#nate mackinnon

[samgirard]

↪ nathan mackinnon having tina foisted upon him on one of the worst days of his life | milano cortina 2026 | can vs. usa | 2.22.26

[pucksandpower]

Bon Appétit

Nathan MacKinnon x Reader

Summary: you’re engaged to the most disciplined man in professional hockey, who hasn’t touched dessert in years and can recite his macros in his sleep. But when he drops to his knees in his captain’s bathroom at a team barbecue and tells you you’re sweeter than any brownie could ever be, you realize his self-control has exactly one exception: you.

Warnings: 18+ content

The afternoon sun filters through Gabe Landeskog’s backyard across the perfectly manicured lawn where half the Colorado Avalanche roster sprawls in various states of post-barbecue contentment. You’re perched on the arm of Nate’s chair, his hand resting possessively on your lower back, thumb tracing absent circles against the thin fabric of your sundress.

“Babe, you want another sparkling water?” Nate asks, already starting to stand.

“I’m good,” you say, pressing your palm against his chest to keep him seated. “I can get it myself if I want one.”

“I know you can,” he says, settling back down but pulling you into his lap instead. “Doesn’t mean I can’t get it for you.”

Across the patio, Cale Makar snorts into his beer. “Ugh, you’re disgustingly in love. It’s actually offensive.”

“Jealousy’s not a good look on you,” Nate fires back, but he’s grinning, pressing a kiss to your shoulder that makes you shiver despite the heat.

You’ve been engaged for three months now — three months since Nate proposed on a hiking trail at sunrise, both of you sweaty and breathless, his carefully planned speech abandoned in favor of “I can’t wait anymore, I need you to be my wife.” You’d said yes before he could even get the ring out of his pocket.

“I’m not jealous,” Cale protests. “I’m just saying, some of us are trying to enjoy our off-season without watching you two be all-” he waves his hand vaguely, “-like that.”

“Like what?” You ask innocently.

“Like you’re the only two people in the world,” Gabe’s wife, Melissa, supplies, but she’s smiling. “It’s actually very sweet. Ignore him.”

“We’re not that bad,” Nate says.

“You are,” chorus at least four different voices.

You laugh, tucking yourself closer against Nate’s chest. You love this — the easy camaraderie, the way his teammates have welcomed you into their circle like you’ve always belonged there. When you first started dating Nate two years ago, you’d been terrified of this part. You were just an occupational therapist from Denver, hardly the type to fit into the NHL world of models and influencers. But Nate had held your hand through every introduction, every team event, until it stopped feeling scary and started feeling like family.

“Alright, alright,” Gabe calls out, standing up and clapping his hands together. “Who’s ready for dessert? Mel made her famous triple chocolate brownies, we’ve got ice cream, pie-”

“I’m good,” Nate says immediately.

The speed of his response makes you bite back a smile. You’ve watched Nate turn down dessert at every single team function for the two years you’ve known him. Watched him politely refuse birthday cake, wedding cake, championship celebration cake. His discipline is legendary — bordering on obsessive, if you’re being honest. No sugar, no refined carbs, no gluten, no dairy unless it’s specifically approved by his nutritionist.

“Come on,” Scott Wedgewood groans. “It’s the off-season. Live a little.”

“I am living,” Nate says. “I feel great.”

“You feel like a robot,” Martin Nečas chimes in. “When’s the last time you had a cookie?”

Nate considers this. “I don’t remember.”

“Exactly!” Martin throws his hands up. “This is what I’m saying. You’ve forgotten what cookies taste like.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Nate argues. “I just don’t need them.”

“Everyone needs cookies,” Cale says solemnly.

You’re trying so hard not to laugh that your shoulders are shaking. Nate notices, squeezing your hip. “You think this is funny?”

“I think you’re very disciplined,” you say diplomatically.

“She thinks you’re crazy,” Cale translates. “We all do. In a loving way.”

“My diet works for me,” Nate says, and there’s an edge to his voice now — the same edge that appears whenever anyone questions his methods, his training, his relentless pursuit of perfection. “I’m not going to apologize for taking care of my body.”

“No one’s asking you to apologize,” Gabe says peacefully. “We’re asking you to have a brownie.”

“Hard pass.”

You can feel the tension creeping into Nate’s shoulders, so you slide your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you know he likes. He relaxes incrementally.

“What about you, Y/N?” Melissa asks. “Brownie? Ice cream?”

“Maybe in a bit,” you say. “I’m still full from those burgers.”

“Which were incredible,” you add to Gabe, who beams.

“Secret’s in the seasoning,” he says. “I’ll give you the recipe.”

“Please do. I’ve been trying to expand my cooking repertoire beyond pasta and tacos.”

“Pasta,” Nate mutters, and you elbow him gently.

“Some of us eat pasta, babe.”

“I know. I’m not saying you shouldn’t.”

“You’re thinking it very loudly.”

He grins, unrepentant. “I would never.”

The conversation flows around you — playoff predictions for next season, summer vacation plans, someone’s new boat. You’re only half-listening, too aware of the way Nate’s hand has started sliding higher on your thigh, fingers playing with the hem of your dress. It’s subtle enough that no one else would notice, but you notice. You always notice.

“You okay?” You murmur, low enough that only he can hear.

“Perfect,” he says, but his eyes have gone dark in a way you recognize. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“About how good you look in this dress.”

Heat flushes through you. “Nate.”

“What? I can’t compliment my fiancée?”

“You can compliment me without looking at me like-” you break off, glancing around, but everyone’s distracted by an argument about whether Cale or Devon Toews is the better golfer.

“Like what?” Nate’s voice is all innocence, but his hand squeezes your thigh.

“You know what.”

“Do I?”

You shift in his lap, ostensibly to get more comfortable, and feel him tense. “Yeah,” you breathe. “You do.”

He makes a low sound in the back of his throat. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like fire.”

“Jesus,” he mutters. Then, louder, “Hey Gabe, where’s your bathroom again?”

“Powder room’s just inside, down the hall to the left,” Gabe calls back without looking.

Nate stands, lifting you with him effortlessly. “Be right back.”

“I have to go check … something,” you smooth your dress, already moving toward the house.

“Oh my god,” you hear Cale say. “Are they seriously-”

“Let them be young and in love,” Melissa says, laughing.

You’re blushing furiously as Nate guides you through the sliding glass door, his hand firm on your lower back. The cool air conditioning hits you like a wall, raising goosebumps on your arms.

“Down the hall to the left,” you remind him.

“I heard him.”

The powder room is small and elegant, all white subway tile and gold fixtures. Nate locks the door behind you and you’re about to turn around when he’s already there, spinning you to face him, backing you against the sink.

“Hi,” he says, and his smile is wicked.

“Hi yourself.”

“You know what you do to me in this dress?”

“I’m getting an idea.”

He laughs, low and rough, and then he’s kissing you — deep and hungry and tasting like the lemonade he’s been drinking all afternoon. You wind your arms around his neck, pressing closer, and he lifts you onto the counter in one smooth motion.

“Nate,” you gasp when he moves to your neck, kissing and sucking in a way that’s definitely going to leave marks. “We can’t—everyone’s right outside-”

“Then you better be quiet,” he murmurs against your skin.

Your head falls back against the mirror. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair,” he says, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, “is you sitting in my lap all afternoon looking like this. Smelling like this. Driving me fucking crazy.”

“I was just sitting there.”

“You were torturing me.” His fingers find the edge of your underwear and you forget how to breathe. “All I could think about was getting you alone. Getting my mouth on you.”

“We should—oh god—we should go home-”

“Don’t want to wait,” he says, dropping to his knees, and suddenly his face is between your thighs and you have to clap your hand over your mouth to keep from making a sound.

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter, and then his mouth is on you through the thin fabric of your underwear and you see stars.

“Nate,” you whimper, “please-”

He pulls back just enough to hook his fingers in the waistband. “Lift up, baby.”

You do, and he slides them down your legs, tucking them into his pocket with a grin that should be illegal. Then he’s back between your thighs, no barriers now, and the first touch of his tongue has you grabbing his hair for balance.

“Fuck,” you breathe, trying desperately to stay quiet. “Fuck, that’s—oh my god-”

He hums against you, the vibration making you jolt, and his hands grip your hips to hold you steady. You can feel him smile against you — the bastard — and then he’s working you with his tongue in a way that suggests he has no intention of rushing this.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, the words muffled. “So sweet. Better than any dessert.”

“You’re—oh god, right there—you’re insane-”

“About you? Yeah.” He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark and blown wide. “Could do this for hours. All day. Just making you feel good.”

“Nate, please, I need-”

“What do you need, baby? Tell me.”

“You know what I need.”

“Want to hear you say it.”

You tug his hair, impatient. “Stop teasing.”

“Make me.”

You’re about to argue when he seals his mouth over you again, sucking hard, and whatever you were going to say dissolves into a strangled moan. His tongue is relentless, finding every spot that makes you shake, and when he slides two fingers inside you, you have to bite down on your other hand to keep quiet.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So good for me. So perfect.”

The praise sends heat flooding through you, and he knows it, the smug bastard. He’s always known exactly what to say, how to touch you, what you need before you even know you need it. Two years together and he still takes you apart like it’s his favorite thing in the world.

Maybe it is.

“Getting close,” he says, and it’s not a question. He can read your body like a book, knows every tell, every sign. “Can feel it. You gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, just don’t stop, please don’t stop-”

“Never.” His fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot, and his tongue works faster. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me taste it.”

You shatter, clamping your hand over your mouth just in time to muffle the cry that tears from your throat. Pleasure crashes through you in waves and Nate works you through it, gentle now, coaxing every last aftershock until you’re trembling and oversensitive.

“Too much,” you finally manage, tugging weakly at his hair.

He pulls back, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, and when he looks up at you his chin is wet and his expression is pure satisfaction. “You okay?”

“I—yeah. More than okay.” You’re still catching your breath, head spinning. “That was-”

“I know.” He stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and leans in to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it sends another aftershock of pleasure through you.

“Your turn,” you say when you can think again, reaching for his belt.

He catches your hands, bringing them to his lips instead. “Later.”

“Nate, you can’t just-”

“Want to,” he says simply. “Want to take my time with you when we get home. Right now I just wanted to taste you. Savor my treat.”

You stare at him. “You’re serious.”

“Completely.” He helps you down from the counter, steadying you when your legs wobble. “Besides, if I let you start something right now, we’ll be in here for the next half hour and people will definitely notice.”

“Pretty sure they already noticed.”

He grins, unrepentant. “Worth it.”

You shake your head, trying to fix your hair in the mirror. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

“I love you,” you correct, and his expression softens.

“Love you too.” He kisses you again, gentle this time. “More than anything.”

“Even more than your meal prep?”

“Even more than my meal prep.”

“Wow. That’s serious.”

He laughs, the sound bright and unguarded. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re the one who just-” you gesture vaguely at the counter, “-in your captain’s bathroom.”

“And you’re the one who followed me in,” he corrects. “What about it?”

“What about it? Nate, we’re going to have to go back out there and face these people.”

“So?”

“So they’re going to know exactly what we were doing!”

“Let them know.” He slides his arms around your waist, pulling you against him. “I’m not ashamed of being crazy about my fiancée.”

You bury your face in his chest. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“What a way to go.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as you’re dying of embarrassment. This is Nate — sweet and intense and occasionally ridiculous, and god help you, you love every part of him.

“Okay,” you say finally. “Okay. We can do this. We’re adults. We can walk out there with dignity.”

“Absolutely.”

“Cool and casual.”

“The coolest.”

“Nate?”

“Yeah?”

“My underwear’s in your pocket.”

He grins, patting said pocket. “I know. Keeping them.”

“You can’t-”

“Can and will. Come on.” He unlocks the door, checking the hallway before pulling you out. “Coast is clear.”

You make it halfway back to the patio before Cale’s voice carries through the open door: “Twenty bucks says Mac’s got that stupid satisfied grin on his face.”

“Sucker bet,” Devon responds. “Look at him.”

Nate doesn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. He just guides you back to the chair and pulls you into his lap like nothing happened, like he didn’t just make you come apart in someone else’s bathroom.

“Feel better?” Gabe asks innocently.

“Much,” Nate says.

You hide your face in his shoulder, burning with embarrassment, but he just laughs and holds you closer.

“So,” Melissa says, wheeling out a cart laden with desserts. “Who wants what? We’ve got brownies, ice cream, lemon meringue pie, chocolate chip cookies-”

“I’m good,” Nate says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Seriously,” Cale says. “Not even a bite?”

“Nah. Just had my fill.”

You make a strangled sound and Nate’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. His hand finds yours, threading your fingers together.

“What about you, Y/N?” Melissa asks.

“I’m-” you clear your throat. “I’m okay. Thank you though.”

“You sure? These brownies are really-”

“She’s sure,” Nate interrupts, and when you glance up at him his eyes are dancing with mischief. “She’s very satisfied.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, but you’re fighting a smile.

Cale makes a gagging noise. “I can’t believe you two. In the bathroom. At a team function.”

“What happens in the powder room stays in the powder room,” Nate says solemnly.

“That’s Vegas, you idiot,” Devon says.

“Same principle.”

“It’s really not.”

Gabe’s laughing so hard he’s crying. “I’m never going to be able to use that bathroom again without thinking about this.”

“You’re welcome,” Nate says.

“I hate you,” you inform him.

“No you don’t.”

“I’m reconsidering the engagement.”

“Liar.” He kisses your temple. “You’re stuck with me.”

And the terrible thing is he’s right. You are stuck with him — this sweet, intense, occasionally ridiculous man who turns down birthday cake but devours you like you’re the only sustenance he needs. Who drives his teammates crazy with his discipline but throws it all out the window when it comes to you.

“For the record,” you say quietly, just for him, “you’re going to pay for this later.”

His grin is sharp and promising. “Looking forward to it.”

Across the patio, Melissa starts serving dessert to everyone else. The brownies do look incredible — rich and fudgy, still slightly warm. The ice cream is that fancy kind from the artisan place downtown. But Nate doesn’t even glance at them. His attention is entirely on you, his hand warm on your thigh, his thumb tracing idle patterns that make you shiver.

“You really don’t want any?” You ask, nodding toward the spread.

“Don’t need it,” he says. “Got everything I want right here.”

“That’s so cheesy.”

“You love it when I’m cheesy.”

“I really don’t.”

“You’re blushing.”

“That’s residual embarrassment.”

He laughs, pulling you closer. “Sure it is.”

The afternoon wears on, the sun sinking lower, painting everything golden. Someone starts a game of cornhole. Music drifts from the speakers. You relax into Nate’s embrace, letting the conversation wash over you — trash talk about next season, gossip about trades and drafts, someone’s terrible golf swing.

“Hey Mac,” Martin calls out after a while. “You sure you don’t want even one cookie? They’re really good.”

Nate doesn’t even hesitate. “I’m sure. Already had the sweetest thing here.”

The entire patio groans.

“That was awful,” Cale says.

“That was genuinely painful to hear,” Scott adds.

“I thought it was sweet,” Melissa offers.

“Thank you, Mel,” Nate says.

“Still awful though.”

“Can’t please everyone.”

You’re laughing, red-faced and mortified and completely, utterly in love. This is your life now — team barbecues and terrible hockey puns and a fiancé who’s more obsessed with you than he is with his macros. Who looks at you like you hung the moon, who makes you feel cherished and desired and completely safe all at once.

“What are you thinking about?” Nate murmurs, low enough that only you can hear.

“You.”

“Yeah?”

“How lucky I am.”

His expression softens, goes tender in a way he only ever shows you. “Baby, I’m the lucky one.”

“We could debate this.”

“We could. But I’d win.”

“Confident.”

“About you? Always.”

You kiss him, soft and sweet, not caring who’s watching. He makes a content sound, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“Get a room!” Someone yells — probably Cale.

Nate pulls back just enough to yell back, “We did! You didn’t like that either!”

The entire patio dissolves into laughter, and you hide your burning face in his neck, but you’re laughing too. You can’t help it.

“I love you,” you tell him, quiet and sure.

“Love you too,” he says. “More than any dessert in the world.”

“Even the triple chocolate brownies?”

“Defintely more than those.”

“That’s true love right there.”

“Damn right it is.”

The sun sets. The party continues. Someone breaks out a guitar. Melissa brings out a fire pit and marshmallows, though Nate politely declines those too. You stay wrapped in his arms, warm and sated and ridiculously happy.

Later, when you’re finally home and Nate’s making good on his promise to take his time with you, you’ll think about this moment. About the way he chose you over dessert, over discipline, over everything he usually holds sacred. About the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing worth breaking his rules for.

But right now, in Gabe’s backyard, surrounded by friends and laughter and the smell of sugar you’re both ignoring, you just hold him close and let yourself be loved.

“Hey,” Nate says after a while.

“Hey yourself.”

“Thanks for coming with me today.”

You pull back to look at him. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugs, a little self-conscious. “I know team stuff can be a lot sometimes. Appreciate you being here.”

“Nate.” You cup his face, making him meet your eyes. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. These are your people. Which makes them my people too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He kisses you again, and it tastes like promise, like forever, like coming home.

“Ready to head out?” He asks eventually.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

You say your goodbyes — enduring Cale’s knowing looks and Scott’s eyebrow waggling and Gabe’s promise to send you the burger recipe. Melissa hugs you tight and whispers, “He’s crazy about you, you know. In the best way.”

“I know,” you whisper back. “I’m pretty crazy about him too.”

In the car, Nate immediately reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together on the center console. The city lights blur past, the radio playing something soft and forgettable.

“Good day?” He asks.

“Great day.”

“Even the part where I traumatized everyone with my lack of filter?”

“Somehow even that part.”

He laughs. “You’re terrible.”

“You love it.”

“I really do.”

The drive home is short, familiar. You’ve made this trip a hundred times, a thousand times, from his place to yours and back again until the distinction stopped mattering. Next month you’re moving into a new place together — a house with a yard and space for a home gym and a kitchen that makes Nate’s eyes light up when he talks about all the meal prep he can do.

“What do you want to do when we get home?” You ask innocently.

Nate’s grin is sharp. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Do they involve dessert?”

“Baby,” he says, “they involve you. So yeah. The only kind of dessert I want.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You knew what you were signing up for.”

“I really did.”

And as he pulls into the driveway, as he helps you out of the car and pulls you close for another kiss under the porch light, you think about how perfect this is. How right. This man who’s disciplined and focused and completely unhinged when it comes to you.

Your fiancé. Your future husband. Your favorite person in the world.

Who needs dessert when you’ve got this?

“Come on,” Nate says, tugging you toward the door. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

“You just did that at Gabe’s.”

“That was the appetizer,” he says, and his eyes are dark with promise. “Now I want the full course.”

You laugh, following him inside, and let the door close behind you.

After all, everyone needs dessert sometimes.

Even if Nate’s version looks a lot different than everyone else’s.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[babypuck]

Will and mackinnon!reader who are just obsessed with each other and can't keep themselves off each other 🙏🙏

eager will smith x mackinnon!reader wc: 1.8k warnings: p in v sex, and das it (i think)

mackinnon!reader masterlist

18+ content below the cut!

You’re not sure what you were thinking, honestly. Agreeing to go to an Avalanche team dinner immediately after picking your boyfriend up from the airport. This trip is going to be quick, just a few days, but when Melissa Landeskog invited you and Will to their home, you agreed after a quick chat with Will. He’s yet to meet your brother’s team, officially anyways, and he’s been eager to meet the guys on the team off the ice.

Even though the team dinner had sounded like an amazing idea at the time, you failed to factor in one thing: after being apart for weeks, you and Will were undoubtedly going to be incredibly needy for each other.

You tried to tell yourself it wouldn’t be much of an issue.

You were wrong.

He manages to make it through dinner, somehow. You can tell he’s getting antsy, because he starts shifting in his seat, pressing his shoulder into yours, hands clenched into tight fists against his thighs beneath the table. His cheeks are bright pink, which he plays off by claiming that he runs hot.

It’s difficult for him. Anytime your brother says anything to him, he nearly implodes from nerves. He does his best to not make his need apparent, and he does a good job for the most part. The only reason you can tell is because you know what he looks like when he gets like this.

Well that, and… you feel the same.

As soon as dinner’s over and people start standing up, you lean over and whisper into your boyfriend’s ear, “Meet me in the bathroom. Five minutes.”

“W-What?” Will stutters, eyes widening in shock. He starts to protest, but you give him a look that shuts him up, and then walk away.

You tell your brother that you’re feeling tired, that you’re going to go sit in the Landeskogs’ guest room for a few minutes. He nods in understanding, you’ve had a busy week, and dealing wtih DIA traffic and then coming here is a lot, so he doesn’t question you. You find the guest bathroom, the one as far away from the festivities going on in the living area as possible, and text Will the directions to get where you are.

Six minutes later, he slips in the bathroom with you. You close the door behind him, locking it softly, and milliseconds later you’re pressed against it, Will kissing you like his life depends on it.

No words are exchanged as you start palming him through his jeans, his hands kneading your tit in one of his hands. The Landeskogs’ bathroom is suddenly filled with desperation and heavy breathing, two people who need nothing more than to be touching each other.

“We have to be quick,” you gasp out, hands fumbling as you unbutton your jeans.

Will does the same, both of you shoving your pants down to your knees. You readjust so your forearms are braced against the sink, looking up to make eye contact with Will in the mirror. He lets out a little moan at the sight of you like that, reaching down to pull himself out of his boxers.

He reaches out, rubbing his fingers up and down your cunt, trying to get you as warmed up as possible. You can hear him jacking himself as well, his grunts combined with the wet sound of you causing your knees to wobble with pleasure.

“Okay,” he rubs his cock along your slit, whining a little bit as he covers himself in your slick. “Ready?”

You bite your lip, nodding at him in the mirror. “Yeah. Need you.”

Will grasps onto your hips, breathing heavy as he lines himself up with your entrance. He enters you with a low moan, a whimper escaping your mouth at the stretch as well. You drop your head between your shoulders, grateful for Will behind you to hold you up.

“F-Fuck, baby… forgot how good you feel,” Will murmurs, rocking himself in and out of you steadily. You glance back up in the mirror, and feel the coil in your stomach tighten at the look on his face. Pure pleasure, cheeks flushed, eyebrows drawn together, mouth dropped open in a silent whine.

“Harder,” you ask as quietly as you can, a high-pitched whine leaving you as he obliges instantly. “Shit!”

Will’s eyes are clenched shut, fingers so tight on your hips you think you might find bruises tomorrow. He leans forward, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades as he continues to snap his hips into yours, teeth finding the fabric at the back of your shirt and biting down on it to contain his noises, which are getting louder and closer together by the minute.

One of his hands snakes around, finding your clit and pressing two callused fingers to the sensitive skin. Your back arches, a shriek escaping your throat.

Your hand flies to your mouth, pressing your palm against your lips as your eyes flutter shut. Will speeds up again, his cock bullying that spot inside you that always has you seeing stars.

Will’s cock starts throbbing inside you, your walls tightening around him with every thrust. He doubles down on his efforts on your clit, and the two of you are climaxing together within seconds, Will spilling inside you.

He helps you ride out your high, pressing kisses to your shoulder and murmuring sweet things about how good you are for him, how perfect you feel.

After you’ve both calmed down, he pulls out. You hiss at the sensitivity of him leaving you, wincing at the cold and emptiness you feel. You make eye contact with him in the mirror again, and you know you’re both thinking the same thing: that you wish you had time to actually please each other. And even though you don’t get that right now, you will later.

Will wets a piece of toilet paper and wipes you down gently, before pulling your panties and jeans up, buckling them for you. He closes the toilet lid and helps you to sit down, before buckling himself up too.

“I love you,” he says, leaning down to kiss you once more. “I’m so excited to be here with you, spend time with you.”

You smile lazily up at him, leaning against the porcelain behind you. “I love you too, babe.” You let out a long breath, attempting to move your feet, but finding that your legs feel like gelatin. You giggle, grabbing onto his hand and squeezing it affectionately. “I think you’re gonna have to go out first, I don’t think I can walk right now.”

Will pales. “Oh no. Are you serious?” His face morphs into one of pure panic, imemdiately beginning to pace the bathroom. “Shit. Do you think your brother’s going to be able to tell? Do you want me to carry you out there? I don’t remember how to get back to the living room!”

You squeeze his hand again, bringing him back to the present. “Calm down, Will. My brother’s not that bright, I don’t think he’ll be able to figure it out. Just relax, go out there, and act natural.” You give him the directions to get back to the living area, and he kisses you one more time before leaving.

You give yourself three more minutes, before standing up on shaky legs. You check your hair in the mirror, wipe some smudged mascara from your eyes, and do your best to make sure your clothes don’t look too rumpled, before venturing back out into the party.

Nobody seems to have noticed either your or Will’s absence. Your brother comes up to you immediately with a large smile on his face, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “So glad you’re here, sis,” he beams. “All my favorite people in one place! Plus Will Smith Hockey.”

“Nate,” you warn, but he just laughs. He pats your arm and then swaggers away to talk to Scott and Brittany, tickling baby Daphne’s tummy. You let out a sigh of relief; even though you’d told Will not to worry about your brother, you were secretly worried that he would take one look at you and know. Thankfully, you were right, and he’s already moved on, deep in conversation with Scott… probably about all the healthy food options at dinner.

You scan the room for Will, and find him chatting casually with Gabe, looking much more casual than you thought he would be.

Comforted by the fact that your boyfriend seems to be doing fine, you make your way to the kitchen island and collapse on one of the high stools, struggling with uncertain legs to get up onto it. You let out a breath once you’re there, settled, and smile as you begin to watch the room. Cale has entered the conversation with Gabe and Will, and even though you can tell that Will’s nervous, he does great, and you’re so incredibly proud of him. You’re also ecstatic that the team seems to be taking a liking to him. Obviously, at the end of the day you’re the person who decides who you’re with, and you would never admit this, but the team’s approval of your boyfriend matters a lot. So it’s really nice that you have it.

You’re so caught up in watching your boyfriend interact with your brother’s team that you don’t notice anyone sitting down next to you, until you hear a distinct voice say: “You naughty girl!”

You whip around and come face to face with Kiarra Kelly, Parker’s wife. She looks unbelievably amused, and you can tell immediately that she knows what you and Will did, but you decide to play dumb anyway.

“What?” you ask, turning back around to hide your burning cheeks.

Kiarra laughs. “You and Will! In Gabe’s bathroom? Oh my goodness,” she leans in to whisper. “I mean, props to you guys for being so inconspicuous, but still!”

“We didn’t do anything,” you insist, even though you know you’re already caught. When you look at her again, she looks wildly unimpressed. You groan, quickly checking to make sure your brother isn’t in earshot before begging, “Please don’t tell Nate. He would literally murder Will and I really like my boyfriend.”

“I won’t tell your brother,” Kiarra says, rolling her eyes. “I just want to tease you about it.”

You sigh, knowing you’re in for a long night.

Honestly, you just hope she doesn’t say anything to Will, because you know for a fact that your boyfriend would combust on the spot, turn bright red and start loudly sputtering excuses, which would blow your cover immediately.

As anxiety-inducing as the aftermath is, it was definitely worth it.

You don’t think Will could have made it to tonight.

a/n: finally finished the to-do list! this one has been sitting in the back of my mind for a few weeks now, but i finally got around to writing it! will and mackinnon!reader are probably tied with crosby!reader and mack in terms of how much i like writing them (: the dynamic is just so good and her relationship with nate is chef's kiss too 😛 i wrote this one really quick and didn't run it through spellcheck so apologies for any errors! i kinda don't care (: anyways! thank you all sm for reading, have a wonderful day/night!

[prettyskjei]

plot twist: it was him — nathan mackinnon

summary: you and nate have been dating for years but nobody knew (only very close people) but he wants to let your fans know that HE is the boyfriend but they don’t catch it

note: I saw a post of the nhl followers tracker and I had this idea, and I'm literally posting this while I'm in class at uni, enjoyyyyy!

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by mackinnon29, yourbestf and others

yourusername a week in San Francisco!

comments

user1 sf looks good on you ngl

user2 obsessed with this whole grid

mintentea I love this

yourbestf this looks like such a good week, I’m jealous

yourusername girl, we’re going next month chill

user6 watching hockey at a bar in san francisco is very interesting

user29 you made a vlog? 😁

yourusername yes! I’ll post it in 10 minutes :)

user87 the fact that there’s hockey in this dump feels important istg

nylandergf oh she’s chronically online i fear

TIKTOK ‘SF SHORT VLOG!”

You start filming while you’re already walking, the city moving around you instead of waiting for you to catch up. The camera bounces slightly with each step. “Okay, hi,” you say, a little breathless but smiling. “We’re walking around San Francisco right now.”

You turn the phone just enough to show the street ahead, buildings, people, the slope of the road and then back to you. “We’re kind of just exploring today. No real plan, just vibes.” Nate walks close enough beside you that his shoulder brushes yours now and then. You don’t move away. “Right now we’re heading to get coffee,” you add, glancing sideways for half a second. “And then we’ll see where the day takes us.”

You keep talking as you go, narrating small moments like they matter. “Okay, we just bought these,” you say a little later, lifting a matching pair of slippers into the frame. “Because we have a nephew, and he’s obsessed with Minions. He wants to have a sleepover with us, so we’re doing it properly, that is matching slippers and everything.” You smile, amused by your own explanation. “I think it’s actually really fun.”

His hand slips into the view, pointing at something inside the bag, and you laugh. “Yes, that too,” you say, pulling out a small postcard with the Golden Gate on it. “You’re gonna pretend I’m the kind of person who send a mail, okay?” You grin. “Now we’re walking this way because apparently there’s a really good view up there.” You tilt the camera toward the street again. “It’s uphill, though, so… wish us luck.”

. . .

After the Golden Gate, you go to the burger place and the sound shifts, music, voices, plates clinking. You prop your phone against a glass. “Okay, quick food update,” you say. “I got a cheeseburger with fries,” you explain, “and you got the double burger with bacon.” You glance off-camera, already smiling. “Right?” A nod you don’t show. “Yeah.” You lean in a little, lowering your voice like it’s a secret. “We’re absolutely breaking his diet today and I do not care,” you add, laughing. “San Francisco rules.”

When the burgers arrive, you pause, eyes lighting up. You turn slightly. “Take it, babe,” you say easily, passing the phone over. The angle changes, catching you mid-laugh as you take a big bite, immediately covering your mouth. You give a thumbs up. “It’s so good,” you manage once you can talk again, still smiling.

The video ends much later, when the day has softened. You’re sitting on the grass now, legs pulled in, the city quieter around you. The camera is steady again. “Okay,” you say, smiling into the lens. “I think that’s it for today. I hope you liked coming along with us,” you add. You glance off to the side for a second, then back, like you’re checking something only you can see. “This day was actually kind of short because I wasn’t even planning on vlogging… but he told me I should, so thanks to him, you have this video.” You laugh softly and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Thank you so much for watching,” you continue. “I’ll see you next time, which, if I’m not wrong, is probably going to be the sleepover with my nephew.” You smile wider. “Goodbye!”

748k comments

user7: SINCE WHEN YOU HAVE A WHOLE BOYFRIEND?? 😭😭

user29: the minion slippers hahahahh

user2: girl blink twice if he’s forcing you to hike

user99: omg I'll sound crazy if I say I recognize that finger 🫩

user3: wdym his diet??? what he does for a living? I have a friend (nate) and he have a strict diet too…

user6: Nate reveal when???

user38: well, thanks to Nate we have this vlog 🙏🏻

user99: we don’t know if he’s the bf, tf

user12: if Nate post something about minions someone will have to sedate me

user1: YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND???

user34: he knows your angles

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

mackinnon29 and yourusername posted on their story !

[mackinnon29] bmarch63 replied to your story!

bmarch63: stop giving your girlfriend a headache!

mackinnon29: leave me alone! I want to let her fans know she’s taken

bmarch63: just post a picture of her!

mackinnon29: I have to wait

bmarch63: wait for what?

[yourusername] bmarch63 replied to your story!

bmarch63: Nate posted the same one

yourusername: I took it lol, he told me he wanted to post one but didn’t know how to take it

bmarch63: yk what he’s trying to do, right??

yourusername: yes but he’s really bad 👎🏻👎🏻

yourusername

liked by mackinnon29, bmarch63 and others

yourusername ti amo milano

comments

nylandergf omggg just say you two are dating already, I’m tired

user17 girl just tag the medal owner already

user87 TWICE! I CAN SEE HIM IN BOTH PICTURES

user29 this isn’t casual btw

user14 the fact that he’s visible in BOTH shots

yourbestf i didn’t know you were an olympian

yourusername since yesterday

bmarch63 still surprised you got him to go sightseeing during a tournament

user7 GOT WHO? user okay but which canadian are we talking about

user1 this is relationship propaganda

user222 imagine being her bf and seeing this 👎🏻

mackinnon29 i have the same medal

yourusername no way! a friend borrow me this one user6 THIS IS WORSE THAN A MISSED EMPTY NET user29 bro scored for canada but can’t score here user87 I can’t believe that natemac is on the friendzone

friend.ofboth you got a medal? hope you bringing to home

yourusername just for you, babe! 😘 user8 wait so the bf is real? 😧 user29 so you and Nate is not happening? user58 oh…

mackinnon29

liked by yourusername, mcdavid97 and others

mackinnon29 thank you Canada, for your incredible support throughout this ride 🇨🇦 Milan was a special experience, thank you

comments

yourusername the second one is peak 🔥

mackinnon29 I like the last one more

bmarch63 the best team! ❤️🇨🇦

the creator limited the comments

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

mackinnon29

liked by calemakar_, bmarch63 and others

mackinnon29 ten years and the rest of our lives together @/yourusername

the creator limited the comments

TWITTER

| K ‎ꫂ᭪݁

[barbiesmitty]

[mrsfromthecouch]

Nate Mack x reader maybe being caught by paparazzi and his GC like blowing up when you get back to his place bc you were a secret until it was all over twitter

Let Them Look

Pairing: Nate Mackinnon x actress!fem!reader

Warnings: Crude humour and language, Sexual References.

Requests are open xx

Masterlist

You’d been careful.

That was the thing.

For six months, you and Nate had moved like you were dodging snipers. Private entrances. Separate cars. No tagging locations. If you were at a game, you were “visiting friends.” If he flew to see you on set, it was “off-season training.”

It wasn’t shame. It wasn’t secrecy because he didn’t want you.

It was protection.

Nate’s life in Denver is intense. Routine. Hockey-first. The minute the internet knows, it becomes a circus.

You’d agreed: keep it yours.

Until it wasn’t.

—

It happens on a random Tuesday.

You’re back in Denver for a week between press obligations. Nate insists on picking up takeout himself because he “needs fresh air” and also because he’s weirdly paranoid about delivery drivers recognizing him.

You’re in leggings and one of his hoodies, hair shoved under a baseball cap, walking out of a sushi place in Cherry Creek.

You’re laughing at something he muttered—something about how you ordered “too much fucking edamame” like it personally offended him.

You don’t see the camera flash at first.

Nate does.

His body goes rigid beside you.

“Don’t react,” he says quietly, jaw tightening.

Another flash.

And another.

There’s a guy across the street pretending he’s not very obviously photographing you.

You sigh. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You instinctively step closer to Nate. He doesn’t hesitate. His hand slides to your lower back, pulling you in—protective, automatic.

That’s the shot.

By the time you’re in his car, your phone is vibrating in your bag like it’s about to combust.

You both know.

“It’s fine,” you say, trying to sound calmer than you feel.

He’s staring straight ahead, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not seeing him sooner.”

You turn in your seat. “Nate. You play in the NHL. Not the CIA.”

His jaw ticks. He hates this part. The loss of control. The idea of strangers dissecting something that’s his.

When you get back to his place, you barely make it through the door before your phone explodes.

Twitter.

Instagram.

TikTok.

There you are.

Clear as day.

Grainy, zoomed-in photos of you tucked against him outside the restaurant. His hand on your back. Your head tilted toward him mid-laugh.

The headline is already circulating:

“Nathan MacKinnon Spotted With Actress Girlfriend in Denver”

Girlfriend.

Well.

There it is.

Nate’s phone buzzes next.

He glances down.

And groans.

“My group chat.”

You snort. “Oh no.”

He runs a hand down his face. “It’s bad.”

“Read it.”

He hesitates.

“Nate.”

He unlocks his phone.

The Avalanche boys’ group chat is unhinged.

First message is from Cale Makar:

WHAT THE HELL???

Then Mikko Rantanen:

BRO?????

Then immediately:

You sneaky bastard.

And:

Since WHEN?

And:

Is that Y/N Y/L/N?????

You’re trying not to laugh.

Nate scrolls.

Gabriel Landeskog:

So that’s why you’ve been “busy” all summer.

Followed by:

Could’ve told your captain, man.

Then Devon Toews:

This is why you wouldn’t come out after practice.

And then, of course, Mikko again:

My guy said “recovery protocol” and meant DATE NIGHT.

You lose it.

Full body laughing on his couch.

Nate looks personally betrayed. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s extremely funny.”

His phone buzzes again.

Cale:

Is she coming to games? We need to know how much to chirp you.

Mikko:

She’s way out of your league btw.

Nate mutters, “Shut up,” under his breath like they can hear him through the phone.

You crawl closer, peeking at the screen. “Oh my god, they’re feral.”

Another message pops up from Landy:

Proud of you, Nate. Also, you’re never living this down.

Nate locks his phone and tosses it onto the coffee table like it personally offended him.

“They’re going to be insufferable at practice.”

You’re still grinning. “You kept me a secret from your teammates?”

“I didn’t keep you a secret,” he says defensively. “I just didn’t… announce it.”

“You absolutely kept me a secret.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “I wanted it to be ours.”

That wipes the smirk off your face a little.

The truth settles between you.

It wasn’t embarrassment. It wasn’t hiding.

It was him guarding something he cared about.

Your phone buzzes again.

Your publicist.

You wince.

Nate notices immediately. “What are they saying?”

“Nothing bad,” you admit, scrolling. “It’s mostly… shock.”

One tweet reads: “Since WHEN is Nathan MacKinnon dating Y/N Y/L/N???”

Another: “He kept that QUIET quiet.”

And then, inevitably:

“Honestly? Power couple.”

You toss your phone aside and flop back dramatically. “Well. Guess the internet knows I steal your hoodies now.”

He huffs a laugh despite himself.

Silence settles for a moment.

Then he says quietly, “Are you okay?”

You look at him.

Really look at him.

He’s not worried about headlines. He’s worried about you.

“I’m fine,” you say honestly. “I date a professional athlete. I knew paparazzi were part of the deal.”

His hand slides over yours on the couch, thumb brushing your knuckles.

“They’re going to ask about it,” he says.

“Let them.”

“You don’t mind?”

You tilt your head. “Do you?”

He hesitates.

Then, steady and certain: “No.”

That does something to you.

Because Nate doesn’t do things halfway. If he’s in, he’s in.

You lean over and press a kiss to his jaw. “Then we’re fine.”

His phone buzzes again.

He groans and checks it.

Mikko:

So is she coming to the next home game or what?

Followed immediately by:

Also Nate definitely giggles after sex.

You choke.

“NATE.”

He turns red all the way to his ears. “He’s such an idiot.”

You grab his phone and type before he can stop you:

Tell Mikko I said you absolutely do not giggle.

He lunges for it. “Don’t—”

Too late.

Mikko responds instantly:

SHE’S IN THE CHAT??? I’M DEAD.

Cale:

This is the best day of my life.

Toews:

Practice is going to be brutal for you tomorrow.

Landy:

Welcome to the circus, Y/N.

You hand the phone back, satisfied.

Nate stares at you like you just set off a bomb.

“You can’t encourage them.”

“Oh, I absolutely can.”

He pulls you closer by the waist, expression shifting—less flustered, more dangerous. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

“You realize they’re going to make my life hell.”

You shrug. “Worth it.”

He freezes for half a second at his own words being thrown back at him.

Then he smiles. Slow. Soft. That private smile he doesn’t give the cameras.

“Yeah,” he admits quietly. “Worth it.”

Outside, the internet is spiraling. Sports blogs are posting think pieces. Fans are zooming in on blurry photos like they’re conducting forensic analysis.

Inside his condo, it’s just you and him and two buzzing phones.

The secret is gone.

But somehow, it feels lighter.

He leans his forehead against yours. “Next time we get sushi, we’re using the underground parking.”

You laugh. “Next time we get sushi, you’re holding my hand on purpose.”

He studies you for a second.

Then, deliberate and unbothered, he threads his fingers through yours.

“Fine,” he says. “Let them look.”

And for the first time since the flash of that camera, he doesn’t look tense at all.

[tfc-hockey]

As sports fans who are preparing to truly hashtag lock in on the Olympics I just think that we should all be reminded that the Olys are a NOTORIOUS FUCKFEST. The entire Olympic Village is filled with super athletic freaks who spend their time in between competitions sucking and fucking to their hearts' content. This is a well documented part of the Olys but I haven't seen a single one of you mention it so far. This is THE perfect opportunity to imagine your favorite Blorbo getting slutted out and you are all sleeping on it

[andy-15-07]

Saw you’re taking other NHL player requests and was wondering if you could do Nathan Mackinnon bringing reader to family skate???

Lace Up, Hold On

Pairing: Nathan Mackinnon x Reader

Word Count: 1089

Request open!

24 days of Christmas | Hockey Masterlist | Hockey Masterlist II

The rink is louder than you expected.

Not game-day loud. Not roaring-crowd loud. But warm loud. Echoing laughter, skates scraping, kids shrieking when they wobble too hard.

And you are currently reconsidering every life choice that led you to this exact moment.

Nathan nudges your shoulder with his. “You look like you’re about to walk into a job interview.”

“This is worse than a job interview,” you whisper. “At least I can stand confidently in heels. I cannot stand confidently on ice.”

He grins. “You’re dramatic.”

“I’m realistic.”

He grabs your hand anyway, fingers warm against yours despite the cold air. “Relax. It’s just family skate.”

“‘Just,’” you repeat. “You invited me to skate in front of the people who watched you grow up. That’s not casual.”

He leans down slightly so only you can hear him. “It’s important to me.”

And that,

That makes your stomach flip more than the ice does.

Inside the small Nova Scotia rink, a few familiar faces glance up. Someone whistles.

“Nate!”

You feel his posture shift immediately,still relaxed, but sharper somehow.

“Hey,” he calls back, waving.

An older man skates over first,steady, confident. His dad. “You made it.”

“Yeah,” Nathan says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

His dad’s eyes move to you, kind but assessing in that quiet-parent way. “And this must be the brave one.”

You blink. “Brave?”

Nathan snorts. “They’re terrified of the ice.”

You shoot him a glare. “I told you that in confidence.”

His dad laughs warmly. “Don’t worry. He fell a lot when he started.”

Nathan straightens. “Okay, we don’t need to,”

“Oh, we do,” his dad continues. “Used to cry if he missed the puck.”

“I was six.”

“You were dramatic.”

You try not to smile. “Oh, that tracks.”

Nathan looks at you, betrayed. “You too?”

You shrug sweetly. “I’m just absorbing information.”

In the locker room, you sit on the wooden bench staring at your skates like they personally offended you.

Nathan sits across from you, already laced up in record time. “You need help?”

“No,” you say quickly.

You attempt to lace your skates.

The lace immediately tangles.

Nathan’s mouth twitches. “You sure?”

“Don’t,” you warn.

He scoots closer anyway. “Come here.”

Before you can argue, he gently takes your skate, fingers quick and practiced as he tightens the laces properly.

“This is humiliating,” you mutter.

“It’s not,” he says calmly. “It’s cute.”

“It’s not cute.”

He glances up at you, eyes softer than usual. “It is to me.”

Your cheeks warm faster than the rink.

He ties the final knot and taps the toe of your skate. “There. Secure.”

You swallow. “Thanks.”

“Always.”

Stepping onto the ice feels like stepping onto a trap.

Your foot slides.

You grab Nathan’s arm immediately.

He steadies you without hesitation, hand firm at your waist. “Okay,” he says gently. “Small steps.”

“I regret everything,” you whisper.

He laughs quietly. “You’re fine.”

“I’m not fine.”

“You are.”

You attempt one shaky glide.

It goes… better than expected.

Nathan stays close, but he doesn’t smother you. His hand hovers near your hip, ready.

“Look at you,” he says, impressed. “You’re moving.”

“Barely.”

“Still counts.”

From the boards, someone calls, “Don’t let Nate race you!”

You freeze. “Race?”

Nathan immediately shakes his head. “No racing.”

“You literally race everyone.”

“Not today.”

You squint at him. “Why not?”

He shrugs, then leans closer. “Because I’m not trying to impress them.”

Your heart stutters. “Oh.”

“I’m trying to make sure you don’t fall,” he adds, smirking slightly.

You narrow your eyes. “Romantic moment ruined.”

A little kid zooms past you and you wobble again.

Nathan catches you instantly, hands firm on your waist this time.

“Got you,” he murmurs.

You grip his jacket. “If I fall, I’m taking you down with me.”

He grins. “Worth it.”

You stare at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Yeah,” he admits easily.

“Why?”

“Because you said yes.”

Your brows knit. “To skating?”

“To being here,” he clarifies quietly.

The noise of the rink fades a little.

“You didn’t have to bring me,” you say.

“I wanted to,” he answers immediately. “This is where I learned everything. It matters.”

You glance around,the scuffed boards, the banners, the old scoreboard.

“You used to practice here?”

“Every chance I got,” he says. “Early mornings. Late nights. My parents freezing in the stands.”

There’s a softness in his voice you don’t hear often.

“And now,” he continues, nudging your skate with his, “you’re here too.”

Your throat tightens unexpectedly. “You’re sentimental today.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I’m absolutely telling everyone.”

He laughs, that real one,the one that isn’t for cameras.

“Okay,” he says suddenly. “Let’s try something.”

“I don’t like that tone.”

“Trust me.”

“Those are famous last words.”

He slowly loosens his hold, hands hovering instead of gripping.

“Just glide,” he says. “I’m right here.”

You hesitate.

Then you push forward.

For two whole seconds, you’re skating on your own.

Your breath catches.

“I’m doing it!” you blurt.

Nathan’s face lights up like you just scored a game-winning goal. “Yeah you are!”

Then you wobble and grab him again.

He pulls you close, laughing. “Okay, okay. That was huge.”

You’re breathless. “I didn’t fall.”

“Told you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Never.”

“You’re literally the cockiest person I know.”

He gasps. “That’s slander.”

“You challenged a grandma to a sprint once.”

“She started it.”

You stare at him.

“She did,” he insists.

After a while, you’re more stable. Not graceful,but functional.

Nathan skates backward in front of you now, watching carefully.

“Bend your knees a little,” he instructs.

“Are you coaching me?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t agree to that.”

“You signed up the second you dated me.”

You laugh despite yourself.

He slows, letting you catch up, then reaches for your hand again.

“You good?” he asks softly.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He studies you for a second, searching your face like he’s making sure.

“Thank you,” you add quietly.

“For?”

“For bringing me here.”

He shrugs like it’s obvious. “You’re part of my life.”

The words hit harder than they should.

“And this,” he gestures around the rink, “is part of me.”

You squeeze his hand. “I’m glad I get to see it.”

He smiles, softer than the ice under your skates.

“C’mon,” he says. “One lap. Together.”

You hesitate.

Then nod.

Side by side, hands linked, you glide around the rink,not perfect, not fast, but steady.

And when someone from the stands whistles teasingly, Nathan just laughs.

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not once.