Plot: You secretly sing but you never did in front of people because you didn’t think you were that great. Macklin comes home early than expected and catches you singing. Fluffy please 🥹
Hidden Melody
pairing: Macklin Celebrini x female reader
description: You're caught singing by Macklin when you thought you were alone and he becomes your biggest supporter in overcoming your fear of sharing your voice.
TW: Fluff.
masterlist
The afternoon sun streams through the kitchen window as you move around the space, your headphones blasting your favorite playlist. You've been home alone for hours, expecting Macklin to be at practice until dinner time.
Your hips sway to the beat as you scrub dishes, your voice growing louder with each passing verse of the song you've had on repeat all week. You're not thinking about technique or hitting every note perfectly, you're just feeling the music, letting it flow through you as you dance around the kitchen with a soapy sponge in hand.
"Never knew I could feel like this," you sing, eyes closed as you spin around, "Like I've never seen the sky before..."
The sound of a soft chuckle makes your eyes fly open. Standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an adoring smile on his face, is Macklin. His hockey bag is slung over his shoulder and he's clearly just gotten home.
Your cheeks flush crimson as you rip off your headphones, the music suddenly silenced. "How long have you been standing there?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Long enough to know you have the voice of an angel," he replies, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you. "Seriously, that was incredible."
You turn away, focusing on rinsing the dish in your hands. "It's really not. I just mess around sometimes when I'm alone."
Macklin's hands find your waist, turning you back to face him. "Are you kidding me right now? That was beautiful. Why have you never sung for me before?"
You shrug, avoiding his gaze. "Because I'm not that good and I didn't want you to make fun of me."
His expression softens. "Make fun of you? Baby, I would never do that. And what do you mean you're not good? You sounded like a professional just now."
"I'm not," you insist. "I can hear all the mistakes when I sing."
"We all make mistakes," he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "But your voice... it's special. It's warm and it has this... this quality that makes me feel things. I can't explain it."
Tears prick at your eyes as you look at him, seeing nothing but sincerity in his expression. "Really?"
"Really," he confirms, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "You have to promise me something."
"What?"
"Promise you'll sing for me again. Not when you think I'm not home, but on purpose."
You hesitate, your old fears creeping back in. "I don't know..."
"Please?" he asks, his voice dropping to that soft tone that always melts your resolve. "I'll be your biggest fan. I'll cheer for you after every song. I'll throw flowers at your feet."
Despite yourself, you laugh. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm your ridiculous hype-man," he corrects, grinning. "Come on, just one song. Right now. For me."
You look around the kitchen, then back at his hopeful face. "Okay," you finally agree. "But if I'm terrible, you can't laugh."
"I would never," he promises, leaning against the counter opposite you. "I'm ready to be blown away."
Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and start to sing again, softer this time, more tentative. But as Macklin watches with that adoring expression, your confidence grows and soon you're singing with the same passion as before.
When you finish, he's silent for a moment, just looking at you with awe. "See?" he finally says. "Absolutely incredible."
He crosses the space between you in two strides, lifting you into his arms and spinning you around the kitchen. "My girlfriend is a superstar!" he exclaims, making you giggle as he sets you down.
"I'm not a superstar," you protest, but you're smiling now.
"You are to me," he says, his voice softening as he cups your face in his hands. "And I'm going to be your number one fan for the rest of our lives."
something for Fraser Minten x reader, maybe it's readers birthday and they go out to a nice dinner, and come and things get freaky, maybe more dominant reader??
Birthday Girl
pairing: Fraser Minten x female reader
description: On your birthday, Fraser does exactly what you want him to do.
TW: MDNI, Smut, oral sex (f receiving), dominant reader, praise kink, unprotected sex, established relationship.
masterlist
The morning light filters through the curtains as Fraser shifts beside you, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. He's been awake for at least an hour, watching you sleep, planning every detail of your special day. When your eyes finally flutter open, he's already leaning in to press a soft kiss against your forehead.
"Happy birthday, beautiful," he whispers against your skin, his morning voice sending shivers down your spine.
You stretch languidly, pressing back against him as his hand traces circles on your stomach. "Mmm, morning."
"I have breakfast ready," Fraser says, already sliding out of bed. "Stay right there."
Within minutes, he returns with a tray loaded with your favorites, fluffy pancakes with maple syrup, fresh berries, crispy bacon and a steaming mug of coffee. He places it carefully over your lap before leaning in to kiss you properly, deep and lingering.
"I have presents too," he says with a grin, retrieving a series of carefully wrapped gifts from your dresser. First is a first edition copy of your favorite childhood book, complete with a handwritten note about why he chose it. Next, a delicate necklace with a small charm that represents an inside joke between you. Finally, tickets to a concert you've been dying to see.
"Fraser," you breathe, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. "This is too much."
"Nothing's too much for you," he replies, pressing kisses between each word.
The day unfolds exactly as planned, a lazy morning, a walk through your favorite park and then back home to prepare for your evening reservation. Fraser helps you zip up your dress, his fingers lingering against your spine as he admires you in the mirror.
"You look incredible," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm the luckiest person alive."
Dinner is perfect, intimate, romantic, with just the right amount of champagne to make you giddy without being sloppy. Fraser holds your hand across the table, his thumb stroking your skin as he recounts his favorite moments from your year together.
When you finally return home, Fraser is ready to continue the celebration. But you have other plans.
"Babe," you say, stopping him in the hallway. "There is one more thing I want for my birthday."
"Anything," he replies instantly, his eyes wide with adoration. "Whatever you want."
You take his hand, leading him to the bedroom. "I want you to undress me," you command softly. "Slowly."
His fingers tremble slightly as he reaches for the zipper of your dress, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he pulls it down. The fabric pools at your feet, leaving you in just your lingerie. Fraser's breath hitches as his eyes roam over your body.
"Like what you see?" you ask, though you already know the answer.
"You're perfect," he whispers, reaching for you.
"Not so fast," you say, stepping back. "On your knees."
Fraser doesn't hesitate, sinking to the floor before you with reverence. "Yes?"
"I want your mouth," you say, your voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Need it so bad."
He looks up at you with darkened eyes, already leaning forward. "Anything for you."
Fraser doesn't wait for instructions. His lips press against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving slow, open-mouthed kisses that make your breath catch. You can feel his warm breath ghosting over you as he works his way upward, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His mouth is hungry, desperate, as if he's been waiting for this moment all day.
"God," you moan, threading your fingers through his hair. "Your mouth feels incredible."
He responds with a hum against your skin, his tongue now tracing patterns over your panties. The fabric grows damp with his attention, the friction making you squirm above him. Fraser's hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he continues his worship.
"Please," he whispers against you, looking up with desperate eyes. "Let me taste you properly."
You smile down at him, enjoying the power you hold in this moment. "Since it's my birthday..."
Fraser doesn't need another invitation. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down until you're completely bare before him. His eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight of you, then his mouth is on you instantly.
His tongue explores with practiced expertise, circling your clit before flicking against it repeatedly. You tighten your grip in his hair, guiding his movements as pleasure courses through you. Fraser responds to your guidance perfectly, adjusting his technique until you're writhing above him.
"Right there," you gasp. "Don't stop!"
His fingers slide inside you, curling upward to find that spot that makes you see stars. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, your orgasm building rapidly as waves of pleasure crash over you. When you finally come, it's with his name on your lips, your body trembling as he continues to lick you through your release.
"Babe," you breathe, pulling him up to kiss your juices from his lips. "That was... incredible."
He looks at you with pure adoration. "Anything for you."
But you're not done yet. "I want more," you say, pushing him toward the bed. "I want you inside me."
Fraser lies back against the pillows, watching as you straddle him. His cock is hard and ready, leaking against his stomach. You position yourself above him, teasing him with just the tip.
"Please," he begs, his voice thick with need.
You sink down slowly, taking him inch by delicious inch until he's fully seated inside you. Fraser's eyes roll back in his head as you begin to move, setting a rhythm that has both of you gasping.
"You're so big," you moan, leaning forward to change the angle. "Stretching me so perfectly."
He grips your hips, thrusting up to meet you as you ride him. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and praises.
"Harder," you demand. "Fuck me harder, I want to feel you for days."
He complies eagerly, his movements becoming more desperate as he chases both your pleasure and his own. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard hitting the wall with each powerful thrust.
"So good," you gasp. "Don't stop, please don't stop."
Fraser's response is a guttural groan, his fingers digging into your hips as he pistons into you. The intensity is overwhelming, your own release building again as he hits just the right angle with each thrust.
"Fill me up," you command, your nails raking down his chest. "I want everything, Fraser. Give me everything."
With a final, desperate thrust, Fraser complies, spilling inside you as your own orgasm crashes over you. You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from your high.
"Happy birthday my love," Fraser whispers against your hair, his arms wrapping around you securely.
I have recently discovered Quinn Hughes and girl I am obsessed.
If you’re open to it, could you write something with him being like obsessed with the fact his girlfriend has a nipple piercing like he just can’t believe it.
It could be like the first time they do stuff after a couple dates, and he can’t believe the introvert that’s so shy has been hiding a nipple piercing and he just goes feral for her.
Or maybe like established relationship, and she jokes she should get rid of it cause what’s the point and he’s like oh no no no, I need you to keep it just for me.
Hidden Revelations
pairing: Quinn Hughes x female reader
description: Quinn is absolutely obsessed with your nipple piercings.
The soft glow of Quinn's bedside lamp casts long shadows across his bedroom, the only illumination in the quiet space. You're curled against his side, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as you both watch the end of some movie you've long since lost track of.
"Hey," Quinn murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "You're a million miles away."
You turn your head to meet his gaze, your cheeks flushing slightly. "Sorry. Just... thinking."
His thumb traces circles on your hip, sending shivers through your body. "Good thoughts, I hope."
You nod, though your mind is anything but clear. Being this close to him, feeling the warmth of his skin through your thin t-shirt, has your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.
Quinn's eyes darken as he studies your face, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips.
The kiss deepens naturally, your mouths moving together with increasing urgency. His tongue traces your bottom lip, seeking permission that you eagerly grant. When his hand slides from your waist to the hem of your shirt, you tense slightly, a flicker of nervousness running through you.
He must feel it because he pulls back just enough to look at you. "Is this okay?" he asks, his voice thick with desire but tinged with concern.
You nod, swallowing hard. "Yes. Just... nervous."
A soft smile touches his lips. "We don't have to..."
"No," you interrupt, placing your hand over his. "I want to. Just... go slow?"
"Always," Quinn promises, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly lifts your shirt.
You hold your breath as the fabric inches upward, exposing your stomach, then your ribs, then finally the black lace bra you chose this morning. Quinn's breath catches as his gaze drops to your chest and for a moment you worry he's disappointed. But then his eyes widen in surprise.
"Is that...?" he trails off, his fingers hovering just above the fabric.
You nod, your heart pounding against your ribs. "They're... pierced."
Quinn's eyes meet yours again, dark with a new intensity that sends a jolt straight to your core. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice barely audible. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"
Before you can respond, his mouth is on yours again, more demanding this time. His hands move to your back, expertly unclasping your bra with a flick of his fingers. As the lace falls away, revealing your secret to him completely, Quinn pulls back just to look.
"God, you're perfect," he murmurs, his gaze fixed on the silver barbells that adorn your nipples. "I never would have guessed. My shy, sweet girl hiding this from me."
His thumb brushes against one piercing and you gasp at the sensation. "Quinn..."
"Does that feel good?" he asks, his voice husky.
You can only nod, words failing you as he continues to explore this newly discovered territory.
"I need to taste you," he decides, lowering his head to capture one peaked nipple in his mouth.
The combination of his warm, wet tongue and the cool metal of the piercing sends sparks through your entire body. Your back arches off the bed as he sucks gently, his other hand coming up to roll your other nipple between his fingers, toying with the piercing there.
"Quinn," you moan, your hands tangling in his hair. "That feels... incredible."
He hums against your skin, the vibration adding another layer of sensation. "I can't get enough of you. These perfect tits, these fucking piercings... you're driving me crazy."
His mouth moves to your other breast, giving it the same devoted attention. You're lost in a haze of pleasure, your body responding to his every touch with an eagerness that surprises even you.
"Touch yourself for me," Quinn commands, his voice low and authoritative as he continues to lavish attention on your breasts.
Your eyes widen at his request, but your hands move almost instinctively down your body, slipping beneath the waistband of your pajama pants. You're already wet, more turned on than you've ever been and your fingers glide easily through your folds.
"That's it," Quinn encourages, his eyes dark with desire as he watches you. "Show me how you like to be touched."
You circle your clit with your fingers, your hips rocking against your hand as Quinn continues to worship your breasts with his mouth and hands. The dual sensations are overwhelming in the best way possible.
"Quinn, I..."
"Come for me," he cuts in, his voice firm. "I want to feel you come while I'm sucking on these perfect nipples."
His words are your undoing. With a cry, you tumble over the edge, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. Quinn doesn't stop, his tongue and fingers working you through every wave of pleasure until you're spent and breathless beneath him.
When you finally open your eyes, Quinn is watching you with an expression of pure adoration. "You're so fucking beautiful when you come."
You flush, suddenly shy again under his intense gaze. "Thank you," you whisper.
Quinn shifts, positioning himself between your legs. "I'm not done with you yet," he murmurs, his hands sliding up your thighs. "I need to taste all of you."
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants, pulling them down slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. You lift your hips to help him, your heart racing with anticipation.
Once you're completely bare before him, Quinn takes a moment to simply look, his gaze appreciative and hungry. "Perfect," he declares, before lowering his head to press a kiss to your inner thigh.
You gasp as his mouth moves higher, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. When his tongue finally finds your clit, you cry out, your hands fisting in the sheets.
"Quinn!"
He hums against you, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as he explores you with his tongue, learning what makes you gasp and moan.
"You taste so good," he murmurs, pulling back slightly. "I could do this all night."
"Please," you beg, not even sure what you're asking for.
Quinn smiles against your skin before diving back in, his tongue moving in circles around your clit as he slides one finger inside you. You arch off the bed, a strangled cry escaping your lips as he adds a second finger, curling them just right.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice muffled against you. "Let go for me again."
His words, combined with the skilled movements of his tongue and fingers, send you spiraling toward another orgasm. When it hits, it's even more intense than the first, your vision whiting out with pleasure.
As you come down from your high, Quinn continues to gently lap at you, drawing out every last sensation before finally pulling away. He moves up your body, capturing your lips in a deep kiss that allows you to taste yourself on his tongue.
"You're incredible," he murmurs against your lips. "Absolutely incredible."
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "So are you."
As the intensity of your encounter begins to settle, you find yourself curled against Quinn's chest, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your bare skin. The room is filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by your soft breathing and the distant sounds of the night outside.
"Hey," you say, propping yourself up on an elbow to look at him. "You know, I've been thinking..."
Quinn's eyes meet yours, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "Dangerous territory."
You playfully swat his chest. "Seriously though. Maybe I should get rid of these piercings." You gesture vaguely toward your chest, trying to keep your expression neutral. "They're probably too much trouble anyway. Always having to clean them, worrying about infections..."
Quinn's reaction is immediate. His hand stills on your back and his eyes widen in what looks like genuine panic. "What? No. Absolutely not."
You can't help but tease him a little. "I don't know... they're kind of high maintenance. And maybe they give off the wrong impression."
"The wrong impression?" Quinn sits up slightly, his brow furrowed with concern. "What impression is that? That you're incredibly hot and full of surprises? Because that's the impression I'm getting."
You shrug, trying to maintain your serious demeanor despite the warmth spreading through your chest at his reaction. "I just thought... maybe they're too much. You know?"
Quinn shakes his head, his expression serious now. "No, I don't know." He reaches out, his fingers gently tracing the outline of one of your piercings. "These... they're part of you. And I've only just discovered them. You can't take them away now."
His voice has dropped to a low, intense whisper that sends shivers through your body. "I need you to keep them. Understand?"
"Quinn, I was just..."
"No." His thumb brushes against the silver barbell and you gasp at the sensation. "I wasn't expecting them, but now that I know they're here... I can't stop thinking about them. About you."
He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Every time I see you fully dressed, I'll know this secret you're hiding. Every time I look at you, I'll remember what's underneath your clothes. These piercings... they're my private little discovery."
You're breathless now, your teasing completely forgotten. "Quinn..."
"I'm obsessed with them," he admits, his voice raw with honesty. "With you. With discovering all your secrets." He pulls back to look at you, his eyes dark with desire. "So please. Don't take them away. Not when I've just found them."
You reach up to cup his cheek, your heart swelling with affection. "I wasn't really going to," you admit softly. "I just wanted to see how you'd react."
Quinn's relief is palpable. "Thank god," he breathes, pulling you into a passionate kiss. "Because I have a lot more I want to do with these."
hiii could you please do something with Mack and period comfort? My period is kicking my ass rn and I need some loving 😖
Cramps & Comfort
pairing: Macklin Celebrini x female reader
description: Mack takes care of you on your period.
TW: Fluff, mentions of menstrual cramps, hurt/comfort, established relationship.
masterlist
The first wave of pain hits you before you even open your eyes. It's a familiar, unwelcome cramp that starts deep in your lower abdomen and radiates outward, a dull, insistent ache that promises to get worse. You let out a soft groan, burrowing deeper into the blankets and trying to curl into yourself.
A warm, solid presence shifts beside you and then a gentle hand is smoothing your hair back from your forehead. "Hey," Macklin's voice is a soft, sleepy rumble. "You okay?"
You shake your head, not trusting your voice. The cramps are already starting to pulse, a steady, miserable rhythm that makes you feel sick to your stomach.
He doesn't need any more explanation. He knows this particular brand of misery better than anyone. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, his touch impossibly gentle. "Okay. I'm on it. Don't move."
You hear him get up, his movements quiet and efficient. You keep your eyes squeezed shut, focusing on breathing through the latest wave of pain. A few minutes later, he's back, the mattress dipping as he sits beside you.
"Here," he says softly. "Sit up for me, just a little."
You force yourself to obey and he slips a warm mug into your hands. The heat of the ceramic is a small comfort against your cold fingers. You take a cautious sip. It's chamomile tea, sweetened with just the right amount of honey, your comfort blend.
"Good?" he asks, his eyes full of concern.
You nod, taking another sip. The warm liquid soothes your raw throat, a small mercy in the midst of your discomfort.
He disappears again, returning with a bottle of pain reliever and a glass of water. "Take these," he instructs, his tone gentle but firm. "And then you need to drink all of this."
You comply without argument, swallowing the pills and draining half the glass of water. He sets the glass aside and then produces the secret weapon: your hot water bottle, freshly filled and wrapped in its soft, fleece cover.
"Lie back down," he commands, his voice soft. You do and he carefully places the hot water bottle on your lower abdomen, the heat immediately beginning to seep into your aching muscles. It's a profound, instant relief and you let out a long, shuddering sigh.
"Better?" he asks, a hopeful note in his voice.
"So much better," you admit, your voice still weak.
He smiles, a small, tender smile that makes your heart ache. "Good." He adjusts the pillows behind your back, propping you up just so, before pulling the comforter up to your chin and tucking you in. "Anything else? Snacks? A movie? My undying devotion?"
You can't help but laugh, a small, breathy sound that turns into a wince as another cramp tightens its grip. "Your undying devotion is a good start," you manage. "But maybe some chocolate? And the remote?"
"You got it," he says, already moving. He returns a moment later with your favorite chocolate bar and the TV remote, which he places on the nightstand within easy reach. He then climbs into bed beside you, careful not to jostle you or disturb the hot water bottle.
As the movie starts playing, Macklin shifts slightly, his large hand gently resting besides the hot water bottle on your stomach. His touch is warm and firm as he begins to rub slow, soothing circles, the pressure easing the deep ache in your abdomen. You let out a contented sigh, melting into his touch.
"Is that helping?" he whispers, his lips close to your ear.
"Mmm, so much," you murmur, feeling the tension begin to drain from your body.
After a while, you shift, trying to find a more comfortable position as a new wave of pain radiates to your lower back. Macklin notices immediately, his brow furrowing with concern.
"Back hurting?" he asks softly.
You nod, unable to form words as another cramp takes hold.
"Roll over for me, baby," he says gently. "Just onto your side."
You comply and he spoons up behind you, his strong arm wrapping around your waist. His hand moves from your stomach to your lower back, his fingers finding the knots of tension and gently kneading them. His touch is perfect, firm enough to provide relief but gentle enough not to cause more discomfort. You can feel the warmth of his palm seeping through your pajama shirt, soothing the aching muscles.
"Right there?" he asks when you let out a soft moan of relief.
"Yes," you breathe, pressing back against his hand.
He continues the massage, his touch never faltering as the movie plays on. Every so often, he leans down to press soft kisses to your shoulder and neck, his lips warm against your skin. The combination of his touch, the warmth of the hot water bottle and the painkillers finally starts to work their magic and you feel yourself drifting toward sleep.
As your eyes grow heavy, Macklin's movements slow, his hand resting still against your lower back. He tightens his hold slightly, pulling you closer against his chest.
"Sleep," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead. "I've got you. I'll be right here."
Ok I’m thinking a fluff fic where Will has been your friend for a longggg time but he’s hardcore crushing on you now and it’s obvious to everyone but you. Like his teammates notice because he’s talking about you more than he used to and they didn’t even know that was possible. And he gets this sickeningly sweet look on his face while he’s talking.
Then one night you’re out with him and maybe the team too, and everyone is drinking but Will gets sooo drunk and you have to make sure ge gets home safe obvi bc what are best friends for?? But then he confesses his crush on you to you
And I think it would be a little shocking but ultimately I want it to have a sweet fluffy ending
Blind Spot
pairing: Will Smith x female reader
description: You remain completely oblivious to Will's obvious crush on you, until a drunken night out leads to a heartfelt confession that changes everything between you.
TW: Fluff, alcohol consumption, drunken love confession, kissing.
masterlist
The bar is loud, packed with bodies and the thumping bass of a song you don't recognize. You're wedged into a booth with Will and three of his teammates, trying to follow a story about some disastrous road trip prank that has everyone howling with laughter.
"And then Toff walks in," Will gasps, tears of mirth streaming down his face, "and he's got this..."
He stops abruptly, his gaze finding yours across the table. The manic energy softens instantly, replaced by something so tender it makes your chest ache.
"He's got what?" you prompt, smiling.
He shakes his head, still grinning. "Doesn't matter. It's not as funny as you laughing at it."
Across the booth, William leans over to whisper something to Michael, who glances between you and Will before smirking into his drink. You're too used to the Sharks' inside jokes and non-verbal communication to pay it much mind.
"You're ridiculous," you tell Will, nudging his foot under the table.
"Only about you," he says with such sincerity it makes you want to blush.
Another round of shots appears, courtesy of someone's tab. You decline, knowing you're the designated sober friend tonight. Will, however, does not.
"Come on, just one," he pleads, already looking flushed from the three beers he's had. "It's a celebration!"
"What are we celebrating?" you ask, pushing the shot glass away.
"Us," he says simply and the table goes quiet for a beat before someone changes the subject with forced cheerfulness.
By midnight, Will is properly drunk. Not sloppy or belligerent, just… soft. His arm is draped across the back of your booth, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. He's leaning into you, his head lolling against the vinyl as he listens to his teammates debate the best penalty kill strategy.
"You're so smart," he murmurs in your ear when you make some comment about their formation. "Like, crazy smart. And pretty. So pretty."
You laugh it off. "You're drunk, Will."
"Still true," he insists, his eyes half-lidded but fixed on you. "Always true."
The decision to cut him off comes when he tries to order another round and nearly falls off his stool. "Okay, time to go," you say firmly, sliding his arm over your shoulders. "Say goodbye to your friends."
"Bye, friends!" he calls, waving enthusiastically. "I'm going home with the prettiest girl in the world!"
Someone, Ryan, you think, whistles. "Get her, Smitty!"
The ride home is mostly quiet, Will humming tunelessly against your window, occasionally leaning his head on your shoulder. His apartment building is dark when you pull up and you have to practically carry him inside.
"Keys," you say, patting down his pockets until you find them.
His hand covers yours, holding it there against his thigh. "Your hands are so small," he observes, his voice thick with alcohol and emotion. "But they fit mine perfectly."
You unlock the door and guide him to his couch, where he collapses with a dramatic groan. "Water," you command. "And then bed."
"Don't wanna go to bed alone," he whines, but he accepts the glass you hand him.
"You're not," you promise. "I'll stay until you're asleep."
He drinks half the water before setting it aside and reaching for your hand again. "You always take care of me," he says, his voice suddenly serious. "Even when I don't deserve it."
"Of course I do," you say softly. "That's what friends are for."
He's quiet for a long moment, just looking at you with an expression you can't quite read in the dim light of his living room. The city lights cast shadows across his face, highlighting the earnestness in his eyes.
"What if I don't want to be friends anymore?" he asks quietly.
Your heart stutters. "What?"
"Not like… not friends," he clarifies quickly, squeezing your hand. "Just… not friends. More."
You're not sure how to respond. Will has been your constant for years, through bad breakups, family drama, career changes. He's the one you call at 2 a.m. when you can't sleep, the one who shows up with ice cream and bad movies when you're sick. The thought of that changing is terrifying.
"Will, you're drunk," you say finally. "We can talk about this in the morning."
"I'm not that drunk," he insists, sitting up too fast and swaying slightly. "I mean, I am drunk, but not about this. I've been thinking about it for… a while. A long while."
You stay silent, waiting.
"Everyone knows," he continues, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "The guys… they tease me about it. About how I look at you. About how I talk about you all the time. They said I was obvious to everyone but you."
"Obvious about what?" you ask, though you're starting to suspect you know the answer.
He takes a deep breath, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "That I'm completely, stupidly in love with you. Have been for… I don't even know how long. It just sort of… happened. And now I can't imagine not being in love with you."
The confession hangs in the air between you, fragile and terrifying and wonderful all at once. You think back to all the little moments you'd dismissed, his extra attention when you were feeling down, the way he always saved you a seat, the sickeningly sweet look his teammates had teased him about.
"Oh," you say brilliantly. "Will, I… I didn't know."
His face falls slightly. "Yeah, I know. That's kind of the problem."
"No, I mean… I didn't let myself know," you clarify. "I think maybe I didn't want to see it because it would change things and I… I really like how things are between us."
His shoulders slump. "Oh. Okay. Then forget I said anything. We can just..."
"But," you interrupt, "maybe change isn't always bad. Maybe sometimes change is… good."
He looks up, hope dawning in his eyes. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," you confirm, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "We'll talk more in the morning when you're sober, but… yeah. I think I might be stupidly in love with you too."
The grin that spreads across his face is worth all the years of obliviousness. "Really?"
"Really," you promise. "Now, drink your water and go to bed. We've got a lot to talk about tomorrow."
He stands, swaying slightly but determined, and pulls you into a hug that's more heartfelt than any you've shared before. "Best news ever," he murmurs into your hair. "Even better than making the team."
okay but hear me out, daddy canada crosby himself wingmaning minten and celebrini, but it turns into him giving them a lesson, show and tell, guidance. just pure smut
Captain's Lesson
pairing(s): Macklin Celebrini x female reader x Fraser Minten (ft. Daddy Crosby)
description: You find yourself in a hotel suite with Fraser and Macklin, only for Sidney to decide the young players need some hands-on guidance in pleasuring you.
TW: MDNI, Smut, threesome/foursome, mentor/student dynamics, unprotected sex, oral sex (m receiving), cum in mouth, fingering, dom/sub dynamics.
masterlist
The hotel bar buzzes with after-party energy, but you're tucked away in a secluded booth with Fraser and Macklin, their excitement about being here with you palpable. They're charming in their awkwardness, their admiration for you obvious but endearingly hesitant.
"Having fun, boys?" A voice cuts through your conversation and you look up to see Sidney Crosby himself standing by your table, a knowing smile on his face.
"Uh, yeah, hey Sid," Fraser stammers, sitting up straighter.
"Good," Crosby says, his eyes drifting between the three of you. "Mind if I join you for a bit?"
What follows is an hour of surprisingly easy conversation, Crosby effortlessly guiding the younger players, helping them relax, drawing you out with thoughtful questions. When he suggests moving up to his suite for "more privacy," you exchange a look with Fraser and Macklin, both of whom nod eagerly.
Now you're perched on the edge of a plush couch in a luxurious suite, the city lights twinkling behind you. Crosby watches with an intensity that makes your skin tingle as Fraser and Macklin flank you, their hands tentative on your thighs.
"So," Crosby says, breaking the silence. "You boys seem a bit... uncertain."
"We're just..." Macklin starts, but Crosby cuts him off with a wave.
"Nervous. I get it. But she deserves better than nervous." He steps closer, crouching in front of you. "Mind if I... demonstrate?"
Your breath catches as his hands replace theirs, confident and sure. "Please," you whisper.
"Watch carefully," Crosby instructs, his eyes never leaving yours as his thumbs stroke your inner thighs. "The key is anticipation. Don't rush."
His fingers trace the edge of your panties, teasing without touching where you desperately want him to. You bite back a moan as Fraser and Macklin lean in, their eyes wide with concentration.
"See how she's shifting her hips?" Crosby murmurs, finally slipping a finger beneath the fabric to find you slick and ready. "That's her body begging for more. That's what you're aiming for."
He demonstrates with expert precision, his fingers finding your clit, circling slowly before applying just the right pressure. Your head falls back as pleasure courses through you and you can hear the sharp intake of breath from beside you.
"Listen to that sound," Crosby says, his voice low and commanding. "That little whimper? That means you're doing something right."
He pulls his fingers back slightly, teasing your entrance without entering. You whine softly, pushing your hips forward, seeking more contact.
"See that?" Crosby says to the younger players. "She wants it badly now. But we're still in control. We decide when she gets it."
He slides one finger inside you slowly, curling it just right against your front wall. You gasp, your back arching slightly.
"That spot right there," Crosby explains, his finger still inside you, pressing against that sensitive area. "That's her g-spot. See how she clenches around me when I press here? That's what you're looking for."
He adds a second finger, scissoring them gently to stretch you. You moan louder, your hands gripping the couch cushions.
"Notice how her breathing changed?" Crosby continues his lesson. "It's getting heavier, more erratic. That's a good sign. But watch this..."
He withdraws his fingers almost completely, then slides them back in slowly, curling them against your g-spot again. You cry out softly, your body trembling.
"See how she responded more intensely that time?" Crosby says. "It's all about timing. Build her up, then back off just a bit. Makes the pleasure more intense when you give it back to her."
His thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow circles as his fingers continue their dance inside you. You're panting now, your hips moving in time with his hand.
"Her clit is incredibly sensitive," Crosby explains. "Start with light pressure, like this. See how she's trying to grind against me? That means she wants more. But we're not going to give it to her just yet."
He reduces the pressure, his fingers barely touching your clit now. You whine in frustration, your body desperate for release.
"Patience," Crosby murmurs, his voice softening slightly as he looks at you. "You're doing so well, sweetheart. Taking what we give you like a good girl."
He increases the pressure again, his thumb pressing harder against your clit as his fingers curl inside you. You cry out, your body tensing as pleasure builds rapidly.
"That's it," Crosby encourages. "Let us hear you. Don't hold back."
His movements become more deliberate, his fingers finding a rhythm that has you seeing stars. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling with anticipation.
"Not yet," Crosby says suddenly, withdrawing his hand completely.
You cry out in frustration, your body aching for release.
"See how desperate she is now?" Crosby says to the younger players. "That's when you know you're doing it right."
He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Such a good girl."
His hand returns to your heat, his fingers sliding inside you again. This time, he doesn't tease. His fingers curl against your g-spot as his thumb rubs firm circles on your clit. It doesn't take long before you're crying out, your body shaking as pleasure washes over you.
"Perfect," Crosby says, his voice thick with satisfaction as he helps you through your orgasm. "Now, Fraser, you try."
Fraser's fingers replace Crosby's, hesitant at first but growing more confident as you respond with soft cries of pleasure. Crosby guides his hand, showing him exactly where to touch and how to move.
"Light pressure on her clit at first," Crosby instructs. "Tease her a bit. Make her want it."
Fraser follows instructions, his fingers exploring your folds as you moan softly.
"Good," Crosby praises. "Now add a finger. Slow. Feel how she clenches around you?"
Fraser slides a finger inside you, curling it slightly as Crosby shows him how to find your g-spot. You gasp, your back arching slightly.
"Right there," Crosby says. "That's what you're looking for."
Fraser adds a second finger, scissoring them gently as Crosby shows him how to stretch you.
"Now her clit," Crosby directs. "Start with light pressure, then increase it slowly."
Fraser's thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow circles as his fingers continue their dance inside you. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling with anticipation.
"Don't let her come yet," Crosby says. "Back off a bit."
Fraser reduces the pressure, his fingers barely touching your clit now. You whine in frustration, your body desperate for release.
"Perfect," Crosby says, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Now, Macklin, you try."
Macklin's fingers replace Fraser's, more confident now as he follows Crosby's instructions. He teases your clit before sliding a finger inside you, curling it just right against your g-spot.
"You're a fast learner," Crosby praises. "Now add another finger. Stretch her gently."
Macklin adds a second finger, scissoring them as you moan softly. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing in firm circles as his fingers continue their dance inside you.
"Make her come, Mack," Crosby commands. "Show us what you've learned."
With a final curl of his fingers against your g-spot and firm pressure on your clit, Macklin sends you over the edge. You cry out, your body shaking as pleasure washes over you.
"Perfect," Crosby says, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Now for the main event."
He helps you to your feet, guiding you to the bedroom where the king-sized bed awaits. Fraser and Macklin follow, their eyes dark with desire.
"Alright, listen up," Crosby says, his tone shifting to that of a coach giving instructions. "Her pleasure comes first or you're not doing it right."
He positions you on your hands and knees at the edge of the bed. "Mack, you're up first. Get behind her, but don't just dive in. Watch me."
Crosby kneels beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back, a reassuring warmth that settles your racing heart. "Fraser, I want you to watch her face as he enters her. Her expression will tell you everything."
Macklin positions himself behind you, his cock hard and ready. Crosby guides his hand to your entrance. "Just the tip at first. Let her feel you, get used to you."
You gasp as Macklin pushes in slowly, your body stretching to accommodate him. Crosby watches your face intently.
"See that?" Crosby says to Fraser. "Her eyes went wide, then half closed. That's pleasure, not pain. She's taking him well."
"Now start with slow, shallow thrusts," Crosby instructs, his hand still resting on your back. "Let her set the depth. When she pushes back against you, that's your cue to go deeper."
Macklin follows instructions, his movements tentative at first but growing more confident as you respond with soft cries of pleasure. You push back against him, silently begging for more.
"Good girl," Crosby praises, his voice low and approving. "You're taking him so well. Look at you, so eager for more."
"Fraser, you're up," Crosby says, turning his attention to the younger player. "Get in front of her. But remember, this isn't about you getting off. It's about her."
Fraser kneels on the bed in front of you, his cock hard and ready. Crosby guides your head toward Fraser's length.
"Open up, sweetheart," Crosby murmurs, his hand tangling in your hair. "Take him in your mouth."
You take Fraser into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his tip as he groans softly.
"Good girl," Crosby praises, his hand still in your hair. "Now, Mack, start moving. Slow, deep thrusts. Fraser, let her set the pace. Don't force it."
Macklin begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate as you take Fraser deeper into your mouth. The dual stimulation is exquisite and you can feel pleasure building deep inside you.
"Watch her reactions," Crosby instructs, his voice low and commanding. "See how she's pushing back against you, Mack? That means you're hitting the right spot. Fraser, feel how she's sucking harder? That's her telling you she likes what you're doing."
Crosby's hand moves from your hair to your clit, circling gently as the younger players continue their movements. You cry out around Fraser's cock as pleasure shoots through you.
"See that?" Crosby says. "That's what you're aiming for. She comes first. Always."
He increases the pressure on your clit, his fingers moving in perfect time with Macklin's thrusts. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling with anticipation.
"That's it," Crosby encourages. "Let go. Show them how good you can feel."
With a final cry you come undone, your body shaking as pleasure washes over you. Macklin groans as your walls clench around him, but he holds back, following Crosby's instructions.
"Not yet," Crosby says firmly. "Fraser, you can finish now. Macklin, hold on."
Fraser's hips jerk as he releases into your mouth and you swallow every drop, licking him clean before he pulls away.
"Good," Crosby praises. "Now, Macklin. Let her feel you."
With a few more thrusts, Macklin buries himself deep with a guttural groan, his release pulsing inside you. He stays inside you for a moment longer before pulling out, leaving you feeling pleasantly full.
For long moments, you all remain tangled together, breathing heavily in the aftermath. Crosby presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, leaving you feeling pleasantly satisfied.
"Lesson over," he says with a smirk. "I think you boys passed."
Arber's aftercare is very tender. He becomes very gentle, cleaning you, fetching you water and pulling you against his chest. He's not verbally expressive with praise but shows his care through actions: massaging sore muscles, tracing patterns on your skin and ensuring you're comfortable before he seeks his own comfort. There's a protective quality to his aftercare, as if he's guarding you even in sleep. He'll often wrap himself around you completely, his large body shielding yours, a silent promise that you're safe with him.
B - Body part (favorite part of your body and his)
Arber's favorite part of your body is your ass, he's completely obsessed with it. He loves watching it move when you walk, the way it fits in his hands and especially how it looks reddened from his spankings. He'll often grab it possessively in public, not caring who sees. His favorite part of his own body is his hands, due to their size and strength. He's fascinated by the contrast of his rough, calloused hands against your soft skin. He'll spend hours just exploring your body with his fingers, memorizing every curve and response. He also loves how much larger his hands are compared to yours.
C - Cum (anything about coming)
Arber has a definite preference for coming inside you or on your ass, claiming you as his. The feeling of filling you completely satisfies his possessive nature. During oral sex, he enjoys coming on your face or breasts, watching you wear his release with pride. There's something primal about seeing you marked with his cum that appeals to his dominant side. He'll sometimes scoop some up with his fingers and feed it to you, maintaining intense eye contact as you lick him clean. The taste of himself mixed with you is something he finds incredibly erotic.
D - Dirty secret
Arber's dirtiest secret is his interest in somnophilia, he gets incredibly aroused by the thought of touching you while you sleep. He's never acted on it without explicit consent, but the idea of you waking up to him already inside you or to his mouth between your legs, fuels his darkest fantasies. He also secretly has a hidden folder filled with candid pictures of you, sleeping, stretching or bending over, that he uses when he's alone and missing you. The violation of privacy excites him almost as much as the images themselves.
E - Experience (his experience in sex)
Before you, his encounters were mostly physical and emotionless, typical hookups with little connection. He's not technically experienced in many areas but makes up for it with enthusiasm and a willingness to try anything once. He's particularly receptive to instruction, getting turned on when you tell him exactly what you want. His lack of formal experience means he's not set in his ways, making him wonderfully moldable to your preferences.
F - Favorite position
Doggy style is his absolute favorite, he loves the primal nature of taking you from behind, the view of your ass and the deep penetration it allows. He often pushes your head down into the pillows or pulls your hair to establish dominance. A close second is reverse cowgirl so he can watch your ass bounce while you ride him.
G - Goofy (how serious is he during sex?)
Arber is rarely goofy during sex. There's an intensity to his lovemaking that can be almost overwhelming. The only times you might see a lighter side is during aftercare or when something unexpectedly funny happens. Even then, his humor is dry and understated, a small smirk or quiet chuckle rather than outright laughter. He takes pleasure very seriously, especially yours and won't break character unless absolutely necessary. That said, he's not above a small, competitive smile when he makes you come particularly hard, as if he's just scored a game-winning goal.
H - Hair (personal hygiene?)
Arber maintains his body hair but keeps it trimmed and neat. He has a happy trail that leads to naturally thick but groomed pubic hair. He doesn't shave completely but keeps it short enough to be comfortable during oral sex. There's something masculine and natural about his body hair that he embraces. He particularly enjoys the contrast of his body hair against your smoother skin, finding the visual and tactile differences arousing.
I - Intimacy (what is it like during sex with him?)
Sex with Arber is surprisingly intimate despite its roughness. There's an emotional intensity to his lovemaking that goes beyond physical pleasure. He maintains eye contact even during the most primal encounters, watching your reactions with fierce concentration. His hands are constantly touching you, gripping, caressing, marking, as if he needs to maintain physical connection at all times. He's not verbally expressive with endearments but shows intimacy through actions: the way he positions his body to protect yours, how he instinctively covers you with his larger frame, the possessive grip on your thigh even in sleep. You can feel how much you mean to him in every thrust, every touch and every possessive growl.
J - Jack off (how much does he masturbate?)
Arber masturbates regularly, especially when traveling with the team or during dry spells when you're apart. He's not ashamed of it and will sometimes do it with you on video call, putting on a show. He has a particular preference for using your panties or pictures you've sent as visual aids. The sound of your voice during a phone call is enough to get him hard almost instantly.
K - Kink
Arber has several kinks that align with his dominant personality. Impact play is high on his list, he loves spanking you with his hand, a paddle or even a belt (carefully). He's also into breath play, both giving and receiving, finding the exchange of control incredibly arousing. Marking is another major kink, he wants to see evidence of your encounters in bruises, bite marks and handprints on your skin.
L - Location (where does he like to have sex)
He prefers having sex at either your or his place but isn't particular about which room. He's taken you on every surface imaginable, kitchen counter, dining table, shower floor, against windows or bent over the back of the sofa.
M - Motivation (what excites him?)
Nothing motivates Arber more than when you stand up to him or challenge him, it just makes him want to fuck you into submission. Public displays of ownership also excite him, like a hand on your ass, a possessive kiss or marking your neck with hickeys where others can see. He gets especially hard when you're jealous or possessive, finding your territorial displays flattering. The ultimate motivation is when you beg for him, when you want him so desperately that you abandon all pride and plead for his touch.
N - No (what wouldn’t he do with you?)
Arber would never share you with another person, threesomes or cuckolding are hard limits for him due to his possessive nature. He's also not interested in anything involving permanent harm or degradation that goes beyond playful power dynamics.
O - Oral (does he prefer to give/receive?)
Arber absolutely loves receiving oral but is also very enthusiastic about giving it too. When you go down on him, he's very hands-on, gripping your hair, controlling your pace, fucking your mouth gently at first then more forcefully as he gets closer to coming. He's particularly vocal during oral, groaning and muttering curses as you work him with your mouth. When he goes down on you, he approaches it with the same determination as everything else, he wants to make you come harder than ever before. He's not particularly refined with his technique but makes up for it with enthusiasm and stamina. He could spend hours between your legs if you let him, learning exactly what makes you gasp and writhe. He has a particular fondness for 69ing, enjoying the mutual pleasure and the view of your ass as he eats you out.
P - Pace (how does he like to do it?)
His natural pace is hard and fast, he fucks with the same intensity as he plays hockey. His thrusts are powerful and deep, designed to hit your cervix and make you feel him for days afterward. He's capable of slowing down when asked, but his instinct is always to increase speed and force as he gets more excited. He particularly likes starting slow and deep, then gradually building to a frantic pace that leaves you both breathless. When he's feeling particularly dominant, he'll alternate between fast pounding and slow, deliberate thrusts designed to tease and control your pleasure.
Q - Quickie (does he like quick sex?)
Arber loves quickies and is surprisingly adept at them. His strength and efficiency mean he can have you coming against a wall in under five minutes if needed. He particularly enjoys morning quickies before games, fast, intense encounters that leave him energized and focused. There's something about the urgency and necessity that excites him. He's mastered the art of the standing quickie, lifting you effortlessly and taking you hard and fast against any available surface. These encounters are often rougher and more possessive than your usual lovemaking.
R - Risk (would he take risks?)
Arber is definitely willing to take risks, especially when it comes to location and potential discovery. He's not reckless with your actual privacy or reputation, but he enjoys calculated risks that add adrenaline to your encounters. He's suggested (and followed through on) sex in places like the team's private jet after hours or the players' lounge at the arena. The possibility of being overheard or caught only heightens his arousal. He's also open to trying new things in bed regardless of how unconventional they might be, as long as they don't cross his hard limits.
S - Stamina (how long can he last during sex?)
His stamina is incredible. He can go multiple rounds without much recovery time, often outlasting you. His endurance means he can maintain a punishing pace for extended periods, switching positions to keep things interesting.
T - Toy(s) (would he use toys?)
Arber is open to using toys and has a surprising collection. He particularly enjoys impact toys, paddles, floggers and crops that leave beautiful marks on your skin. Nipple clamps are another favorite, he loves watching your reaction when he first puts them on, then tugging gently as he fucks you. He owns a variety of butt plugs in different sizes too, enjoying the way you clench around them during sex.
U - Unfair (how much does he like to tease you?)
He can be incredibly unfair with teasing when he wants to be. He loves watching you become desperate, begging for release while he maintains that infuriatingly calm control. He's particularly fond of orgasm denial, sometimes bringing you to the edge over and over until you're a sobbing, begging mess.
V - Volume (how vocal is he during sex?)
Arber is very vocal during sex. He grunts, groans and mutters curses in a mix of English and Albanian as he approaches climax. His dirty talk is direct and often possessive "mine," "take it," "so fucking tight" whispered against your skin. He's not particularly creative with his dirty talk but makes up for it with enthusiasm and frequency. When he's close to coming, his breathing becomes ragged and he might growl your name repeatedly or shout out in release. He's also very responsive to your sounds, getting harder when you moan or cry out during sex.
W - Wild card (random thought about him)
Arber's most secret fantasy revolves around complete role reversal. Despite his natural dominance, he fantasizes intensely about you being the one in charge, ordering him around, making him beg and completely dominating him. The thought of you tying him down, teasing him mercilessly and denying him release until he's a desperate mess is something that gets him hard instantly. He imagines you using his body for your pleasure without concern for his own, making him worship you with his mouth and hands.
X - X-ray (how big is it?)
Arber is impressively endowed, approximately 8.5 inches when fully erect with considerable thickness that stretches you deliciously. His cock is perfectly proportioned with a prominent vein running along the underside that he loves feeling rub against your inner walls. The head is thick and mushroom-shaped, catching deliciously on your entrance with each thrust.
Y - Yearning
Arber's sexual endurance is practically inexhaustible, a trait that stems from his relentless physical conditioning. He treats your body like a new personal record to be set. He can maintain a powerful, driving rhythm for what feels like an eternity, his hips pistoning with a strength and consistency that borders on machine-like. His recovery time is impressively short, he'll often pull out after coming, catch his breath for a few minutes while kissing you or playing with your breasts and then be rock hard and ready to go again, eager for another round. He genuinely seems disappointed when you're too sensitive or tired to continue, viewing your limits as a personal challenge to overcome next time.
Z - Zzz (how fast is he asleep after sex?)
Sleep doesn't claim Arber quickly after sex. His protective instincts are at their peak and he remains alert and focused on you. He'll spend a long time just touching you, his calloused fingertips tracing the curves of your hips, the line of your spine or the marks he's left on your skin. It's a quiet, almost reverent time where he seems to be re-memorizing your body. He'll ask low, gruff questions about how you're feeling, if you need anything, his voice a deep rumble against your ear. He only allows himself to drift off after he's certain you're comfortable, sated and safely tucked into his embrace, his body curled around yours like a shield.
hi queen! i discovered your writing a couple weeks ago and i'm so obsssed you're so good!!!
i'd like to request something fluffy with my baby boy william eklund, i know there's a single costco in sweden but we can pretend that doesn't exist and that when his american girlfriend makes him join her on a costco trip he's super overwhelmed but in a good way and like a kid in a candy store and just loves everything
thank you so much i love your writing!!
Like a Kid in a Candy Store
pairing: William Eklund x female reader
description: You take William to Costco for the first time and he just falls in love with everything.
TW: Fluff.
masterlist
"Are you sure about this?" William asks for the third time as you pull into the massive parking lot. "This place looks like it could swallow my entire apartment building."
You laugh, squeezing his hand. "Trust me, it's going to be great. Just think of it as an adventure."
"An adventure in consumerism?" he teases, but his eyes are wide with genuine curiosity as you approach the entrance.
Once inside, William stops dead in his tracks, his head tilting back as he takes in the towering shelves and endless aisles. "This is… bigger than any hockey arena I've ever been in."
"That's the spirit," you say, pulling a cart from the stack. "Now, we need to stick to the list. No impulse buys."
He nods solemnly, but you can already see the glint of mischief in his eyes as he follows you toward the first aisle.
Five minutes later, he's holding up a giant jar of pickles. "In Sweden, we would need a family of twelve to finish this before it expires."
"Welcome to America," you reply, trying to hide your smile as you add the pickles to your cart.
The next aisle proves even more distracting. William stops in front of a display of bulk-size Nutella, his expression reverent. "Is this… real?"
"Very real," you confirm. "But we're not buying it. We have Nutella at home."
"But this is the size of a small child," he argues, poking the plastic container. "Think of the possibilities."
"The possibility of you eating it for breakfast, lunch and dinner?" you tease. "No thanks."
He pouts but follows you along, his attention captured by everything, the oversized bags of chips, the multipacks of cereal and the gallon-sized jugs of maple syrup.
"I don't understand," he says, examining a box of fifty granola bars. "Why would anyone need this many?"
"It's more cost-effective," you explain, trying to keep him moving toward the dairy section.
"Cost-effective," he repeats, testing the words. "You Americans and your efficiency."
You're in the freezer section when you realize he's disappeared. Turning around, you find him standing in front of the ice cream, eyes wide with wonder.
"They have flavors I've never even heard of," he says, pointing at a tub of something called "Birthday Cake Remix." "And the sizes! This is enough ice cream to survive an apocalypse."
"Or one movie night with you," you reply, but you're already reaching for it. "Fine, we can get one."
The real trouble starts in the book aisle. William picks up a massive cookbook, flipping through the pages with genuine interest.
"We should get this," he says.
"You can barely make toast," you remind him, but you're softening as he looks at you with those hopeful blue eyes.
"I'll be a Swedish chef who makes American food," he declares. "It's multicultural."
Despite yourself, you add the cookbook to the increasingly full cart.
By the time you reach the clothing section, William has fully embraced his role as Costco enthusiast.
"Look!" he exclaims, holding up a pack of three identical sweatshirts. "We could get matching ones."
"We're not getting matching sweatshirts," you say, though you're laughing now.
"Why not? We could be one of those couples," he insists, holding a gray one up to your chest. "This would look good on you."
"Fine," you relent. "But only if you promise to wear yours when we watch hockey."
"Deal," he says immediately, adding them to the cart with a triumphant smile.
The final straw comes at the checkout counter. As the cashier scans item after item, William's eyes grow wider.
"How much do you think this will all cost?" he whispers, leaning close.
"Probably more than your monthly grocery budget in Sweden," you whisper back.
When the total finally appears, $347.62, William actually gasps. "That's more than my first hockey stick."
"But look at everything we got," you say, gesturing to the cart piled high with your purchases.
As you load everything into your car, William wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.
"That was the most American experience of my life," he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "I think I need to go back to Sweden to recover."
"You loved it and you know it," you reply, turning in his arms to face him.
"Maybe a little," he admits with a grin. "But I mostly loved watching you navigate this place. You're my Costco queen."
"I'll accept that title," you say, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. "Now let's get all this home before you decide we need a membership upgrade."
As you drive away, William's hand finds yours, his fingers lacing through yours. "Next time, can we try the food samples? I saw people eating and I was very jealous."
You laugh, shaking your head at your boyfriend who found more joy in a warehouse store than most people find on vacation. "Next time, we can do whatever you want."
His eyes light up. "Even the industrial-sized cleaning supplies aisle?"
"Even the cleaning supplies aisle," you promise, knowing that no matter where you take him, William will find something to love, especially if you're there with him.
hi im here to request fraser minten fluff where reader is also a bookworm and they have a reading date !!!
Pages of Us
pairing: Fraser Minten x female reader
description: You and Fraser get lost in each other's worlds during a cozy reading date filled with literary discussions, gentle touches and tender kisses.
TW: Fluff, kissing, established relationship.
masterlist
The afternoon sun filters through the large bay window of your favorite bookstore café, casting a warm, golden glow over the worn wooden table where you sit with Fraser. Between you lies a stack of books, your current reads and recommendations for each other. The café buzzes with soft conversation and the gentle turning of pages, but in your little corner, it's just the two of you, lost in your own world.
Fraser leans forward, his fingers tracing the spine of the novel you'd just finished. "I still can't believe you cried at the end," he teases, his voice low and affectionate. "You knew it was coming."
You playfully swat his hand away, though you can't suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. "It doesn't matter if you know it's coming! A good book always gets you, Fraser. You should know that by now."
He chuckles, the sound warm and familiar. "I do. That's why I love watching you read. You get so invested, your expressions change with every chapter. It's like watching a silent film."
You blush, ducking your head slightly. "That's embarrassing."
"No, it's adorable," Fraser insists, his hand finding yours on the table. His thumb traces circles over your knuckles, sending a pleasant shiver up your arm. "It's one of the things I love about you. How completely you immerse yourself in stories."
You look up, meeting his gaze. The way he looks at you, with such genuine admiration, still makes your heart skip a beat. "What about you? You're the one who gets that intense look when you're reading. Like you're solving the mysteries of the universe."
Fraser laughs, leaning back in his chair but not releasing your hand. "That's just my concentrating face."
"I think it's your 'I'm about to discover something profound' face," you counter, squeezing his fingers gently. "Like when you found that first edition Hemingway last month."
His eyes light up at the memory. "That was a good day. Almost as good as finding you in this very café, buried in that ridiculously thick fantasy novel."
"Hey! The "Name of the Wind" is not ridiculous. It's brilliant," you defend, though there's no heat in your words.
Fraser's smile softens. "I know. That's why I read it after you recommended it. And why I fell a little more in love with you when you explained the magic system with such passion."
Your heart swells at his words. "You read it just because I recommended it?"
"Of course," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I want to understand what moves you. What makes your eyes light up. What makes you stay up until 3 AM because you 'just need to finish this chapter.'"
You feel warmth spread through your chest. "You notice all that?"
"I notice everything about you," Fraser replies, his thumb still stroking your hand. "Like how you mark your pages with that vintage bookmark I gave you. How you underline passages that speak to you. How you always have at least three books going at once because you can't decide which world to live in."
You lean forward, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "Sometimes I read the endings first."
Fraser gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "You monster! How could you?"
"It's not my fault! I get too invested. I need to know if it ends happily or I can't enjoy the journey," you explain defensively.
Fraser's laughter subsides into a warm smile. "That's so you. Always needing to know how the story turns out before you can relax into it."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Not at all," he assures you, his free hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "It's one of the many things I adore about you."
The moment stretches between you, comfortable and filled with unspoken affection. Fraser's fingers linger against your cheek, his touch gentle and deliberate. You lean into his caress, closing your eyes briefly to savor the sensation.
"Have I told you how beautiful you look today?" he murmurs, his voice dropping to that intimate register that sends shivers down your spine.
You open your eyes to find his gaze fixed on you with such intensity it takes your breath away. "You might have mentioned it once or twice."
"Well, let me say it again," Fraser says, leaning closer. "You are absolutely breathtaking."
Your cheeks flush, but you don't look away. "You're not so bad yourself, Minten."
His smile widens as he closes the remaining distance between you. The kiss is soft and sweet, tasting of coffee and shared secrets. His lips move against yours with practiced familiarity, yet each time still feels like the first, filled with wonder and discovery.
When you part, Fraser rests his forehead against yours. "I love our reading dates."
"Me too," you whisper. "It's like we get to explore a hundred different worlds together without ever leaving this table."
"And the best part," Fraser adds, his voice barely audible, "is that no matter how many worlds we visit, my favorite is always wherever you are."
Your heart swells with emotion and you capture his lips in another kiss, deeper this time, filled with all the words you struggle to express. The café fades away, the books on the table forgotten as you lose yourselves in each other.
When you finally separate, breathless and smiling, Fraser glances at the stack of books between you. "We should probably buy these before we get too distracted."
"Probably," you agree, though you make no move to gather the books. "Or we could just stay here a little longer."
Fraser's eyes crinkle with amusement. "Tempting, but I have something else planned for our date."
"You do?" you ask, intrigued.
He nods, his expression turning mysterious. "I thought we could continue our reading date at my place. I have a surprise for you."
"A surprise?" Your curiosity is piqued. "What kind of surprise?"
"You'll see," Fraser says, rising to his feet and extending a hand to you. "But I think you'll like it. It involves books, comfortable seating and your favorite hot chocolate."
You laugh, taking his hand and allowing him to pull you up. "You say the sweetest things."
As you gather your books and head to the counter, Fraser leans close to whisper in your ear, "Only for you."
Would you be up to writing some mut for Joe Burrow? Maybe him taking reader out for their anniversary dinner and he just can´t keep his hands to himself
All That's Mine
pairing: Joe Burrow x female reader
description: Joe takes you on a romantic dinner for your two-year anniversary where he can't seem to keep his hands to himself.
TW: MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), praise kink, jealous Joe, established relationship.
masterlist
The low hum of expensive conversation and clinking silverware fills the air of "The Ivory Plate," Cincinnati's most exclusive restaurant. But for Joe, the only sound that matters is the soft laugh that escapes your lips as he recounts a story from practice. He reaches across the pristine white tablecloth, his fingers finding yours, thumb stroking over your knuckles.
"You're staring, J," you murmur, a playful glint in your eyes as you take a sip of the expensive champagne he ordered.
"Can't help it," he replies, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you. His gaze is intense, unwavering. "You look… breathtakingly beautiful. I'm the luckiest man in this room and that's a fact."
You feel the heat rise in your cheeks. "You clean up pretty well yourself, Mr. Burrow. That tie is criminal."
He grins, a slow, easy thing that makes your stomach flutter. "Only the best for my girl." He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your palm, his eyes never leaving yours. "We've been together for two years now, can you believe it? Best two years of my life."
The waiter, a man with a polished smile and eyes that linger on you a beat too long, approaches to take your dessert order. "And for the lady?" he asks, his tone a little too smooth.
Joe's hand tightens almost imperceptibly around yours. "She'll have the chocolate soufflé," Joe answers, his voice dropping an octave, a clear, territorial edge to it. "And we'll take the check with that, thanks."
The waiter blinks, momentarily thrown by the cool dismissal. "Of course, sir."
As soon as he's gone, Joe's demeanor softens, but his possessive touch remains. He leans forward, his voice for your ears only. "Sorry. Just don't like the way he was looking at what's mine."
A thrill shoots through you. "Yours, am I?" you tease, though your voice is a little breathless.
"Always," he confirms, his eyes dark and serious. "From the moment I saw you."
The ride home is quiet, but charged with unspoken electricity. In the back of the cab, Joe pulls you close, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders. His hand traces patterns on the bare skin of your arm, sending shivers down your spine. He nuzzles your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "I've been wanting to do this all night," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Just hold you."
You lean into him, your head resting on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting, exciting sound. "Me too," you whisper.
The moment the front door clicks shut behind you, the gentle, romantic Joe from dinner is gone, replaced by a man consumed by raw, unadulterated need. He pins you against the door, his body flush against yours, his lips crashing down on yours in a hungry, demanding kiss. It's all teeth and tongue and desperation, a stark contrast to the soft, romantic kisses from earlier.
"Joe," you gasp as his lips trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin.
"God, I need you," he growls against your skin, his hands roaming your body, mapping every curve as if memorizing you all over again. "Need to feel you, taste you."
He lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. He lays you down on the bed, his eyes devouring you as he quickly sheds his jacket and tie, his movements urgent, impatient.
"Too many clothes," he mutters, his fingers fumbling with the zipper of your dress. "Need to see you."
He peels the dress from your body, his eyes darkening with desire as he takes in the lace lingerie you chose just for him. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice thick with awe. "You're a goddess."
He kneels on the bed, his hands tracing the delicate straps of your bra, his touch reverent. "So beautiful," he murmurs, his lips following the path of his fingers. "And all mine."
His mouth finds yours again, a slow, deep kiss that steals the air from your lungs. His hands explore your body, his touch both worshipful and possessive. He unclasps your bra, his hands cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them pebble under his touch.
"Joe," you moan, arching into him.
"I've got you, baby," he promises, his lips trailing down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel. "Let me take care of you."
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, slowly sliding them down your legs. His eyes never leave yours as he settles between your thighs, his breath warm against your already slick folds.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice low and rough. "I want to see you when I make you come."
And then his mouth is on you, his tongue exploring your folds, teasing your clit. You cry out, your hands tangling in his hair as pleasure courses through you. He's relentless, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony, driving you closer and closer to the edge.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice muffled against your skin. "Come on my tongue."
With a final cry, you shatter, your body shaking as pleasure washes over you. Joe continues to stroke you through your orgasm, his tongue lapping up your juices, his groan of satisfaction vibrating against you.
He moves up your body, his lips claiming yours in a deep, passionate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "You taste so fucking good," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Could do this all night."
He's already hard, his erection pressing insistently against your thigh. He enters you slowly, his eyes locked on yours, watching as your body stretches to accommodate him. "Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his hips beginning to move, a slow, steady rhythm that has you seeing stars.
"You're so perfect," he praises, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you deeper onto his cock. "So tight, so wet for me. Just for me."
He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, chasing his own release as he drives you toward another orgasm. "Come with me," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "Let me feel you come all over my cock."
With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his release. You follow moments later, your walls clenching around him as another orgasm crashes over you.
For long moments, you stay tangled together, breathing heavily in the aftermath. Joe collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms, his body still trembling.
"I love you," he breathes, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
You snuggle closer, your head resting on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting, exciting sound. "I love you too," you whisper with a content smile on your face.
He tightens his arms around you, his lips finding yours in a soft, tender kiss. "Happy anniversary, baby," he murmurs against your lips. "Let there be many more to come."
You're lying between them on the large bed, your body already slick with sweat and anticipation. Will's hand rests possessively on your stomach while Mack traces patterns on your inner thigh. They've been preparing for this moment for weeks, discussing every detail, every possibility. Now that it's finally happening, the air in the room feels electric with possibility.
"Ready to be bred, sweetheart?" Will asks, his voice low and commanding as he leans in to nip at your earlobe. "Ready to carry our baby?"
You nod, your heart racing with a mixture of nerves and excitement. "Yes," you whisper, turning to look at Mack, whose eyes are dark with desire.
"We'll take such good care of you," Macklin promises, his fingers sliding higher between your legs. "Both during and after. You'll never want for anything."
Will chuckles, his hand moving up to cup your breast. "That's right. And we're going to make sure you're well and truly bred before we're done."
His words send a shiver through you and you can feel yourself growing wetter with each passing moment. The idea of being pregnant with their baby, of your body serving this purpose for them, is more arousing than you ever imagined.
"Who goes first?" you ask, your voice barely audible.
Will exchanges a look with Mack, a silent understanding passing between them. "I will," Will says decisively. "I'll go first today, then Mack tomorrow. We'll alternate until we're sure you're pregnant."
Mack nods, his expression eager. "And we'll keep you filled between times too. No wasted seed."
The thought of being constantly filled by them, of carrying their cum inside you for days on end, makes your core clench with need.
Will positions himself between your legs, his thick cock already hard and ready. Mack moves to your side, his hands continuing to explore your body as Will lines himself up with your entrance.
"Look at you," Will murmurs, his eyes roaming over your naked form. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect for breeding. Nice and curvy, healthy, fertile. You're going to look so beautiful swollen with our baby."
You whimper as he begins to push inside, stretching you deliciously. Mack leans down to capture your nipple in his mouth, sucking gently as Will seats himself fully within you.
"So tight," Will groans, his hips stilling as he gives you time to adjust. "So fucking perfect. Made for this. Made to carry our child."
He begins to move then, his thrusts deep and purposeful. Each stroke is designed to deposit his seed as deeply as possible, to maximize your chances of conception. Mack continues his attentions to your breasts, alternating between them as Will's pace increases.
"Going to fill you up," Will grunts, his movements becoming more erratic. "Fill this fertile cunt with my cum. Breed you like you were meant to be bred."
His words combined with Mack's skilled mouth on your nipples pushes you closer to the edge. You can feel Will's cock swelling inside you, his release approaching.
"Yes," you gasp, arching your back. "Please."
With a final, deep thrust, Will comes, his hot cum flooding your insides. He stays buried within you as he empties himself, making sure every last drop is deposited where it needs to be.
"Stay just like that," Mack says softly as Will pulls out. "Don't move."
He retrieves a pillow from the head of the bed, lifting your hips to place it beneath you. Then he gently pushes your legs back toward your chest, elevating your pelvis to help the sperm reach its destination.
"Perfect," he murmurs, admiring the view of your cum-filled pussy. "Now we just need to keep it all inside."
Will watches with satisfaction as Mack positions himself between your legs. "Going to plug you up, keep all that seed inside where it belongs," Mack says, his voice thick with desire.
He enters you slowly, his cock longer, but slightly thinner than Will's. You can feel Will's cum being pushed deeper inside you as Mack seats himself fully.
"God, you feel incredible," Mack groans, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. "So wet, so full of Will's cum. I can feel it."
He begins to move then, his thrusts slower and more deliberate than Will's but no less purposeful. Will moves to your side, his hands roaming over your body as Mack continues to fuck you.
"Such a good girl," Will praises, his fingers finding your clit. "Taking both of us so well. Going to make such a beautiful mother."
Mack whimpers at his words, his movements becoming more erratic. "Yes, so good. So perfect. Made for us. Made to carry our baby."
The combination of Will's skilled fingers on your clit and Mack's cock moving inside you is too much. You cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, your body convulsing with pleasure.
"Fuck, she's coming," Mack gasps, his hips jerking as he joins you in release. "Taking my cum too. Taking all of it."
He empties himself inside you, adding his seed to Will's. When he's finished, he doesn't pull out immediately but stays buried within you, his body trembling with the intensity of his release.
"Stay like that," Will commands gently. "Keep it all inside."
Mack eventually pulls out and Will is there to replace him, his fingers gathering any escaping fluids and pushing them back inside you.
"Can't waste a drop," he says, his voice low and satisfied. "Every bit counts."
They continue this pattern for days, alternating who breeds you first, who fills you second, who keeps you plugged up afterward. They take you in every position imaginable, always with the goal of maximizing your chances of conception.
Sometimes Will is more dominant, taking you from behind as Macklin holds your legs open. Other times Macklin takes charge, fucking you as Will watches and directs. They always end with your legs elevated, their cum trapped inside you, working to fulfill their shared dream.
Weeks later, when the pregnancy test comes back positive.
"Our girl," Will murmurs against your skin. "Carrying our baby."
"Our everything," Macklin adds, his hands resting possessively on your still-flat stomach.
connor bedard loves sucking hickeys on you and loves when u do it back to him also
Love Bites
pairing: Connor Bedard x female reader
description: Connor loves marking you and loves being marked by you in return.
TW: Hickeys, dry humping, established relationship.
masterlist
The soft glow of the lamp casts a warm haze across the living room as you shift on the couch, settling more comfortably against Connor's side. His arm is wrapped around you, fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm as the movie plays on, forgotten.
"Comfortable?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear.
"Mmm," you hum contentedly, tilting your head back to look at him. "Very."
He smiles, that lazy, half-smile that always makes your stomach flip. "Good. Me too."
His lips find yours in a slow, gentle kiss, soft and sweet like honey. It's the kind of kiss that melts you from the inside out, all warmth and affection. When you part, you're both breathing a little heavier.
"Missed you today," he says softly, his nose nudging yours.
"Missed you too," you reply, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. "Even though you were just at practice."
"Still missed you," he insists, capturing your lips again.
This kiss is different, deeper, more demanding. Your fingers tighten in his hair as his other hand slides down your back, pressing you closer. You can feel the steady beat of his heart against your palm, a rhythm that matches your own.
Your free hand moves to scratch gently at his back, just the way he likes it. He groans against your mouth, a low, appreciative sound that sends a shiver through you.
"Keep doing that," he breathes, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck. "Feels so good."
You continue scratching lightly as his mouth explores your throat, nipping and sucking gently. When he finds that sensitive spot just below your ear, you can't help the soft moan that escapes your lips.
"Found it," he murmurs triumphantly, latching onto the spot and sucking harder.
You know what he's doing, knowing you'll have a mark there tomorrow, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when it feels this good.
"Connor," you gasp as his teeth graze your skin. "People will see."
"Good," he says, pulling back to admire his work. "Let them see. Want everyone to know you're mine."
His eyes are dark with desire as he looks at you and you feel a fresh wave of arousal wash over you. There's something about his possessiveness that drives you wild, the way he needs everyone to know you belong to him.
"Again," you breathe, tilting your head to give him better access.
He grins, clearly pleased by your response. "Greedy girl."
But he obliges, his mouth finding a new spot on your neck. This time he's more deliberate, sucking hard until you're squirming beneath him, a mix of pleasure and slight pain.
"Beautiful," he murmurs when he pulls away, tracing the newly formed hickey with his finger. "So beautiful marked up like this."
His lips move lower, down to your collarbone where he leaves another mark, this one smaller but just as deliberate. You're arching against him now, desperate for more friction, more contact.
"Connor, please," you gasp as his hips press against yours.
"Please what, baby?" he asks, though he knows exactly what you want.
"More," you manage. "Need more."
In one fluid motion, he flips you, positioning himself above you with his knees between your thighs. The change in position sends a thrill through you, him looming over you, all broad shoulders and intense gaze.
"Patience," he chides, though his voice is thick with desire. "I'm not done marking you up yet."
His mouth moves lower, trailing kisses down your chest, your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your shorts. He looks up at you, silently asking permission, and you nod breathlessly.
He makes quick work of your shorts, tossing them aside before settling between your thighs. The cool air on your heated skin makes you shiver, but it's nothing compared to the feeling of his mouth on your inner thigh.
"Perfect," he murmurs, sucking gently at first, then harder. "All mine."
He leaves a trail of hickeys down your inner thigh, each one a possessive claim. By the time he's done, you're writhing beneath him, desperate for more.
"Look at you," he says, admiring his handiwork. "So beautiful like this, covered in my marks. Everyone will know who you belong to."
The possessiveness in his voice sends another wave of arousal through you. You want to be his, want everyone to know you belong to Connor Bedard.
"Your turn," you say suddenly, sitting up and pushing him onto his back.
He looks surprised but pleased, watching as you straddle his lap. His hands immediately go to your hips, gripping tightly as you lean down to capture his lips in a hungry kiss.
"Want to mark you too," you murmur against his mouth. "Want everyone to know you're mine."
His breath hitches as you begin your exploration, starting with his neck. You take your time, finding sensitive spots and sucking hard until you're satisfied with the marks you've left.
"Fuck," he breathes as you move to his collarbone. "That feels… so good."
You can feel his hardness beneath you and you grind down experimentally, earning a groan from him. His hands tighten on your hips as you continue your assault on his neck, leaving a matching trail of hickeys to the ones he left on you.
"Baby," he gasps as you suck particularly hard on his shoulder. "Gonna… fuck."
"Like that?" you ask, though you already know the answer.
"So much," he replies, his voice strained. "Love knowing you're marking me up. Love that everyone will see these and know I'm taken."
You grind down again, harder this time and he whimpers, a sound you've rarely heard from him and one that goes straight to your core.
"Again," he begs. "Please, baby, again."
You oblige, sucking a hickey right over his pulse point where it will be impossible to hide. His hips buck up against yours as you do, seeking more friction.
"Yours," he gasps as you continue to grind against him. "All yours."
The possessiveness in his voice has changed now, it's not about marking you as his anymore, but about being marked as yours. And you love it.
"Mine," you agree, sucking another hickey into his skin.
You continue like that for what feels like hours, marking and being marked, grinding and being ground against until you're both breathless and desperate.
"Need you," Connor finally gasps, his hands stilling your hips. "Please, baby, need you now."
I love love love your Off Campus fics!!! Could you also write something smutty for Garrett pls?
Morning Practice Can Wait
pairing: Garrett Graham x female reader
description: How is Garrett supposed to leave for early morning practice when he has you laying in his bed?
TW: MDNI, smut, lazy morning (unprotected) sex, fingering, praise kink, hand on neck, bit of dry-humping, established relationship.
masterlist
The first thing you register is warmth, a solid, familiar heat pressing against your back, an arm heavy across your waist. Garrett's breath is steady against your neck, soft puffs that stir the hair falling there. Morning light filters through the curtains, casting the room in hazy gold. You're drifting somewhere between sleep and waking when you feel it, a distinct hardness pressing against your ass, moving in slow, subtle thrusts as Garrett shifts in his sleep.
A smile plays on your lips as you press back slightly. "Someone's awake," you murmur, voice thick with sleep.
Garrett chuckles, the vibration rumbling through your back. "Morning," he rasps, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "And yeah, someone is." He nuzzles your neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. "I was dreaming about you, but it doesn't even come close to the real thing."
Your heart swells at his words, even as a different kind of warmth pools low in your belly. You shift to face him slightly, but he pulls you back against his chest, wanting to maintain the spooning position. "No, stay like this," he murmurs. "I want to stay wrapped around you forever."
His hands begin their slow exploration, stroking your sides, tracing the curve of your hips, down to your thighs where he lingers, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin. You sigh contentedly, melting into his touch. His hands settle on your inner thighs, gripping slightly and you can't help but wiggle your ass against him.
"Tease," he whispers, though there's amusement in his voice. His fingers dance higher, toying with the little bow on the front of your panties. "You're just so warm here. Perfect."
You try to keep still, to maintain this peaceful morning moment, but his touch is igniting something in you. Each stroke of his fingers, each press of his lips against your neck sends jolts of pleasure through your body. You're becoming increasingly aware of the wetness pooling between your thighs, the ache beginning to build.
"Garrett," you breathe out. "You have to leave for practice soon."
He groans against your neck, pulling you impossibly closer. "Don't remind me. I'd rather stay here with you all day." His hips rock against you again, more deliberately this time. The friction sends a shiver through you and you can feel just how hard he is for you.
Your response is immediate, more wetness soaking your panties, a fresh wave of arousal washing over you. Garrett notices, his fingers dipping slightly higher to brush against the damp fabric.
"Well now," he murmurs, voice dropping to that low, husky tone that never fails to undo you. "Looks like we have a little problem here." His fingers press more firmly against your clit through your panties, making you gasp. "Should I help you with that?"
Heat floods your cheeks as you try to close your legs, but Garrett's strong thighs prevent it. "No, no, don't hide from me," he whispers, his fingers continuing their teasing assault. "Let me take care of you."
His fingers circle your clit, applying just enough pressure to make your toes curl. "Imagine how good I'd feel inside you right now," he breathes against your ear. "Stretching you, filling you up perfectly. Fucking you just the way you like." His other hand slides up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. "Worshipping every inch of you."
He finds that spot on your neck, the one that makes you weak and sucks gently. That's all it takes to break your resolve. "Garrett," you gasp, "Please."
With a soft growl of satisfaction, Garrett hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties and slides them down your legs. He shifts slightly, positioning himself and then two fingers are sliding into you, slow and deep. You arch against him as he stretches you, his fingers curling to find that spot that makes you see stars.
"Feel that?" he murmurs, scissoring his fingers slightly. "That's just a taste of what's coming." He pumps his fingers slowly, deliberately, until you're writhing against him, desperate for more.
Finally, he withdraws his fingers and you feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He enters you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to his size. The stretch is exquisite, a perfect fullness that has you sighing in contentment.
"Fuck," he breathes against your neck once he's fully seated inside you. "You feel like home. Always so perfect for me."
He begins to move, establishing a slow, lazy rhythm that's perfect for a sleepy morning. Each thrust is deep, his hips rolling against yours in a way that sends pleasure coursing through your veins. His hands roam your body, one stroking your thigh, the other coming up to wrap loosely around your throat, his thumb stroking your pulse point.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his lips finding that sensitive spot on your neck again. "So beautiful taking my cock like this. Made for me."
His other hand moves to your breast, thumb and forefinger rolling your nipple between them. The dual stimulation has you gasping, your inner walls clenching around him.
"Garrett," you moan, reaching back to tangle your fingers in his hair.
"I know, baby," he whispers, increasing his pace slightly. "I feel it too." His thrusts become more purposeful, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. "You're so wet for me. Always so ready for my cock."
His words are filthy but loving, each one sending you higher. "Love how you feel around me," he continues, his voice thick with emotion. "Like you were made just for me. So tight, so perfect."
He shifts slightly, changing the angle and suddenly he's hitting your G-spot with every thrust. You cry out, your back arching as pleasure overwhelms you.
"Right there, huh?" he murmurs, his hand tightening slightly around your throat. "Right there where you need it." His other hand slides down to your clit, fingers circling in time with his thrusts. "Come on, baby. Let go for me. Want to feel you come around my cock."
The combination of his deep thrusts, his fingers on your clit and his dirty praise is too much. Your orgasm crashes over you, waves of pleasure so intense you're gasping his name. Your inner walls clench around him, milking his cock as you ride out your release.
"Fuck, yes," he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release. "That's it, baby. So fucking good for me."
With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his release. He collapses against you, both of you breathing heavily, his weight a comforting presence.
For a long moment, you just lie there, basking in the afterglow. Garrett presses soft kisses to your neck and shoulders, his hands stroking your sides soothingly.
"I love you," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "So much."
You turn in his arms, capturing his lips in a soft, sweet kiss. "I love you too," you whisper against his mouth.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Best way to start the day." Then he glances at the clock and groans. "But I really do have to go to practice."
You laugh, tracing patterns on his chest. "Go on, then. The team's waiting for their captain."
He sighs dramatically but starts to disentangle himself. "Fine. But only because I have to come back to you later." He presses one last, lingering kiss to your lips before getting out of bed. "Think about me while I'm gone?"
"Always," you promise, watching as he gathers his things. As he leaves, he blows you a kiss and you settle back into the warm sheets, feeling completely and utterly loved.
Hiiii, was wondering if you could do a Connor Bedard kind of angst where his girlfriend is a bit of a crybaby and is just sensitive overall. And maybe he’s kind of tired and she does something small that makes him snap?
Breaking Point
pairing: Connor Bedard x female reader
description: You're already feeling fragile when Connor snaps at you over a minor mistake.
TW: Angst, hurt/comfort, arguing, crying, established relationship.
masterlist
The sound of Connor's key in the door makes you flinch. You've been sitting on the edge of the living room couch, your hands twisting in your lap, waiting for him to come home.
"Hey," he calls out, his voice rough with fatigue. "Sorry I'm late. Media ran long."
You stand up, forcing a smile as he walks into the living room. "It's okay. How was it?"
"Exhausting," he sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. "Same questions every day. Like I have some magic answer."
His shoulders are slumped, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than usual. You know he's been carrying the weight of the team's struggles, the media scrutiny, the expectations that follow him everywhere.
"I made dinner," you say softly. "Your favorite. It's in the oven, staying warm."
Connor manages a tired smile. "Thanks, babe. You're the best." He leans down to kiss your forehead, but his lips barely brush your skin before he's pulling away. "Just need to shower first."
You nod, watching as he disappears down the hallway. The knot in your stomach tightens. He's been distant for weeks now, ever since the losing streak began.
When he returns, you've already set the table. The first few minutes of dinner pass in near silence, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware against plates.
"So I was thinking," you begin, your voice a little too bright. "Maybe this weekend we could..."
"Babe, I'm sorry, but I don't want to make plans for the weekend," he interrupts, not looking up from his plate. "I don't know if I'll want to do anything. Probably just sleep."
The rejection stings, but you push past it. "Okay, well, maybe we could just watch a movie? Or..."
"Can we not talk about it right now?" he snaps, his fork clattering against his plate. "I just got home. I'm exhausted. I don't have the energy to plan our entire weekend."
Tears immediately well in your eyes, hot and shameful. You blink them back, determined not to cry, not again.
"I just thought..."
"Well, don't," he cuts you off, his voice harsher than you've ever heard it. "God, can't you just let me breathe for five minutes? I come home exhausted and all you do is pressure me about plans, about feelings, about everything. Can't you just give me some space?"
The tears you've been fighting spill over, tracing paths down your cheeks. "I'm sorry," you whisper, your voice cracking. "I just wanted to help."
"Help?" he scoffs, pushing his chair back and standing up. "How is crying every time I say something you don't like helping? How is making everything about your feelings helping? I'm out there killing myself every day and I come home to... this."
He gestures vaguely at you, at your tear-streaked face. "I can't do it right now. I just can't."
With that, he turns and walks away, disappearing into his office and closing the door behind him. The click of the lock sounds final.
You sit frozen at the table, your dinner growing cold on your plate. The tears flow freely now, silent and endless. You knew he was stressed, you knew he was struggling, but you never imagined he'd turn that stress on you.
Hours pass. You clear the table, your movements mechanical. You wrap his dinner carefully, placing it in the refrigerator. You wipe down the counters, all while the tears continue to fall.
Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, you knock softly on the office door. "Connor?" you call out, your voice barely audible. "I'm going to bed."
No response.
You wait another moment, hoping he'll say something, anything. When he doesn't, you turn and walk away, your heart breaking with each step.
In the bedroom, you change into your pajamas, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on your shirt. You crawl into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. The bed feels too big, too empty without him beside you.
You lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, replaying his words over and over in your mind. "I come home to... this." As if you're a burden, an obligation, another source of stress.
The tears come again, soaking your pillow. You've always been sensitive, always felt things deeply. It's part of who you are, part of what drew him to you in the beginning. He used to say he loved how passionate you were, how you wore your heart on your sleeve.
Now it seems like that same quality is pushing him away.
You're not sure how much time passes before the bedroom door opens quietly. Connor's silhouette appears in the doorway.
"Hey," he says softly, his voice rough with emotion. "Can I come in?"
You don't answer, just turn onto your side, facing away from him.
He approaches the bed slowly, sitting on the edge near your feet. "I'm sorry," he says after a moment. "What I said... it was cruel. Unforgivable."
You remain silent, your body rigid.
"I've been carrying so much anger and frustration lately," he continues, his voice cracking. "And I took it out on you. The one person who's been nothing but supportive and loving. I'm so, so sorry."
You feel the bed shift as he lies down beside you, careful not to touch you. "I know I hurt you. And I hate myself for it. If you want me to leave, to give you space, I will. Just say the word."
His words hang in the darkness, an offering you're not sure you can accept.
"You said I make things about my feelings," you whisper, your voice hoarse from crying. "But you're the one who made this about my feelings. Like they're something to be ashamed of."
"You're right," he admits immediately. "I was wrong. Your feelings aren't the problem. How I reacted to them is. I should never have made you feel like your emotions are a burden."
You roll over to face him, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. Even in the dim light, you can see the pain etched on his face.
"I'm tired too, Connor," you say softly. "I'm tired of walking on eggshells, afraid to say the wrong thing. I'm tired of feeling like I have to suppress my emotions to make you comfortable."
He reaches out, his fingers gently brushing your cheek. "You shouldn't have to. That's not fair to you and it's not what I want. I want you to feel safe with me, safe to feel whatever you're feeling without judgment."
His touch is gentle, familiar, and despite your resolve, you lean into it. "I miss you," you admit, the words barely audible. "I miss us."
"I miss us too," he replies, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you know."
He shifts closer, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you against him. You resist for a moment, your body still tense from the earlier confrontation, but then you relax, melting into his embrace.
"I love you," he murmurs against your hair. "I'm sorry I made you doubt that."
Tears well in your eyes again, but this time they're different, tears of relief, of forgiveness, of love. "I love you too," you whisper, your fingers clutching his shirt.
Little late on asking this one but maybe a Macklin & reader where it’s Father’s Day and she doesn’t have a relationship with her father and it’s been a tough day for her and seeing Macklin & his siblings with their dad and he comforts the reader? Thank you :)
Father Figure
pairing: Macklin Celebrini x female reader
description: You're trying to hold it together on Father's Day as you watch Macklin and his siblings share easy laughter with their dad, a painful reminder of the relationship you'll never have.
TW: Fluff, hurt/comfort, family issues, grief, mentions of absent parent, anxiety, crying
masterlist
The air in the Celebrini backyard is thick with the smell of charcoal and the sound of happy chaos. Laughter rings out from the patio, where Macklin's dad is flipping burgers, expertly dodging a playful swipe from Charlie. You're sitting on the grass a little ways away, a paper plate of food resting untouched on your lap, trying to smile along with everyone else. It's Father's Day and you knew this would be hard, but you didn't expect it to feel like this, like a physical ache in your chest.
You watch as Aiden, drapes an arm over their dad's shoulders, grinning as he whispers something in his ear that makes him throw his head back and laugh. RJ and Charlie are throwing a football and you watch as their dad calls out encouragement from the grill. They are a portrait of easy, uncomplicated love. A portrait of everything you don't have.
You knew coming today was a risk. You and Macklin had only been dating for a few months and this was your first time meeting his entire family. He'd been so excited, his eyes bright as he'd asked, "Please come? They'll love you." How could you say no to that? How could you explain that the very reason for the celebration was a knife twisting in your gut? So you'd pasted on a smile and agreed, telling yourself you could handle it. You were wrong.
You feel a familiar sting behind your eyes and you quickly look down at your plate, pushing a stray piece of lettuce around with your fork. You can feel the tears welling, hot and unwelcome. You will not cry here. You will not make this about you. Taking a quiet, shaky breath, you push yourself up from the grass.
"I'm just going to use the restroom," you mumble to the nearest person, before making a swift escape inside the house.
The cool, quiet air of the living room is a welcome relief. You don't go to the bathroom, you head straight for the back of the house, to the small, sunlit reading nook tucked away by the large bay window. You sink onto the window seat, pulling your knees to your chest and finally letting the single tear you've been holding back escape. It's followed by another and another, until a silent, steady stream is tracking down your cheeks. You rest your forehead against the cool glass, watching the happy scene outside without really seeing it. You're not angry at them. You're not even jealous, not really. You're just… profoundly sad. Sad for the little girl who used to wait by the window on Father's Day, hoping for a car that never came. Sad for the teenager who stopped hoping. Sad for the adult woman who still felt the phantom limb of a father's love.
You don't know how long you sit there, lost in your own quiet misery, until a soft voice breaks through your thoughts.
"Hey."
You look up, quickly wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. Macklin is standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed with concern. He's holding two bottles of water. He doesn't ask if you're okay. He just walks over, sits down beside you and gently presses one of the cold bottles into your hands.
"I saw you come in," he says softly, his gaze fixed on the backyard scene outside. "You've been quiet all day."
You just shake your head, unable to trust your voice.
He doesn't push. He just sits with you, a solid, warm presence. After a moment, he shifts, turning to face you fully. He reaches out, his thumb gently brushing a stray tear from your cheek that you missed. "Is it… is it because of today?"
You nod, your chin trembling. "Sorry," you whisper, the word cracking. "I didn't mean to ruin anything."
"Hey, no," he says, his voice firm but gentle. He sets his water bottle down and takes your free hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "You're not ruining anything. I'm sorry. I should have… I should have checked in with you. I was so excited for you to meet them, I didn't even think about how hard this might be."
"It's not your fault," you manage to say, finally looking at him. His blue eyes are so full of empathy it makes your chest hurt all over again. "It's just… seeing you with your dad. And your brothers and Charlie. It's so good, Mack. You're all so lucky. It just… reminds me of what I don't have."
He squeezes your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles. "I know," he says quietly. "I'm so sorry you have to feel that. You deserve to have that. You deserve the world."
You let out a watery, humorless laugh. "Well, I don't have a dad, so the world's probably off the table."
He smiles, a small, sad thing. "Don't say that." He shifts closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. You lean into him, letting his strength hold you up. "You know," he says, his voice a low rumble against your ear, "for what it's worth… my dad already loves you."
You pull back slightly to look at him, confused. "He barely knows me."
"I know," Macklin says with a shrug. "But I told him about you. About how smart you are, how you make me laugh, how you're always so kind. And he just looked at me and said, 'She sounds like a keeper, Mack. Don't let that one go.' He's a good judge of character. And he sees how I look at you."
A fresh wave of tears pricks your eyes, but these are different. They're not born of sadness, but of a warmth that spreads through your chest, chasing away the cold ache.
"And," he continues, his voice dropping even lower, "you're looking at this all wrong."
"I am?" you ask, sniffling.
"Yeah," he says, a genuine smile finally reaching his eyes. "You're not just getting a dad out of this deal. You're getting the whole chaotic, overbearing, hockey-obsessed Celebrini clan. You're stuck with all of us."
A real laugh escapes you this time, small but genuine. "That's a terrifying prospect."
"The worst," he agrees, grinning. He leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "But you're not alone in it. You have me. And I have you. We're a team, right?"
You nod, your heart feeling so full it might burst. "We're a team."
"Good," he says, his arm tightening around you. He rests his cheek on the top of your head and you both look out the window at his family. The ache is still there, a dull echo in the background, but it's smaller now. It's been overshadowed by the solid warmth of the boy beside you, the boy who saw you hurting and didn't hesitate to find you, to hold you, to share his family with you.
A fic idea for Fraser Minten x reader, maybe something where they go on a very romantic vacation since it's the off season, and when he gets back and goes to practice and stuff, the team can't stop chirping him about their "fun times" on said vacation??
Tropical Escape
pairing: Fraser Minten x female reader
description: You escape with Fraser to a secluded tropical paradise during his off-season, only to return to endless teasing from his teammates.
TW: Fluff, kissing, sexual implications, established relationship.
masterlist
The salt-scented breeze kisses your skin as you step onto the private villa's terrace, the infinity pool blending seamlessly with the turquoise ocean beyond. Fraser's arms wrap around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.
"Morning, beautiful," he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep. "Last day of paradise."
You lean back into his embrace, watching the sun paint streaks of gold across the water. "We could always extend. I hear the off-season lasts a while."
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your neck. "Tempting, but I think my team might notice if I don't show up to training camp."
The week has been perfect, secluded beaches, candlelit dinners, long nights tangled in crisp white sheets with nothing but the sound of waves and each other's breathing. No hockey, no schedules, no interruptions. Just Fraser, completely yours.
"I'm going to miss this," you say softly, turning in his arms to face him. "Having you all to myself."
His eyes soften. "Hey, just because we're heading back doesn't mean I'm not still all yours."
His lips meet yours, gentle at first, then deepening with a hunger that makes your knees weak. His hands slide down to your hips, pulling you closer as the morning sun warms your skin.
"Last chance for a morning swim," he murmurs against your mouth.
"Who said anything about swimming?" you reply, taking his hand and leading him back toward the bedroom.
Two weeks later, you're dropping Fraser off at the arena for his first practice back. He's been quieter than usual this morning, a mix of excitement and reluctance to return to the team environment.
"Text me when you're done?" you ask, leaning over to kiss his cheek.
"Always," he promises. "Love you."
"Love you too. Try not to kill any rookies on day one."
He grins. "No promises."
As you drive away, you're already counting the hours until he's home again, even knowing the bubble of privacy you've enjoyed for weeks is about to burst.
"Look who decided to join us," Viktor calls as Fraser enters the locker room. "Was wondering if you'd remember how to skate after all that… rest."
Fraser rolls his eyes, grabbing his stall. "Ha ha. Someone's feeling funny today."
"Someone's feeling well-rested," Michael chimes in from across the room. "Unlike the rest of us who actually trained this summer."
"Trained my ass off," Fraser defends, though he knows where this is heading.
"Sure you did," James pipes up. "If by 'trained' you mean 'practiced making babies' with your girl."
A few guys hoot and whistle as Fraser feels his face heat up.
"Got a postcard from your little love shack," Mark adds, appearing behind him with a grin. "Something about 'paradise found' and 'private beach access'?"
Fraser freezes. "How the hell did you..."
"Your mom posted it on her Facebook," Mark reveals. "My wife showed me. Very romantic. Very… secluded."
"Very expensive-looking," James adds. "Must be nice being a rising star with all that endorsement money."
Fraser starts taping his stick with more focus than necessary. "Can we talk about hockey or something?"
"We could," Viktor agrees, "but this is way more interesting. So, tropical getaway, huh? Bet you two really… connected."
The emphasis on "connected" draws another round of laughter.
"At least someone got connected this summer," James mutters good-naturedly. "My girlfriend dumped me because I 'smelled like hockey' too much."
"That's because you never shower," someone calls back.
Fraser tries to stay out of it, really he does. But then Michael leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"So those private beaches… are they really private?"
Fraser looks up, meeting his eyes. There's genuine curiosity there mixed with amusement.
"Define 'private beach'," he finds himself saying, which is apparently the wrong thing to say.
The locker room erupts in cheers and whistles.
"Oh my god," Mark cackles. "They did it on the beach! Like in the movies!"
"Sand everywhere," James shakes his head. "Brave man. Very brave."
"Or very stupid," Michael adds. "Ever heard of chafing, kid?"
Fraser is definitely regretting not staying in bed with you this morning.
"Okay, that's enough," he says, standing up. "We're here to practice hockey, not discuss my sex life."
"Sex life?" James grins. "So there was a sex life to discuss?"
"Jesus Christ," Fraser mutters, heading toward the ice.
Practice is brutal, not because of the drills, but because the chirping doesn't stop on the ice. Every time Fraser makes a good play, someone yells something about "practicing those moves off the ice too." When he misses a shot, it's "must be tired from all that… swimming."
By the time they're doing laps at the end, he's ready to snap.
"Okay, seriously," he calls out, skating over to the group huddled by the bench. "One more comment about my vacation and I'm fighting every single one of you."
Mark grins. "Threats? That's not very romantic, Fraser. What would your girl say?"
The guys howl with laughter as Fraser skates away, shaking his head but smiling despite himself.
"Longest practice of my life," Fraser groans when he finally collapses onto your couch that evening. "They wouldn't let up."
You laugh, handing him a beer. "Poor baby. All that chirping must be so hard."
"You have no idea," he says, pulling you down beside him. He kisses your forehead. "Worth it though."
"Even with the endless teasing?"
"Especially with the endless teasing," he corrects. "Means they're jealous."
"Jealous of what? The sand in uncomfortable places?"
"Jealous they don't have someone to take to paradise," he says softly, his fingers tracing your jaw. "Jealous they don't have you."
Your heart melts as always. "Well, they can't have me. You're stuck with me."
"Good," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you. "Because I'm pretty sure I promised you we'd find more private beaches next off-season."
description: You need a date for your cousin's wedding and ask your best friend's brother Nathan to go with you, only to realize your feelings for him are much more than friendly.
TW: Fluff, kissing.
masterlist
The wedding invitation arrived on a Tuesday, its elegant cream cardstock mocking your single status. Your cousin was getting married in a month, and the dreaded "and guest" line seemed to mock you from the page.
"Another wedding, another reminder that I'm terminally single," you grumbled to your best friend over coffee.
Shebswirled her latte thoughtfully. "You could ask someone to go with you."
"Like who? The last guy I dated thought 'commitment' was a dirty word."
"What about my brother?" she suggested casually. "Nate's free that weekend."
You nearly choked on your croissant. "Nathan? Your ridiculously handsome hockey player brother who barely knows I exist?"
"He knows you exist," she insisted. "He thinks you're funny. And he's not seeing anyone right now. I bet he'd do it as a favor."
The idea was both terrifying and intriguing. You'd had a crush on Nathan since forever, but he'd always been your best friend's older brother, the untouchable hockey god who occasionally graced your presence with a nod and a smile.
"I'll think about it," you said noncommittally.
Two weeks later, desperation won out. You found yourself at your best friend's house, rehearsing what you'd say.
"Nate! Perfect timing," she called as he emerged from the kitchen in sweatpants, a towel draped around his neck. "Can you do my friend a huge favor?"
Nathan's blue eyes found yours and you felt your stomach flip. "Depends on the favor."
"I need a date for my cousin's wedding," you blurted before you could lose your nerve. "It's next Saturday. I know it's last minute and weird..."
"Sure," he said, surprising you. "I'm free. What time?"
You blinked. "Really? Just like that?"
He shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. "Why not? Could be fun. Beats sitting around watching game tape."
And just like that, you had a wedding date.
The day of the wedding arrived with unseasonable warmth. You'd agonized over your dress choice for days, finally settling on a deep blue. When Nathan arrived to pick you up, you had to stop yourself from staring.
He'd traded his usual athletic wear for a well-fitted navy suit that made his shoulders look even broader than usual. His hair was slightly tousled and when he smiled at you, you felt your knees weaken.
"You look… really beautiful," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Thanks," you managed. "You clean up pretty well yourself, MacKinnon."
The ceremony was beautiful and you tried not to think about how good Nathan looked in a suit or how his hand felt resting casually on your lower back as you navigated the crowded reception hall.
"Having fun?" he asked during cocktail hour, handing you a glass of champagne.
"Surprisingly, yes," you admitted. "Thanks again for coming. I know this probably isn't how you wanted to spend your Saturday."
"Are you kidding?" he grinned. "Open bar, free food and I get to watch my sister's best friend fend off questions about when she's getting married? Best entertainment I've had all month."
You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smiling. "Wait until my Aunt gets a few drinks in her. She'll be asking when we're getting married."
The thought sent an unexpected flutter through your chest.
Dinner was filled with the usual wedding speeches and toasts. Nathan was charming with your family, easily deflecting questions about his hockey career with genuine humility. You found yourself watching him more than you should, how his eyes lit up when he laughed, the way he'd occasionally lean over to whisper something funny in your ear.
When the dancing started, your cousin pulled you onto the floor for several fast songs. You were breathless and laughing when Nathan appeared with two glasses of water.
"Thought you might need this," he said, handing one to you.
"Thanks," you panted. "I'm getting too old for this."
"Nah," he grinned. "You're keeping up fine."
The DJ transitioned to a slow song and before you could retreat, Nathan's hand was on yours.
"Dance with me?" he asked, his voice softer than you'd expected.
You nodded, letting him lead you onto the floor. His arm settled around your waist and your hand rested on his shoulder. You were close enough to smell his cologne, something clean and woodsy that made your head spin.
"Your family seems nice," he said, his breath warm against your ear.
"They're judging you right now," you teased. "Wondering if you're good enough for me."
He pulled back slightly to look at you, his blue eyes serious. "And what are you wondering?"
Your heart hammered against your ribs. "I'm wondering why I never asked you to do this before."
The song changed to another slow melody, but neither of you moved to separate. If anything, he pulled you closer.
"Maybe because you were too busy thinking of me as your best friend's brother'?" he suggested, his thumb tracing circles on your back.
"Maybe," you admitted quietly. "Not anymore though."
"No?" His voice was barely a whisper now.
"No."
You weren't sure who moved first, but suddenly the distance between you was gone. His lips met yours gently, tentatively at first, then with more confidence as you responded. It wasn't fireworks or earthquakes, it was something warmer, something that felt like coming home.
When you finally parted, his forehead rested against yours.
"I've wanted to do that for a long time," he admitted.
"Really?" you asked, unable to hide your surprise.
"Since you fell into the pool at my parents' barbecue, fully clothed and still managed to make a joke about it while sputtering water everywhere."
You laughed, remembering the incident. "I thought you barely noticed me back then."
"I noticed everything," he said simply.
The song ended, but you stayed wrapped in each other's arms until the next one started. You weren't sure how long you danced like that, lost in your own world.
Later that night, as he walked you to your door, the evening air was warm and fragrant with jasmine.
"So," he said, his hands still holding yours. "I was thinking…"
"Yes?"
"Maybe next time, we could skip the wedding and just go straight to the dancing part?"
"I'd like that," you smiled. "But only if there's kissing involved."
He leaned in, capturing your lips again. "Definitely kissing."
