’re emotionally exhausted from seeing that stupid interview clip that the internet had run completely out of context.
⊰══════════════════════⊱
It initially happened four days ago. You were walking back from class when your phone started going off like crazy. At first, you ignored it, assuming it was a group chat or maybe Macklin spam texting you about something going on on his road trip with the team.
It got annoying after a couple of minutes, so you finally caved and looked. The first rendition of the message you saw was from your roommate; all she had sent was a TikTok link and “ummm???”
You opened the video as soon as you sat down the the library, and your stomach immediately dropped.
The clip was from a post-game interview after San Jose’s win over Vancouver the night prior. You hadn’t gotten around to watching all the post-game media, because by the time the game was over you were tired and knew you needed to go to bed because of your 8am first thing the next day.
In the video, Macklin is standing in front of the media wall, headset on, in his Sharks hoodie and his hair damp from a shower. Looking tired but relaxed, a little bit of that post-win glow still on his face.
The video opens with one of the reporters asking: “So much of your life has changed this year. The pressure, the travel, the attention, your everyday relationships…have you had to sacrifice anything personal to stay this focused on hockey?”
Macklin shrugged lightly, thinking of his answer. “I mean…yeah, definitely. Hockey’s the priority right now, it kind of has to be," he says, and then the video stops.
Had his whole answer been included you would've also heard, “There are a lot of things in my life—most things—that come second to it sometimes, and the people close to me know that.” But you didn't see that part. You didn't know that there was more to it. From what you saw, he said something that made it seem like your relationship was a burden that he tolerated around hockey.
People ran with it immediately, no one cared enough to see what the context was, or even look into if there was more to his answer.
You made the mistake of immediately opening the comments on the video. They were flooded with:
his poor girlfriend ☹️
She deserves better..
NHL players neverrrr prioritize relationships 😭
He basically just admitted she comes second, wow
You should’ve ignored it, because you know that social media twists anything and everything into something that it isn’t, and you know Macklin would never say that.
But the problem is that some part of you understood what they meant. Not because he didn’t love you, you knew he did, but because hockey really was his whole life sometimes.
During the season there were missed dinners and canceled plans. Calls are often cut short because team meetings run late or he has to do something last minute. There are nights he falls asleep mid-conversation from exhaustion, and weeks where his schedule barely leaves room for himself, let alone anybody else.
Usually you handle it fine, you're endlessly proud of him and everything he's doing. But something about hearing it said out loud, especially when he's the one saying it, lodges itself in your chest and you haven't been able to get rid of that feeling of suddenly being unwanted.
It hasn't helped that he's on a long road trip through western Canada, then moving on to the central US, you haven't even been able to talk to him properly for almost a week.
You decided immediately that you didn’t want to have this conversation through bad hotel Wi-Fi and an exhausted late-night phone call, that’s just a recipe for bad communication and no good chance to actually talk about it properly.
It doesn’t occur to you that keeping your feelings from him and letting them stir more wouldn’t be any better, so against your better judgement, you say nothing. Which turned out to be worse.
⊰══════════════════════⊱
Macklin knows something is off almost immediately. The first few days he figured you were just busy with school, stressed out, tired, something simple that would get better shortly.
But after about four days, he knows something is really wrong. Not because you’re mean, you’re never mean. You still answer all his texts, ask for details about all his games, tell him good morning and goodnight, but for some reason it all feels thinner. It's like you aren’t asking things with intention anymore, but rather asking and answering like you’re on autopilot.
Soon enough the calls get shorter, you stop sending him random pictures and updates throughout the day, and worst of all you stop telling him things.
Usually he knows everything about your day before it even ends. The lecture that dragged on, the girl in your class who helps you with notes you don’t quite understand, what coffee you got that morning, what song came on and reminded you of him.
Now conversations feel careful, like you’re unconsciously pulling yourself away from him slowly, and it starts driving him insane.
⊰══════════════════════⊱
“Mack, you’re staring,” Will says as he drops into the seat beside Macklin on the team plane.
Macklin blinks, realizing he’s been looking at the same unopened text thread for probably ten minutes.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Macklin sighs and locks his phone.
Will watches him for a second. “Did you guys fight or something?”
“No, God no, we aren't fighting.”
“Then why do you look like somebody kicked your dog?”
Macklin leans back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face, “She’s just acting weird.”
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know,” he mutters. “Different.”
Will snorts, “That clears things up.”
Macklin ignores him. “She keeps saying she’s fine,” he says quietly. “But she’s not, I can tell she's not fine. She’s been really short with me lately and I don’t know why.”
Will studies him for a second before realization flickers across his face, “Ohhh.”
“What?”
“This is about that interview thing, isn’t it?”
Mack’s head snaps up immediately, “What interview thing?”
Will gives him a look. “The clip? It was all over TikTok.”
Mack feels his stomach drop. “What clip?”
Will pulls it up on his phone and hands it to Macklin, who watches it in silence. Three times all the way through.
By the fourth time, he looks genuinely sick. “Are you kidding me?” he mutters.
Because now he understands. God, no wonder you’ve been distant. The clip makes him sound awful and cold. Like you’re some obstacle in the way of hockey instead of the person holding him together through it all.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says immediately, "that's not even all of what I said!”
Will shrugs sympathetically, “Internet doesn’t care.”
Macklin grabs his phone out of his pocket so fast he nearly drops it. He unlocks it and immediately texts you.
Mack: Baby that clip is taken out of context. That’s not even the whole thing
Your answer a few minutes later.
You: i know
Somehow that feels worse, because if you know, why does it still feel like he’s losing you by the second? Why does it still feel like you’re upset with him?
⊰══════════════════════⊱
The road trip suddenly becomes unbearable for Macklin. Every city feels way too far away from you, every hotel room feels empty, and every win feels completely dull because the person he wants to talk to first after they’re over isn’t answering his calls and she’s barely responding to his texts with more than three words.
One night after a game in Calgary, he calls you immediately, and surprisingly you answer on the fourth ring. Lately you’d been letting it go to voicemail and then making up some excuse about going to bed early whenever he asked why you didn't pick up.
“Hey,” your voice is soft, he thinks it sounds too soft, like if you talked too loudly something might break.
So he returns the energy. “Hey,” he says carefully.
“How was the game?” you ask, even though you watched every second, you still always ask because you want to hear about it from him.
“It was alright. You watched?”
“Yeah, I watched. Good goal in the second.”
“Thanks.”
Macklin closes his eyes, he hates this with every fiber of his being, everything about it is wrong. Short conversations, talking about dull things, it all feels like the bare minimum.
“I miss you,” he says finally.
You pause for way too long, that’s how he knows something is still wrong.
“I miss you too,” you say, but it sounds forced, like something you think you should say instead of something you want to say. Like it isn’t necessarily something you feel.
“Okay,” he says quietly, ripping the band-aid off, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t do that,” he says, frustrated.
“I’m not doing anything,” you defend.
“Yes you are.”
You sigh softly, “Mack…”
“No,” he interrupts. “You’ve barely talked to me for almost a week and every conversation feels weird and careful and I know it’s because of that stupid interview everyone's focused on.”
You go silent, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.
Finally you say, “Macklin, I really don’t want to do this over the phone.”
His stomach drops immediately at the exhaustion in your voice, “So there is something.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
You rub a hand over your face, “I just think this is a conversation we should have in person.”
“Mhm.” His voice goes quieter, “That usually means something bad.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Then tell me I’m wrong.”
You can’t. You think that he probably thinks you want to break up with him or something, which isn’t true at all, and you don’t want him to think that. You’re just hurt, and you don’t fully know what to do with that yet, because you’re still processing.
The silence from your end from both ends of the call stretches too long.
“Mackie,” you say softly, “I know you didn’t mean it the way people online made it sound.”
“But?”
You shut your eyes, trying to keep the emotion out of your voice so he doesn’t feel worse, “But hearing it still sucked.”
He exhales shakily, just waiting for you to continue.
“I know hockey comes first sometimes,” you continue quietly. “I’ve always known that. I think hearing you actually say it just made me realize how easy it would be for me to become…secondary or something.”
“Mhm,” he hums. He sounds devastated at what you've just told him, and he doesn't really know how to respond.
“And I know that’s not fair because you’ve never actually treated me badly, but—”
“But now it’s in your head.”
“Yeah,” you exhale.
He goes quiet for a second. Then quietly, “I wish I was there.”
Your throat tightens immediately, because you miss him, you really do. Saying it might come off otherwise but you just want him here so you can talk everything out and make sure everything is still okay. “Me too,” you say, completely honest this time, and it sounds like it.
Neither of you say anything after that, because what else is there to say?
Eventually he manages a quiet, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“We’ll talk when I get home.”
You nod even though he can’t see it, but he gets the memo that the conversation is over.
When the call ends, both of you stare at your phones feeling ten times worse than before.
⊰══════════════════════⊱
The next three days crawl by. You hate every second of it. The distance, the weirdness of it all. Every interaction feels so fragile, like you can’t let the conversation get too deep, because you’re both waiting to have the conversation when he gets home.
Macklin hates it too. You can tell from how he’s reaching for you anyway. He texts asking if you ate dinner, he sends you pictures from airports, random team updates in hopes to make you laugh. Light things.
One night he sends: Saw a dog that looked like the one you always send me tiktoks about
Then immediately after: Not relevant, just thought you should know. It was cute, made me think of you
You stare at the messages for a long time before smiling despite yourself, because even now, even in the middle of a situation that you don’t know the ending of, his instinct is still to talk to you, check on you, be there for you.
⊰══════════════════════⊱
When he finally gets home, you’ve become terrified, because this conversation matters so much.
You’re sitting on the couch when you hear the door of the apartment unlock, and your stomach churns instantly.
You get up cautiously, and walk over to the entryway. The second you seem him you notice how tired he looks. He has his bag slung over his shoulder, baseball cap sitting backwards on his head, and circles underneath his eyes.
The second his eyes land on you, his whole expression softens into something exhausted and relieved. “Hi,” he says quietly.
You barely get the word out before he’s pulling you into him. Hard. The hug feels like he’s been holding himself together for days and finally doesn’t have to anymore. If you’re being honest with yourself, you feel the same, and you melt into him completely.
His arms wrap around your back so tightly it almost hurts. He just stands there, holding you, breathing you in like nothing is wrong, just like he’s missed you.
He pulls back after a second, hands still on your waist. “You wanna talk now?”
You nod, “Yeah, please.”
So he drops his bag next to the door, takes his hat off and tosses it onto his bag, and follows you further into the apartment. For the first time all week it finally feels like you’re on the same page instead of separated by screens and miles and what feels like a million misunderstandings.
Suddenly you feel awkward standing there. He’s not a stranger, he’s the most familiar thing in your life, so you think that odd feeling must be because everything between you feels so tense right now. Usually when he comes home you’re immediately wrapped around each other, talking over one another, smiling. Kissing him before he can even fully step through the door.
Now you’re both standing there like you’re trying not to break something.
“You want tea or something?” you ask finally, mostly because the silence is making your chest feel tight, an anxious feeling clawing at you. Macklin looks at you for a second before shaking his head softly.
“No, c’mere first.”
Your heart aches immediately at the exhaustion in his voice. You let him pull you toward the couch, and the second you sit down he’s not letting go of your hand. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, then he exhales, “I’m sorry.”
You look up immediately. “Mack—”
“No, let me say it first.” His eyes stay fixed on your intertwined hands. “I’m sorry I said it like that.”
“You didn’t know they’d twist it.”
“I still said it weird. The whole answer to the question was weird and it wasn’t right”
A tiny laugh escapes you before you can stop it. His mouth twitches slightly, relieved you don’t look like you’re about to cry.
“I just…” He drags a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize how bad it sounded until Will showed me the clip.”
You blink, “Will showed you?”
“Mhm.”
“What did he say?” you ask.
Macklin groans softly, dropping his head onto the back of the couch, “Basically called me an idiot.”
“That sounds like Will.”
“Yeah.”
You smile faintly, but the smile fades again. “I know you didn’t mean it the way people online made it sound,” you admit quietly, “That’s what makes me feel stupid about this.”
“You are not stupid.”
“I kind of am,” you insist.
“You’re not.”
Your eyes drop to your lap, “It just really got in my head.”
Macklin goes quiet for a second before asking carefully, “What part?”
You hesitate, not wanting to hurt him anymore, then decide there’s no point holding back now. “The ‘things come second’ part.”
His face falls immediately, “Baby.”
“I know hockey matters,” you rush out. “I’ve always known that. I knew what your life looked like when we got together. I knew even before that, your life has always been like this.”
“But?”
You swallow hard, trying to keep yourself together, “But sometimes it already feels like I only get whatever’s left of you.”
The words hurt to say out loud, and judging by his expression, they hurt to hear too.
“Mhm,” he hums quietly.
“And then hearing you say hockey has to come first…” You shake your head weakly, “I don’t know. I think I just started wondering if one day there wouldn’t be room for me anymore.”
Macklin stares at you like you’ve just said something genuinely terrifying, “What?”
You immediately regret saying it, “I know it sounds dramatic—”
“No.” His voice is firm now, “No, don’t do that.”
You just look at him, because you don’t know what to say.
“You really think I’d outgrow you?” he asks.
Your throat tightens instantly because the hurt in his voice is so obvious, and he’s just articulated exactly how you felt.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say.
“Then how did you mean it?”
You look down again, “I don’t know.”
His fingers brush across the back of your hand again, “Yes you do.”
You sigh shakily. “I think…” You pause, “I think your life got really big really fast.”
His expression softens slightly. He gets what you’re saying, but he doesn’t want to interrupt your thoughts so he stays quiet.
“And sometimes I still feel like the same person I was before all of this happened,” you continue quietly. “Like eventually you’re going to realize I don’t fit into all the new stuff. That I don’t fit into your life anymore.”
The second the words leave your mouth, Macklin’s entire face crumples, “Jesus Christ.”
You instantly feel worse, “I know that sounds insane—”
“It sounds sad,” he interrupts.
Your eyes sting immediately, “Macklin—”
“No, because you’ve just been sitting here thinking this all week?” He looks genuinely devastated now, “By yourself?”
You shrug weakly. “I didn’t know how to explain it,” you acknowledge.
“You should’ve told me, I would've done my best to figure it out. To understand.”
“I didn’t want to start a fight.”
“I would rather fight with you than have you sit here convincing yourself I don’t want you anymore.” The raw honesty in his voice makes your chest ache even more, the knot of emotion in your throat becoming tighter.
He shifts closer suddenly, both hands wrapping around yours fully now, “Look at me.”
You do, and the expression on his face breaks your heart, because he looks scared. There’s not an ounce of annoyance or defensiveness on his face. He just looks scared.
“You are the best part of my life,” he says quietly.
Your eyes immediately burn.
“I mean it.”
His thumbs brush across your knuckles again and again, reminding you he’s right there. “Hockey is my job,” he says carefully. “It’s my dream and it’s demanding and sometimes it takes everything out of me, but you are not competing with hockey. Ever.”
You stay quiet, your eyes not straying away from his.
“You know what I meant when I said people close to me understand?” he asks softly.
You shake your head a little, willing him to continue.
“I meant that you understand when I’m exhausted after games. Or when I have road trips for two weeks straight. Or when I miss things because my schedule’s insane.” His jaw tightens. “Not that you matter less.”
A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it, and Macklin notices immediately. “Hey,” he says softly, leaning closer, “No, c’mon.”
His hand comes up carefully, brushing beneath your eye, catching your tears.
“I need you to really hear me, 'kay? There is no version of my life where you become secondary to me,” he says. “I don’t care how big hockey gets,” he continues. “You’re still the person I want after everything.”
You close your eyes briefly.
“After good games, I want you. After bad games, I want you. After interviews and flights and media and practices and all the loud parts that get to be too much…” His voice softens further, “I want nothing but to come home to you.”
“I know,” you whisper miserably, “I know that now.”
The tears come harder now, and you feel him moving to pull you into him. Your face ends up tucked against his chest while his arms wrap around your shoulders tightly.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble against his sweatshirt.
“What are you apologizing for?”
“For making this week all weird, and for making you worry about all this, that wasn’t fair.”
“You were hurt.”
You shake your head slightly, “I still should’ve talked to you.”
Macklin exhales softly into your hair. “Maybe,” he admits. “But honestly? I think I get why you didn’t. I probably would’ve spiraled too if I saw a clip of you saying I came second to something.”
A watery laugh escapes you, “Yeah?”
“Oh absolutely. You handled it better than I would’ve.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not, I promise.”
You smile weakly. Then your expression softens again when you pull back to really look at him, “You look tired.”
He lets out a dramatic groan immediately and drops his forehead onto your shoulder. “I’m exhausted. I couldn’t do another night of this,” he admits quietly, “I hated it.”
Your arms tighten around him.
“I hated it too,” you say.
He turns his head slightly, lips brushing absentmindedly against your shoulder, just to feel you more.
“You know what the worst part was?” he asks, his voice muffled against you.
“What?”
“You hesitating when you said you missed me.”
“You caught that?”
You feel him smile, “Immediately.”
You groan softly and hide your face in his neck, “That’s humiliating.”
“It made me feel insane,” he says, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.
You laugh weakly against his skin, “I wasn’t doing it on purpose.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
His other hand moves to slide slowly up and down your back. “But again,” he murmurs, “you never have to question whether I love you more than hockey.”
“That’s not really fair. Hockey’s been your whole life forever.”
“Well now it's you.”
The words hit so hard and so suddenly that your chest physically aches, and you tear up again. Macklin’s expression softens immediately when he sees your face crumple again, “Oh no,” he says softly. “Baby, c’mon.”
“You can’t just say things like that,” you say through your tears.
A small smile tugs at his mouth, “Why?”
“Because I’m already emotional.”
“That sounds like a you problem,” he retorts.
You stare at him for a second before laughing through tears. “There you are,” he says softly the second he hears the real laugh, smiling at you. And there he is too, your Macklin.
No clipped-up interview version, not the version for the headlines, not the public image; just the boy who flew home as fast as he could and came immediately to you, worried, because he couldn’t stand feeling distant from you for another day.
You lean forward first this time, kissing him softly. Immediately his hand slides to the side of your face. The kiss is slow, full of relief, and a little more emotional than usual.
When you pull back, he rests his forehead against yours with a quiet exhale. Always that, his forehead against yours.
“I missed you so much,” he murmurs.
You smile shakily, “I’m sorry I spiraled.”
“I’m sorry I accidentally started the spiral.”
“That’s true, actually, this is mostly your fault.”
He gasps softly, “Mostly?”
You grin for the first time all week, and the relief on his face is immediate. “I missed you too,” you say.
Macklin exhales like those were the only words he needed to hear, and his shoulders physically relax for the first time since he walked through the door.
“Okay,” he mumbles after a second, voice quieter now. “Can we go to bed?”
You blink at him, smiling softly, “That’s your big conclusion after all that?”
“Yes,” he insists immediately, already sounding half-asleep. “I’ve been on planes and buses for like eight days and emotionally tortured almost the entire time.”
You laugh quietly while he shifts closer again, practically folding himself against you. You shake your head fondly while his arms tighten around your waist again. “You’re needy,” you say.
“Mhm,” he hums, completely unashamed. “And tired. C’mon.”
He stands first, then immediately reaches for your hand. You let him pull you up from the couch, and before you can even fully steady yourself he’s tugging you against his chest again, burying his face into your neck with a long exhausted sigh.
“You smell like home,” he mumbles, peppering kisses onto your skin.
Your heart squeezes painfully, “You’re being very sweet right now.”
“I know,” he says sleepily. “'Cause I love you.”
You laugh again, quieter this time, and press a kiss to his cheek before letting him guide you toward the bedroom.
The second you both finally get under the blankets, Macklin immediately reaches for you, pulling you against him until your head is tucked underneath his chin and his arm is wrapped tightly around your waist. There’s still exhaustion lingering in both of you, but the tension is finally gone. No distance, no bad connection, no overthinking. Just him.
His fingers drift lazily against your back for a few moments before stilling. “I love you,” he murmurs again, already sounding half asleep.
You tilt your head up just enough to kiss his jaw softly. “I love you too, Mackie.”
Even exhausted, you feel the tiny smile against your hair before he finally falls asleep.
requests are open 💕 Is it crazy to say that I might like writing things that are a little angstier...writing the conflict and then the resolution I think is why, it's very full-circle every time.
Accidental Hard Launch
fm93 x reader
I know I said I'd post this tomorrow, but I finished it earlier today, so why not just post it now? First time writing for Fraser, I hope you all enjoy! 😊 2.4k words
You’re still half asleep when you blindly reach for your phone on your nightstand because it just will not stop going off. Lazily you squint against the brightness of the screen, and you’re greeted with a slew of messages from nearly every social app you have.
Instagram: 100+ TikTok: 100+
Follow requests, mentions, comments, reposts, likes, DMs from people you haven't talked to in years.
You have messages from nearly every single person in your contacts, but the ones that stick out are the two from Fraser.
Fraser: You awake sweet girl?
The second, sent less than a minute later:
Fraser: Don’t panic
Which, naturally, makes you panic immediately. You sit up so fast the blankets fall almost entirely off your body, confusion taking over now.
That’s when you notice your notifications keep climbing in real time. Your stomach drops, and you open TikTok first.
The first video on your feed is from the official Bruins account captioned: “Family Skate Day 🐻⛸️”
Oh no.
“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself.
The video starts innocently enough. Players’ kids skating around, players helping little cousins stand upright. A sibling or two crashing into the boards while everyone laughs. Then midway through the reel; there you are in the background.
Your face is only partially showing and the camera isn’t even fully focused on your features. You hadn’t even realized you were in frame.
Fraser is beside you, gliding backward effortlessly while holding both your hands because you’re still shaky on skates despite him trying to teach you how to properly skate multiple times. His head is tilted toward you, listening to something you’re saying, and he’s smiling in that small quiet way he does when he’s genuinely amused.
The clip cuts, then you show up in the background again.
This time you’re standing near the boards talking to one of the other girlfriends while Fraser skates past behind you, and without even looking, he reaches for your hand as he passes, just to give it a quick squeeze to remind you he’s around. You remember the moment exactly, you’d taken a break while he was skating circles around the rink with some of his teammates and some of the kids.
Near the end, there’s a blurry little background clip of you laughing about something while Fraser leans down and presses a quick kiss to your forehead before skating away again.
You make the mistake of checking the comments under the video, and it’s incredibly clear people noticed you and Fraser together:
THAT MAN IS IN LOVE
Bruins admin hard launching Fraser Minten was not on my bingo card…
Whoever she is, he adores her
Him skating backwards holding both her hands 😭😭 BYE
who IS she?!
You replay the video. Once, twice, three times.
The whole afternoon you weren’t exactly aware of the social media admin filming as much as they did, but then again you were just focused on having a good time with your boyfriend and his teammates and their families.
Your phone rings. Fraser.
You answer immediately. “You told me not to panic,” you say the second you pick up.
“Yeah.”
“Well I’m panicking.”
“I figured.”
His voice is calm, annoyingly calm like it always is. Like this isn’t the social equivalent of a small disaster currently unfolding in your bedroom.
“I have hundreds of follow requests.”
There’s a pause from his end. Then, carefully, “Okay.”
“Fraser.”
“Still listening.”
“You don’t understand, people are literally trying to figure out who I am.”
“You are who you are,” he says, as if that’s the answer. He has a hint of humor in his voice, probably hopeful to ,ale you laugh, but you’re just too overwhelmed.
You stare at the wall of your bedroom. “That’s not helpful right now.”
That gets a laugh out of him, soft through the phone. You can picture him already; hoodie on, hair messy, and leaning against his kitchen counter while making coffee like nothing is happening.
“I’m serious,” you say, voice quieter now. “I didn’t want…this.”
And immediately his tone changes, it becomes much softer, “I know.”
The anxiety pressing against your ribs eases slightly, because he does know. From the beginning, you’d been careful about privacy, and you’re very intentional about what you share, even with people you know. You like your quiet life. You like being separate from hockey and public attention.
Fraser had never pushed against that once. In fact he agreed to keep things private for both of your sakes, it was just simpler that way, less demanding for both of you, less stressful.
“I just feel weird,” you admit. “Like suddenly strangers are trying to know things about me and I really don’t like it.”
“Hey,” he says, trying to stop you from what you feel like is some kind of spiral in your head.
You close your eyes, and listen to him.
“You don’t owe anybody access to you,” he says gently. “Okay? None of this changes anything.”
You breathe out slowly, “I know, but it feels like it is. People know who I am now, like really know. They’re tagging me in stuff and I’m getting dozens of messages from people I don’t even know.”
“If people are being weird, tell me.”
You huff out a laugh, “What are you gonna do?”
You can hear his smile when he says, “Don’t know yet, but I’ll handle it. And if I can't, I can probably find someone who knows how.”
“Okay...”
Another buzz of notifications lights up your screen. You groan dramatically and flop backward onto the bed, “They’re just not stopping.”
Fraser hums quietly again, “You want me to come over?”
Your answer is immediate, “Yes please.”
—
By the time Fraser gets to your apartment, you’ve migrated to the couch wrapped in a blanket like its protective armor. Your legs are drawn up to your chest, chin resting on your knees. Your coffee sits abandoned on the table in front of you, and your phone sits right next to it. It hasn’t stopped going off since you woke up.
Fraser lets himself in with the spare key you gave him months ago, and the second he sees your eyebrows knit together and a frown on your lips, his whole expression becomes gentler.
“Oh, honey.”
You point accusingly at him, “This is your fault.”
“My fault?” he asks as he sets his keys on the table by the door, and kicks his shoes off.
“You’re too affectionate in public.”
He looks genuinely confused by that, “I just held your hand. I hold your hand all the time.”
“Yeah, you held my hand, Fraser. Apparently that’s devastatingly sweet to people online. And the only reason it’s bad is because everyone saw it, and now all your fans are scouring the internet for information about me..”
That earns a laugh from him, “So now I can only hold your hand in private?”
You nod, a very serious pout on your face.
He walks over, nudging your legs just enough to sit down before pulling you against his chest. “You okay?” he murmurs into your hair.
“Mostly embarrassed,” you say, messing with a loose thread on his sweatpants.
He shakes his head, “You shouldn’t be.”
Easy for him to say. He’s been recognizable since he was a teenager.
You tilt your head back to look at him, “You seriously don’t get why people are freaking out?”
“No, not really. ”
“Fraser, the comments are analyzing your body language, making comments about me, about how we are around one another even though the clips are only like three seconds each and we’re in the background every time—”
He cuts you off, “That’s weird.”
“I know.”
He thinks about this for a second, then he says, “I was just holding your hand.”
Your expression softens helplessly, because the thing for him is; it really is that simple. He reaches for you because he likes touching you, and he kisses your forehead because he wants to. Looking for you is automatic for him, his brain just does it, he doesn’t have to think about it. None of it is performative, it’s just how he is.
“People know now,” you mumble.
“Know what?”
“That we’re together.”
“…Were we hiding it?” he asks, with genuine confusion in his voice.
You pull back a bit to stare at him, “Yes?”
“I thought we were just private.”
“That’s the same thing!”
“It’s not, really.”
You groan and drop your forehead against his collarbone. Your phone buzzes against the coffee table again. And again. And again. You don’t even want to look anymore, at this point you want to shut it off and not leave your apartment for the next week if not longer.
“People are finding my accounts, I don’t even have public accounts but people are just requesting, and digging, and…it’s too much, I don’t like it. I just want it to stop.”
Fraser gently puts his hands on either side of your head, moving it so that you’re looking at him instead of hiding. “Hey,” he says, “It’s okay.”
“It is not okay,” you say weakly. “I had a plan for this.”
“A plan?” he asks, a small smile on his face.
“Yes.”
“You made a relationship publicity plan?”
“You didn’t?”
He chuckles a little, “No,” he says honestly.
Which, unfortunately, sounds exactly like him. You let out a stressed laugh despite yourself, covering your face with both hands.
Fraser gently pulls your wrists down so he can actually see you, “You don’t have to look at any of it right now.”
“But—”
“You don’t.”
His thumbs brush over your wrists in comfort, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did I.”
You exhale shakily, “I just don’t like strangers knowing things about me. It makes me feel really weird.”
“I know, baby.” And he does. Fraser knows how carefully you move through the world, how selective you are with what you share. How highly you value privacy and routine and control over your own life, so all this sudden attention feels suffocating.
His expression softens a little, “We’ll handle it, and it’ll be okay, I promise you. I know it’s a lot right now but it’ll die down.”
“You’re unbelievably calm right now,” you say, your voice still small.
“I don’t really get why everyone’s freaking out.”
You let out an incredulous laugh, “Fraser.”
“What?”
“The forehead kiss?”
“What about it?”
He clearly doesn’t get where you’re going with this,“The hand holding?” you ask.
He shrugs, “I was helping you skate, I always hold your hands when we skate.”
You just stare at him. Fraser’s mouth twitches a little when he realizes he’s losing this argument.
“Okay,” he says finally, quieter now, “maybe the PDA was a little obvious.”
You groan again, this time mostly out of affection. He smiles properly then, down at you. It’s his small and soft smile that you absolutely adore.
“C’mere,” he mutters.
He pulls you into him again before you can protest, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other settles warm against the back of your neck. You melt almost instantly, cheek pressing into his hoodie.
“People are scary,” you mumble.
He rests his chin lightly against the top of your head, “They’ll calm down.”
“Want me to do something about all this?”
You tilt your head back slightly, “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Post you or something.”
Your eyes widen, “That’s a lot…that’s not exactly subtle.”
“I’m not trying to be subtle,” he says simply, “I’m trying to make people stop digging.”
Of course his solution would be straightforward, and it makes sense. There’s no games, no weird secrecy, no room for the public to spiral about who you are, what you are to him, and so on. For him it’s just: yes, this is my girlfriend. Please leave her alone.
You look at him carefully, “You’d post me?”
Another tiny confused crease between his brows. “Why wouldn’t I?” The sincerity in his voice hits harder than you expect, like it’s completely obvious and he doesn’t really get why you’re so shocked by this.
To him, loving you publicly was never the scary part.
Eventually, after another hour of you spiraling quietly and Fraser calmly talking you down from every ledge your brain creates, you end up stretched beside him on the couch while you hide under his arm pretending not to monitor your notifications anymore, but every time your phone buzzes you start the spiral all over.
After a while you feel his chest move with a quiet laugh.
You look up at him, confused, “What?”
He angles his phone toward you. His Instagram story.
It’s a photo you didn’t even realize had been taken. Fraser is sprawled out across a lawn, one arm braced behind him while you sit practically folded into his lap. Your arms loop around his shoulders, leaning in close enough that your face disappears against his. It’s simple, and it’s so you, like he knew that this picture in particular captured how the two of you were naturally.
Written in the space underneath the center of the photo: My girl 💛 Please be respectful of her privacy, and be kind
“Oh,” you say, almost timidly.
Beside you, Fraser looks over cautiously, “Too much? You want me to take it down?”
You shake your head quickly. “No,” you mumble, “No, it’s…nice.”
His expression relaxes, and then he leans over and presses a kiss against your forehead exactly the same way he had at family skate a few days earlier. “You okay?” he asks softly.
You look down at your phone again, where the follow requests have already slowed, then back at him. He’s undoubtedly calm, his demeanor still steady, just looking at you like this isn’t complicated at all. He makes it much much easier to breathe.
“Yeah,” you say finally, curling closer into his side. Fraser hums quietly, arm tightening around your waist before he reaches for the remote with his free hand like this is just another normal day. Maybe, with him, it still can be.
“Can we just stay here all day?”
He hums, “Yeah baby, we can. We’ll just wait it out, I’ll make you some tea, we can watch something, do that lego set you ordered…” and as he continues to list things for you to spend the day doing, you let yourself relax. It’s still a lot, but less so now, and a part of you is happy that this is finally public. People know he’s yours and you’re his, and you can finally, fully exist in that.
requests are open 🫶
the lack of dobes fics on this app is criminal😭🙏
think of you: mc71
you and your boyfriend spend the day at your favorite spot: having a picnic at the lake. (gender neutral reader x macklin celebrini)
1/? "off-season shenanigans" || masterlist
word count: 2k
tags: established relationship, fluff!, no use of y/n
notes: appearance/nicknames kept as gender neutral as possible. i can't always exclude things like allergies, (dis)likes, etc. so pls bear with me.
english is not my first language | no beta wie die like macks teeth in that jets game
it's been ten minutes already. maybe fifteen.
impressed by his seemingly never ending persistence, you sit up a bit from the blanket, book face down on your stomach, and just watch the way the rays of sunshine frame your boyfriend's kneeling silhouette.
“earth to macklin? macklin, you there?” you ask with a smile, watching as the fresh water droplets from his quick dip in the lake drip from his hair onto his knees, never once disrupting his concentration.
“yeah... i just... could've sworn i saw a four leaf clover somewhere," he mutters with a huff, swiping back his wet hair and leaning further down.
at that you laugh, not in the slightest surprised by his antics.
macklin pouts and shoots you a look, failing to hide the corner of his mouth lifting when he takes in your relaxed position on his picnic blanket.
“this is incredible serious business, ruler of darkness.”
“ohhhh~” you coo at him with a tilted head, clearly amused at the familiar banter.
“so now you're coming for my preferences, hm? i'll have you know, i quite enjoy the dark side, sunny boy,” you nod, “after all, it has cookies. and they're made with much love by the one and only bestest friend of my amazing boyfriend.”
macklin chuckles as you pick up one of said cookies, baked and delivered by will just this morning, and bite into it with an exaggerated, happy noise.
it's been an inside joke for as long as the both of you can remember; him soaking in all of the bright sunlight he could possibly get and you, sitting nearby in the cooler shade and just watching him being happy.
the brunette remembers worrying about your differences early on in your relationship. of course, the saying goes that opposites attract, but then again... he's had quite a few relationships, be it romantic or platonic, just slip through his fingers because they were just too different.
but with you, the worry was squashed pretty quick.
“whatever, your highness of darkness. if you'll excuse me, i have an important mission to finish.”
you hum, laying back down onto his shirt, that's been acting as your fluffy pillow ever since he took it off, and pick up your book again.
around you it's mostly silent, just a few birds chirping or the rustling of the wind when it blows gently through the lush green leaves of the tree you're under.
it has become kind of a tradition for the two of you to come here, ever since you became friends all those years ago.
back then, it was a lot easier to just plan a week long trip for the off season, given that both of you were in school and had off anways.
nowadays, since you've got a job and he has very important off season events, it's become harder.
so you try and soak up all the time you can get with him; be it just a weekend, a day or a few hours that pass way too quickly.
it's may already and soon macklin will be traveling again to join the canadian team for the world championships, so he made sure to plan his off season meticulously.
you're used to it by now, always reassuring him that he shouldn't feel bad about his many absences.
it's a given if you're with a hockey player, but throughout the years the two have built something that, and you're sure of it, can withstand the amount of stressors thrown your way.
macklin celebrini is not just your (very much perfect) boyfriend, he's so much more.
there's a rustling and just a few seconds later macklin is standing at the edge of the blanket, careful not to get it wet or dirty, proudly holding up a clover leaf with his signature gummy smile.
“i report back to hq, the four leafed clover has been found and collected,” your boyfriend proclaims happily, making a grabby hand at the basket standing right next to your head.
looking over the top of your book, you grin at him, laying it down against your stomach once more so you can turn and pull out a second, more worn looking book from the depths of the picnic basket.
it's held shut with tight rubber bands, the spine is cracked and dirty. the entire thing looking like it's been through a few rough times.
“you gonna lock it up?”
your boyfriend laughs at your question, nodding and gratefully taking the book to safely put away his found treasure.
you know he'll press it over the next few weeks, then add it to his yearly growing collection.
“i have no clue how you do it, mackie. you have to be the luckiest guy on earth with that big of a collection,” you muse with a grin, observing him slowly place the leaf inside the thick book and making sure it's secure after closing it.
“i'm pretty sure i am,” macklin smiles, tightening the rubber bands you hand him around the book before looking at you once again with mischievous eyes, “i'm your boyfriend after all. really lucky i'd say.”
you roll your eyes with a snort, pushing at his still wet chest while he laughs.
“that was the cringiest pickup line ever, macklin richard celebrini.”
“ohhh, coming at me with the full name treatment, eh? go on, admit that you like it. you love me,” the boy retaliates, picking up one of the clean towels you've already laid out for him and begins drying his skin.
you do, obviously. but of course, one shouldn't feed the lucky boy's ego too much.
“maybe this ruler of darkness tolerates you for no other reason than you being the only jester they've found.”
macklin looks down at you as his hand stops drying his legs, a smirk forming on his lips. you can see him come up with another quick rebuttal in his head and brace yourself.
“so you're saying i'm the only one? but that also technically makes me the best, no?”
that gets a laugh out of you, your book long forgotten as macklin moves to settle down next to you on the blanket and sneakily steals a strawberry with a smirk.
“oh so that's what you're taking from that?” you ask after you've stopped laughing, tilting your head to the side and flicking your boyfriend's leg as he chews his sweet treat happily.
“you should always try to see the positive things,” is all he says after he's swallowed, holding the other half of the strawberry to your lips encouragingly.
you hum as you take the bait, chewing the strawberry while macklin sits down cross-legged on the blanket, his knee touching your arm.
before you can add anything to his words, the brunette is bending forwards again and over the basket, his gaze focused on the meadow surrounding your small, private space.
you're just done with your piece of strawberry when macklin looks at you and grins, holding up a handful of pretty daisies.
“would this ruler like a crown fitting for their gloomy and dark and mystical aura?”
“why yes, my good jester. do your best to entertain your ruler with your masterful craftsmanship,” you retort back sarcastically, putting away your book after marking the page you've just started reading. to watch him, you turn your body to the side as he begins to fiddle with the small flowers.
you just know this will be truly amazing to witness; given the fact that macklin, for all his amazing stickhandling and hockey shooting skills, really sucked at fine work.
it doesn't take long for your boyfriend to start struggling, biting his lip in focused concentration as the small stems seem to bend against his will.
you have half a mind to offer him help with a laugh, but then again, you've known the guy for quite a while now.
he will struggle a little more, try to work through his frustration and then inevitably give up the daisy flower crown to you.
but he's trying his best.
“i may be a lucky jester with a ton of skills but this one...” he says after a few minutes have passed and holds out the slightly worse for wear looking flowers to you with a sheepish smile, “i might require the help of my partner's amazing and very much magical hands. please.”
with a soft smile you sit up and mirror his position, accepting the flowers while he settles his head comfortably on your leg and looks up at you.
“your hair is still wet, mackie,” you complain with a half-hearted whine, ignoring the laugh that leaves him shaking with amusement.
“my bad, love. i simply couldn't wait to witness your talent,” macklin declares, one thumb coming up to brush against your leg in a quiet apology.
“you're the one washing my clothes and the blanket then,” you comment dryly, nimble fingers starting to slowly braid the fine stems into a sturdy flower crown.
the silence between the two of you is relaxing, neither of you ever feeling pressured to fill it with senseless talking. just enjoying the quiet while being together.
when the daisies inevitably start running out, you bend to pluck a few more, making sure to not to rustle macklin too much as he rests in your lap.
you have no idea how much time has passed, but when the finished flower crown rests in your hands, your boyfriend's breathing has slowed down significantly. he's fallen asleep you realize amused, carefully placing the daisy crown on your head.
his hair has started drying already, looking softer with every minute that passes and you have to restrain yourself from cooing.
looking around you realize that despite your worries, there are still many small white daisies surrounding your blanket and as you look between macklin in your lap and the flowers, an idea hits you.
you work silently and slow, stifling a giggle with every small daisy blossom you place in his hair.
right as you're done taking pics and opening your chat with will, mack wakes up and sleepily blinks his eyes.
he hears you snicker to yourself and, rightfully, has the instinct to stay still, knowing you and your shenanigans.
"what'd you do?" he murmurs und yawns, preparing himself mentally to hear you've braided his hair into tiny ponytails or something.
you click on the pic you took of him sleeping in your lap with a head full of daisies that you've just sent to will, holding your phone down towards his face so he can look.
"we're matching~" you say happily, letting him grab your phone and analyze what he's looking at.
macklin smiles, swiping through the pictures you sent will. there's a selfie he took with you right before the two of you left for the lake, a picture of you setting up the blanket and then, from a few minutes ago, a selfie of you with the flower crown.
the last one is from just now, his head covered in delicate white daisies, with a «worked so hard to entertain me,,, he fell asleep ♡» message from you right underneath.
“think he'll try and use these as blackmail?” macklin questions you with a chuckle, holding out your phone for you to take it back.
“oh definitely. smitty wouldn't miss any blackmail material if his life depended on it,” you answer in a fond voice, taking your phone again and putting it back into the basket.
you lean back on your hands and enjoy the refreshing breeze on your face, simply content and happy to share these moments with macklin.
“want me to press all of these?” comes his voice after a few more minutes have passed. you open an eye and look down at your boyfriend.
“if you want. one would also be enough. i'll let you decide, want me to collect them all?” you muse and sit back up straight as he contemplates.
“if your highness would be so kind,” macklin replies and stretches carefully, twisting his foot that seemingly feel asleep too.
and as you laugh at him trying to massage his tingling foot without disrupting you collecting daisies out of his hair, you tell yourself that no matter how much time you'll have with macklin this off season, you'll treasure every precious moment.
minibrini © 2026 | do not copy, translate or distribute my work on other platforms.
oh my god😭😭 hes so fucking cute and precious
Five more minutes || jd75 x reader
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Summary: your boyfriend despises getting out of bed, especially when you’re so warm
Warnings: fluff, not proofread, slightly suggestive at the end
Especially made for my certified Doby lover and the one who got me into appreciating his true beauty @naughtyasworld 🤭
More below the cut ⬇️⬇️⬇️
The sun woke you up a few minutes before your alarm, groaning as the dappled light found its way through the bedroom curtains, directly onto your face. Your own noise of protest caused the warm heap on top of you to shift, big arms tightening around your torso as you blinked your eyes open. The heap, in question, moved again, as you peeked downwards to see the mussed dusty hair of your boyfriend, nuzzling against you.
“Love,” you murmured, reaching to gently run fingers down his back, only causing him to let out a deep contented noise, squeezing tighter, settling into the bed with zero ounce of motivation to get up.
“Love,” You repeated, tapping him, Jakub’s eyes finally opening with a slow blink as he tilted his chin to gaze at you. You smiled seeing his sleepy eyes and his own grin fill his face as he took you in in the same way.
“G’morning beautiful,” his voice groggy as he shimmied upwards to bring his face level to yours, lips puckering as you giggled, obliging as you gave him a peck.
“Good morning to you too.” Jakub’s eyes closed again, settling his chin back in, tucked against the crook of your neck as you let out a tut of disapproval. “Hey. It’s time to get up.”
“Nuh uh,” His voice mumbled from against the bed sheets and your skin where he was buried.
As if on cue, your alarm buzzed to life on the bedside table, signalling it was in fact time to get up and face the day. You reached to turn it off, Jakub squirming a little as you moved, pulling you back in instantly, his strength making the tiny struggle last no more than a second. Even as you attempted to use your palms to push him up off of you, he went dead weight, crushing you as you squeaked.
“Jakub,” You giggled, air slightly knocked from your lungs as he laid there. “I’m serious! You’ve got practice today, and I’ve got work!”
“Nuh uh,” like a broken record, mumbled.
“I’m serious…”
His eyes peeked up again, catching yours, a mischievous glint in them this time. “Call in sick.”
“You know I can’t do that. And more importantly, you can’t skip today. You’ve got big games next week!”
“Blah blah,” he huffed like a child, hand flipping up to make a dismissive gesture for a moment, grabbing you and rolling over so you were side by side, rather than under him. He pulled you into him, broad chest against your back as he spooned you.
“Not ‘blah blah’!” You scoffed. “Oh my gosh you’re such a child.”
“You smell so good.”
“Jakub, I mean it-”
“I mean it too. Smell like mine.”
You laid for a moment, quitting your protests as you spent a second to actually enjoy his warmth, scoffing a soft “you’re so cringey” under your breath. But the alarm clock on your bedside table blinked the time, reminding you of the passing minutes. You had fifty two minutes to get dressed, do your hair and makeup, eat breakfast, take the bus, and make it to work.
“Jakub…”
He groaned again, but finally began to move. “I know,” he relented as he sat up, pout still evident on his face as he raised a fist to rub sleep from his eyes. “Need a shower.”
You nodded as you finally pulled away, getting up off the bed as you stretched, t-shirt riding up your stomach slightly, Jakub’s eyes drinking the sight in as he grinned. “Need a shower with you…” he added on, also standing, placing two big hands on your hips as he wiggled his eyebrows. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. Gosh he was so weird. But so endearing.
“I love you but I seriously need to get moving. We’ll shower some other time, yeah?”
As if he hadn’t pouted a dozen times already, Jakub let out a dramatic sigh as he let go of you. “Fineeee….”
You stood on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his nose in response as you patted his chest. “You’re a piece of work.”
“Wanting to have sex with my beautiful and amazing girlfriend makes me a piece of work?”
“When it means keeping us from our important daily tasks? Yes.”
He grumbled another sound of irritation as you walked away from him, still watching you as you dug through your cupboard, pulling out your outfit for the day. You looked up, eyes meeting his. “Why aren’t you in the shower?”
Jakub just blinked, deadpan, accent thick as he murmured “wanna fuck you so bad.”
Your eyes bugged out of your head as you squeaked, moving forward and giving him a firm but playful shove towards the bathroom door. “We’re never having sex again if you don’t GO.”
And with that, he let out a small giggle, before finally trudging towards the shower.
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the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
knock next time | sidney crosby
Pairing: celebrini!reader x sidney crosby
Prompt: when your younger brother and his best friend, Mack and Will, decide to surprise you at your Pittsburgh apartment, they get more than they bargained for
requested!
Growing up in the Celebrini household was never a dull moment, especially not as the oldest child. It was rinks, practices, someone yelling about losing their hockey bag, yelling over who took the last piece of dessert. But it was also full of love, that was always a given. And there was no one you loved like your siblings.
That’s part of the reason these last 11 months have been so hard. Not because your family is scattered, not because you live in Pittsburgh, which is approximately 3,000 miles away from your brother, but because you’ve been hiding something from them all.
That something?
Sidney Patrick Crosby.
You roll out of bed, trying to wiggle your way loose from Sid’s grasp. He just groans in response, pulling your body flush against his.
“Sid.” You whisper with a morning voice and a giggle. He groans again, his eyes still closed as his lips find your temple, then your cheek, then your lips. You kiss him back like a woman possessed, it happens every time Sidney kisses you. But you manage to pull back, even though your body is screaming at you to jump his bones right now and worry about coffee, and the headache you’ll get if you don’t have any, later. “I’m going to go start some coffee.” You whisper, your voice sultry in your boyfriend’s ear.
“Looking like that?” Sid questions you, his eyes raking over your bare form. You stand, your back towards him as you turned your gaze over your shoulder, his eyes staring at your ass.
“Come find me after your shower you hound.” You joke, stealing his penguins shirt off the ground, making sure to bend over very very slowly. Sidney groans as you leave the bedroom laughing, the soft glow of the morning casting your apartment in a golden glow.
You love Pittsburgh, at first you wondered what the hell you were doing as you spent your first night alone in the apartment. Your entire family had helped you move in, buying furniture, building the furniture, and listening to Mack and Aiden argue over the furniture. But it’s been two years since then, and almost a year since you and Sid have been attached at the hip. But that also means, it’s been almost a year of lying to everyone you love. Especially Macklin.
Macklin was your rock, your little brother who you looked after your entire life. And now he’s in San Jose, now he’s 19 and playing his heart out with his best friend Will Smith. Will, who you’ve also adopted like a little brother.
You smile thinking about them, about how excited they are to be coming to Pittsburgh in a few weeks. The family dinner was nearly impossible to plan with everyone’s schedules, but they all found a way, and that is the night that you’ll be introducing them to Sid.
It’s not like they don’t know him, or know of him. Macklin knows him in a ‘I’ve played against you and looked up to you my entire life’ kind of way. But you want them to know Sid, not Sidney Crosby the hockey player, Sid the boyfriend who basically lives with you. The boyfriend who refuses to let you drive anywhere, the boyfriend who redid your spare room so you could continue to write your novels from home, the boyfriend who cares more about you being a famous author than he does about being a famous hockey player, the boyfriend who has never once let you feel anything except larger than life.
These thoughts fill you with ideas for your next book, and it’s not like you haven’t based characters off Sidney’s actions before. The ideas fill your head as coffee starts brewing, and as the shower turns on from deeper in your apartment.
A little while later you grab your designated mugs, still deep in thought as you smile. But the peace of the Pittsburgh morning died. It died in the way that at 7:14am, your apartment door unlocks. And Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith enter your apartment with wide smiles.
“Surprise!” Mack yells, his smile fully on display, a drink carrier with three coffees in his hand, as Will smiles behind him, a brown bag clutched in his.
“Mackie.” You state, shock settling deeply around you. Your eyes blow wide as everything clicks.
The pair of shoes by the door which are obviously not yours, the bottle of men’s cologne on your countertop, the Pittsburgh Penguins shirt you’re wearing, which is way too big to be yours and houses CROSBY 87 on the back in big gold letters, and of course, the sound of someone in the shower. Of Sidney. Your boyfriend. Your secret boyfriend. Your very secret and very naked boyfriend.
“What?” Mack asks, his wide grin fading just a bit as he sees your shocked face. But that’s not the only thing he notices. His eyes scan your place, they catch the shoes, the bottle of cologne, the shirt that is way too big and way too worn covering your body. And of course, he clocks the sound of the shower turning off.
Will chokes as he realizes too, but it’s Will who’s eyes go wide when he realizes who’s shirt you’ve got on.
“Is… is someone here?” Mack asks quickly, his eyes going wide as he stares into your still wide eyes.
Your soul leaves your body, and you stay quiet not knowing what to say.
“Mack-“ Will says but you interrupt.
“Mackie, just-“ you start, but it’s too late. Too late because there’s the sound of the door opening, the sound of rustling, and the sound of footsteps coming closer to the kitchen.
And then it happens, Sidney Crosby walks into the kitchen. One of your white fluffy towels hanging dangerously low on his hips, and another towel drying his hair which is dark and dripping down his muscular back and chest.
“You better hope this hickey goes away before practice tomorrow otherwise the guys are going to-“ Sid stops when he realizes, he didn’t just say that to you. In fact, he said that to three people, two of which, are your little brother and honorary brother.
Macklin stares at his idol, Will stares between the two of you. Sidney just stares at Macklin. For a moment, nobody moved, and nobody spoke. Until your brother, to no one’s surprise, loses it.
“WHAT THE HELL!” Macklin exclaims, Will taking the carrying tray out of his best friend’s grasp as Mack starts waving his arms around.
“Oh my god.” You whisper, a hand going to your forehead while Sid’s hand tightens on the towel around his hips, like he remembered how he looks, and who it is standing in front of him.
“Is-“ Mack starts, green eyes so wide as he stares between you and Sid. “Sidney-“ he starts talking again but it’s like he can’t get out a full sentence.
“Morning, Macklin.” Sidney says, you can tell he’s a bit nervous by the way his muscles move. But he’s also still relaxed, like he’s not letting himself freak out.
“MORNING?” Macklin repeats. “Morning? You’re in my sister’s apartment basically wearing a fucking hand towel and you say morning?”
“It’s a regular towel.” You say, a bit offended that he insulted your fluffy white, and insanely expensive, towels. Behind Mack, Will now fully loses it. He sets everything down on the entry table and covers his mouth with his hand. His shoulders shaking as he tries to turn away.
“Will!” Macklin exclaims, turning around to watch his best friend try not to double over in laughter. “Stop laughing!” Macklin exclaims, but that only seems to make him laugh harder.
“I’m sorry,” Will says, waving a hand in front of him. “I’m sorry this is just the funniest thing that’s happened to me all year.” He says, wiping under his eyes as he continues to giggle.
“Sid.” You whisper, and your boyfriend’s gaze shoots over to you immediately. “Maybe go put some clothes on?” You say, and Will busts out with a new fit of giggles.
“Isn’t that a little hard when you’re wearing his shirt?” Will asks, and Macklin makes a pained noise as he really takes that fact in. You stare at Will as threatening as you could as Sidney awkwardly scratches the back of his neck as he tries to contain a laugh from Will’s comment.
“I’ll be right back.” Sid says, his smile unable to be contained as he turns down in the direction of your bedroom.
—
It didn’t take long for Sidney to come back in a pair of sweats and a black t-shirt. The shirt hugs his arms perfectly, and you have to drag your gaze away before your little brother notices. But Sidney does, he always notices. And he gives you a wicked little smirk before turning his attention back to your little brother.
“Macklin-“ Sidney starts as he sits down next to you on the couch, the younger players standing in front of the tv, facing the both of you like they are parents who caught you guys doing something bad.
“How long?” Mack asks, and for the first time since entering your apartment and finding out your secret, he sounds hurt instead of angry.
“A while.” You say with a slight wince.
“A while?” Mack echos. “How long is a while?”
“Just under a year.” Sid finishes, and his hand takes yours. His fingers interlinking with your shaking ones. “We were going to tell you.”
“When?” Mack asks.
“Dinner.” You say immediately, and you want to crawl into a hole as you see your brother’s face.
“Like the family dinner?” Will asks from beside Mack as you nod.
“Why didn’t you-“ Mack starts but stops himself as he really takes you in. Takes in the way you and Sidney are, the way he knows that if he were to raise his voice again Sidney would step in front of you, the way his hand is wrapping around your slightly shaking one. The way Mack knows that keeping this from him all this time must have been killing you. “I’m not mad, Y/N.” He finally says, the tension dropping slightly from his shoulders. “I just-“ he pauses, his fingers running through your hair. “Why didn’t you feel like you could tell me?”
That carved a part of you open. Not, why didn’t you tell me? But, why didn’t you feel like you could tell me?
You see him clearly for the first time since he walked in, your younger brother. Your younger brother who has done nothing but support you your entire life. Your younger brother who looked at you for years like you hung the stars for him.
“Because it was new at first.” You finally say, staring at Mack, your hands still squeezing Sidney’s. “And I didn’t want the world to know, we didn’t want the world to know. With both of us in one form of the media we just wanted something that was… ours.” You explain. “Plus, he’s Sidney Crosby, and I have the Celebrini name.”
That fact causes your boyfriend to shift you more into his side, and your brother for the first time looks like he might understand why you kept it secret.
“I didn’t want people to assume stuff because of who we are.” You say, motioning towards you and Sid. “And, I didn’t care what they would say about me if they found out, I still don’t. I just care about him.” You say, and everyone stills.
“Y/N.” Sid whispers, his voice so soft.
“So you hid him because you love him?” Will asks, the joking smile replaced with a genuine one.
“Yes.” You say, and you feel the familiar press of a kiss to your head.
“I’m sorry this is how you found out.” Sidney says. “But I’m not sorry that you know. And I’m definitely not sorry for all the time I’ve gotten to have with her.”
“Oh my god.” Mack says, finally sitting down on the couch.
“So you’re like, in love in love.” He says, laughing for the first time today.
“Yeah Mackie.” You say with a laugh. “We’re in love in love.”
“Fuck.” Mack says, laughing loudly now. “Do I have to pretend I don’t know?” He asks suddenly.
“Just until dinner.” You say, hoping he’ll agree. It’s quiet for a second until Mack nods and agrees.
“So!” Will says, clapping and bringing all the attention to him. “I’m exhausted and I cannot keep the comedy up unless I’m fed.”
Sidney lets out a genuine laugh before he agrees.
“I’ll start something up.” He says, letting go of you but not without a soft kiss.
“Oh god. Right in front of me.” Mack complains, but you see his smile before he covers his face.
“I have more questions.” Mack says, as he follows Sid into the kitchen and rapid fire asks everything he can possibly think of.
How did you guys meet? Who made the first move? Do you live here? Do any other hockey players know? Do the Penguins know?
Sid meets them all with honesty and laughter, and his answers make Will fake a groan with how sweet they are.
“I love her, Mack.” He says finally once Macklin seemed to exhausted all his questions. “I have for a long time, even before we started dating. I know that probably sounds like a lot, and maybe it is.” He confesses, but he keeps talking. “I loved her before I had any right to. Before I knew if she’d ever look at me that way, before I knew if this could be anything more than me hoping she’d text me back, or finding reasons to ask about her day, or noticing every time she laughed at something I said and trying not to make it obvious that it melted every wall I’ve ever had.”
Your breath catches as you hear it, and Sid turns his attention to you for only a second before turning back to your brother.
“She loves you very much Macklin. I need you to know that this secret wasn’t because she didn’t trust you, and it wasn’t because she wanted to keep you out. But she wanted to protect it until she knew how to show it to the people she loves most, which is you. Both of you actually.” Sid says, pointing to Mack and then to Will.
Your heart clenches as Will sits down on the couch now too, smiling a bit as he hands you the coffee he and Macklin brought in.
“Can I ask something?” Macklin says to him, and Sid just nods, stirring batter in a bowl. “Are you guys worried about, I mean, I’m not trying to be weird, but are you guys-“
You cut him off before he could finish. “The age difference?” You ask, one eyebrow rising.
Macklin nods, looking a bit sheepish at that question, but you understand.
“No.” Sid says with warmth but also with confidence. “I mean we know people will talk, but people aren’t in this relationship.”
Your heart warms at that. That no matter what, no matter the age or the circumstances that fans can and will put you through, no matter any of it you know Sidney Crosby is yours and yours alone.
It doesn’t take long for the four of you to settle down, to laugh, eat, and the boys to all chirp each other.
You’re standing in the kitchen, watching the three of them talk, and for the first time in a very long time, you let yourself breathe.
Because Macklin Celebrini, your little brother who used to cry at the thought of you growing up and moving out of your parent’s house, is sitting with the man you love more than life itself.
Sidney catches your gaze from across the space, and he gives you a wink before chirping your brother and his best friend back.
I love you, you mouth at him.
I love you more, he mouths back.
oh my god i actually havent laughed this hard over a fic in a while
Meet me in the afterglow but it’s a side story of Will taking care of tipsy reader after he picks her up from girls night. He’s definitely trusted by all of readers friends to make sure everyone’s getting home safe too. Would love to see it start with him over while reader is getting ready and he just can’t stop staring because she’s soo pretty and he’s obsessed (in a loving and caring way). Then him trying not to think about reader while she’s out, but his mind keeps drifting back to her, thinking about how pretty she looked and if she’s drinking water or has eaten anything while out. And then him picking reader up and taking care of her, making sure everyone else has a safe ride home. He’s so soft for reader 🥹
He is obsessed with her, and in the sweetest way.
4k words Meet Me in the Afterglow AU
Will knows you’re pretty. That’s never exactly been a groundbreaking realization for him, he’s always thought that.
He’s known since he was fourteen and couldn’t make eye contact with you for longer than five seconds after you showed up to school in a sundress that spring. He’s known through every hoodie-and-sweatpants grocery run, every exhausted finals week, and every middle-of-the-night FaceTime call where you were half asleep.
But tonight feels unfair. You’re standing in front of his bathroom mirror doing your makeup while music plays quietly from your phone, you’re quietly mumbling the lyrics while you’re digging through your makeup bag. Will genuinely can’t stop staring at you.
“You’re being weirdly quiet,” you say eventually, catching his reflection in the mirror.
Will’s sitting on the edge of your bed behind you with his elbows on his knees. He’s watching you with absolutely no shame, “M’thinking.”
“That’s dangerous if you’re not telling me what you’re thinking about.”
He snorts softly, “Yeah, probably.”
You smile a little to yourself and go back to putting on your mascara. Will watches the concentration on your face, the way your brows pinch slightly while you do it. You’re dressed already, after going back and forth with what top to wear for at least a half hour. You paired it with your favorite jeans and some boots you always complain hurt your feet but wear out anyway.
You’re just existing, and all he's thinking is that he’s looking at the most beautiful person on the planet.
“You almost ready?” he asks, mostly because if he keeps staring in silence he’s going to lose his mind.
“Mhm,” You lean closer to the mirror. “Claire said they were on their way like ten minutes ago.”
Will nods, but he doesn’t move. Your eyes flick back to him again through the mirror because of his silence, “What?”
He shakes his head, “Nothing.”
“You’re staring at me,” you accuse lightly.
He shoots you a small smile, “I know.”
That earns a quiet laugh from you, “You’re ridiculous.”
Despite saying that you walk over to him anyway when you finish, stepping between his knees automatically, Will's hands settle on your waist like they belong there.
“You look really pretty tonight,” he says softly.
Your expression changes instantly, all warm and shy around the edges in the way that still affects him way more than it should. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He rubs his thumbs against your sides absentmindedly, “You’re gorgeous. Think you’re trying to ruin my night, actually.”
“Oh my god,” you say, shaking your head.
“I’m serious.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Maybe,” he admits easily, “Still true though.”
Your hands slide into his hair for a second, fingers brushing through the strands at his temples, and Will almost forgets you’re leaving at all.
Then your phone buzzes. You groan dramatically, checking the text, “They’re outside.”
Will exhales like he’s personally been wronged by this information. You grin immediately, “You’ll survive a few hours without me.”
He pretends to think about it, “Debatable.”
“You have Ryan and Gabe,” you say, grabbing your purse.
“That’s not helping your argument.”
You laugh, leaning down to kiss him quickly before stepping away, “I’ll text you.”
“Drink water.”
You point at him accusingly, “You sound like my mom.”
“You didn’t answer the statement.”
You pause before you walk out of his bedroom, “I’ll drink water,” you say patiently, humoring him.
“And eat something.”
“I ate before I got here.”
“While you’re out, I mean.”
You stare at him for a long second before smiling softly, “You worry too much.”
He probably does. In fact, he knows he does. But he can’t help it. Not when it comes to you.
⊰══════════════════════⊱
The apartment feels way too quiet after you leave. Ryan and Gabe show up not long after you head out, and now the three boys are sprawled across the living room furniture, trying to entertain themselves for a few hours.
Ryan’s talking about something that happened at practice the day before, while Gabe scrolls through Netflix trying to find something to watch, but Will’s barely paying attention. All he can think about is you.
The way you looked standing in front of the mirror, how your perfume smells, the one you hardly ever use because you “don’t want to waste it.” Whether you actually remembered to drink water or if you immediately forgot the second your friends handed you something alcoholic.
“Hey,” Gabe’s voice snaps Will out of his thoughts, “You good?”
Will blinks, “Yeah, sorry.”
Gabe shrugs, “It’s fine.”
Ryan looks over from the couch immediately. “Oh, he’s just thinking about Y/N, he’s fine.”
“I’m literally sitting right here, I can hear you,” Will argues.
Ryan grins, teasing him more, “Did she look pretty tonight?”
Will makes the mistake of answering honestly, “Yeah.”
Gabe starts laughing immediately at how fast the response came out. “Jesus Christ,” Ryan says. “You are…insanely in love with that girl.”
Will groans, dropping his head back against the couch cushions. “Can you shut up for like five minutes?” But there’s no malice in his words, and he’s biting back a smile.
“No,” Gabe says simply. Ryan points toward Will, “He’s worried she’s not drinking water.”
Will narrows his eyes. “How do you know that?”
“Because you always worry about that, and you keep checking your phone like you’re expecting to hear from her.”
Will opens his mouth to protest, but as if on cue, his phone screen lights up.
You: claire says hi, so does maya You: also, yes i drank water before you ask
He responds instantly.
Will: Tell them I say hi back. Thanks for checking in, go have fun. Be safe
You: i will, promise!! i’ll talk to you later xx
Ryan watches Will’s face, “She doing okay?”
Will nods, “Yeah, she and the girls say hi.”
“Well I’m sure they’re having a more fun night than we are,” Gabe says.
Ryan and Will both look confused, “You hate going out,” Will says. Gabe is about to protest, but stops himself, “Yeah I do,” he says. Will and Ryan burst out laughing, and their night continues as normal.
⊰══════════════════════⊱
By the time he gets a text from one of your friends, it’s almost midnight. Ryan and Gabe left a couple hours ago, he’s already showered and ready to get in bed, but Will’s been waiting to hear from you.
Maya: She’s alive and well but she keeps talking about mozzarella sticks Maya: Come get your girl
⊰══════════════════════⊱
By the time Will pulls up outside the bar, he’s already smiling to himself. Not because he’s excited to deal with a drunk you (though he would, every single weekend, without complaint) but because the second he parked, he spotted you through the front window.
You’re impossible to miss. Wearing the outfit you spent almost an hour getting ready in earlier while he sat on the edge of your bed pretending not to stare at you every thirty seconds. Your hair is a little messier now, lipstick faded at the corners from drinking out of straws and laughing too hard, but somehow you look even prettier than you did before.
Will laughs under his breath and gets out of the car.
The second he steps inside, the noise hits him first. The music is too loud and people are yelling over each other, glasses clinking somewhere near the bar.
Further into the room you’re sitting in a booth with your friends, leaning dramatically across the table while talking with your hands. And the second you notice him standing there? Your entire face lights up.
“Will!” you gasp loudly, like you haven’t seen him in years instead of a few hours, and several heads turn toward him immediately.
“Thank god,” Claire mutters with a smile. “Please take her,” Maya says, joking.
“I’m literally fine,” you insist, even as you nearly slide sideways out of the booth trying to stand up. “Will I missed you so much, I wanted to go home but I had to wait on you to get here. Took so long…”
Will’s at your side immediately, one hand instinctively settling on your waist to steady you. “Easy,” he laughs softly. You blink up at him, “You came.”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling despite himself. “That was kind of the plan.”
You stare at him for a second too long. Then very seriously, “You’re really pretty.”
Claire and Maya burst out laughing, and Will feels heat crawl up the back of his neck immediately. “Okay,” he says quietly, trying not to smile too hard, “C’mon.”
“No, wait,” you protest, grabbing onto the front of his hoodie. “I was talking to them.”
“You’ve been talking to them for hours.”
“And I’m not done.”
“You are absolutely done, you can see them tomorrow okay? We gotta get you home..”
“Fine,” you sigh. Suddenly you narrow your eyes at him suspiciously before suddenly gasping again, “Wait.”
“What?”
You grab his face with both hands, “You shaved.”
His friends would never let him live this down if they saw this.
“Little bit,” he says carefully. You squint at him like you’re analyzing fine art, “I liked the scruff.”
Will laughs helplessly, gently pulling your hands away from his face before you accidentally poke his eye out. “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”
Your friends are all watching this interaction with identical expressions; amused and somehow completely unsurprised.
Maya leans toward him while you’re distracted trying to put your purse on upside down. “She ate, don’t worry,” she says quietly. “And we made her drink water.”
“Thank you,” Will says genuinely.
He means it, too. Even though he’d spent half the night trying not to think too hard about you being out without him, there’s still a part of him that relaxes hearing you were taken care of. Even now, though, he’s already automatically slipping into the role he always does on nights like this, checking that everyone has coats, phones, and rides home. Making mental notes of who’s still waiting on an Uber and who needs help getting down the stairs without eating concrete.
You smile sleepily against his side, “You always take care of everybody.”
Something soft passes over Maya’s expression at that, because the thing is, he does.
He makes sure both of your friends has rides home before he even thinks about leaving.
That’s the thing about nights like this. All your friends trust him, not just with you but with all of them. As much as Ryan and Gabe mean to you, your friends mean to Will. Because Will’s always the one making sure everyone gets home safe. Always checking in, ordering rides if it’s needed. Walking people to doors, carrying shoes when feet start hurting, holding hair back if someone gets sick, and especially with you.
You’re standing beside him in his hoodie now because you got cold walking outside, your fingers loosely hooked around his wrist while he talks to your friends.
“Will,” you whisper loudly, tugging on his sleeve.
“What?”
You lean closer like you’re about to confess something devastating, “I think the bartender hates me.”
He bites back his smile, “Why?”
“Because I asked for ranch three times. And I kept trying to order the mozzarella sticks but they didn't have any, so I had to have the dry chicken tenders and fries.”
He stares at you for a second before trying to hide his laughter, but he fails so he has to look away.
“Oh my god,” Claire says, trying not to laugh. “See? This is why we texted you.”
Eventually Will manages to find a place outside to stand in the cold night air. You immediately stumble into his side the second you step onto the sidewalk, arms wrapping around his middle beneath his coat, “So cold,” you mumble dramatically against his chest.
Will automatically pulls you closer, “I know.”
“You’re warm.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm, so cozy.”
He presses a kiss into the top of your head without thinking about it.
Maya sighs dramatically from beside the car. “Alright, enough. Some of us are single,” she jokingly complains.
You immediately lift your head from Will’s chest just enough to point accusingly at Maya. “You had a guy buy you fries tonight.”
“That does not count.”
“Well you don’t think it counts because you didn’t talk to him after.”
Will laughs quietly under his breath while opening the passenger door for you. “Okay, c’mon. You two getting home safe?” Claire and Maya both nod.
He waits while Maya’s roommate pulls up to the curb, and makes sure Claire promises to text the group chat when she gets home.
“Text me when you all get home,” you tell them seriously from where you’re half folded into the passenger seat of Will’s car.
Maya points at Will, “We usually text him.”
You blink once, not quite processing, “Oh.”
Will shuts your car door before you can spiral emotionally over that information. By the time he rounds the front of the car and slides into the driver’s seat, you’re already curled toward his side of the console sleepily.
“You ready?” he asks softly.
“Mhm.”
“You drink too much?”
“No,” you say immediately. There’s a pause before you continue, “Little bit.”
He smiles and shakes his head, putting the car into drive.
The drive back to his apartment is quiet. Your music is playing low through the speakers, and your hand loosely resting on his arm while streetlights pass across your face in warm flashes of gold.
Will keeps glancing over at you at red lights, because you won’t stop looking at him. Not in the distracted way people usually do. You’re just…looking.
“What?” he asks finally, smiling a little.
“You’re nice,” you say simply.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” You nod seriously, “Like…really nice.”
“You’re just saying that because you're tipsy.”
“No, I’m being observant and honest.”
He laughs softly through his nose, one hand reaching over to squeeze your knee gently.
“You know what I was thinking earlier?” you mumble after a second.
“What, baby?”
You sigh happily, “I think everybody loves you.”
Will blinks, caught off guard by the statement, “What?”
“My friends,” you clarify sleepily. “Ryan and Gabe too. And my mom likes you more than me sometimes, I think.”
“That’s definitely not true.”
“It is,” you yawn halfway through the sentence, “I just think people feel safe around you.” You finish, sleepily.
You saying that last part gets him, really gets him. You say it so casually, now staring out the window at the passing streetlights while Will is focused on the road feeling like his heart is about to burst.
By the time he parks outside his apartment building, you’re practically asleep.
“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs gently.
You make a soft sound of protest when he unbuckles your seatbelt, like you’d rather just sleep in the passenger seat of the car. “So tired,” you mumble into his shoulder once he helps you out of the car.
“I know, but you’ll be able to sleep in just a little while.”
You don’t even acknowledge his reassurance because your brain has already moved on to something else, “You smell good.”
Will actually laughs this time, “Thank you?”
“And warm.”
He just hums in response, helping you out of the car.
“And pretty,” you say once you’re out of the car and on your feet.
“Alright,” he says as he shuts the car door and locks it, “you’re definitely drunk.”
“No, I mean it, Will.”
His face feels hot again, which is ridiculous considering he’s heard you call him pretty a few times already tonight, but it still affects him every single time. He’s learned that alcohol (and the rare occasion you have it) seems to completely get rid of your filter.
The second you’re inside his apartment, you attempt to kick your boots off dramatically near the door.
“My feet hurt,” you whine.
“Yeah?” Will asks softly.
“These shoes are evil.”
He smiles a little, “I told you not to wear them.”
“You were right,” you admit sadly.
He fakes a shocked look, “You admitting I’m right? Should I call somebody?”
You squint at him tiredly, “Don’t ruin this moment.”
Will grins before guiding you toward his bedroom. You sit on the edge of the bed while he crouches in front of you, carefully pulling the boots the rest of the way off your feet.
The second they’re gone, you sigh dramatically in relief, “Oh my god.”
“That bad?”
“I think they were trying to kill me.”
He laughs quietly, rubbing his thumb over your ankle for a second before standing again. “Bathroom,” he says gently. “Need to take your makeup off.”
You follow him obediently, still half asleep already, and god, this part always does something to him. You, sitting on the bathroom counter in one of his hoodies while he carefully wipes away the remains of your makeup, and your sleepy eyes following him around the whole time.
The trust of it all.
“You’re staring again,” he murmurs.
“You’re pretty,” you mumble immediately, smiling lazily.
He just rolls his eyes, “You’ve said that a lot tonight, you know that?”
You just shrug, “I like your face.”
And Will nearly loses his mind. He shakes his head, trying to focus on getting the last of your mascara off instead of the way you’re looking at him like he hung the moon in the sky just for you.
When he finishes, you immediately grab for his wrist before he can step away.
“What?” he asks softly.
You look strangely emotional for a second, “Thank you for taking care of everybody tonight.”
His expression softens instantly, “‘Course.”
“No, like…” You yawn again, eyes glassy with exhaustion now, “You always do.”
Will’s heart feels full hearing you say that, because you sound so sincere.
“You take care of me too,” he says quietly.
Your face softens immediately at that. Then without hesitation, you lean forward and press your forehead against his chest. Will wraps his arms around you automatically.
“You’re sweet when you’re sleepy,” he murmurs into your hair, his hand smoothing over the back of your head.
“I’m always sweet,” you correct.
He chuckles softly, “That’s true.”
Eventually he manages to convince you into pajamas, one of his worn-in BC shirts and soft sweatpants you have to roll at the waist.
While you’re changing into pajamas in his room, Will quietly pulls his phone out and opens DoorDash without even thinking about it.
Because the thing is, once you get something stuck in your head while tipsy, there’s absolutely no changing it, and you’d been talking about mozzarella sticks all night.
After you’re all changed, you fall into bed and you curl into the sheets immediately after you lay down. He stays standing and starts moving to the bedroom door. Of course this catches you off guard, “Where’re you going?”
He stops, “Getting you some water. You need anything else?”
Your expression softens and you shake your head. Will turns towards the door and heads for the kitchen.
While he’s filling up a large glass of ice water for you (you’ll complain that it’s too cold but if it’s room temperature he knows you won’t want it) there’s a knock at the apartment door. Will grabs the bag off the doorstep with a quiet thank you to the delivery driver before setting it on the counter beside your water.
He hears your voice float down the hall, “Is that food?”
He bites back a smile, “Maybe.”
A second later you appear in the hallway, then your eyes land on the takeout bag in his hand.
“No way.”
“You wanted mozzarella sticks.”
Your entire face lights up so fast, “William!”
He laughs softly as you bound over to hug him. “Don’t start. Go sit down before you fall asleep standing up.”
“You’re actually the best person alive,” you inform him, pulling away and holding his arm.
You immediately steal one from the bag before he can even hand you the bag properly.
“They’re hot,” Will warns automatically.
You shove half the mozzarella stick into your mouth anyway and immediately make a wounded noise, “Ow.”
“Told you.”
You glare at him around the bite while he laughs under his breath and grabs your water from the counter. “Bed,” he says gently, nudging your hip toward the hallway.
You obediently follow him this time, clutching the mozzarella sticks to your chest like they’re precious to you (they are). By the time the two of you get back into his room, you’re already climbing into his bed before he’s even fully pulled the blankets back.
Will sets the water on the nightstand and turns off the harsh overhead light while you settle against the pillows cross-legged. You carefully pick another mozzarella stick out of the bag like it’s life changing.
“These are actually incredible,” you tell him seriously.
“Well I’m glad.”
“No, like genuinely.” You point one at him. “You saved my life tonight.”
He tilts his head, looking down at you sitting on the bed with the takeout bag in your lap, “That feels dramatic.”
“I was starving.”
“You ate fries and half of Maya’s chicken tenders.”
You gasp softly, “You remembered.”
Will just shakes his head, climbing into bed beside you, “Hard to forget when you told me the details of the entire experience.”
You lean against his shoulder immediately while chewing thoughtfully, “The ranch at that place was bad though.”
He fakes sympathy, “Oh that’s devastating.”
You don’t catch on to his faking, and you continue dramatically, “It was,” you sigh heavily.
He laughs quietly, his arm automatically wrapping around your waist beneath the blankets. You melt into him instantly, smelling like your shampoo now that all your makeup and perfume from earlier has faded away.
You keep rambling on and on about your night between bites. About Claire almost dropping her phone into someone’s drink, and how Maya definitely liked the guy who bought her fries even though she denied it.
Will listens to every single word like it’s the most important conversation he’s ever heard. Well, to him it kind of is, because you’re telling him about the night you’d been looking forward to all day, and what a good time you had.
At some point a few minutes later, your sentences start getting slower and going softer around the edges.
“An’ then Maya said…” you begin before pausing mid-thought, blinking slowly, “Wait.”
“What?” he asks softly.
You look up at him sleepily, “I forgot what I was saying.”
He smiles, “That’s okay, baby.”
You hum quietly, taking one final bite of a mozzarella stick before setting the container onto the nightstand beside your water. Then you crawl closer without hesitation until you’re practically halfway on top of him, your head tucked beneath his chin and one leg tangled slotted between his.
Will pulls the blankets fully up around both of you. “Comfy?” he murmurs.
“Mhmm,” Your voice is already sleepy again, “You’re comfy too.”
You tilt your head back slightly just enough to look at him in the dim light of the bedside lamp, and your eyes are heavy, barely staying open.
“Thank you for coming to get me,” you murmur.
“Always will.”
That makes you smile, a small and sleepy one that Will absolutely adores.
Then, because apparently you haven’t finished trying to emotionally ruin him tonight, you mumble quietly, “My favorite part of going out is coming home to you after.”
You don’t even seem to realize what you said, and you’re already drifting off again.
Will goes completely stiff, because he feels it everywhere. His throat goes a little tight with emotion and suddenly he can feel his heartbeat in his chest.
He presses a slow kiss into your hair and tightens his arms around you carefully, “Yeah?” he whispers.
You nod against him sleepily, “Feels safe.”
And that’s it. That’s the thing that does him in completely, because hockey games and loud parties and crowded bars, and entire rooms full of people suddenly feel very far away and completely irrelevant when you're lying against him. Like it’s home for you.
Within minutes your breathing evens out against his chest, and you’re completely asleep. Will stays awake a little longer just holding you there, one hand rubbing slowly up and down your back beneath the oversized shirt, his skin on yours, like always.
The mozzarella sticks are forgotten on the nightstand, your ice water is sweating onto the coaster beside the bed, and Will thinks, certainly not for the first time, that he would do this forever if you let him.
requests are open 💖
oh my god this was the sweetest thing ive read in a while😭🥹
Hii I love and appreciate your work so much!! I was wondering if you’d be interested in writing an idea for Will or Macklin where he is a really physically affectionate person with reader, not like gross levels of PDA, but always wanting to be touching you in someway - a hand around your waist or shoulder, fingers interlocked, sitting close enough to be brushing shoulders and legs kind of thing. Just casual, but still intimate touches that show he’s unconsciously or consciously looking for you, wants you to be close. Gets picked on for it by the team and your guys’s family and friends, but it’s truly so wholesome. I’m picturing it as reader and whoever you pick to write about having been in a relationship for a while, but go wherever you want with it!
Thank you for this!! It’s so sweet 🥹 - 2.4k words Happy reading ☺️
The second you step through the front door of Tyler and Cat’s house, Will’s hand settles against your lower back. When he does it it’s never dramatic or possessive, it’s just something that he finds comfort in, and you’ve grown to find comfort in it too.
“Hey, guys!” Cat calls from the kitchen, wine glass in hand as she walks over to greet you both. You barely get out a hello before Will’s fingers slide from your back to your waist so he can pull you a little closer while you kick your shoes off by the door.
Tyler notices immediately. He looks down at Will’s hand, then up at him with a grin. “Y’know she’s not gonna run away, right?”
Will doesn’t even blink, “Debatable.”
You laugh quietly as Tyler groans, already turning toward the kitchen. “Unbelievable. He’s been like this all season. They’re attached at the hip”
Will just shrugs, completely unashamed, and leans down near your ear. “You want something to drink?”
You nod, “Just a water, please.”
He squeezes your waist once before walking toward the kitchen, his fingertips dragging along your side until the very last second before he can't reach you anymore. Every little thing with him feels like that. Casual, like taking care of you and keeping you close are things he does without thinking anymore, they’re always at the front of his mind.
Cat watches the whole thing with a knowing smile. “Oh,” she says lightly.
“What?” you question, not knowing where she’s going with this.
“He is obsessed with you.”
Your face immediately warms, “He is not.”
Cat just laughs. “He walked in the door less than thirty seconds ago and already can't keep his hands to himself.”
“That is not true.”
“It definitely is.”
You open your mouth to defend him, but Will comes back into the room holding your water bottle already opened for you, and before handing it over he presses a quick kiss against the side of your head.
“Thank you,” you say to him quietly, before he heads off to the kitchen again to say hi to the rest of the team.
Cat just gives you a look over the rim of her wine glass.
You sigh once he’s out of earshot, “Okay, maybe a little.”
⊰══════════════════════⊱
The night settles easily after that. Music plays quietly through the house while everyone moves between the kitchen and living room. Conversations are overlapping comfortably. It’s loud not in an overwhelming way, but a comforting way, all your favorite people in the same place, enjoying one another's company.
To no one’s surprise, Will is attached to you through all of it.
When you’re standing in the kitchen talking to Cat and a couple of the other player’s girlfriends, he’s beside you with his hand resting absentmindedly on your hip while he talks hockey with the guys facing the other direction.
When everyone crowds around the island for food, his thigh presses against yours the entire time. Later when you’re sitting on the couch, he drops down beside you and pulls your legs directly next to his, one arm stretched across the back of the couch behind you.
It’s so constant you almost stop noticing it. Almost.
Until Macklin walks by, pauses dramatically and goes, “Holy shit, are you two physically capable of existing separately for more than ten seconds?”
Will doesn’t even look away from the conversation he’s having, and answers dryly, “No.”
The room bursts into laughter. “See?” Tyler points out, “That’s what I’m talking about!”
Will finally looks over, completely relaxed. “What?”
“You’re clingy,” Tyler says.
“I’m not clingy,” Will argues lightly.
“You’ve touched her literally this entire night.”
Will frowns slightly then glances down at where his fingers are now loosely hooked around yours in his lap, like he genuinely didn’t realize he was doing it.
Then he just looks back up, “Okay?”
More laughter from everyone, and you can’t help smiling into your drink.
Because the thing is, none of it feels forced. He’s never draped all over you or trying to put on some kind of show, he just always reaches for you like it’s second nature to him. It's like he’s just more comfortable when you’re close.
At some point while dessert is being passed around, you get up to help Cat in the kitchen. The second you step away from the couch, Will’s eyes follow you automatically.
Tyler notices immediately, “Oh my god,” he says loudly. “Look at him.”
Will tears his attention away from you. “What?”
“You tracked her across the room like a puppy.”
“I was not—”
“You absolutely were,” Macklin cuts in.
“He’s got separation anxiety,” Tyler adds.
Will rolls his eyes, but there’s the faintest hint of embarrassment creeping into his expression now, “You guys are annoying.”
Meanwhile in the kitchen you’re hearing all of it. “You love it though,” Cat says quietly beside you while drying off a plate.
“Yeah,” you admit softly. “I really do. It’s comforting in a way, knowing he’s always there.”
⊰══════════════════════⊱
Hours later, once people start heading out, Will helps finish cleaning up without being asked. Even then he keeps gravitating back toward you every few minutes. A hand brushing your back as he passes by, or his fingers squeezing your shoulder. Your favorite are the quick kisses against your temple while you’re putting dishes away.
Tyler catches one of those kisses and immediately points across the kitchen. “There,” he says dramatically. “Again.”
“Oh my god,” Will mutters under his breath.
You laugh quietly, dropping the dish towel on the counter and leaning into his side, “Leave him alone.”
“We would,” Macklin says from the living room, “if he stopped acting like your emotional support.”
Will just shakes his head, moving around you to put another dish in the dishwasher. As he passes, his hand slides across your lower back, like despite all the teasing, he genuinely doesn’t realize he’s doing it anymore.
Tyler watches the whole thing happen and bursts out laughing again.
“He did it again!” he says loudly.
This time Will finally looks mildly offended. “What do you want from me?”
“Space,” Tyler says. “Personal space. Independence. Growth.”
Will deadpans immediately, “Sounds awful. We get enough of that when I’m on a road trip.”
Everyone laughs again, including you, and he glances over at you with the smallest smile tugging at his mouth, like hearing you laugh is worth all the teasing. You just move closer to him, and wrap your arms around his waist.
⊰══════════════════════⊱
Eventually the night finally starts winding down for real. Goodbyes are exchanged at the door, leftovers get packed up and distributed to everyone, and promises to do this again soon thrown around casually.
The second you grab your coat from the couch, Will appears beside you like he was waiting for it. He takes it from your hands before you can put it on yourself, holding it open behind you automatically.
“Thank you,” you mumble, smiling softly as you put your arms through the sleeves.
“Mhmm.”
His hands settle briefly on your shoulders after helping you into it, lingering there for just a second before sliding down your arms, holding your forearms lightly as you both say goodbye.
⊰══════════════════════⊱
The drive home is quieter than the rest of the night, comfortable in that easy way it always is with him. His hand still rests on your thigh the entire drive anyway, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your jeans.
When you finally get back to your apartment, you’re halfway through kicking your shoes off when he says, “Am I actually that bad?”
You glance up immediately, “What are you talking about?”
“With the touching thing,” he says, leaning back against the closed front door now, “I didn’t realize I did it that much until everyone kept pointing it out.”
You stare at him for a second because he sounds genuinely unsure now. “You know none of them actually care, right?” you ask softly, “They were just poking fun at you.” It’s not the time to debate whether that was right or wrong, but all in all you know they didn’t mean anything bad by any of it, and now you’re making sure he knows that too.
“I know,” he says quickly. “I just…” He exhales a quiet laugh through his nose, “I don’t know. I don’t wanna make you feel smothered or something.”
You walk back over to him without thinking, sliding your arms around his waist and propping your chin up on his chest to look up at him. Predictably, his hands settle against your hips almost immediately. Reflex.
“You don’t smother me,” you say quietly.
His eyes search yours carefully, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re just saying that to make him feel better.
Something in his face softens at that. You continue before he can brush it off. “I mean it. I think if you stopped now I’d actually hate that you stopped.”
A small smile finally pulls at his mouth, “You’d miss me being clingy?”
“You’re not clingy,” you correct softly. “You just like being close to me, and I like it too.”
His expression changes a little at that. Warmer somehow. “Can you blame me?”
Your chest aches a bit at how genuine he sounds. “No,” you say quietly, “Not really.”
“Good,” he says quietly. “Cause I don’t really think I know how to not do it.”
You laugh softly, “I know.”
He smiles then, properly this time, and leans down to press a slow kiss against your forehead. Even after the teasing, after the entire team spent hours pointing it out, his hands never leave you once.
He exhales a laugh through his nose before pulling you fully against him, arms wrapping around you tighter this time like now he’s allowed to. You sink into him immediately.
For a minute neither of you moves. The apartment is quiet in contrast to how the rest of your night had sounded, and now that you’re standing here wrapped up in him, you realize how natural this is too. The constant touching never feels heavy with him, it’s not demanding on either part, it never feels possessive, it’s just comforting.
His chin now rests on top of your head while his thumbs move against your sides. Even in the middle of this conversation about how much he touches you, he’s still doing it without thinking.
“You know what the funny part is?” you mumble into his chest.
“What?”
“I don’t even notice half the time anymore.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, “I’m that bad, huh?”
“No,” you correct immediately, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “Not bad, I think my body just expects you to be there now. Like when we’re sitting somewhere and you’re not touching me, I notice that more,” you admit quietly. “It feels weird.”
A smile pulls slowly at the corner of his mouth, “Seriously?”
You nod. “Yeah.”
His eyes stay on yours for a second longer before he leans down and presses another kiss to your forehead, but this time slower. His arms tighten around you again afterward, like your words are the final piece of reassurance he needs after questioning himself.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Cause honestly? I think if I had to sit next to you and not touch you for an entire night I’d lose my mind.”
You laugh, your face tucking back into his chest, “Tyler would probably call that a breakthrough.”
Will scoffs, smiling, “He can deal with it.”
You can hear the smile in his voice now, the uncertainty from earlier finally gone. One of his hands slides up your back slowly to rest against the base of your neck. His hand is warm and familiar, and you melt into him even more without even thinking about it.
It’s that instinctive reaching for each other, like no matter where you are, a crowded house full of teammates or a quiet apartment at midnight, both of you are always unconsciously trying to close the distance.
requests are open 💕 To be honest, I'm not a huge PDA girly myself, but part of me loves this kind of thing. Not over-the-top “look at us” behavior, but the subtle stuff? Love.
Line Change
Sidney Crosby x Quinn Hughes’ Ex!Reader
Summary: you don’t realize how much you’ve been shrinking yourself to fit into someone else’s life until you’re forced to look at the pieces. It starts with an Olympic gold medal and a boyfriend who laughs when your entire sport is treated like a political punchline. But it shifts with Sidney Crosby in the Milan cold, pointing out the devastating difference between a boy you have to make excuses for and a man who actually respects you. Sometimes, moving on isn’t just a breakup … it’s an absolute upgrade
✰ Part One
✰ Part Two
✰ Part Three
✰ Part Four
✰ Part Five
⋆˚ SUNSHINE OF YOUR LOVE ⋆˚࿔
pairing: macklin celebrini x fem!reader
after getting sun poisoning from a beach trip, macklin celebrini's girlfriend discovers that being babied by her boyfriend is almost worth the embarrassment.
﹙ ⓘ ﹚ warnings: fluff, established relationship, elements of humor. descriptions of sunburns and sun poisoning, mentions of sickness and nausea. 1.5k words
✶ author’s note 𑣲 thank you so much to @misscelly71 for requesting this fic !! it's such a cute concept , i hope you like how i wrote it ! i think , even though mack would panic , he would be really good at taking care of you when you're not feeling well ... and might even call smitty , sid , or someone kinda random like brad marchand for medical advice ( not included in the fic ... maybe i'll add this somewhere else , hmmm ??? ) . anyways , have fun reading !!!! i luvluvluv you all .
THE FIRST SIGN THAT SOMETHING WAS WRONG WAS THE HEADACHE.
Not a normal headache, either. This one felt like the kind that sat behind your eyes and pulsed with every heartbeat, making the sunlight sneaking through the curtains feel like a personal attack. You groaned and rolled over, burying your face deeper into your pillow.
The second sign was the nausea.
The third sign was the fact that your face hurt. Not your shoulders, not your back. Of course, your actual face had to bear the weight of your idiotic decision not to wear sunscreen the previous day.
You cracked one eye open and immediately regretted it. Everything felt hot. Your skin felt tight, your cheeks throbbing.
You remembered spending yesterday stretched out beside Mack on a pair of lounge chairs by the water, insisting for approximately six straight hours that you were “totally fine” and “literally incapable of burning.”
In hindsight, that may have been a mistake. A catastrophic one. The kind future generations would talk about and laugh at. You sat up slowly and the room tilted. “Oh.”
That couldn’t be good.
The movement alone made your stomach churn unpleasantly. You squeezed your eyes shut and waited for the dizziness to pass… which it didn’t.
Fantastic. You stumbled toward the bathroom.
The second you flicked on the light, you froze in horror. “Oh my God.” The girl staring back at you from the mirror looked like she’d lost a fistfight with the sun. Your face was bright red, and not cute beach-day red or slightly pink red. You were bright, angry, and extremely in pain. The skin around your cheeks looked swollen. Your nose was practically glowing. You looked like a tomato that had somehow achieved consciousness. “Oh my God!” you repeated, the shout echoing through the apartment.
A few seconds later, hurried footsteps sounded from down the hallway. The bathroom door swung open, Mack appearing with worry lining his face. One look at your face and he stopped.
You pointed at him. “If you laugh, we’re breaking up.” His mouth twitched. “Macklin.”
“I’m trying,” he said defensively.
“Mack.”
“I’m trying really hard.” Despite that, the smile escaped. Then the laugh, and another laugh. Suddenly he was doubled over in the doorway while you stared at him in betrayal. “You said you don’t burn.”
“I hate you.”
“You literally said the sun respects you.”
“Oh, shut up,” you groan in frustration.
“You said —” Mack starts gleefully.
“Get out!” you yell, pushing him away.
“I’m sorry,” he said, but you both knew he wasn’t. Not even a little. Unfortunately, his laughter lasted approximately thirty more seconds before something in his expression shifted. The amusement faded, concern replacing it. His smile disappeared entirely. “Wait.”
Uh oh. That was his serious voice. The one that usually meant he was worried. “Mack?”
“You okay?”
“Obviously.” His eyebrows rose. You swayed slightly, immediately proving your own point wrong. “Mostly.” He stepped closer, the ear-to-ear grin completely gone now. One hand reached up, gently turning your face toward the light. You hissed. “Ow.”
“Baby.” That definitely wasn’t a good sign. “Your face is swollen.”
“I noticed.”
“You feel okay?”
“No.” The answer came out before you could stop it. Your head hurt. Your stomach hurt. Your skin felt like it was actively trying to separate itself from your body. The exhaustion sitting in your bones felt almost impossible to explain.
Mack’s frown deepened. “Come sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m standing.”
“Barely.”
Rude. Accurate, but nonetheless a rude statement.
Twenty minutes later, you were sprawled dramatically across the couch while Mack sat beside you with his phone in one hand and an increasingly concerned expression on his face. You watched him scroll, scroll some more, and immediately sit upright. “Oh.”
“What?”
“Oh.”
“Mack?” you huffed, annoyed with Mack’s theatrics.
He looked up. “You might have sun poisoning.”
The silence that followed felt extremely disrespectful. “What do you mean sun poisoning?”
“I mean sun poisoning.”
“That’s not a real thing.”
“It is.”
“No, it’s not.” You shook your head.
“It literally is.”
“No.”
He turned the screen around. You read exactly three sentences before regret filled your soul. Headache, nausea, swelling, dizziness, fever. Your eyes slowly lifted. “Mack.”
“Yeah?”
“I think I might have sun poisoning.”
His stare could have killed someone. “I know. I told you to wear sunscreen.”
“There it is.”
“I told you,” he insisted. “You made fun of me.”
“I know,” you sighed.
“You called SPF propaganda.”
“In my defense, that was funny.” You pointed a finger at him, trying to crack a smile, but it was too difficult.
“It wasn’t.”
“It was a little funny.”
Mack pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are unbelievable.”
“And yet you love me.”
His eye roll was instant. You could see it, though. The concern. In how he kept checking your face every few minutes, kept asking if you felt dizzy, watching you like you might suddenly combust.
Honestly? It was kind of adorable.
The day only got worse from there. By noon, the nausea had become impossible to ignore. The headache was relentless. Your face felt like someone had replaced your skin with molten lava. Even the air conditioner hurt. At one point you attempted standing up to prove you were feeling better. You made it approximately seven steps before your stomach revolted.
Several unfortunate minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom looking like death itself.
Mack was already waiting outside. Anguish written all over his face. The second he saw you, his expression softened. “Oh, baby.”
You immediately groaned. “No.”
“What?”
“Don’t use the voice.”
“What voice?”
“The sad voice.” His hand found the small of your back automatically, guiding you toward the couch. “The voice you use when you think I’m dying.”
“I don’t think you’re dying.”
“You look like you think I’m dying,” you retorted.
“I think you got severely sunburned and ignored every warning known to mankind.”
You blew out a tired breath. “That’s fair.”
“Thank you.”
The second you sat down, exhaustion crashed into you again, heavy, overwhelming. Your entire body felt drained. Every ounce of energy had evaporated overnight. Without thinking, you leaned sideways, curling into Mack’s side.
His arm wrapped around your shoulders before you could even ask. Instinctive and comforting, a safe haven for you even though you weren’t sure if you’d survive.
“You know what the worst part is?” you mumbled.
“What?”
“I can’t even be mad.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re right.”
The laugh that escaped him was so surprised you almost smiled. Almost. “You admitting I’m right might actually be the biggest medical miracle here.”
“Oh my God.”
“I’m serious.”
“Leave,” you wheezed.
“No.”
“Leave your own apartment,” you insisted.
“No.”
“Fair.”
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. Mack became increasingly impossible. Every fifteen minutes he appeared with another bottle of water, another cold compress, another snack, another reminder to stay hydrated.
At one point you woke up from a nap to discover he’d somehow constructed an entire recovery station beside the couch. Electrolyte drinks, aloe vera, medicine. Three different fans. An ice pack. Two blankets.
You stared at him blearily. “Mack.”
“What?”
“Did you rob a pharmacy?”
“You need supplies.”
“I have sun poisoning, not the plague.”
He considered that. “Still.”
You couldn’t help laughing. He looked ridiculous, hovering over you and worrying. Following your every movement like an anxious golden retriever. The kind that thought looking away for thirty seconds might result in disaster.
By evening, your fever had started easing slightly. The nausea wasn’t quite as bad, though the swelling in your face still looked terrible. But at least you no longer felt like you were actively dying, which was progress.
You sat curled against Mack’s side while a movie played quietly in the background. Neither of you were paying attention. His fingers traced lazy patterns against your arm. The apartment glowed softly in the light of the television.
Outside, the sky had turned deep blue. “You still look beautiful.”
The words caught you completely off guard. You looked up. “Mack.”
“What?”
“My face is twice its normal size.”
“So?” he questioned.
“I’m red. I look ridiculous.”
He shook his head. Like the answer was obvious. “You look sick. And I need to help you.”
The simplicity of it made your chest ache. Not pity or reassurance, just pure honesty. You looked unwell, and he was taking care of you to make sure you recovered.
Because that’s what people do when they love someone.
The realization settled warmly somewhere beneath your ribs. “Mack?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you.”
His lip lilted in a soft smile. “Anytime.” You stared at him for a moment, groaning dramatically. “What now?”
“If I ever say I don’t need sunscreen again —”
“Oh, I’m recording this.”
“Mack,” you warned.
“I’m making a presentation. There’ll be charts.”
“Mack,” you persisted.
“There’ll be witnesses.”
You buried your face in his shoulder. His laughter echoed through the apartment, warm and bright and familiar.
As embarrassing as it was to lose a fight against the sun, being wrapped up in your boyfriend’s arms while he babied you through every miserable second of recovery was almost enough to make the whole disaster worth it.
Almost.
boy next door
juraj slafkovský x f!reader
word count: 10.3k
summary: to you, he’s the boy next door; your hot neighbour who you can't believe actually wants to get to know you better. to the rest of the world, he’s juraj slafkovský, montreal canadiens superstar. but you don’t know that, and maybe that’s what makes him so intrigued by you.
warnings: looking at people through their windows (not too creepily though), shirtless slaf, light swearing, liberal use of semi-colons and em dashes, weird timeline, a bit of angst near the end (happy ending tho)
reader is described as shorter than slaf (sorry for the 6’3 and up ppl reading this) but otherwise no physical descriptors
a/n: this was inspired by one of my best friends having a crush on her window neighbour so thank you to her for the inspo🙏
The first time you’d seen him had been only two days after you’d moved. You’d been undoing boxes in your kitchen, humming along to some music when you’d caught a glimpse of him through your window. His apartment was across the street from yours, on the same floor; perfectly positioned for you to watch as he’d stepped into the room, carrying a bowl of something you couldn’t recognize from this far out and dropping it onto a dining table which just so happened to be facing right out of his window and into yours.
And maybe it was a dramatic reinterpretation, but you could’ve sworn you’d stopped in your tracks, your music continuing on without you as your mouth had fallen open. With his wavy golden brown hair, strong jawline, and his “however many feet tall he was” figure, he could’ve rivaled a super model in terms of beauty. He certainly took the gold for the most handsome man you had ever seen with your own two eyes. And you hadn’t been able to help but stare as he’d sat down, scrolling his phone as he’d eaten his breakfast. The scene had been so mundane, it should have bored you instantly, and yet, you hadn't been able to look away. That was, until he had taken notice of that fact.
Without warning, he’d looked up, as though sensing your unwavering gaze, and for a brief, glorious moment, his eyes had locked with yours. After a second, which had felt much longer to your racing mind, he’d seemingly settled on giving you a small smile. And what had you done? You had run straight for the nearest room with a window through which he couldn’t see you.
And that was where you were now, frantically texting your best friend as you replayed the interaction (if you could call it one) through your mind as many times as humanly possible, berating yourself for having possibly the worst reaction possible. Your cell phone suddenly buzzed in your hands, as your best friend’s picture lit up your screen. You accepted the call, immediately greeted by the sound of your best friend’s laughter.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe you just ran for it!” She said through laughter, not even bothering to properly greet you.
“Don’t make fun of me! My brain just short-circuited okay, you would understand if you saw how hot this guy was,” you replied, almost groaning in embarrassment as you replayed the moment in your head for the twentieth time.
“I wanna see!” She said excitedly.
“Girl, are you crazy?!” You exclaimed. “There’s no way I’m going back in there after that! Much less pointing a camera at his face!”
“Don’t be dramatic! Just put the phone up against your ear and keep talking to me. And hey, maybe he’ll just assume you ran to the other room to answer a phone call, rather than because he smiled at you,” your best friend suggested. And, damn it, maybe she was actually making sense for once.
“Damn it, okay fine,” you conceded, getting up and flipping your phone camera so that your friend could hopefully see your dreamboat of a neighbour. You slowly made your way back out into your kitchen, hoping you were coming across as casually as you were attempting to. “Can you see him?” You asked, mostly to keep up the illusion that you were on a phone call.
“I can barely see the top of his head dude, you gotta lower the phone,” your best friend replied. “And stop moving so damn much!”
“Oh because I’m gonna look so normal standing as still as a statue taking a phone call in the middle of my kitchen,” you replied sarcastically as you tried to subtly reposition your phone.
“Okay that’s perfect, don’t move!” Your friend said, evidently ignoring your previous comment. You heard her gasp dramatically. “Oh he is, fiiiine!” She said, dragging out the last word for dramatic effect.
“Alright, I’m going back into the other room now,” you replied sarcastically, though you were certainly planning on actually doing so.
“No, wait, stay here he is one hundred percent looking at you right now!” Your best friend all but screeched into your ear. Your first instinct was to turn and check if she was telling the truth, but you caught yourself, not wanting to embarrass yourself further.
“What should I do?” You whisper-shouted, as though he could've somehow heard you if you spoke too loudly.
“I don’t know girl, if you look at him are you going to run away again? Or are you gonna smile at him like a normal person?” She asked you, half sarcasm, half genuine concern. You pondered the question for much longer than you should have. “God, you are hopeless!” Your best friend said good-naturedly at your lack of a timely answer.
“Just turn around like you’re still on the phone with me and just looking out your window, and if you catch his eye, smile, and then turn back toward something else, alright?” Your friend added, practically coaching you through this as if you were fifteen years old trying to get your crush’s attention. It was almost embarrassing. With a deep breath to hype yourself up, you turned slowly, just as your friend had instructed. Your eyes immediately gravitated towards him. He was still sitting in the same exact spot, though he had put his phone down now, and just as your friend had said, you had his full, undivided attention.
When he noticed your eyes were on him, he gave you a light smile, in an almost play-for-play rendition of your previous encounter, although you noticed his smile veered slightly towards a smirk this time around. Your lips curled into a tentative smile, your eyes locking with his, which you could now tell were probably brown, although you were a bit too far to tell for certain. You couldn’t be sure just how long had passed before your friend’s voice shocked you out of your dream-like state.
“If you’re still looking at him now would be the time to look away before it gets weird!” She exclaimed, and you were embarrassed to admit you had almost completely forgotten she was there. You mournfully tore your gaze away from his, walking off into another room in what you hoped was a casual way. After you had made your way back to the safety of your office room, which was the only room to not share a window with your neighbour, you lowered your phone back down so that you could see your friend again.
“Okay, how was that?” You asked, still somehow nervous although the interaction was over.
“Well, I couldn’t see anything babe, but it seems like you did a lot better than the first time!” She said humorously.
“God, you are never going to let that go, are you?” You said, groaning at the thought of your best friend bringing this incident up until you were both six feet deep.
For the following week or so, you continued catching occasional glimpses of the boy next door, as you had dubbed him, although you noticed, much to your chagrin, that he was often gone a few days at a time, seemingly abroad as you had noticed him leaving with a large suitcase on more than one occasion.
You had also managed to become more subtle in your admiration, because you hadn’t had another moment with him since that first day. Well, you hoped that was the case, because the alternative was that you’d freaked him out so bad on that first day that he was now actively ignoring you. You chose to believe it was the former, for your own self-esteem.
Today, you had decided to try your hand at baking meringues, considering one of your friends’ birthday was coming up. And it was much harder than you had expected. You had already all but ruined your first batch by adding in the sugar too quickly, and your second batch was currently settled in the oven. As you waited for your meringues to finish baking, you were half-mindedly reading a book, occasionally looking up and checking the time to make sure you didn’t overcook the meringues.
On one such occasion of you looking up from your book, you had to do a double take. Because your neighbour was there, in his living room which you could see through the window.
And he was not wearing a shirt. You almost dropped your book.
You at least had the decency to feel ashamed as your eyes ran across the smooth, muscled expanse of his stomach, the perfectly defined muscles crowned with a light mattering of hair. You knew you were being weird; that you should look away because obviously he was perfectly allowed to be shirtless in his own home without having to worry about someone watching him through his window. And yet you couldn't look away, your cheeks burning up at the embarrassment of what you were doing.
You should definitely look away before he noticed you staring, because that would be even more embarrassing that what you’d done the first time, and—
And he’d seen you.
This time you did drop the book, losing any and all excuses you could have hidden behind. You were so mortified, you had never felt your face go so hot before. You would have to move all over again, because there was no way you could ever show your face anywhere he might see it ever again. You slowly picked up the book, hoping, praying that he would be gone by the time you were back to eye level.
He wasn’t gone, of course. No, it was much, much worse.
He was laughing. The worst part was, it didn’t look like a mocking laugh either, it seemed soft, genuine, like this was the funniest thing in the world and he couldn’t even stop himself for the sake of decency. And despite your utter and complete mortification, you couldn’t help but smile at the display.
When his laughter finally died down, however, and his gaze met yours, he gave you a smug smile, and simply raised one eyebrow suggestively before making his way out of the room.
As soon as you knew he couldn’t see you anymore, you slid to the ground, your face buried in your hands. You were certain you had never blushed this hard in your life, and your face was burning hot to the touch. So hot in fact, that you could almost smell the burning. Wait what? How could you sme—
Your meringues. You had forgotten them. You rushed to the oven, turning it off, but it was too late, your second batch of meringues ruined as well.
With a sigh, you got out more of the necessary ingredients, ready for another attempt. Third time’s the charm, right?
Walking into your kitchen in the morning, you performed your habitual “window check” whilst your coffee machine was running. He wasn’t there, although that wasn’t much of a surprise, as he seemed to often go for a run, or a gym session in the mornings. You internally cringed at your borderline stalker level knowledge of his routine.
As you were enjoying your breakfast, slowly sipping your coffee as you read a book, your phone pinged with a notification, letting you know the last of your boxes, which had gotten misplaced during your initial move-in, had finally made their way to your apartment. You begrudgingly made your way down to the lobby of your apartment building, not bothering to change out of your pajamas. However, no boxes awaited you in the lobby. Perplexed, you looked around, only to realize the boxes had been inexplicably left outside, and you mentally thanked yourself for deciding to come retrieve the boxes immediately, especially considering the darkened grey clouds rolling your way.
You stepped out to pick up the boxes, but ran into a slight problem. They were heavy. So heavy you could hardly lift them for more than a few seconds at a time, much less carry them all to the elevator and into your apartment.
“Jeesus, did I pack a box of bricks or what?” You muttered to yourself as you considered the situation, staring down at your boxes. You were mortified to hear laughter sound from behind you, as your comment had clearly not been as quiet as you’d thought. Your mortification amplified tenfold as the source of the laughter was revealed. Of course, it had to be him.
“Need some help with that?” Your boy next door asked as he stopped in front of you. Your first thought was that his voice was deeper than you’d expected, and that he had an accent you didn’t recognize. Your brain short-circuited at the unexpected interaction with someone you genuinely believed you would never actually speak to. Much less someone who would willingly come up to you after the ogling incident, as you and your best friend had dubbed it after you'd filled her in on the events.
“Uh, I mean, I’m sure I can manage it,” you said, taking him in. He had clearly just returned from a run, because he was dressed in athleisure from head to toe, and drenched in sweat. And somehow he still looked so good? It wasn’t fair. “Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” you added for good measure.
“You’re no inconvenience,” he replied decisively, picking up the box in front of him as if it weighed nothing. You bent down to retrieve the second box, but the man stopped you with a hand on your arm, as he proceeded to somehow pick up both boxes at once whilst you could barely hold one.
“Well, I feel useless now,” you joked as you held the door open for him. “But thank you…” you trailed off, hoping he would provide his name to fill in the blank. He looked down at you curiously as you walked towards the elevators.
“Juraj,” he replied after a moment. The name sounded vaguely familiar, although you couldn't hazard a guess as to why; you were certain you had never met anyone with that name before.
“Where is that from?” You asked curiously, looking up at him as you signaled the elevator down. Your question seemed to amuse him, though you had no idea why that was.
“Slovakia,” he answered as the elevator pinged, signaling its arrival.
“Oh wow! What made you decide to come live in Montreal?” You asked as you both settled inside the elevator, and as you pressed the fifteenth floor button.
“Work,” he replied simply, as you were starting to gather that your boy next door, Juraj, was a man of few words. That, or he was getting annoyed with you. You didn’t press on, feeling self-conscious that he seemed to be growing tired of your questions. Once you reached your floor, you led him to your door, then, after getting your door open, held out your arms expectantly.
“I can take it from here,” you said in a tone that wasn't quite rude, but not necessarily as enthusiastic as it had been earlier. You were starting to worry you had completely ruined your shot with your boy next door, although you didn’t quite understand what had gone wrong. Maybe he had just remembered the ogling incident and realized he didn’t want to talk to you. You wouldn’t blame him. Juraj looked you up and down slowly, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
“Are you sure you can handle it?” He asked in amusement. You should have been offended, and yet you weren't. Because, for one, he was clearly right, and he knew that you both knew that. But also because he was making your brain short-circuit. How could his tone be so uninterested one moment that you’d almost been convinced he somehow hated you, yet sound so playful the next moment. “I came all this way, I should at least put them down where you need them,” he added, as if one look up and down hadn’t been more than enough to convince you.
“Okay, I guess that would be helpful,” you replied, moving backwards so that he could come inside your apartment. “You can leave them here,” you said, gesturing toward your kitchen counter. “It’s all stuff for my living room or kitchen, I think.”
As if he needed to be showing off any more than he already had, Juraj came in, shifting both boxes into one hand, using the other to shut the door behind him, before setting the boxes down where you had indicated. You almost scoffed at how easy he was making it look, whilst you’d barely been able to lift one of the boxes. You opened one of the boxes, finding some of the frames and kick-knacks you’d wanted to use to decorate your living room.
“Perfect, I can finally finish decorating today,” you said to no one in particular as you sifted through the contents of the box.
“What, do you need an excuse to be in here so you can stare at me through the window again?” Juraj asked, and your heart lurched to a stop.
“Oh my god,” you groaned, hiding your burning face in your hands. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable or anything, I just—”
“Hey, it’s fine,” he said, cutting off your rambling. “People stare at me all the time. I’m used to it,” he added somewhat smugly.
“What, are all your other neighbours hoping you’ll walk by the window shirtless?” You asked sarcastically, though your face was still flushed, heart hammering.
“Something like that,” he answered.
“Well, thank you really, I honestly don’t know how the hell I would’ve gotten those up on my own,” you said with a laugh, hoping to change the topic.
“My pleasure,” Juraj replied with a warm smile.
“Did you wanna stay and have something to drink?” You suggested, almost without thinking. “You must be parched,” you added.
“What, you think I can’t handle carrying two boxes up an elevator?” He replied cockily.
“No, I think you’ve more than proved that you can do that very easily,” you replied with a smile. “But it looked like you were already coming home from a run or something.”
The mood seemed to shift all of a sudden, Juraj’s smile faltering as if you had just reminded him of something important he’d forgotten about.
“Right. Sorry, I should really get home,” he said, almost urgently. “I should shower, you know,” he added hastily.
“Right, okay,” you answered dejectedly. “Well, thank you again, Juraj,” you added, reaching the front door. For a moment, Juraj stood there, as if he were going to say something more. Yet all that came out of his mouth was a muffled ‘bye’ as he hurried toward the elevators.
You weren’t ignoring him. That was what you told yourself anyway. You just weren't lingering on his presence anymore. Or, you were trying not to, at least. Because as much as it pained you to avoid staring at such a beautiful face, you weren't about to keep pining over somebody who had so explicitly rejected you when you’d offered him to stay.
So when you noticed him walk into his living room from the corner of your eye, you made sure to keep all your attention on the movie in front of you.
Which lasted all of twenty seconds.
Because he was still there, in the very corner of your field of vision, and your curiosity was very good at getting the better of you. You shifted on the couch, positioning yourself still facing your television, but with a much better view of Juraj’s window.
He was just standing there, looking right at you it seemed. And unfortunately, you hadn’t been as subtle as you’d thought, because he seemed to notice you looking at him immediately. Your gaze snapped back towards your television, your cheeks burning up at the embarrassment of having been caught looking. Why were you embarrassed when he was the one staring at you? Would he still be looking at you if you risked another glance now?
You found out the hard way that the answer to that question was yes. Even worse was that this time, Juraj was waving his arms, attempting to get your attention. There was no way you could pretend you hadn’t noticed him now. You gave him a small wave and an awkward smile, hoping he would go back to whatever it was he had been doing. That hope was immediately proven futile, because he stood there for a moment as you looked at him, looking as though whatever he’d been trying to do, he hadn’t planned anything further than step one: getting your attention.
After a short moment, he held up a finger to you, mouthing something you couldn’t really make out, but could assume was something along the lines of be right back or stay right here, before he rushed out of the room. He came back just a few seconds later, holding up a piece of paper to the window.
What the…
You squinted your eyes, trying to make out the messily scrawled script in bright red marker.
‘Are you ignoring me? :(’
The drawn on frowny face almost made you crack a smile. Juraj’s face wearing the same exaggerated expression definitely made you crack one. You pondered the sign for a second. Would a guy who had firmly rejected you practically recreate a scene from the ‘You Belong With Me’ music video? Probably not.
You shook your head vehemently, mouthing an over-exaggerated ‘no’. You watched as Juraj’s frown turned into a smile. You watched as he quickly jotted something down on the other side of the piece of paper he was holding up, before flipping it around for you to read his next message.
‘But you don’t look at me anymore.’ the message read.
You paused your movie—not that you’d been paying much attention—and walked down to the room you’d converted into an office, grabbing some printer paper and some markers before making your way back to the living room. With a dark purple marker, you carefully wrote out your answer.
‘Didn’t think you’d want me to.’
His reply was immediate.
‘Why? :(’
Always with that damn frowny face.
‘Cause it was weird lol. And you left my apartment pretty quickly.’
‘Sorry :( I really did need to shower.’
You pondered his reply. To you, it had seemed far more hurried than a ‘fuck I have to shower’ moment when it had happened. But then again, would you have wanted to be sweaty in his apartment, meeting him properly for the first time? Not likely.
‘Alright, you’re forgiven’
‘So I was right, you were mad at me?’
As he held up that last message, the expression on his face gave away his amusement at the situation, and his smugness at having been proven right.
‘I’m sure you’d love to be right after all, huh?’
As he read that last message, Juraj nodded enthusiastically, which made you laugh.
‘I mean, I wasn’t mad, I just kinda thought you hated me lol.’
As he read this message however, Juraj shook his head vehemently, his eyebrows furrowed. He rapidly jotted down his next message.
‘I thought think you’re cute. And I was sweaty and gross.’
You smiled as you read that one, endeared by him taking the time to strike out the ‘thought’ to make sure you realized he still did find you cute. Knowing he found you cute also contributed to making you smile.
‘I think you’re cute too :) Even when you’re sweaty and not gross.’
‘I know ;)’
You rolled your eyes good-naturedly as he mimicked the winky smiley face cockily. You pondered for a moment on what to write next, before jotting down your phone number.
‘Maybe you could use that to ask me to meet up on a day where you’re not sweaty and gross?’
You added below it.
‘What, you don’t think the papers are romantic?’
His next message read, although you watched him grab his phone and supposedly punch in your phone number.
‘Maybe. But I’m gonna run out of paper soon.’
The next reply came through your phone.
Unknown Number: how does dinner on sunday sound?
you: sounds perfect :)
you changed Unknown Number to “boy next door <3”
It felt odd to leave your home for a date, only to cross the street and walk into the opposing building. Juraj was waiting for you in the lobby of his building when you walked in, dressed in a black jacket, a white polo shirt and some black pants. His hair was combed back, showing off his beautiful face. As he noticed you walk in, his gaze flicked down, then back up, taking in your attire. His gaze met yours, and he smiled; a gesture you couldn’t help but return.
“Hi,” he said simply as you walked up to him. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself,” you replied as he led you towards the elevators.
“Yeah?” He replied, looking down at his attire. “I almost thought you would like it better if I didn’t wear a shirt,” he added, comically wiggling his eyebrows.
“Oh my god, you’re never going to let this go, are you,” you replied shamefully, though you chuckled out a laugh. As you both got into the elevator, he looked at you for a moment, as though he were seriously considering your statement.
“Nah,” he ended up replying. Once you’d reached his apartment, he held the door open for you, gesturing for you to go in first. It almost felt like déja vu, being inside of an apartment you had caught so many glimpses of through your window before. The apartment was clean; cleaner than you were used to seeing it, which was for your sake, you supposed. The dining table was set up neatly, with a vase filled with a few fresh flowers in the middle. You smiled giddily as Juraj led you to the table, even pulling your chair out for you.
“You didn’t have to do all of this,” you said with a small laugh. Juraj shrugged with an almost shy smile.
“Maybe, but I wanted to,” he replied simply. You watched as he returned with two plates of delicious looking pasta, which he set in front of each of you, before sitting down himself.
“Wow, did you make this?” You asked.
“Yeah,” he replied bashfully. “I usually just cook for myself, so, I hope it’s good.” You took that as your cue to dig in. You let out a hum of satisfaction as you savoured the taste. “Good?” He asked, looking at you with an intensity that wasn’t there before.
“So good, wow,” you replied, closing your eyes at the richness of the taste.
“I’m glad you like it,” he replied. “Forgot the water, sorry,” he added after a moment, getting up and returning with a jug. But as he leaned down to pour you a glass of water, he severely misjudged the distance between him and the glass. And he instead found himself pouring the water right onto your lap. Thankfully, he had the immediate reflex of pulling back, but the damage was done.
“I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed. “God I’m such an idiot,” he added.
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it! It’s just water, it’ll dry,” you replied, hoping to alleviate his obvious embarrassment. The expression on his face told you he still felt guilty, however.
“I’ll lend you some pants and put yours in the dryer, I’m so sorry. Again,” he said, getting up. You knew logically that at that point, you could’ve gone home and changed pants, and been back here within five minutes at most. But you didn’t say that. Instead, you got up and followed him into his room.
You watched as Juraj walked up to a dresser, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and handing them to you.
“I hope this is okay,” he said, gesturing to the sweatpants. “They’re not very fancy, but they’re comfortable.”
“Seriously, thank you Juraj. And stop worrying about it,” you replied with a smile as Juraj stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him..
The room was decorated rather sparsely, which was in line with how the rest of his apartment was decorated. His bed, which was hastily made, and which took up the majority of the room bore a dark blue comforter and some grey pillows. Apart from the dresser from which Juraj had gotten the pants, the room also contained a small desk and a plush dark blue arm chair, which indicated the desk likely wasn’t used for work. The cream walls were unadorned, although in a corner stood a tall bookshelf which contained more picture frames than it did actual books.
After quickly shimmying on the sweatpants, you couldn’t help yourself but to approach the shelf, inspecting each photo. You quickly realized that many of the featured scenes revolved around hockey; a young boy, which you assumed was Juraj, in the middle of a hockey game, face focused and determined; or after a game with a medal around his neck, bright smile and flushed cheeks. Between the picture frames and the books, which looked so new you doubted they had ever been opened, laid a few small trophies, mostly in the shapes of pucks or hockey sticks.
A soft knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts?
“Are you okay?” Juraj’s muffled voice sounded through the door, and you realized you had been in his room far too long for someone who was just changing into sweatpants.
“Yeah, I’m good, sorry you can come in,” you replied, as you began making your way toward the door yourself. The door swung open, revealing a concerned looking Juraj. He seemed surprised to find you so close to the door, so close to him, and he looked down at you in surprise.
“Everything alright in here?” He asked again.
“Yeah, sorry, got distracted looking at your pictures,” you replied bashfully, generally gesturing towards the bookshelf. “Didn’t know you were so into hockey.”
“Oh,” he replied, dumbfounded. You waited for him to continue, but he didn’t seem to intend to do so.
“Sorry if that was personal,” you answered, now feeling self-conscious.
“No, it’s fine,” he answered after a moment. “I played a lot when I was younger. I really loved it,” he added carefully, as if weighing each word. “Still do.”
“Must be one of the nice parts of living in Montreal for you then, huh? I mean, I know you’re not from here, but the love for the Habs must be infectious,” you replied. Juraj looked down at you solemnly for a moment.
“Yeah, I mean, it’s the best city in the world for hockey. Everyone knows,” he replied, his gaze flickering across your face, seemingly searching for something, although you couldn’t guess what. “Do you like hockey?” He added after a moment.
“I mean, I wouldn’t really be a Montrealer if I said no, now would I?” You answered with a laugh. “But I honestly can’t say I’ve watched a game since we got eliminated in the finals a few years back,” you added with a laugh as you watched Juraj smile almost absent-mindedly. “We any good this year?” You added.
“Yeah,” Juraj answered simply. “Probably making the playoffs,” he added then quickly continued, “We should probably go back to eat if we don’t want the pasta to get cold.”
“Yes, right, lead the way!” You replied, following him out of the room. The rest of the date went off without a hitch, the conversation flowing so naturally anyone would have thought you’d known each other for years. It was surprising how comfortable you’d become with him so quickly, and after discussing both your lives and interests at length, you found yourself curled up on the couch with Juraj, watching an episode of ‘Love is Blind’ with a blanket covering the TV so that you could play along with the contestants. It felt ridiculously stupid, but then again, that had been the point, and you were both having a great time of it. However, you eventually noticed your eyelids getting heavier, and your head leaning upon Juraj’s shoulder.
“I think I need to get you home soon, huh, sleeping beauty,” Juraj said as he noticed your shift in demeanor. You looked up at him with an exaggerated pout, which made him laugh.
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” you conceded, yawning as you got up and collected your purse, even having to lean on Juraj for support as you slipped your shoes back on. The walk home was far too quick for your liking, even as Juraj accompanied you all the way to your door, despite your assurances that it wasn’t necessary. When you finally reached your apartment door, you turned around toward Juraj, looking up at him.
“I had a really great time, thank you,” you said, smiling widely. It seemed you couldn’t stop doing that tonight.
“Me too,” Juraj replied. “Thank you.”
“What are you thanking me for?” You laughed. “You’re the one who planned everything!”
“Well, I could thank you for giving me another chance after I was so rude. Or for pretending my pasta was that amazing,” he replied with a playful smirk you’d come to associate with him.
“It was amazing,” you replied laughing. Juraj looked at you with a raised brow as if he didn’t completely believe you. “I’m serious! Why would I lie to you!”
“Hmm, maybe you’re just trying to get on my good side so I let you see me shirtless again,” he replied teasingly.
“Oh my god, you’re incorrigible!” You answered, still laughing, though more softly now. Your eyes widened as Juraj stepped closer and you locked gazes. The previously playful mood shifted to something more serious as he brought his hand up to cup your face, his touch so gentle it was barely there.
“Can I kiss you?” He asked earnestly, his eyes searching yours.
“Yes,” you all but sighed, leaning your head towards him. His lips were soft, and you immediately found yourself melting into the gentleness of the kiss, hand coming up to rest upon his chest. And as soon as it had started, it was over. Juraj pulled away from you, smiling, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks were dusted a light pink colour.
“Goodnight,” he said simply.
“Goodnight,” you replied with a giddy smile, watching him disappear down the hall before getting inside your own apartment, the smile completely glued to your lips. You completed your nightly routine as if in a daze, replaying the events of the night in your mind. What broke you out of your trance was the sound of your phone buzzing. You opened it to find two unread messages; one from your best friend asking you how the date went, and another from Juraj.
boy next door <3: you forgot your pants at my place😬
You laughed at the choice of emoji, before typing in a quick reply.
you: and I still have your sweatpants… oops
you: i guess that means we’re gonna have to see each other again
His reply came almost immediately.
boy next door <3: oh no what a shame
boy next door <3: sooo when’s the next time you’re free? ;)
A few months later, you were still holding on to those sweatpants. Not because you hadn’t seen Juraj again, but the contrary, in fact. The first time you’d seen each other again after that, you had genuinely forgotten to bring back his pants, although he’d returned yours.
The second time, you had folded up the sweatpants neatly and put them in your bag, yet that fact completely slipped your mind the moment you had walked in and seen Juraj with that usual cocky smile on his face. You were already back home by the time you’d remembered that they’d been in your bag the whole time.
The third time, the date had been at your own apartment, and although you’d handed them back to him the moment he’d walked in, so as to not forget to give them to him again, he had set them down, and forgotten to pick them back up on his way out.
When Juraj unexpectedly stopped by your apartment the next time, wanting to see you before he left on a worktrip, you were caught unaware, and you had been wearing his sweatpants.
“Are those my sweatpants?” He had asked as you’d opened the door.
“Maybe…” You’d replied bashfully.
“You’re wearing my sweatpants?” He’d repeated in an amused tone.
“What, they’re comfortable!” You had replied. At that point, he had just told you you should keep them.
You were now a few weeks, and a few dates later than that, Juraj having just left your apartment after a similar ‘pre-worktrip date’. Although he was often gone, you always made sure to text or call everyday, despite not having a clear label to your relationship yet.
boy next door <3: i miss you :(
You smiled as the message popped up on your screen.
you: you left like two hours ago
boy next door <3: still miss you
you: miss you too <3
my girl ♥️: miss you too <3
Juraj smiled down at your message, looking at his phone like a teenager with their first crush. He really did miss you already, which had him thinking this away game would be torturous.
“What’s got you smiling at your phone like that, man?” Arber asked from beside him on the plane, peering at his phone. Juraj pressed the button to close his phone instinctively, but he wasn’t fast enough. “Wow, ‘my girl’, huh? You weren’t even gonna tell me you had a girlfriend?” Arber asked teasingly.
“Who has a girlfriend?” Cole said immediately, his head whipping up from his phone at the sound of information he could be nosy about. Juraj groaned, throwing his head back as Kaiden and Nick, who had been having a discussion beside Cole also turned around at the commotion Cole was making.
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Juraj said stoically.
“Nah, you just have a contact on your phone called ‘my girl’ who texts you saying she misses you,” Arber said with a shit-eating grin, digging Juraj’s grave further.
“How long have you been seeing her?” Kaiden asked, ignoring Juraj’s obvious unwillingness to discuss the topic. He looked around and found all four of his friends staring at him intently, clearly eager to learn more. He sighed deeply.
“Like, three or four months?” Juraj answered.
“Damn, that long? Why haven’t we met her dude?” Cole asked in exaggerated bitterness.
“You should invite her to a game,” Nick suggested in a far more reasonable tone.
“She uh… doesn’t know I play hockey?” Juraj answered, his tone questioning, as though it sounded impossible to him too. “I mean, she knows I play hockey, she just doesn’t know I’m in the NHL…” He added, as though that made the concept sound any less ridiculous than it was. You had been seeing each other for four months, and he hadn’t built up the nerve to tell you what he did for a living. Meanwhile, he knew everything about your worklife. He knew he was being selfish by not telling you. And yet, here he was. His teammates stared at him in stupefaction.
“How the fuck does she not know that?” Arber inquired.
“Well she says she hasn’t watched since the Habs got eliminated in the cup finals…” Juraj said, letting his teammates put two and two together: you had stopped watching just before Juraj had been drafted. And that fact had given him the bright idea to just… not tell you that he wasn’t just a guy who liked hockey, but a guy who played hockey professionally. Who played for your city’s beloved team.
“And you didn’t tell her…?” Kaiden said, trailing off questioningly.
“I don’t know, I’m dumb okay?” Juraj replied, running his hands down his face. His friends laughed. “It was our first date and I wanted to see how it went before telling her. And then it kind of didn’t come up again, and it was nice just being like a regular guy with her, you know?” He added. Saying it out loud made him realize it was true. He liked how things were with you: you were comfortable with each other, you could be silly together, and you could also be serious when the moment asked for it. And there was no pressure of not living up to the image you might have of him in your head.
“Dude, if she doesn’t watch hockey I doubt she would act much different with you after finding out who you are. She probably won’t care,” Nick answered, the only one being actually helpful in this conversation.
“I guess,” Juraj replied, pondering the idea. “But now she’ll be mad I didn’t tell her before,” he realized out loud, putting his head in his hands.
“Well, nothing you can do about that now, buddy,” Arber replied, tapping Juraj on the back in mock sympathy.
“Sooo, you got any pictures of her or what?” Cole asked after a loaded moment of silence.
Yes, it was definitely going to be a torturous few days.
You didn’t know exactly how you had found yourself here, sat on a couch squeezed in between two of your friends.
It had started with Juraj leaving for a worktrip that morning. As usual, you had spent the previous night together, and although it was always bittersweet when Juraj had to leave, he had seemed particularly antsy that night.
“Everything okay, baby?” You had asked him whilst cuddling on his bed, you reading a book, and him playing videogames. He had mentioned that he enjoyed playing video games to relax, which you had found hilarious, considering half the games he played seemed like some of the most stressful, adrenaline pumping games you could imagine. And that night, even the games couldn’t loosen his tense posture.
“Yeah, why?” he’d asked briskly, completely unaware of how stressed out he’d looked with his furrowed brows and tensed up shoulders. You had waited for a break in his game before setting down your book, bringing your hands up to his shoulders and rubbing gently. The tension immediately seemed to dissipate from them as his shoulders loosened under your touch.
“What’s got you so tense?” You’d asked, continuing the impromptu massage as Juraj turned off his game.
“I don’t know,” he’d replied, though you’d been able to tell there was more to it. “Work. I hate leaving you all the time,” he’d finally added, taking one of your hands off of his shoulder, and bringing it up to his lips, leaving a chaste kiss on your knuckles, keeping your finger interlaced You had still been able to tell he hadn’t been telling you everything, but you hadn’t wanted to push him when he was clearly so upset. So you’d left it at that, and when you’d woken up this morning, he’d already been gone.
You had texted him all day, of course, ranging from funny posts you’d thought he’d like, to sweet messages telling him you missed him. Even through text, you could feel he’d still been feeling antsy: not replying to you as quickly as usual, and not giving you as long of answers as usual. All you could do was hope you hadn’t done anything to upset him, and that it really was just this work trip stressing him out.
That was how you had found yourself alone on a Sunday night, in need of something to distract you from the pit in your stomach anytime you thought about Juraj. And that was how you had found yourself texting a few friends to find yourself something to do, and had been invited to watch a hockey game at a friend’s apartment.
So here you now sat, surrounded with friends, and friends of friends, who all seemed to be adorned with some level of Montreal Canadiens paraphernalia.
“Damn, I need to up my game apparently, how are you all super into hockey except for me?” You said as one of your friends handed you a drink.
“Girl, the real question is how have you gone so long without paying attention to hockey?!” Your friend, who sat to your right, asked. You shrugged. “Well, your world is about to be rocked, babe,” she added, everyone settling onto the various couches and seats which faced the TV as the puck dropped.
It felt odd at first, hearing all of your friends react and discuss the game in such technical terms, whilst you had no idea where the puck was half of the time. You thankfully remembered some of the basic rules, but often didn’t understand why penalties were or weren’t called. Thankfully, your friends were about as passionate about the game as it gets, and enthusiastically answered all of your questions.
And as much as you appreciated and enjoyed the process, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander away from the game more times than you would dare to admit. Despite being here to keep your mind off Juraj, watching the sport you knew he loved only made your mind drift back to him. You waited until the intermission to excuse yourself, not wanting to be rude, and took your phone out. Your thumb hovered over Juraj’s contact for a moment, before pressing on the phone icon beside it. You held the phone up to your ear as it rang once, twice, then abruptly stopped. You pulled the phone away from your ear in confusion as you watched a few text notifications roll in.
boy next door <3: sorry i cant call now
boy next door <3: meeting
You knew Juraj usually worked pretty late even when he was on his work trips, although you were surprised he was still in a meeting this late.
boy next door <3: is everything okay?
you: yeah sorry, didn’t mean to bother you i didn't think you’d be in a meeting
you: just wanted to see ur face and to tell you im thinking of you :) can’t wait til ur back
The message was left on ‘seen’ for a moment longer than usual, and you began thinking Juraj had had to put his phone away when the typing bubble popped up.
boy next door <3: thank you for that. i miss you so much
boy next door <3: gotta go, talk later ♥️
The conversation, though short, had assuaged your worry, and left you feeling much lighter as you regained your seat on the couch before the second period began. About halfway into the period though, the pizza your friends had ordered arrived, and you offered to go pick it up considering you were the least invested in the game of the group. By the time you had returned and served everyone, the period was almost over, the game now led by the opposing team, 2-1. When the opposing team was penalized with only about a minute left to the period, you could feel the atmosphere shift in the room, your friends watching on with bated breath as the players passed the puck back and forth, a few of your friends letting out the occasion ‘just shoot!’.
And then, with only twenty seconds remaining—
“And Juraj Slafkovský, scoooores!” The announcer’s voice boomed as the goal horn blared. Around you, your friends erupted in cheers, although it seemed to all happen in slow motion to you as your eyes remained glued on the TV screen; as the shot panned to a close up of the player who had just scored the game-tying goal. On Juraj, your Juraj, being engulfed by his teammates who cheered for him. You could feel your heart drop to the very bottom of your stomach, your mouth agape as you continued looking at his own disbelieving face.
Juraj, your boy next door, the man you had been seeing for four months now. Was an NHL player. And he hadn't told you.
It all made sense now, his frequent ‘work trips’, why his name had seemed slightly familiar upon meeting him, his insistence on staying at either of your apartments rather than going out for dates, all of those childhood pictures of him playing hockey. But why hadn’t he wanted you to know? What should have been a happy moment was soured by the question stubbornly echoing through your mind. Did he not trust you? Did he not see a future with you? Suddenly, your mutual decision to keep your relationship unlabelled came to bite you. Because now, you didn’t feel certain of anything at all.
As soon as the second intermission began, you got up, muttering something about needing some fresh air before hurrying onto the balcony, hastily closing the door behind you muffling the noise of your friends’ excited chatter. The chill wind nipped at your cheeks, numbing them as you absentmindedly scrolled through your text messages with Juraj, looking for something you knew you wouldn’t find. A reason why he wouldn't have told you.
You closed your phone, looking up at the buildings in front of you. Through every other window, you could see the familiar light of TV screens, all flashing in unison as the game broadcast replayed Juraj’s goal, almost mocking you. The entire city of Montreal had gotten to watch him on their screens every other night for months. Everyone knew him. Except you, apparently.
You didn’t know exactly how long you stayed out there, watching the game through somebody else’s window, watching Juraj score again, watching strangers cheer him on. When the third period ended in a tie, sending the game into overtime, you decided to head home.
The bus was empty, its quiet hum both soothing you and allowing your thoughts to spiral again. The ride was short, and you had decided you wanted to finish watching the game after all. The moment you walked into your apartment, you threw yourself down on your couch, turning the TV on just as the game was starting again. Just in time to watch Juraj score a third and final time tonight. You watched his face disappear as his teammates swarmed him, turning your head towards his apartment, as though he would be there. But of course, the apartment was dark and empty.
The text came about an hour later.
boy next door <3: hey are you still up?
You pondered your options. You could always leave it on ‘delivered’, pretend you were asleep; leave the problem for future you. But you would have to face him eventually. Even if you knew you didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone, you couldn’t very well ignore him for the next two days. Could you lie to him and pretend everything was fine for those two days as well though? Why not? He had lied to you for months, came the nagging voice at the back of your mind, anger and hurt gripping your heart.
You knew you should just pretend you were asleep.
You knew it was a bad idea to talk to him now whilst the wound was still so fresh.
You called him anyways.
The phone barely rang for a few short seconds before Juraj picked up, his widely smiling face filling up your screen. The sight should have filled you with relief after how worried you had been about him. Instead, you felt almost sick. How could he smile at you like that whilst keeping something so important from you?
“Hey,” his deep voice resounded through your phone’s speaker. “Were you about to go to bed?”
“No, I just got home actually,” you said, unable to stop yourself as the bitter words began tumbling out. “I was watching hockey at a friend’s place,” you added, venom dripping from your tone. You watched his smile fade as he took in your words, and you immediately felt horrible for telling him like this. The static of your phone’s speaker filled the dark room as Juraj stared at you through the screen, speechless.
“I was gonna tell you, I swear,” he finally said.
“Were you? ‘Cause it feels like you’ve had plenty of opportunities. Like that time I asked you about those pictures of you playing hockey, or whenever I talked to you about my job. Or how about any of the times you’ve had to leave for a ‘work trip’?” You spat. You watched as the expression on his face turned into one of guilt. “God, I feel like such an idiot! Do you know how it feels to find out the rest of the world apparently knew more about your–” you cut yourself off, the word ‘boyfriend’ staying stuck in your throat. Because he wasn’t your boyfriend, that much was clear now. “That so many people knew everything about you, whilst I knew nothing?” You choked up, a tear rolling down your cheek.
“That’s not true. Please, baby, I’m sorry. We should talk about this in person,” Juraj said, his expression pained.
“Yeah, we should,” you replied, voice monotone. “Just didn’t think I could lie to your face for two days,” you added, knowing you were going too far. “Unlike you apparently.”
“Come on, that’s not fair,” Juraj said, his tone desperate. You laughed humourlessly.
“Yeah, maybe not. Don’t think you’re the authority on that though,” you replied dryly.
“Just give me a chance to explain,” he pleaded, his brows furrowed and eyes wide, as though he was just now realizing how badly he had messed up.
“Yeah, okay,” you replied. “Just… maybe let’s keep our distance before then.” Juraj looked at you pleadingly through the screen, visibly swallowing deeply.
“Okay, if that’s what you want. I…” he trailed off, looking away for a moment. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”
You ended the call without another word, staring across the room in silence. You didn’t know exactly how long you sat there, numbly staring at nothing, but you eventually made your way to your bedroom, changing into an old shirt and Juraj’s sweatpants before falling into your bed, falling asleep as tears silently rolled down your face.
boy next door <3: just landed
boy next door <3: when can i see you
Just as you had requested, Juraj hadn’t tried contacting you in the two days since that last conversation.
And it had been miserable. On that first day, you had barely been able to get anything done. You’d know it would be bad for you, but you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from looking him up: first reading through his wikipedia page, then scrolling his Instagram account, then the Montreal Canadiens’ Instagram account, then watched interview after interview on YouTube until you had to all but throw your phone out of the window to stop yourself from continuing to spiral.
On the second day, you had called your best friend, begging her to come stay with you for the day to stop yourself from wallowing in your own self-pity again. She had arrived half an hour later with two spoons and a tub of ice cream, which you’d proceeded to eat through as you’d recounted the situation to her.
“Oh honey,” she had said after you’d finished the story.
“I just don’t understand what I did wrong,” you’d replied, bursting into tears at your friend’s compassionate tone. She’d pulled you into a hug, rubbing your back as you had let yourself actually sob for the first time since everything had gone down.
“You did nothing wrong honey,” your best friend had replied soothingly. “This guy is clearly an idiot.”
“He is,” you’d laughed through sobs. “But fuck, I think I’m in love with him,” you had added, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Fuck, you did love him.
Your best friend had stayed with you after that, both even watching the game together, which had unfortunately not gone as well as the previous one, the team losing, and Juraj scoring no goals this time. As you had watched him through the occasional close up glimpses of his face on the screen, you’d noticed he’d seemed distracted, your heart squeezing at the notion.
Now, the next morning, it seemed the first thing he had done upon landing was to text you.
you: i’m home all day
You left your reply at that
boy next door <3: i’ll be here in one hour
Fifty-four minutes later, you heard a knock at your door. You opened the door, revealing an exhausted looking Juraj, dark bags under his eyes, still dressed in the sweatpants and Canadiens hoodie you assumed he’d been wearing on the plane. You doubted you looked any better yourself, wearing his sweatpants and a plain tank top, not having bothered to do your hair. You wordlessly let him in, closing the door behind him.
“Okay, before you say anything, just let me explain,” he started, turning around to face you.
“Go ahead,” you said quietly.
“Okay,” he said shakily, rubbing his hands down his legs. “You’re upset. And you’re right to be upset because I screwed up really bad. I was being selfish by not telling you, I know that,” he sighed, running a hand over his early beginnings of a beard. “But the reason I didn’t tell you wasn’t that I didn't trust you, or something like that. It’s because when I meet people, they always think they already know me just because they watch me play hockey on TV. And they always have expectations about me. But you didn’t, because you didn’t know me at all,” he continued. “So when you saw the pictures in my room and asked me about hockey, I panicked, because I really liked you, and I really liked how simple it was between us. I didn’t want you to go home and look me up online, because it would've made the next date weird.”
You inwardly cringed, because wasn’t that exactly what you had done? You couldn’t really blame him for that.
“I understand that,” you started carefully. “But we’ve been dating, or whatever the fuck it is we are to each other, for four months! And the fact that you didn’t tell me in those four months makes me think I was taking this way more seriously than you were, and that you don’t actually want a real relationship with me,” you added, voice shaking at how much vulnerability you were showing him so soon after he had betrayed your trust. But you knew that if there was any chance of salvaging whatever you had with Juraj, you would have to be far more vulnerable than you had been before. He was wrong for lying to you, but the fact that you had never dared discuss the status of your relationship was definitely part of what went horribly wrong.
“No, no, that’s not true,” Juraj immediately replied, muttering something in Slovak. “It’s just, it was so easy with you. And I didn’t want to ruin that, and then the longer it went, the more it felt like I missed the time that I should've told you. And I knew you would be upset when I told you, and I was so scared of losing you… I didn’t know what to do anymore,” he said hurriedly, his arms waving about as he made his points. You looked up at him as he finished talking, his arms dropping beside him as he stared back at you intensely. “But I do want a real relationship with you, if that’s what you want too. God, my teammates have been making fun of me for not having the balls to properly ask you out for weeks now.”
“Your teammates know about me?” You asked with a slight smile.
“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “They can’t mind their own business. They make fun of me for being so in love that I can’t put my phone down.” Your breath caught in your throat at the word.
“Are you?” You asked
“Am I what?” He answered
“In love,” you said softly. He looked down at you, a tenderness you had never seen in his eyes before.
“I guess I am, yeah,” he replied, more nervous than you had ever seen him. “I’m in love with you,” he added for good measure, his eyes searching yours. For a long moment, you just stared up at him, taking in the admission. He was in love with you. A tempest of emotions surged through you: exhilaration making your heart race, disbelief at the fact that he felt the same way you did, but also fear. Fear that he wasn’t being truthful, that he was keeping something from you again. But in the end, the feeling that won out was the love you held for him in return. You had known coming into this conversation that if you wanted this relationship to work, you would have to do something very hard: trust him again despite how hurt you had been. And you were ready to do that, for him.
“Well, I’m still mad at you,” was your first reply, watching Juraj’s face drop for a moment. “But it’s a good thing I’m in love with you too then,” you added, a smile curling your lips.
You watched as the words hit him, his face splitting into an even wider smile than yours. In a moment, he was right in front of you, hands cupping your cheeks.
“Can I kiss you?” He asked, smile still wide.
“Of course,” you replied, smiling into his lips as he kissed you like he never wanted to let you go.
my future | will smith
Pairing: will smith x fiancé!reader
Prompt: Will knows he shouldn’t be doing it, he knows you’re technically his fiancé, not his wife. But he can’t help it as he keeps letting ‘my wife’ slip out when talking about you
requested
It all starts with takeout. You, Will, and Mack are sprawled around the living room after a long day, a game humming on the TV more for background noise than anything else. Mack is half paying attention from the floor with his back against the couch, scrolling on his phone as Will is stretched out beside you, one arm behind your shoulders.
Nobody wants to cook, it was a given by the groans each time one of you mentioned going to the grocery store. Which means, Will is ordering food. He has the restaurant on speaker for a second as he pulls up the menu, then switches it off and sits forward, one hand holding the phone to his ear while the other taps lightly against your leg.
“Yeah, can I do the chicken parm,” he says easily, glancing at Mack as he points to himself, silently telling Will the same for him. “Can I make that two, actually?” Will says, nodding a bit as his eyes flick down to your finger which is pointing at what you want on your menu. “And my wife will have the vodka rigatoni.”
The side of the room you and Mack are sitting on goes dead silent, your head snapping toward him. Next to you, Mack’s eyes go comically wide at the exact same moment yours do. He looks at you, and you look at him. Then, both of you slowly turn back toward Will.
Your fiancé, meanwhile, is just nodding into the phone like he has not just dropped a bomb in the middle of ordering Italian.
“Yeah,” he says to the person on the other end, completely calm. “And can you add an order of garlic knots too?”
Mack is staring at him like he has just witnessed something medically concerning, and you are pretty sure you are too. And as Will ends the call, setting his phone on the coffee table, he leans back again, not saying a word to either of you.
“Uh, what was that?” Mack asks, and the question causes Will to blink in confusion.
“What was what?”
“You just said ‘my wife’ like it was nothing.” Mack says, sitting up a little straighter now.
“Okay?” Will says, glancing between the two of you, looking genuinely confused by this being a topic.
“Okay?” Mack repeats. “That’s your response? Okay?”
You can feel heat climbing into your face, because there is something about the total lack of care that gets you. There’s no teasing tone, no pause, no look to see your reaction first. He just said it like he didn’t even notice.
“You can’t just say that,” you say, your voice feeling small, wobbly almost.
“Why not?” Will asks, his mouth twitches as he takes in the shocked expressions.
“Because I’m not your wife.”
“Engaged is close.”
“No, it is not, that’s skipping arguably a very important part.” Mack disagrees, making a noise like he can’t believe his best friend doesn’t see the problem.
“You did want the rigatoni, right?” Will questions, and that completely derails you for a minute.
“Well… yes.” You start, your face feeling so hot you could probably cook an egg on it. “But Will, that’s not the point.”
“It’s what you wanted, I don’t see the big deal here.” He says, kicking his feet back up on the coffee table as he watches a bit of the game on the tv.
“You’re impossible.” Mack aims at his best friend, dropping his head back against the couch with a groan.
You are still staring at Will, still in shock, in awe. Still red in the face and honestly starting to sweat a bit. He catches it, finally giving you one of those lazy smiles that has the power to make you smile even on your worst days.
“What?” He questions, and he would never admit it, but seeing you like this is half of the fun.
“You said it so casually.”
“Because it felt casual.” He says, his arm finding its way behind you again.
“Can you get all of this mushy stuff out of the way before my dinner gets here? If you guys flirt in front of my chicken I’m going to chuck it at your head.” Mack says to Will, scoffing slightly as he looks back down to his phone. You could only guess he’s lighting the Sharks group chat up with what just happened.
You try to ignore the way your chest has gone all soft and weird over two words, but it does not work. And the thing that is almost as shocking as being called his wife, is that he’s not flustered or backtracking, hell, he doesn’t even seem interested in defending himself.
—
The second time it happens, Grace is in town. She comes down for the weekend, and by Saturday afternoon the three of you are out shopping, carrying too many bags and stopping every few blocks because Grace sees something else she wants to drag you toward. It is fun and loud and easy, full of teasing, slightly too much caffeine, and Will pretending he is not just there to carry things.
Eventually, you duck into a grocery store because Grace wants snacks for later, and Will insists on grabbing stuff for dinner. So you are standing in front of a shelf full of pasta sauces, comparing jars while Grace debates noodles a few feet away. Will grabs a jar of sauce, slipping it into the cart and starting to walk.
“No, not that one.” You say, grabbing it out of the cart and putting it back on the shelf.
“What’s wrong with that one?” He asks, turning his gaze to you as your eyes scan the shelves.
“You always pick that one.”
“And?”
“And it’s too chunky, it freaks me out.” you say, reaching past him to take a different jar off the shelf. “This one is better.” Will looks at the jar in your hand for maybe half a second, debating whether or not he wants to tease you about the smoothness of pasta sauce, but he chooses against it. He just nods, and swaps them without argument.
“You’re right. Happy wife, happy life.”
Grace stills, you freeze with your hand still hovering between the shelves, and Will just continues on like nothing happened.
“Excuse me?” she says, way too loudly, all thoughts of noodles leaving her head. “No,” she says, already laughing. “I must have heard that wrong.”
“What did I say?” Will asks, his wide grin telling both you and his sister that he knew exactly what he said.
“You called her your wife, in the pasta aisle.” She dead pans, shock and surprise so evident on her face and in her voice.
Will just stares at his sister like she is the one being weird. “And?” He says with a shrug, leaning against the cart.
“Can we maybe lower our voices?” You ask as you feel your face getting hotter by the second, not wanting to make a scene in a grocery store.
“Does he do this all the time?” Grace asks, pointing between the two of you delighted.
“Sometimes.” You supply.
“Sometimes?”
“More than sometimes.” You mutter.
Grace makes the most dramatic noise in the world and grabs your arm. “And you let him?”
Will answers again before you can. “She doesn’t stop me.”
“That is not the same thing,” You say, trying to defend yourself.
“Why don’t you stop him?” Grace asks the question as she narrows her eyes.
You open your mouth, but then close it, no words coming out. You never thought in the pasta aisle you would be having this conversation, but here you are. The siblings wait for you to respond, Grace still floored, and Will still leaning against the cart, waiting for whatever bullshit excuse he knows you’re going to try and supply. He knows how it affects you, he sees it on your face every time the words ‘accidentally’ slip from his lips. But you come up short, no explanation will cover your tracks, because the truth is embarrassingly obvious, and Grace sees it.
“Oh my god,” she says, everything falling into place in her mind. “You like it.”
“No, I don’t.” You hesitate as the lie leaves your mouth.
“You do,” she says immediately. “That was way too slow.”
Will is smiling now, small and smug and fond in equal measure.
“Don’t.” You say, pointing your manicured finger at him.
“I didn’t say anything.” He says, holding his hands up in defense.
Grace starts laughing so hard she has to grab onto the cart for support. “I cannot believe this.” But she is still laughing as you move on to the next aisle, and every time she catches your eye after that she starts grinning all over again.
—
The worst part is that it gets under your skin for the rest of the day. Not in a bad way, but in the kind of way where your skin feels flushed everytime you think of it.
Happy wife, happy life.
By the time the teasing stops, dinner is ate, and the sun has long since set, Grace is in the guest room, and the apartment has gone quiet. You are both in bed, the room dark except for the small lamp on Will’s nightstand. He is lying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, while you curl on your side facing him, one hand resting on his chest.
For a little while neither of you say anything, but you break first.
“You really don’t care, do you?”
“About what?” Will asks, glancing down at you.
“You know what.” You say, propping yourself up a bit so you can see his face clearly. His hair is messy against the pillow, and it takes everything in you not to run your fingers through it and forget about it all.
“Ah, you must mean the pasta sauce.” Will says, and he can’t keep the cheeky look off his face as you gasp.
“I’m not talking about the sauce, William.”
“Woah, full name?” He gapes for a second, but then he cocks his head, looking into your eyes. “You mean calling you my wife?”
You press your lips together, already a little embarrassed that you are bringing it up at all. “Yes.”
“Why would I care?” He asks, looking like he almost doesn’t understand why everyone is so shocked by this.
“Because-“ You start, but you honestly aren’t too sure what to say. He looks at you for a second, expression softening into something quieter. There is still the amusement there, but underneath it is that steadiness he always gives you when he is being real.
“Because?” He asks, waiting for you to continue, but you don’t. You just look down, at a complete loss for words. “No baby, I don’t care that I’m saying it because you’re gonna be my wife,” he says simply. “I know you’re not yet,” he confesses as his fingers slide up and down your back. “I just don’t feel weird about it.”
“You don’t think people will think it’s strange?” You ask him, your heart speeding up, and your eyes making their way back to his.
He lets out a short laugh. “People do think it’s strange. Mack looked like he was about to pass out the other night.” That pulls a laugh from you. “And Grace almost yelled in the grocery store.”
“She did yell in the store.” You correct, your pointer finger tracing small shapes on his bare chest as you smile. But then your voice softens again. “Still. It doesn’t… I don’t know.. embarrass you?”
“Why would I be embarrassed?” Will ask, his brows drawing together like the question itself does not make sense. You don’t know how to answer that, and maybe he can tell that because he answers for you. “I love you,” he says, his fingers going to your chin so your eyes would meet his. “I’m going to marry you. You’re the person I think about when I think about home and my future and all of it. So why would I be ashamed of calling you what you’re going to be?”
You stare at him, at a complete loss for words. And Will just smiles softly, the teasing gone from him. His hand comes up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, his eyes searching your face in the dim light. “Does it freak you out?” And the level of sincerity in his voice hits you like a blow to the chest.
“No,” you say softly. “It doesn’t freak me out, it’s just,” you look down at his chest for a second, fingertips smoothing over his peck. “You say it so easily.”
“Because it is easy.”
You laugh a little, but it comes out shaky around the edges. “You know that makes it worse, right?”
“Worse?”
“In a good way,” you mumble and Will’s face changes, it is subtle, but you see it. He cocks his head, almost like he wants to hear you say it again. You make a small sound and hide your face against his chest. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” You say with a whine, as he laughs softly, one hand sliding to the back of your head to hold you there.
“So you do like it.” He jokes, but then yelps as you pinch his side, shoving you softly as you both laugh. “I hope you know it’s not some joke,” he says quietly. “I’m not saying it to mess with you.” His fingers move, tracing slowly along your back. “Sometimes it just comes out.”
The room feels very still all of a sudden, and you glare at him weakly as he just grins and leans up enough to kiss you, soft and slow. When he pulls back, he keeps his forehead against yours.
“I can stop,” he murmurs. “If you want me to.”
That gets your attention, and because it is late, or because your heart too full of love to lie, you whisper, “I don’t want you to stop.” Will goes still for half a second before he smiles, and it is soft and bright at the same time.
“No?” He questions, and you shake your head. His arms tightening around you, drawing you fully against him until there is no space left between you. “Good,” he says. “Because I have no intentions of stopping.”
Off Limits .ᐟ ೀWS²
╰ Synopsis Will insisted that you’d meet his teammates, but he didn’t think he’d be jealous of his teammates, but how couldn’t he though?
Tags/contains Fluff, Angst if you squint, Will Smith x fem!reader, jealousy, Will being protective, kissing(grow up pls), not proofread(yet)
➺ from Sera, to you📨. Requested. Lowkey missed writing for Smitty, so hoping to see soon more Smitty requests. In real life scenario I KNOW Smitty would not talk to his friends like that but I like to be a little delusional about how he'd be as a boyfriend.
masterlist ᥫ᭡ please reblog this fic if you enjoyed it! Please do NOT rewrite/repost my work anywhere else without permission!
It starts with Will tapping his fingers on your thigh. Not seriously, more like like he’s working up to something, the way he does when he’s thinking hard but trying to act casual about it.
You glance over at him from your spot on the couch, tucked his arm with your legs curled up. His phone glows in his free hand, screen half covered by his thumb. You try to read it, but he tilts it away from you with a little smirk.
“Why are you hiding your phone?” You ask, voice light and teasing a bit.
He chuckles. “I’m not hiding. Just figuring something out.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”
Will hesitates, just long enough for you to know it’s something he’s been thinking about for a while. And then he blurts it out. “I want you to come to the team dinner tomorrow.”
You blink. “Team dinner?”
“Yeah.” He lifts his arm from your leg and leans back, a little more animated now. “It’s nothing fancy. Just the guys and a couple staff, probably at a steakhouse or something. But I want them to meet you.”
You smile, because it’s sweet, it really is but the nerves bubble up fast. “Are you sure? Like.. is that something people do?”
Will frowns, sitting up straighter. “What do you mean?”
“I just mean..” you pick a loose thread on your sweatshirt. “Isn’t that a lot? Bringing your girlfriend to something that’s usually, like, just the team?”
He pulls a face. “It’s not that serious.”
You snort. “Sounds kinda serious.”
Will leans closer, ducking his head until your noses are almost touching. “Okay. Maybe I want it to be serious. And the guys said they’ll also bring their girlfriends aswell.”
Your stomach flips, and he grins like he knows it. Because he does.
Sure, you’ve seen his teammates when you go to his games, but you’ve never met met them like that. And not to mention you’ll meet some of the other wags.
“I’ve already told them about you,” he adds casually, like it’s no big deal. “So you might as well come meet them. Save me the pain of hearing them speculate for another week.”
You narrow your eyes. “Speculate?”
He groans. “You don’t wan to know. Smitty this, Smitty that. ‘Why doesn’t he bring her around?’ It’s relentless, because I do bring you around, but they haven’t met you..”
You laugh, fully picturing Mack or Tyler egging him on in the locker room. “Okay. I’ll come.”
He lights up, practically vibrating with satisfaction, and pulls you into his lap with no warning. You yelp, hands landing on his chest as he presses a kiss to your jaw up to your lips.
“But I swear to God,” you mumble into his shoulder, “if they’re weird or mean or make you feel weird—”
“They won’t,” he says quickly. “They’ll love you.”
You can’t help but melt a little at the confidence in his voice. Maybe it won’t be so bad meeting his teammates, to you it just means he’s taking you more serious, which makes you feel good.
You spend most of the day obsessing over what to wear.
Will insists that it’s not a big deal, but you can’t help it. Meeting a whole NHL roster of guys who are basically brothers to your boyfriend? Yeah, that’s a big deal.
And you’re gonna meet the other wags, which is a lot more motivation to you, to make a good impression to fit in with them, because you plan to spend rest of your life with Will.
He’s lounging on your bed while you tear through your closet, tossing tops over your shoulder and rejecting everything out loud.
“Too casual. Too formal.” And more.
Will watches you with a lazy grin, arms folded behind his head like he has all the time in the world. “You can wear anything and you’ll still look good, babe.”
You pause. “That’s not helping.”
He shrugs. “Sorry, babe. Facts are facts.”
Eventually you settle on denim skirt and a black top you know he loves, one that hugs you in all the right places. Will throws on a simple button up and jeans, and the two of you head out.
The restaurant smells like steak and butter by the time you step through the front doors. Warm lighting bathes the space in soft golds, catching the shine of glassware and polished cutlery. There’s music playing low under the hum of conversation, and Will’s hand slides naturally into yours, fingers laced tight.
“They’re already here,” he murmurs, tugging gently as he leads you toward the back of the restaurant. “Big long table. You good?”
You nod, offering him a small smile even as your nerves tap quietly at your chest. “A little nervous.”
“You’ll be fine,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze. “They’re gonna love you. Just be your cute, sweet, hot self.”
You roll your eyes. “Wow. Great combo.”
He smirks, leaning in to whisper, “You’re my whole combo.”
You barely have time to laugh before you arrive at the table and see them all and a handful of girls scattered along a long wooden table, already deep in conversation. A few drinks have clearly already been had.
“There he is!” Someone calls, and heads turn like coordinated play. And then they see you.
It’s not aggressive. Just a collective, slightly too long pause as they take you in.
Will’s hand drops to your waist, possessive in a quiet, casual way, like it belongs there. “Guys,” he says, voice steady. “This is my girlfriend.”
The way he says it makes your chest tighten. He’s so calm, so confident. No room for debate in his tone. “This is Y/n.”
You smile, lifting a small wave. “Hi.”
And then they greet you at once. You see Mack start talking, you knew Macklin was his best friend. “There’s a spot here,” he insists, tapping the back the chair beside him. “You don’t have to sit across from Will. He never shuts up.”
Will’s hand stay on your waist, firm. “She sitting next to me,” he says, not in a rude way though.
You glance at Will, he doesn’t say anything else, but his hand slides under the table to rest on your thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles.
Introductions fly by, many names, you barely catch half of them. Their girlfriends around the table smile at you kindly, some more curious than others. One of them, lean over to ask if it’s your first team dinner. You nod.
Throughout the dinner, it becomes clear that several of the guys are trying to get your attention. Not in a weird way. Just a little much.
Mack leans forward across the table everytime you speak, like he wants to catch every word. William is quick with a comment whenever you so much as smile.
Even a few of the others throw in jokes, chime in when you laugh, or ask a question about your program, your hobbies, what brought you to San Jose.
It’s nice. But noticeable. And Will definitely notices.
His hand never leaves you. He keeps it on your leg or waist the whole time. At one point, he gently tugs your chair closer to his until your knees are brushing. When Ferraro asks what you two did on your first date, Will answers before you even open your mouth.
“She doesn’t remember the name of the place,” he says. “But I do. I planned it.”
You smirk, nudging him. “I remember! Just.. not the exact name.”
“She said I was a better date than she expected,” Will adds, eyes gleaming. “Swear.”
“She told you that? On the first date?” Mack asks from the other side of table.
Will shrugs. “She did.”
You look down at your drink to hide your blush. When you glance back up, William is looking at you, a little focused if you could say. “You play any sports?” He asks casually.
“Nope,” you reply, shaking your head. “Not anymore.”
“You look like you could’ve,” Mack adds.
“Good genes, I guess.” You say, laughing.
Will’s arm wraps around your shoulders now. “Okay, you two don’t need to run scouting reports on her.”
Some of the guys at the table laugh, but you don’t miss the subtle edge in his voice. You lean in to murmur, “baby..”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just tilts his head down to brush a kiss to your temple. “She’s not a prospect.” Will mutters quietly, that only you could possibly hear him.
By dessert, things mellow out. A few of the girlfriends start asking about school, and you fall into conversation with them while the guys argue about some call from the last game. Still every now and then you catch one of the boys eyes lingering just a little closer than necessary.
Will plays it cool. Doesn’t call it out. But you feel it. In the way he keeps you close. In the glances he shoots across the table. In the way he responds to anything said to you that could even vaguely be taken as flirtatious.
And when it’s finally time to leave, and everyone’s saying their goodbyes, some of the guys hug you a little too tight, leaving Will holding your arm gently tugging meaning he wants to leave faster.
You catch the way Will tenses beside you, thanking them quickly before steering you toward the door. Once you’re outside in the cooler night air, you exhale. “That was a lot.”
“You were perfect,” Will says, unlocking the car. “They loved you.”
“You okay?” You ask as he opens the passenger door for you. “You were a little quiet toward the end.”
Will doesn’t answer until you’re both inside the car, engine humming low. “I just don’t like the way a couple of them looked at you.” He finally admits, glancing over.
“Too friendly?”
He nods. “Yeah. That.”
You smile, reaching across to rest a hand on his knee. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He looks over at you, expression softening. “I know.”
You add, teasing, “You were kinda hot though. Quietly fuming.”
Will groans. “I wasn’t fuming.” He laughs, but reaches for you hand and brings it to his lips. He looks at you for a beat longer, thumb brushing your knuckles. “I hated every second Mack looked at you,” he mutters.
You grin. “You gonna bodycheck your best friend over me?”
He leans in, kissing you. “Don’t tempt me.”
CUTE TANTRUMᵎᵎ MC⁷¹
╰ Synopsis You’ve always called Macklin cute, thinking it’s sweet and harmless, but it drives him crazy because he thinks you don’t want him in the way he wants you.
tags/contains Macklin Celebrini x fem!bsf!reader. Fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, mutual pining, kind of slow burn, shy Macklin, count how many time the word cute is mentioned, use of y/n, 1.9k words, requested.
➺ from Sera, to you📨. The pic I’m talking about in the fic is the one from Olympics because genuinely that’s the cutest picture I’ve ever seen, so yes in this fic they make up during the Olympics.
masterlist ᥫ᭡ please reblog this fic if you enjoyed it!
If there was one thing in the world that Macklin hated, it was the way you always called him cute.
Well, hate was a strong word.
Macklin didn’t absolutely hate it when you called him cute. There were times it felt nice, like when you’d scroll through old baby photos his mom had texted you, and you’d coo, “Look at baby Mack, so cute!” He’d duck his head, cheeks burning, but the shyness came with warmth because it was harmless.
Back then, he was still figuring out how to fill out his frame, still the kid everyone babied a little. But now it kind of felt annoying.
He was 19, standing 6’0, carrying 190 pounds of solid muscle that came from endless hours in the weight room and on the ice. He’d bulked up noticeably since his rookie year; broader shoulders, thicker legs, the kind of build that let him drive the net without getting shoved off.
In the 25-26 season, he was already at 29 goals and 54 assists, a Sharks team that finally looked like it had a future because of him. Alternate captain some nights.
He wasn’t a puppy anymore. He was a man who could bench his own bodyweight, who absorbed hits from guys twice his age and still finished checks. He wanted you to see that, and to treat him like the big guy he actually was.
But instead, you kept saying cute.
And the worst part? You said it about everything small and sweet. A puppy trotting by on the sidewalk during your daily walks together? “Aww, so cute!” A kid in a tiny Sharks hat waving at him after a game? “Look how cute that little guy is!” It wasn’t jealousy exactly, he wasn’t competing with dogs or toddlers but it lumped him in with them.
Another worst thing was that you weren’t even dating. If you had been boyfriend, girlfriend, something with labels and night kisses and mornings tangled in sheets; maybe the “cute” thing wouldn’t have landed like a slap every time.
Maybe he could’ve laughed it off, tugged you closer by the waist, murmured something cocky like, “Yeah? Wait ’til you see what else I can do that’s cute,” before proving exactly how not-cute he could be. In that version of things, “cute” would’ve been foreplay, a tease, a private joke between two people who already knew the heat underneath.
But you weren’t dating. You were just you and him: best friends, the girl who’d been there since forever. The one he could show up to unannounced, bruised and moody, and you’d still open the door without hesitation. The one he thought about way too much when the lights were off and the condo was quiet.
Macklin didn’t remember exactly when the feelings had started. Maybe they’d been there all along. Maybe they’d crept in slow when you laughed too hard at his dumb jokes, every time you patched him up after a fight. Either way, he’d been too stupid to name it until it was too loud to ignore.
In your perspective, it was totally harmless. Calling Macklin cute had always felt like the most natural thing in the world, the same as breathing. You never once thought it could hurt him. You’d noticed the way he sometimes turned his face away when the word slipped out, cheeks going pink, jaw tightening just a bit.
But you’d chalked it up to shyness. Macklin was shy in the sweetest ways, when you complimented his new haircut, when you hugged him too long after games, when you caught him staring at you across the room like he’d forgotten how words worked. That flush, that quick duck of his head made your chest ache in the best way. You loved seeing him like that.
You really did think he was cute. Not in a diminutive way, not like you were patting him on the head and calling it a day. Cute in the way his whole face lit up when he scored and he’d do that little fist pump shrug combo like he was surprised he’d done it again. Cute in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, cute in the way he’d sprawl on your couch looking exhausted and impossibly beautiful all at once.
Anytime a new picture of him popped up, you’d stop scrolling and zoom in. His smile, all teeth and triumph, cheeks flushed from adrenaline. Every single one made you melt a little more. There wasn’t a person on the planet who could unravel you like he did. Not with grand gestures, just by being Macklin, by existing in the same space as you, close enough to touch, far enough that you ached with it.
To no one’s surprise, you traveled to Italy with Macklin for the Olympics. He’d known Italy was one of the countries you’d always wanted to visit since high school.
When he made the Team Canada roster, he didn’t hesitate. “Come with us,” he’d said casually. “My family’s going. You can crash in the hotel, I want you there.” His parents had loved the idea; his mom had already booked your room before you could protest.
Tonight was one of those casual evenings. Canada had practice earlier for tomorrow’s quarterfinal; his family had retreated to their rooms after dinner. It was around 7pm, the city lights twinkling outside your window.
You and Macklin were side by side on your hotel bed, backs against the headboard, legs stretched out. He was in gray sweats, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. You had yours open to Pinterest, hunting for new nail inspo for when you got home.
The feed loaded slowly on hotel wifi. Then a photo popped up on your home page: Macklin during warmups, red jersey hugging his shoulders, helmet tilted just so, stick gripped tight. The angle caught the focused set of his jaw, the faint flush on his cheeks from the cold rink, eyes sharp under the visor but with that tiny smile tugging at his mouth.
You gasped out loud. Macklin’s head snapped toward you. “What? Show me.”
“Oh my gosh,” you breathed, already zooming in. “This is the cutest pic I’ve ever seen.”
He leaned over, expecting maybe a photo of kittens or one of those viral baby animal reels you sent him constantly. “Lemme see-”
You turned the screen toward him fully. His eyes landed on the photo of himself, in full Olympic gear, looking every bit the focused sniper who’d been tearing up the tournament. He stared at the screen, then immediately looked back down at his own phone, jaw clenching.
You didn’t notice anything at first. “Mack, that’s such an adorable face expression. Look at your little smile. Like you’re plotting to score the next one.”
He didn’t respond right away, he kept scrolling, thumb moving too fast. “No, it’s not. It’s just another random picture they took of me..”
You nudged his shoulder lightly. “Nooo, it’s my new favorite picture. I’m putting it on one of my home screen widgets.”
“Y/n.” His voice came out low, he didn’t snap; he’d never snap at you but he was annoyed. “Can you just stop?”
You blinked, lowering the phone. “Stop what?”
“Calling it cute. Calling me cute.” He set his phone face down on the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not adorable. It’s just me doing my job.”
“But it is adorable,” you insisted, softer now, confused. “The way your cheeks are pink from the cold, that tiny grin, you look happy. I love it.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, shoulders tense. “That’s the problem. You love the happy, focused puppy version. Not..” He gestured vaguely at himself. “Not anything else.”
“Mack,” you started gently, “I didn’t mean-”
“I know you didn’t.” He cut you off. “But it’s every time like I’m still the kid you met years ago.” He finally looked at you. “I’m not and I don’t want to be that to you.”
Macklin didn’t know what he expected when he said that out loud but he’d carried the words around for so long, that saying them now felt inevitable. He wanted you and maybe this hotel room in Milan, was finally the right time.
You stared at him, eyes wide. “Okay.”
He exhaled, shoulders dropping. You paused, shifting so your knee brushed his. “Then what do you want to be?”
Macklin shrugged, gaze dropping to the space between you. He couldn’t look at you right now. “I don’t know.”
“Tell me, Mack.” Your voice was gentle, coaxing. You reached out, fingers brushing along his jaw lightly.
He shook his head once, catching your wrist in his hand to pull it away before the touch unraveled him completely. His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist. “This is gonna sound stupid, but.. I just want you to think I’m good looking. Not just cute.” He swallowed. “It makes me think you don’t want me the way I want you. And yeah, maybe I’m being an idiot right now, confessing like this in the middle of the freaking Olympics, but-”
“Mack!”
He stopped rambling, eyes snapping up to yours. “Do you really think I don’t find you attractive?”
He shrugged again. “I don’t know. You never say it like that.”
You let out a soft laugh. “Just because I haven’t exactly said the words doesn’t mean I don’t think it.” You moved closer, turning so you were facing each other fully on the bed. You lifted your free hand, fingers gentle under his chin, tilting his face up until he had no choice but to meet your eyes. “If anything, you’re the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen.”
The compliment landed softly, his cheeks flushed deeper, pink creeping up from his neck but this time it wasn’t embarrassment.
You smiled and started to lean in.
He met you halfway and your mouths brushed together. He deepened the kiss as his hand found the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair; yours slid to his shoulder, gripping the soft fabric of his long sleeve. You sucked lightly on his bottom lip, and he made a quiet sound in the back of his throat that sent heat curling through you both.
When you pulled back, both of you were smiling, stupid and breathless and a little dazed.
Macklin’s voice came out rough. “That.. that was nice to hear from you.” He swallowed, thumb brushing your cheek. “I think the same about you.”
You laughed softly, the sound muffled against his skin as you pressed another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Took you long enough to say it.”
“Me?” He huffed, but there was no bite in it. “You’re the one who kept calling me something like it was a personality trait.”
“Maybe it is,” you teased, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “But handsome fits better.”
Macklin leaned back against the headboard, pulling you with him so your shoulders pressed together. You both settled in, he took your right hand in his, lacing your fingers without thinking, thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles.
You reached for your phone with your free hand, still open to that photo of him, “You know,” you said, tilting the screen toward him again, “I really might make this my Instagram profile picture.”
He huffed a laugh, glancing at it, then at you. “Yeah, sure. Maybe once we make it official to the public.”
You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh?” You say as you leaned your head on his shoulder.
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