#phm#ryland grace#rocky the eridian#project hail mary spoilers
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a caparison (1621) made for king gustavus adolphus of sweden by brothers aert & pieter spiering
Today in Hip Hop History:
Wu-Tang Clan released their debut single Protect Ya Neck May 3, 1993
🎰 • 📜 • 👑 • 🎲 • 🔥
“Pharoah’s fire”
white pharoah meme stimboard
(this is a joke)
day 93 / survey
يارب لطفك وحفظك ورعايتك ورحمتك وكل التيسير
Oh God, your kindness, protection, care, mercy and all facilitation.
That friend with a toxic relationship: I HATE him so much, he's super TOXIC and so EVIL i don't know how I could end up with him, we're never getting back together
The situation i found my friend the next day:
Hey Can you write something for Fraser minten like a cute little thing where him and reader is seen eating dinner together by like paparazzi or fans (you pick) and then he gets asked about it in like a post practice media post and he’s basically just smitten with reader and it’s super cute and they just love each❤️
smitten FM93
summary: fraser and his beloved girlfriend Y/N went out on a date, and they thought it would be just the 2 of them. but when fraser saw the paparazzi, it all broke loose
requests: open
masterlist
The restaurant had been Y/N’s idea.
Not because it was trendy or hidden or especially “paparazzi-proof”—though Fraser had joked about that when she suggested it—but because it had the best pasta she’d ever had and warm lighting that made everything feel calmer. It was the kind of place where the staff smiled like they actually meant it and the music stayed low enough that conversation mattered more than background noise.
Fraser liked that about it.
He liked a lot of things she picked.
They sat across from each other in a corner booth, Fraser leaning forward with his elbows just barely on the table, listening like whatever she was saying was the most important thing in the room. His hair was still slightly damp from a quick shower after workouts, and he’d traded his team hoodie for a soft sweater she’d bought him months ago because she said it brought out his eyes.
She was right. She usually was.
“Okay, but I’m serious,” Y/N said, laughing softly. “You can’t just forget your phone at home and then act surprised when everyone panics.”
Fraser grinned, that easy, boyish smile that showed up whenever she teased him. “I didn’t forget it. I just… didn’t bring it.”
“That is literally the same thing.”
“Not emotionally,” he said, shrugging. “I was emotionally prepared.”
She shook her head, smiling despite herself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” he said easily. “But you love me.”
He said it like a fact, not a question. Not cocky—just certain.
Y/N met his eyes, warmth settling in her chest. “Yeah,” she said. “I really do.”
Neither of them noticed the camera across the street. Or the second one. Or the quiet click of shutters catching the way Fraser reached across the table to tuck her hand into his, thumb brushing absentmindedly over her knuckles like it was something he’d done a thousand times before.
Which, in fairness, he had.
The photos would later show Fraser laughing mid-sentence, eyes crinkled, completely unguarded. They’d show Y/N looking at him instead of the camera, chin resting on her palm, expression soft and fond. They’d show him standing to pull her chair out, his hand warm and steady at her back as they left.
They’d show something obvious to everyone who saw them.
Fraser Minten was in love.
—
The photos hit social media before Fraser even woke up the next morning.
By the time he rolled out of bed and checked his phone, his group chat was already exploding.
Teammate #1: Bro 👀
Teammate #2: Is that YOU??
Teammate #3: Pasta night goes crazy
Fraser blinked at the screen, squinting as he opened the link. The headline was harmless enough—something about “young star spotted at dinner with mystery girlfriend”—and the pictures made him pause.
Not because he was worried.
But because, honestly, they were kind of cute.
He smiled to himself before typing back.
Fraser: Yeah that’s us.
Fraser: She looks great, right?
There was a pause. Then the replies flooded in.
By the time he got to practice later that morning, the looks started immediately.
Not bad looks.
Not judgmental ones.
Just knowing ones.
“Wow,” one of the guys said as Fraser walked past the locker room benches. “Didn’t realize we were dating celebrities now.”
Fraser laughed, tossing his bag down. “Relax.”
“Oh, we’re relaxed,” another teammate said. “You’re the one who got caught smiling at pasta like it told you a secret.”
Fraser shook his head, still grinning. “It was a good night.”
“That’s not what we’re asking,” someone else chimed in. “We’re asking if you’re always like that or if that’s new.”
Fraser paused, lacing his skates, thinking about it for half a second.
“I’m always like that,” he said simply. “You just don’t usually see it.”
Practice didn’t let up after that.
Between drills, during water breaks, even while stretching, someone always had something to say.
“So how long you guys been together?”
“Is she mad about the photos?”
“Do we have to start behaving now?”
Fraser answered every question calmly, easily, never once looking annoyed.
“We’ve been together a while.”
“No, she’s okay.”
“No, but you should behave anyway.”
The coaches noticed, too.
When the media portion of practice rolled around, Fraser was already bracing himself. He knew what was coming. He wasn’t nervous—just aware. This was part of it. He’d been prepared for the attention long before it actually showed up.
Still, when the first reporter raised a hand, he knew exactly what they were going to ask.
“So, Fraser,” the reporter said, microphone tilted toward him, “there were some photos circulating last night of you out to dinner. Fans are curious—can you tell us a bit about that?”
Fraser smiled.
Not the polite, practiced smile athletes used when they were dodging a question.
This one was real.
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was my girlfriend.”
The room hummed with interest.
“And how do you feel about the attention?” another reporter asked. “Does it change anything for you?”
Fraser thought about Y/N—how she’d laughed when she saw the photos that morning, how she’d told him not to worry, how she’d said, ‘If they’re going to see us, at least they saw us happy.’
“No,” he said honestly. “It doesn’t change anything. We’re just… us.”
Someone else leaned forward. “You looked pretty happy in the pictures.”
Fraser’s grin widened before he could stop it.
“I was,” he said. “I usually am when I’m with her.”
That got a few quiet chuckles from the room.
“And what do you like most about her?” a reporter asked, clearly expecting something vague or deflective.
Fraser didn’t hesitate.
“She’s patient,” he said. “She’s supportive. She keeps me grounded. She knows when to push me and when to let me be quiet. She makes normal days feel special.”
He paused, then added, softer, “And she makes really good restaurant suggestions.”
The media laughed, but there was something unmistakably sincere in his tone.
When practice finally wrapped up and the locker room emptied, Fraser pulled his phone from his bag and texted her.
Fraser: So… apparently the world knows about pasta night.
Y/N: Tragic.
Y/N: Do you regret taking me out?
Fraser: Never.
Fraser: I’d do it again tomorrow.
A few seconds passed.
Y/N: You’re really okay with all this?
Fraser: Yeah.
Fraser: Because it’s you.
When he got home later that evening, she was already there, curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, hair still slightly damp from a shower. She looked up when he came in, smiling like she always did when she saw him—like the day had been missing something and he’d just brought it back.
He dropped his keys and crossed the room in three long steps, pulling her into a hug.
“You were very charming today,” she teased into his shoulder.
He laughed softly. “I didn’t even say anything embarrassing.”
“You told the media I’m patient.”
“Well,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes warm and earnest, “you are.”
She smiled, reaching up to brush her thumb along his jaw. “You’re kind of impossible, you know that?”
“Yeah,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers. “But you love me.”
She laughed quietly, the sound soft and familiar. “Yeah,” she said. “I really do.”
And for Fraser, with cameras flashing outside and questions waiting tomorrow, that was the only thing that really mattered.
© allaboutmacklin 2025
