quinn idea! flashing him while he plays video games and he throws the controller down and pulls you in by the hips and motorboats you…that’s all i’m gonna say!
quinn hughes getting flashed while he games
wc: 1.4k
18+ content below the cut!
it's one of quinn's rare days off, and he's playing video games.
that's not... bad exactly. he's allowed to play video games, of course. you just wish that he would pay a little bit of attention to you.
he's not doing it on purpose, and you know that. the past few games have just been rough for him, he's probably just trying to quiet his mind for a few hours. but it's currently 3 in the afternoon, and he's been playing since 10 in the morning.
you think it's time he takes a break.
really, you've been trying to get him to take a break all day. wearing your tiniest shorts, walking around with no bra, sighing exaggeratedly at any chance you get.
and yet, nothing.
every once in a while he'll call out a, "how you doing, baby?" over his shoulder, but it's not the same.
you and quinn don't get a lot of... alone time together, and you've been aching for it. watching him play always gets you hot and bothered, and he's away a lot, so you try and take advantage of whatever time the two of you get.
but you also understand that sometimes quinn needs time by himself, time to do his own things that he wants to do.
so you let him. but now you want attention.
he's sitting on the couch, looking as relaxed as you've seen him recently. his eyes are glued to the screen, his thumbs flitting across the controller.
you stand next to the tv, and just watch him for a few seconds, loving how soft and happy he looks. comfortable, cozy. his brows furrow as a sound that indicates his character has been hit comes from the tv, and you feel your panties dampen at the sight.
"hi honey," quinn says, glancing at you before looking at the screen again. "what's up?"
you take a deep breath, nibbling nervously on your bottom lip.
then you reach your hands down, grasp the hem of your shirt, and pull it over your head.
you always joke with quinn that he has spidey senses when it comes to your boobs. as soon as you take your bra off after a long day, he appears next to you, hands reaching for your chest. you wake up most mornings with one of his hands cupped around your tit, occasionally squeezing, his own personal fidget.
right now is no different.
the second your shirt clears your chest, quinn's eyes abandon the video game without a second thought and snap to your tits, mouth dropping open silently.
his hands go limp on the controller, and the sounds of his character getting hurt come from the screen, but his eyes don't leave you.
"i missed you, quinn..." you say, a sly smile beginning to spread across your face. you're moving towards him, slowly, feeling pride swell in your chest at the hungry way he's looking at you.
a shaky breath leaves him. the second you're close enough, he doesn't hesitate to throw the controller to the side, his hands darting out to grasp your hips, tugging you into his lap.
you let out a little yelp as your feet are pulled out from under you, but you're in quinn's lap in before you blink.
you look down and smile at him, but he's not looking at your face. his eyes are glued to your tits, his chest heaving.
"thank you," he murmurs, and you giggle.
quinn is transfixed by the sight of your tits, and you can feel him hardening beneath you as he leans forward, burying his face in your chest. you giggle a little bit at the sigh that exits his mouth as you press your tits against his face. your cunt flutters, and you grind down on him, the ache worsening at the long, heavy groan that comes from quinn in response.
"you're welcome," you whisper, your hands coming up to begin carding through his thick, dark locks.
quinn extracts himself from your chest, moving to wrap his lips around your nipple. you sigh, and begin shifting your hips as he starts to suck, opening his mouth wider to try and get as much of your tit inside his mouth as possible. his eyes are closed, whimpering softly. he's gorgeous like this.
you're fully dry humping now, arching your back to push yourself further into him, an appreciative hum coming from quinn in response.
his hands slide up your thighs, his fingers gripping your hip, taking control and dragging you along his hard-on, moaning gratefully into the fat of your tit.
quinn lets up on your nipple, leaving one final lick before moving onto the other one, moving your hips harder and faster the longer you're on his lap.
it doesn't take long for his whimpers to start blurring together, for his lips to get more desperate against your nipple. you realize he's teetering on the edge, pressing you down harder against him, eager to get there, so you decide to do him a favor and push him over the edge.
one of your hands begins caressing his cheek lovingly. you press a kiss to the crown of his head as your other hand tangles in his hair, and then you tug. hard.
he stiffens, instantly. his lips lose their coordination, but he keeps his forehead pressed to your chest as his hips stutter below you.
you smile as you feel a wet spot begin to form below you, soaking through his boxers and sweatpants, wetting your shorts as well. you keep grinding, working him through it. you stop once his whimpers turn into little yelps. quinn appreciates overstimulation at times, but you know that's not what he's looking for right now.
the two of you are still for a few minutes, your breath evening out slowly. you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close, soaking in his warmth.
you're about to stand up, to go get him a glass of water or some food or something, but his big hands hold you on his lap.
"what are-" you start, but you're cut off by quinn stuffing his hand down the front of your shorts.
your gasp of surprise turns into a moan as his deft fingers find your clit with ease, immediately rubbing hard. your hips start moving on their own, chasing the stimulation, practically humping his hand.
you're holding onto his shoulders for dear life, your whimpers and moans increasing in volume when he slips one of his long fingers inside of you.
with quinn being gone so often, you always forget how good he is at this. how much of a natural he is, and how he's been this way since the beginning of your relationship.
his fingers find the spot in seconds, the spot that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head and the shame to leave your body.
quinn leans forward, burying his face in your neck. he finds the spot right under your jaw that always gets you going and starts focusing his attention there, licking and sucking. you have no doubt that your neck is going to be littered with marks.
and then he stuffs another finger inside of you, stretching you so perfectly and continuing to hammer your g-spot.
"c'mon baby," he murmurs into your ear, voice pleading. "let it go, give it to me,"
you hit your peak with a loud moan, your fingers still tangled in quinn's locks, anchoring yourself. the whimpers flow from your mouth like a waterfall as he rides out your high, easing you out of it while staring up at you with such love in his eyes it nearly makes your heart explode.
he slides his hand from your shorts gently, his fingers sliding through your wet cunt as he moves, a shiver running through your entire body as he does it.
you slump against him, your entire body feeling like it's full of jelly, a blissed out smile on your face.
"fuck, you're so good at that," you breathe. "that was amazing,"
quinn presses a long kiss to the place where your neck meets your shoulder, and you feel him smiling into your skin. "it was," he leans back and looks at you for a bit. "you're amazing,"
you kiss him, letting your tongue slip inside his mouth. you kiss him hard, heavy, intense. despite the fact that he just came, minutes ago, you feel him begin to harden again. you grind down once more, just to see his face screw up, and smirk.
"i know,"
a/n: hey idk if you can tell but i liked writing this one a lot...... actively watching the team canada game so this may or may not be coherent because i'm trying to pay attention to that and also write this because i need to post something that's not crosby!reader so here ya go! thank you sm for the quinn request i luv writing for him <3 thank you all sm for requesting, reblogging, commenting, and liking, i love you all! have a wonderful day/night (:
all will had ever known was you as his winger, his best friend, and then suddenly, you're none of those things. as you both navigate adolescence, coming together and breaking apart, does will finally come to understand that the burning desire in his heart can only be quelled by you
wc: 10.8k
tags! wsh x childhood friends to lovers!reader, ANGST, so much angst you might want to throw your phone away, hockey player!reader, miscommunication/no communication, will smith hockey the biggest loser of the century speedrun, you’re both childhood bruins fans, timeline: kids to high school to college, macklin mention, no use of y/n
warnings! descriptions of reader getting hit and bullied by other boys as a kid, mentions of blood, misogynistic language used, lots of curse words, alcohol consumption, BRIEF mention of masturbation (like genuinely just alluding to it it’s not descriptive)
a/n! i use so much repetition (sorry). this is LOOSELY based on like six lines from nettles. i didnt want it to be that gut-wrenching. please read my dumb fanfiction about will smith hockey and it also became feminist kinda. i did not play hockey growing up so im sorry if there are inaccuracies
p/s: I make up a random guys name for the plot. take the name and interpret it how you want to :) or not, you can hate me
The thing about Will Smith was that at one point, he wasn’t just the precious blue-eyed starboy of the NHL, touted as this mysterious young man with pearly white teeth and a real good knack for the game. He was groomed to look the perfect part of an all-american hockey player: flushed cheeks, blond hair, dirty mouth, and a borderline narcissism only found in the freedom land.
For a time, he wasn't all this. He used to be just yours.
Sprawled out on your front lawn, watching the fireworks on the fourth of july, there was a time you two had no worries in the world. He was your line partner. You both used to show up to practice at the same time, tying your skates shoulder to shoulder on the bench. He used to have dinners at your house more often than not. There was an extra chair on the dining table right next to yours.
You joined a U8 boys team when you were six. You were inexplicably good. The girls’ team closest to you barely had games scheduled. Lack of teams in the area. The boy’s team traveled, and they played in tournaments, and that excited you. Besides, on your first day of tryouts, you met Will. He was all wide-eyed when you first talked to him, like you were some four-leaf clover in a valley of threes.
Since then, you two couldn’t be separated. You loved most of all being able to nerd out about hockey with him. You’d go down to the sports store and buy packs of hockey cards to unbox as you ate frozen yogurt in the sweltering heat of summer. You had a built-in friend who happily obliged when you wanted to play street hockey in twenty-degree weather. You were both really bad at math and needed a tutor. He talked about the NHL with you as if it were possible you could be drafted.
He just thought the same way as you, which felt so achingly sweet and innocent. That was why it was so hard to let it all go.
The first time you were called a bitch on the ice, you were nine. The first jab of the knife to your stomach. It shocked you, and you came off that period in tears. The kid probably didn’t know what it meant, only that he knew it would hurt you, that he would feel for those few seconds on top of the world. You let it sting the rest of the day, then decided you wouldn’t let it upset you. You would be the bigger person.
That role was so hard. It all just got worse as the years went by. The knife twisted, got stuck deeper beneath your ribs. Different variations of the word bitch or whore would be muttered under feeble breaths. They were echoes of the words those boys would hear their fathers call other women. At some point, you became numb to it. You were faster than them — Will always reminded you of that — so you would simply score instead. It made you feel good. It helped even more when Will celebrated with you, pulling you in a sweaty hug, your helmets bashing, and you’d have to shove him away because he was too busy smiling that bunny-toothed smile at you to notice the other three players on the ice coming to share in the celebration.
You didn’t want your friendship to ever change. You wanted to go to the rink and push him around and score goals with him on your line. You wanted to eat sliced apples at intermission and whack him across the head with your stick when he said a bad word or kept his mouth open too long. You wanted him to still see you as a boy, as someone equal and no lesser than.
You’re forced to quit when another boy punches you clean across the nose after you score at the age of 12. You were skating towards the bench, taking your cage off prematurely, and then it happens. Blood immediately spurts down your face, forcing its metallic taste into your mouth.
Nothing monumental came out of it.
It needed to be kept quiet.
His parents were so apologetic. They cried to the league’s president that their little boy didn’t fully understand what he was doing. He was just emulating what he saw in the big leagues. You’re forced to sit across from him and his pig nose and dirty hair. His eyes never lifted from the floor as he apologized. One of the worst apologies you’ve ever heard. Just a sorry is all he can muster, and then everyone thinks it’s okay. So it’s okay. You won’t make a big deal out of it.
“I can hurt him for you,” Will says, with large eyes, so worried when he comes over to your house the next day. You’re lying down on the rug in the living room while both sets of parents whisper about grown-up stuff down the hallway.
“No!” You say, turning your body to his. Your voice is all stuffy because your nose is still blocked — it will be for a couple of weeks. You’re already starting to get that purple swelling on your under eye, and the redness on the bridge of your nose has not subsided yet. The only thing that’s gotten better since your trip to the ER is that you weren’t bleeding anymore. “That’s embarrassing. Please don’t.”
“The refs broke us up before I could do anything.” Will needs to get a haircut. His hair falls over his eyes.
You gawk at him, “What?”
“I tried to get him, you know, but I wasn’t fast enough.” Your vision went black so fast when it happened, you never got to see or hear the aftermath. You didn’t think about what happened then, in the background, but Will, with his long limbs and prepubescent voice, tried to start a fight with your perpetrator.
You lie flat down again, staring at the ceiling. He does the same as you both let the silence fill the room.
“But when we play them again, it’s over.” He says abruptly.
“I won’t be there. I’m not playing anymore.”
Will jumps up, “Are you joking?”
“That’s what they’re talking about,” you gesture over to the sounds of your parents talking to his. “I can’t anymore. You guys will be too strong for me soon. Better to leave now.”
“But you’re our best winger!” Will can’t believe it, like it never occurred to him that you’d have to quit. You knew all along, you had just wanted another year at least. You wanted to end it on your own terms, but alas, this was the way the tide turned. You just look at him because you don’t know what to say. He looks back. “I’ll kill him.”
“Stop!” You hit him in the arm.
“I’m serious.” He puffs his chest out, hands on his hips. You laugh, getting up to hit him with a throw pillow from the couch. He lets you beat him up with that soft thing, he thinks, because he wants to feel the quiet punishment he deserved for not protecting you then. For it all spiraling out of control, while he stood there, dumbstruck, as you held your hand to your nose. Blood was dripping down your forearm in a small puddle by your feet, he remembers, tainting the ice forever with the last of your innocence.
—
When you’re thirteen, Will decides to stop making an effort to see you at lunch time or sit by you in class. You’re off the team, so you weren’t part of the immediate group he ‘needed’ to be around. Now that there are no afternoon hockey practices, there’s not much reason to talk about professional teams with him at school, either, especially when he was trying to fit in with the other guys.
You guess you didn’t help either. You busied yourself with girl friends, forcing yourself to pick up new hobbies, trying to be feminine. Maybe trying to be the person everyone wanted you to be. Besides, you didn’t want to get confused and start liking Will romantically in all the chaos that puberty rushed in, so spending as little time with him was good, you thought, in the long run. It felt like rebelling a bit when every girl in school was in love with him. That was all a facade, though, because at the end of the day, you’d write about him in your diary, locked with a key and hidden underneath those hockey card binders you left to dust.
Hockey became an afterthought. You tried out for a U16 team at the age of 14, when you stopped having flashbacks and nightmares of the fight. You cried on the way home because your limbs felt heavy and you declared you hated the sport. Not necessarily because you were playing with other girls now, but because it wasn’t fun. Every pass felt like a chore, every backcheck so mentally exhausting you wanted to break your stick in half and walk down that hallway. If you didn’t get any goals in a game, you curled up in your bed and didn’t talk to anyone the rest of the day.
Most girls in sports stop playing at that age. You knew that. You weren’t going to be the outlier as much as your younger self would have wanted you to be. There’s so little hope. Not much to dream about. Men get everything. They can dream of million-dollar salaries, of luxury sports cars, of pretty girlfriends, and it’s dangled so close to their heads they can reach out, grab it, and make it true.
You think it came into focus sitting on that hospital bed, napkins stuck in your nose, dried blood staining your neck, doctors touching and prodding at you as you try not to wince. As you try to be the big girl hockey taught you to be. Even though you were only twelve, you realized the world wasn’t made for you. So you gave up on that dream. When you think back on it now as an adult, you don’t blame yourself. You blame everyone else. You don’t blame Will, though. He tried to be there until he realized you gave up on your own, and then there was nothing else he could do.
—
He actually comes up to you one day in the first month of high school, voice still a bit shaky, tall but not as tall as you know he’ll be, and all tanned skin from the summer, asking if you were going to join the women’s team at the school. There had never been a women’s program until that year, and he thinks you’d be fucking great. Really. He goes out of his way because he wants you to keep playing. Because maybe, despite what you thought, he still cared.
It’s not like you aren’t friends. You still saw him at neighborhood barbecues, saw him playing street hockey as you walked your dog, maybe managed a couple of polite words to each other, but it was just different now. He was sort of a revered figure. Everyone knew he was going to leave eventually, go and join a development team. He was the talk of Boston suburbia.
“Eh, I don’t think so.” You say, cramming your huge history textbook into your locker. “It’s a big commitment.”
“I don’t understand. You loved hockey.”
“Key word: loved, Will.”
He purses his lips, reels back in whatever he was going to say.
“Just wanted to let you know is all.”
“I know, the coach already tried to recruit me.”
“Why aren’t you playing then?” He whines. His eyes are darting all over your face, scanning that default look of annoyance you used to have when he’d slide the puck between your legs or pull the one player you wanted in those card sets. “You’re so good.”
The compliment is not in the past tense. Your heart bloomed. Then you quickly shut it down. You force that lump in your throat to go away. “Not really.” Is all you say before you see your friend over his shoulder and you give him a hasty goodbye.
—
You only hear about Michigan and the NTDP through social media. There’s a goodbye party, but you don’t go. He’ll come back in the summer. It’s not like he’s dying or anything. You tell yourself this.
Until Sunday the following week, he’s at your door bright and early asking for you. You ask your mom if she’s being serious. You wade over to the front door, nerves prickling your cool skin.
“Hi.” You’re wearing a boston bruins t-shirt two sizes too large and long, formless gray sweats. His heart almost jumps out of his chest.
“Hey.” He says back, “Did you hear?” He must have been out for a run before the day got too hot. There are beads of sweat running down his neck. He’s wearing a gray sleeveless tank and white shorts, and the juts of muscle along his thighs make your mind go blank. He’s still partly gasping for air, pretty pink tongue running over his dry lips.
“Yeah,” you reply sheepishly, rubbing a hand over your cheek, trying to pretend like you don’t care about Will standing two feet away, acting like he has no idea what he looks like. He actually doesn’t, which makes you more annoyed. He was still as dumb as a rock when it came to things non hockey-related.
He stutters. You’re so pretty. You’ve grown into your face so well. You still have that dusting of color on your cheeks. It’s always there when he’s around.
“I’ll be back next summer.” He breaths out. It’s August now. He runs a hand through his damp hair.
“You’ll do really well, you know that, right?”
He blushes, though you can’t tell because he’s already red from the run. “Don’t say that.”
“You’re so humble that it’s really annoying, Will.”
“You are too. Humble, I mean.” He says without any second thought.
You tilt your head. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he looks at the ground, then back up at you, “Sometimes I wish you didn’t have to quit.”
You’re stunned by this statement. Ever since the moment you lay on your carpet years ago and Will complained about the boy who hurt you, you’ve spoken maybe 100 words to each other.
“I can’t— I can’t do anything about it now.”
“I know. I just wanted to tell you that.”
“I wish I were born a boy. Then I could take the hits.” You laugh, he doesn’t. You also think that if you were a boy, Will would never have disappeared. You try to believe that he did it unconsciously: the missed eye contact, the pretending he didn’t notice you when he was with his male friends. It makes your heart break thinking about your worth to him after quitting. You often thought bad things, like hypotheticals about being prettier, because you felt that if you somehow were, he’d have kept his eyes on you. If you weren’t helping him score goals, then what were you to him? Why the hell did he have to grow up and have long eyelashes and pale cheeks flecked with moles and that stupid, perfect nose? Why the hell did anything have to change?
“I wish they respected you, though. They could have at least done that.”
You roll your eyes. “Not how the world works, bud.”
He drags his hand across his face and groans. “I know, I know.” He repeats. “Doesn’t make it right.”
“Can we… be friends?” You ask now, all timid. You roll on your toes, all shifty and nervous.
“What do you mean? Aren’t we friends?”
“Well…yeah,” not really, you internalize, “but when you leave too. Like texting and stuff. I want to know about your team and everything.”
“Oh, of course.” He beams, “I’ll do that, yeah.”
“Cool.” And now there’s an awkward pause. You’re both sixteen, an overflowing bottle of hormones and shame and he’s dripping sweat. You put your hand on the doorknob.
“Okay, I’ll go back now. I’m already late for church.”
You grin. You felt like you’ve fixed something.
—
Will has been in love with you since the moment he heard your voice behind that helmet. He wasn’t paying attention at first, thought you were just a boy because your hair was tied back. You were quiet. At the end of practice, when you took your helmet off, everything fell apart for him.
He latched onto you very quickly. He figured out you were really fun to play with. Maybe the other boys poked fun at him, but it didn’t matter. You loved assisting him, and he loved scoring.
That day, when he saw your body fall back, red everywhere, his world stopped.
He managed to shove the boy down, and before he could do anything else, he was pulled back by a referee. Usually when scrums happen, the auditorium is loud, full of parents arguing and the other teammates ragging the two on. That day, it was dead silent. All he could hear was the sound of skates on ice. The sound of his coach running towards you. He tried to see what you looked like, but there were about five adults crowded over you, blocking his view. He was so worried. He’d never felt that way before.
Then you quit, and he relinquished his tight hold on you. The others were right. He was like a little love-sick puppy waiting for your attention. When you went off and spent time with girls your age, the excuse he had to spend time with you at the rink was gone, and he begrudgingly forced himself not to think about you. He spent the hours he used to be sitting in your living room on the weekends watching the Bruins, at practice, alone. Hitting the same pucks over and over from different angles.
He wasn’t supposed to keep falling for you. When you weren’t looking, he watched you push the loose strands of your hair behind your ear from across the classroom. He envied the people who were making you laugh. His temples felt like they were going to burst when he saw another boy talking to you.
When he lies in his new stiff bed in Plymouth, there’s nothing else he can think of. In his mind, he sees you in jean shorts and a tank top, ice cream cone dripping down your fingers, looking at everyone but him. He imagines you lying on a chair, sweat and chlorine water from the neighborhood pool sticking to your forehead as you click your tongue and ignore him. He feels like a loser.
He sends you some pictures of the rink his mom took because she was so excited. A couple of photos with his new teammates.
Fuck that’s so cool
I know right, he responds. He’s biting his fingernail, phone all pushed up to his face.
im going to a boston game this weekend
lucky :(
hopefully there’s a goalie fight
if that happens when im not there im going to murder you
oooo im so scared
And it goes back and forth like this for the year. Sometimes he gathered enough strength to call you after a game and tell you how it went. You always told him about how impatient you were waiting for those stats websites to update his point record. Who was he to deny you of anything you asked?
—
He comes back, so much taller, his voice deeper, exuding the confidence of a man.
Of course, it’s all awkward. Sandwiched between your families, not sure how to greet one another again. You’d been texting like you were best friends for the last eight months. Later that night, he asks you to come to a house party by the lake that one of his friends was having that weekend. You enthusiastically agree. It was the summer before your senior year, and Will was going to go back to Plymouth anyway. You wanted to force as much time out of him before he got drafted. He always shook his head and denied it whenever you joked about the draft, about being drafted to the Canadiens. He wouldn’t even entertain the jokes anymore because it was all so serious now. He was worried sick about the future. He’d say he needed to perform well during the season again because nothing was guaranteed, like he wasn’t always the top goal scorer of any team he was on.
He comes to pick you up then, feet scuffing up your doormat in anxiety. He’s wearing a stupid polo shirt his mom got him and black shorts, a backwards baseball hat to tame the hair that the humidity made so frizzy. You’re yelling out over your shoulder to your mom a series of yes’s before you shut the front door behind you, leaning back and sighing so loud that Will laughs.
“Giving you a hard time?”
“You don’t even want to know.”
You straightened your hair. It accentuates the bare skin on your shoulders, your pretty collarbones. You’re the definition of sun-kissed. He can’t help but find your socks and beat-up sneakers endearing too. He thought about kissing you the whole day. He thinks that this might be the night he can summon the bravery to do it.
At the party, you decide to drift off from Will. You didn’t want to seem too attached. Besides, your friends were already getting on your ass about him. You didn’t want one of them to say something stupid to his face and ruin your teenage life.
He’s holding a beer bottle, in the middle of a conversation, when his eyes scan the room. He’s had his eye on you the whole time, just in glances that made sure you hadn’t left the vicinity, but he got distracted by something for a couple of minutes, so he’s trying to find you again. He does a double-take when he sees you leaning against the wall on the far corner of the room, only a couple of inches separating you from a man who’s leaning forward, trapping you there. He squints, tries to focus on the side profile, on the hair he can hazily remember, and then it clicks.
You’re talking to one of the idiots from your hockey team all those years ago. One Will visibly remembers was a shithead to you. Jack.
And then he notices Jack’s eyes falling down to your lips as you talk. He’s not listening to a word you’re saying. It makes him sick because you look so bubbly, so keen about your topic of choice as the alcohol courses through you. Will has no idea what his friends are talking about at this point.
Jack asks for permission before he dives in, which you found out of character, but you don’t think about it much. You let him close the distance. He pulls your hips flush to his, and you let out a surprised noise before he kisses you. It was nice, actually. Nothing electrifying, but something close to what your friends described the experience to be. You kiss back.
“The fuck are you doing?” You don’t ever hear Will’s raised voice. The only reason you recognize it now is that you saw a blurry video of a scrum he got himself into a few months back, posted online. He said some things you never thought he would then, but you guess you didn’t really know him anymore.
You break apart from Jack. His hand is still at your waist, and you slap it away. All six feet of the blond is suddenly in front of both of you. It feels like you’re about to get reprimanded by a coach. Your heart drops in your stomach, pivoted to the hardwood floor.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you, man?” Jack asks, turning fully toward him now. You’re helpless, watching the way Will’s eyes narrow as he looks between both of you. You feel the press of the other man’s lips still there, and it fills you with a guilt so sharp you feel your stomach turn.
“Fuck’s wrong with you?” He counters, taking a step closer. The other man laughs in his face, takes a glancing look at you, then at Will, knowingly.
“Sorry. Forgot you two still got a thing going on.” Your brows furrow. You don’t understand the harsh tone of his voice, the smirk that plays on his lips in the dimly lit room.
“What are you talking ab—“ You’re cut off with Will’s own string of expletives.
“Don’t act stupid. You’re an asshole.” He spits out. Jack doesn’t deserve to touch you. The scene he just saw made his vision all blurry. Feels like the world was spinning twice as fast. The taller man turns to you, “We’re leaving. It’s late, and your dad’s gonna kill me.”
You try to protest, but Will, despite his attitude, grabs hold of your wrist gently to guide you through the packed room. You hadn’t processed what happened enough to be angry yet. You let him take you. You like the feel of his large palm wrapped around your wrist. Although this only lasts for a minute before you’re hit with the sudden chill of the late evening. You can hear the crunch of both your feet from the scattered leaves and branches allowed to fester on the driveway. You wriggle out of his touch, hand dropping at your side, stopping completely. When Will realizes this, he sighs and turns one hundred and eighty degrees as if it were an obligation to hear you out.
“Why did you do that, Will?”
“Are you serious? Is this what you do now?” He huffs out.
“What are you insinuating?” Your voice gets weaker. He notices and sees the wobble of your lower lip in the vanishing light reflecting off the lake.
“No, it’s just…” He grabs his keys out of his pocket, moving over to his side and unlocking the car. He didn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of a quiet street. You follow, only because you want to get home as fast as possible.
“What is it then?” You ask as he starts the ignition. He pulls off the curb, waiting a few long beats until he’s at the stop sign at the farther end of the cul-de-sac to reply.
“It’s the same Jack that pulled your hair and never passed when you were open.” He says this like you’d had amnesia. He also says this like youre still a child, incapable of your own decisions. It infuriates you.
“We became friends this year,” you confess, lying lightly. You had one class with him and he was only nice to you so you would finish his part of the group project. You didn’t really ever like him. But in the moment, you wanted someone to find you pretty and kiss you. God knows Will never did. It was dumb, but you weren’t going to let Will, someone who once saw you as an equal, a teammate, make you feel bad for kissing someone. For putting your lips on someone else’s. A mortal sin, apparently. You were sure he was getting up to much worse things in Michigan.
“But…he was so mean to you then.” His voice falters; he doesn’t understand. His grip on the steering wheel tightens. How could you ever look twice at the boys who used to make jokes behind your back, who made you out to be some sort of witch when they’d get pissy you had a better backhand? How could you when he was right there the whole time? When he’d shut the conversation down in the locker room, even when you weren’t there to hear the gross remarks. When he’d have to take the heat of the other boys saying he was in love, that he was a little suck-up to the one girl who would pay attention to him.
Granted, you never saw those things happening. He did it without you knowing. But he wants you to know now, in a stupid childish way, he wants you to know that you were the only person that mattered to him on that team. Everyone else had three measly leaves, and you were his four-leaf clover.
But now he’s left thinking he didn’t do enough.
“So? It was like seven years ago. He seems fine now.”
“But he’s not!”
“How do you fucking know? You keep saying that. You weren’t here this year!”
The muscle in his jaw ticks as he grinds his teeth.
“I know enough to know they’re assholes, and you shouldn’t be around any of them, especially Jack.” He never looks at you, keeping his eyes on the beam-lit road that seems to never end.
“Jesus, William. I’m not 10 anymore. You don’t have to save me. I know full well what it feels like to get hit. I’ll call you if it happens again. Maybe then you’ll feel good that you were right about something. And I was wrong, because I’m always wrong.”
“I never fucking said that.” His voice cracks the tiniest bit at the curse word. He’s taken aback when you say his full name. He takes offense to the notion that he would ever bask in your hurting. He would be the last person in the world to do that. He steals a quick glance at you, your head is turned down, the oversized sleeves of someone else’s jacket covering the hands that you use to furiously wipe at your eyes.
“Well— that’s what it sounds like.” He can hear the tears coming through your voice now. The sniffles and the quivering and the hurt all wrapped into one.
You shut your eyes and try to forget this all happened. That you never went to this party and that Will was still in Michigan. How it was supposed to be.
When he pulls up to your house, he tries so hard, but his mouth opens and closes like a fish because he doesn’t know how to console a girl who’s inconsolably crying in his passenger seat because of him. There’s a soft swoosh of the car doors unlocking.
“For your information, that was my first kiss. I don’t ‘do’ that now, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not a whore.” You turn to him fully, using quotation marks around the do, trying to emulate the way it came out of his mouth ten minutes ago. Tears won’t stop falling down on your lap. He can’t look at you like that. He looks out his driver’s side window instead, watches the way your neighbor’s trees sway lightly in the summer breeze.
He says a quiet, “alright,” jaw tight, still refusing to make eye contact, and waits for you to open the car door. He taps the steering wheel in anticipation.
You mutter an angry bye before you slam the door and walk down the front yard and up to your porch, keys in jittery hands. He waits, of course, till you’re inside, and even still until he sees the light from your bathroom turn on. You’re probably washing your flushed face, rubbing your face raw of the damage he inflicted. He hits his forehead on the top of the wheel, then drives a street over back to his house.
A week later, you wake up to a message from him: im sorry. i didn’t mean any of what i said. i just worry about you. i hope you’ll forgive me.
You don’t respond.
—
It’s a year later.
All you could manage was congrats, with a red heart emoji, the night Will signs his NHL contract with the Sharks. If you stared at your phone too long, you would have kept typing and rambling about all the big things that have happened in your life that he wasn’t there to see. Maybe you would have berated him, asked him why he ever had the nerve to imply the thing he did that night. Or you would have just deleted the message and never sent anything in the first place. The congratulations text looked stupid underneath his apology from eleven months ago that you never bothered to acknowledge.
You felt so much guilt following that night. You know he just wanted to make sure you were okay. He was the first witness to that hit on the ice. It probably hurt him to see you get constantly beaten down by your own teammates and opponents. It hurt him to see you kiss someone who used to chirp about how weak you were at practice. It didn’t matter if it was all ten-year-old boys being stupid. They knew what they were doing.
The guilt didn’t help you respond; in fact, it made it all worse. You couldn’t gather the courage to text him. You wouldn’t even know where to start.
Hey sorry I got so mad at you that night where I was trying to rebel and make you look my way because I was a bit tipsy and desperate and I hadn’t seen you in eight months so I wasted my first kiss on someone I actually hated. I wanted to pretend like I changed over the year and that maybe I was mature but obviously I’m not and blah blah blah. You were right Will.
This was not anything you were willing to type out and send. The congrats was as close as he was going to get.
Will has hundreds of messages that night — all blurs of long sappy text that he’s surely grateful for, but he’s not in the headspace to care now. He scrolls all the way down his contacts, scared to type your name and it coming back with nothing, coming back with his half-assed apology that made him burn so hot whenever he thought back on it his mom had asked him once if he was running a fever. It worsened when he was reminded he was planning on kissing you that night, too. So he buys time by reading each celebratory text with glazed-over eyes and a leg that won’t stop bouncing. When he sees your name (just your first, because your full name in his phone felt too impersonal) and next to it that blue dot that tells him you’ve texted, he shuts his eyes. He selfishly wanted his draft to be an excuse to talk to you again. If only about hockey, if only about his stats, and maybe just to argue about the bruins again. He didn’t need anything else unless you’d give it to him.
His heart melts at your text. Relief floods him. He doesn’t know what he expected; maybe this was the greatest outcome. You were watching, and you cared enough to reach out. He can’t help himself. All you did when he won gold in Sweden was like his post.
He’s overthinking this. People he’d known for two months back in middle school had texted him. It’s not that big of a deal. He groans, flopping back on the bed, keeping his phone close to his face, reading the single word over and over again. It’s almost more heartfelt than those long essays he’s received. All that history left unsaid. So simple it makes him believe that you always knew this was his path, that he was always good enough, so why make it a big deal?
He doesn’t know how to keep the conversation going. You left it so open. He should just thank you and leave it at that. He should.
thank you
you’re going to bc right?
Of course, he already knew. Your mom told everyone, and the information eventually snaked its way back to him in passing. He had to pretend he vaguely remembered you. He repeated your name in questioning, then acted like the image of you just dawned on him, when it was always in the back of his mind.
It’s the worst five minutes of his life turning his phone off and back again, throwing it on the opposite side of the bed, then grabbing it back.
yes
no one will believe I’m friends with the big hot-shot on campus
He sends a flurry of crying emojis and with it, don’t call me that
too late
your new title is mr. hot-shot nhl player
don’t get ahead of yourself, he typed out. It still wasn’t a given. He often thought about the worst things, like getting injured before he’s able to play professionally, or flaming out and being stuck as the wonder-boy that never was. It’s what keeps him up at night. That and the distressing thought of losing you forever.
oh shut up
everyone knows it
He doesn’t know what to say. Friends. His mind blanks. He hopes there will be another excuse to talk to you again.
—
The issue is there isn’t. The summer before the first semester, you’re rarely home. You’re hanging out with people he’s never seen before in his life. Then freshman year starts, and he never stumbles upon you on campus organically. He swears he’ll see the friends you post on instagram walking to class, in the dining hall, but he never sees you. It feels like some sort of divine punishment. It gets so bad he has to force himself to look forward, to not hope that after every turn of the corner, he’ll see you all bright and smiling and doing so well without him. He thinks bitterly on that term friends, and how it didn’t mean anything. But how could he blame you? He was the one who let you drift away from hockey. He was the one who left for Michigan. He was the one who blew up at you last summer because of his insecurities. The word friends was actually a nice thing for you to say, all things considered.
You don’t go to games, is what he assumes, because you don’t post about it like the other hundreds of women that follow him do. You don’t go to the hockey house’s parties on the weekends, though he secretly wishes you’d show and take him from the pounding music, sweaty bodies, and disgusting alcohol. Because you’re a good girl — focusing on your studies and being a part of clubs and organizations, and not stuck up on things that happened a decade ago.
Because you don’t care about hockey anymore, and that’s what he believes is the only thing he can offer you. You’re so three-dimensional. You have passions and interests he’ll never understand, and you’re involved with a different crowd. He wonders if you still had your binders full of cards stacked by your desk, or if it was packed away in the attic now, completely forgotten.
He doesn’t understand why he can’t move on. A thousand other people were waiting to sink their teeth into him if he let them. Is it nostalgia for a time before everything was so serious? The knowing that he can’t get the one thing he wants? Or is it real, deep yearning love that bubbles up and can't be traced? He figures, the covers all twisted around his limbs one late morning, it was a mix of all of it, and unless he shut his brain completely off, he was never going to stop thinking about you when he tuned his coach’s speeches out at intermissions, when he drove by your house in the summers, when he saw women with your features at the bar. If love could be explained, then he’d be able to leave you as a memory. A biological instinct that could be replicated over and over again with other women, but, obviously, that wasn’t true. It left him sick sometimes, that thought.
—
Then he’s hit in the gut by your presence.
He can’t mistake your hair, your dusty bookbag, and the swing of your hips as you walk down the hallway, away from him. You’re in the NCAA training facility, someplace, technically, you’re not allowed to be. Then he thinks about how you really should be there — you should be on the women’s team. You were supposed to do it with him. He shakes his head, trying to physically rid himself of the thoughts of this alternate reality he may or may not have created when he was bored on an away game road trip.
There’s a beat where he thinks he should stay quiet, then he gathers all the stupid courage he has left and says your name from across the hallway like he was 13 again. He was just exiting the trainer’s office, a large pack of ice wrapped around his thigh from a nasty purple and yellow bruise he got the other night.
You turn and see Will, his hair freshly washed, a tight BC shirt on, and his shorts hiked up to accommodate the tape job. He’s gained a couple of inches and filled out, and he runs his hair through that thick blond hair like he always did. You’re wearing a winter coat. It’s December. You smile, say hi, and manage a wave as you lean on the door. You’re stuck between awkwardly staring at him and leaving to go to class.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Oh!” You say, suddenly the ground looks really inviting. “I was just…walking my friend over here. We had class, and I was already heading this way for my next one. It’s also warmer in here.” You nod at your own explanation. He’s puzzled, but can’t manage another question that doesn’t sound invasive. Does this friend happen to be on the baseball team that has weight training after us? Have you seen those stupid banners on all the campus lamp posts with my face on them? Do you hate me?
He mutters an ah instead. There’s a good ten feet between the two of you.
“Well, it’s nice to see you.” That’s safe, he thinks. Maybe it kills the conversation, but he doesn’t just want to say bye. How does he even start to reconfigure a friendship in the middle of a ridicuously hot, carpeted hallway, where anyone else could come through?
“Yeah, you too.” You lean on the door, slowly turning away from him before he sees you halt. Your hand comes up to your forehead as if you’d had an epiphany.
“You played really well last night. I don’t have time to go to the games, but I still watch them sometimes.”
“Thank you,” he breathes out a bit too quickly, “You should try to come to one. I can get you tickets for Friday night, if you want.”
“I don’t know. I think I have plans.” As soon as he’s built up some foolish belief, it’s all shattered.
“That’s okay.” He musters, cheeks violently flushing. You mistake it for the heat pumping through the hall.
“Sorry, I have to go. I’m going to be late,” and you’re gone into the hazy morning, wind whipping your hair before the door shuts and he’s left staring at nothing. He’s spent a good part of the latter half of a decade watching you disappear behind closed doors.
There is a lingering hope now, as he quickly turns, snow flying up on the boards, slotting the puck in the upper left corner on Friday night, that he didn’t have to rely on the fluttering fantasy of you in the stands anymore. He hopes you’re watching, even if you’re at those “plans” you made, smiling at your phone when he scores the game winner.
—
Involuntarily, he thinks about you when he has his palm around himself. As he’s trying to imagine something else, someone not you, you’re there, underneath a man with no face. Maybe you like girls too. He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know much about you these days. And then he’s getting angry all over again about how he fucked everything up. So much so that he can’t release and just groans and tries to sleep with a red-hot ache deep in his stomach that won’t go away.
He doesn’t let himself look through your Instagram following because then that would be crossing the line — as if everything he’s been doing hasn’t already crossed this imaginary barrier. He only lets himself watch your stories. Sometimes, he clicks on them too fast when he reloads the app, and then he’s sat staring at a picture of you and your friends, you out on a hike, your notebooks and energy drinks as you study late on a Saturday night in the library. 2 minutes ago. 53 seconds ago. 25 seconds ago. That one was a new record. He was sitting on the couch in the middle of a frat party. It was utterly ridiculous.
He can’t hide behind an ambiguous history like he can when he screws up with the other women he tries to pursue. You can’t look the other way at his shortcomings because he knows his hockey boy novelty doesn’t exist for you as it does for other people. Because you know he’s not just this shallow athlete he tries to portray himself as for protection. He can’t just text you, ask you if you’ll go out with him, and pretend like your rejection wouldn’t alter everything. The truth is that he’s always been that scared boy, watching you leave. Never closing the distance and sealing his lips to yours.
—
The year Will leaves college to join the Sharks, your sophomore year, you try your hardest to forget him. He spent his summer getting ready for the season in San Jose. You had to trust that time would mend whatever he unknowingly broke in your heart.
Now that he’s not there on campus, you feel less suffocated. His presence isn’t there as a reminder of how badly you messed up your friendship. You feel like maybe you can branch out and date people so you can finally get over this hump.
Your friend picks out some guy she thinks you’ll be compatible with, and forces you to go out on a Thursday night.
Unfortunately, the date was at a nice little bar downtown, and Will decided to be on the fucking television. Not just on one TV, but practically all of them. Must have been a dull night in sports. He’s suffocating you via broadcasting networks now.
You shifted the whole time nervously, eyes somehow knowing to snap up at the screen when they’d do a close-angle shot of him. He was annoying: biting his useless mouthguard, spitting on the floor, and saying quiet vulgarities under his breath.
The man across from you had brown eyes. He didn’t smack on a large piece of gum just to irritate you like a certain someone used to. How boring. There wasn’t a second date. If you could place blame on anyone, it would be on #2.
You decided not to tell people about Will when you got to college. You couldn’t really explain your history with him in a way that made sense to other people. It was cliché, but you had something other people didn’t. Maybe for good reason. Most people didn’t want to have a horrible unrequited crush on a boy; their feelings all jumbled between the confusions of womanhood, and their self-worth being tied to a sport that wouldn’t love them back. It was kind of a nightmare. Besides, it was hard enough having your friends tell you in vivid detail how hot they thought he was.
“Why didn’t you want to come with us last year?” One of your friends asked. You shrug. You’re three rows up at a boston college hockey game. They’re winning quite comfortably that day, even without Will.
“It’s obviously because she was scared to see Will Smith. You’re so stupid. If I were you, I would have drafted our marriage contract and sent it to his DMs.”
One night, they all ganged up on you, trying to figure out why you were such a stickler when it came to guys. You always brushed them off or said they weren’t your type. They were scrolling through your following as you jumped on them, trying to steal their phones.
“Why do you follow Will Smith?” One of them squeals as you lunged at her. Your face turned into a tomato.
“More importantly, why does he follow you back?” Another one of your friends gasps. All their jaws dropped.
“He follows everyone.” You tried to deflect, “I think we went to the same high school for a year or two. I don’t know. It was a big school, and I never talked to him.” You rambled on.
“He does not follow everyone.”
“God, I wish he followed me.”
“This conversation is over!”
—
Even Macklin figured out who you were before he met you.
Originally, Will was going through his camera roll out of boredom, trying to delete the things he didn’t need, but Macklin was nosy and bored, too. They were both lounging on the couch, scrolling absentmindedly. The older boy was stuck flipping through ten pictures, all from similar years. As he glances over his shoulder, Mack recognizes Will’s younger self, but in the pictures, there’s always the same person next to him. There’s one of him with you, maybe at age nine, all dressed up in your too-big hockey gear and holding a small trophy. Another one at a Bruins game. The next one is you making a terrible attempt at an American flag with face paint on Will’s chubby cheek at some sort of backyard summer party. The way the sun emits a hazy light through the dark exposure and pixelated image makes Will’s body tense up. To him, those days didn’t seem that long ago.
“Who’s that?”
Out of instinct, Will covers his phone like he’s just been caught watching porn. And Macklin has caught him doing that once, so he recognizes it.
“No one.”
“Uhhh, I don’t think so.” Macklin would have shrugged it off, but his best friend is flushing violently, and you can’t exactly just forget about a reaction that strong. “Who is it?” He tries again.
“Literally no one. I don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re just childhood pictures.
“That’s not your sister though.”
Will grunts, looks away like he’s contemplating punching Mack in the face.
“I didn’t know you had girls on your minor team as a kid,” Macklin adds.
“Just one.”
“Does she still play?”
“No— no, I fucked that up.” Then Will has his hand over his eyes.
“Holy shit, man. Is this the love of your life or something?” And at first, Mack says it as a joke, trying to tease him, but then he quickly realizes it’s not one at all. He hit the dart dead center. Will stares at his stunned face, frowning, and it’s an answer.
“Have you ever even told her that?” Will shakes his head.
“Isn’t that a good place to start, buddy?”
“Fuck you.”
—
You’d only be envious of Will if you also weren’t so goddamn enamoured by him. He had such a great rookie season. You should be mad that he gets to live this life and you don’t, but you don’t have the energy to think like that anymore. He’s just really good, and it’s not his fault.
One of your friends from high school is getting married in July. Then someone mentions that Will was invited at a dinner and your heart drops. You didn’t know what you were thinking. You thought you wouldn’t have to see him again for some reason, even though the Boston suburbs was such a clique and you knew better. Maybe you thought you would have had a boyfriend by now, and Will would be left in your most formative years, trapped in the distorted memories of fleeting touches and half-crooked smiles you convinced yourself might have meant something at one point.
He notices you first. You’re a little bit late to the pre-ceremony gathering, placing your carefully wrapped gift on the overflowing table, looking around for people you know. You’re wearing this pretty lilac sun dress because that’s all the heat afforded you.
It’s in the groom’s parents’ backyard. One of these huge ones with perfectly mowed grass that can fit two hundred people somehow. It’s still the early afternoon, the sun hasn’t started slipping, so your face is illuminated in bright light, like the sun’s rays are favoring you. He ached in every bone in his body. He’s standing by the open bar talking to some people he barely remembers, nursing a beer to be polite, and when he even remotely sees your face turn in his direction, he’s looking away. He grimaces at this childish behavior you always elicit in him. He swears he can feel your eyes land on him.
Everyone is taking their seats now before the ceremony. Will finds his.
He feels a small finger poke him on his shoulder from behind. “Hey, Will, you’re blocking the view.”
He turns his head and sees you smiling at him like a dream.
“Oh, I can switch with you?” He questions, body unintentionally sliding down a bit in his seat.
“No, I’m just joking. I can see. You’re bigger, though, than when I last saw you.”
“Had to. Was getting my ass handed to me in the big leagues.”
You suppress a laugh, not well, because when he smiles at your expression, you end up giggling.
“You look pretty.” It just slips from his mouth. He didn’t mean to say it.
“Thank you,” you stutter out, smoothing your dress with your palms, unable to look at the way his eyes scan over you. Big blue eyes that seem to swallow you whole.
Then he notices people around you stifling their conversation, and maybe it’s a cue for him to turn around. “Anytime,” says it loud enough for you to hear, then turns his attention over to the altar, where apparently some people were getting married today.
When the ceremony ends, the dinners all served, some lackluster speeches made, the night stretches into clusters of people and terrible dancing on a woefully made platform. Again, he’s reminded he’s good at multitasking. You’re flowing between groups and couples, a glass of champagne, then a glass of wine. The backyard is lit by string lights. Your hair gets more unkempt as the night drags on.
Then, in a lull of conversation he’s having, he’s able to spot you sitting alone at a circular table, on your phone. He makes a lame excuse, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly, walking in your direction before he can convince himself not to. He sits down next to you. You hum, telling him you know he’s there.
You both say nothing until Will breaks the silence first.
“What do you think about it, the happy couple?” He asks, honestly. The noise from the dance floor dulls as you give him your full attention. You can hear the sound of the late summer crickets.
“They’re way too young.” He forgot how brash you were. It’s what he liked when you’d argue who should be on the World Juniors American team at eight years old. You’d mix your hockey cards with his on the floor of his room, and try to make up your own lines as if you were the head development coach — the one who’d make the call to tell them their dreams were going to come true. “You know how it goes…21 and married? Never works out.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe they’re different.” He jokes, letting the way his voice lightens tell you that he agrees. He smiles, focusing on the way your face shifts to the couple in question, your expression all tight-lipped cause you’ve already made up your mind.
You rolled your eyes. “I bet you he doesn’t even know what her favorite color is. And she doesn’t know he’s got a secret bank account and they’ll divorce over it.”
Will remembers your favorite color instantly. He refrains from saying it out loud because it would sound like a love confession… or something.
“You’re making things up now.”
You look at him, eyes glimmering, then your eyes wander to something else in the distance. You hesitate, mouth open, then you just say it.
“I’m sorry for not being a good friend. For never responding to you after the whole…car thing. I felt so bad after that. I was immature.”
Will takes a second to respond. He didn’t think this would ever be brought up again, but he’s glad it is.
“I, uhm, I was the one who hurt you though,” long pause, “I was so jealous that night.” He scoffs at his own actions while they flicker through his mind.
You tilt your head at him, hair falling so perfectly around your face.
“Like, I couldn’t bear the thought of another man kissing you.” He thinks now, head already hot with embarrassment, to just finish what he started. “It still irks me, to be honest.”
“You…what?” You whisper, as if there weren’t twenty feet of distance between you and another group of people all drunk out of their minds.
“Yeah. I mean, it made it worse because it was him, but I would’ve had the same reaction to anyone else kissing you,” he laughs. If anything, he’s fueled by the thought that he can say this and maybe he’ll never have to see you again. That he can finally get it off his chest. He thought about it a lot these past few months after Macklin figured you out. His career was taking off, and you were about to start your own work career. It would be the best time to close this chapter of his life. To finally be man enough to take the risk. Maybe it’d eventually help him be a better hockey player. He didn’t know. He just needed to get rid of the twinges of regret he’d feel at random parts of the day.
“Are you joking?” You breathe out.
“No,” Will says, “Definitely not.”
“You’re just saying that,” tearing your eyes away from him and his intense stare, “because im like a sister to you or something.”
“You think I want to kiss my sister?”
“Ew, gross, Will!” You say, before what he said is repeated in your head, and you understand what he’s implying. Your hands that we’re fidgeting in your lap come up quickly to find your wine glass, but you’re kind of erratic, and the glass falls over. Falls over onto his white dress shirt.
“Oh shit!” You jump out of your chair. He’s in a daze. Watches you grab the empty glass from his lap and assesses the damage. It’s drenched the bottom half of his button-up deep red. He watches your concerned face as your hands feel the fabric, your feathery touch just a layer away from his abdomen.
“I’m so sorry,” you plead at him, face so close he just wants to kiss you and get it over with now. You turn your head to look at the party. No one’s even noticed what you’re so worked up about. “Maybe we can clean it up inside.”
He nods, stuck on the way your small hand grabs his forearm to lead him towards the wooden deck and through the sliding glass door. He lets you pull him around a corner, flicking on a light from an open bathroom door.
You rummaged through their towels, finding the one in the darkest shade of gray. “Uh, hopefully they don’t get too mad about this.”
“They’re having a wedding at their house. It’s fine.” Will argues. You flounder a bit before stepping closer to him, lightly dabbing the towel over the dampest parts, trying not to spread it any further. He starts undoing the buttons, slowly revealing the expanse of his chest. You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to do that.
“I really like you too, I mean, obviously. It was very obvious this whole time, Will. I don’t know how you didn’t know.”
He stops his movements. The towel in your hand is still pressed to his body. You said this while staring directly at his bare sternum. “And please don’t ever mention sisters or kissing a sister ever again, please.”
“It was not obvious.” His voice is soft. He’s staring at the top of your scalp. You pull back to look at him now. His lips part.
“Yeah, you’re stupid. I had to spell it out for you.”
“Hey!” He’s smiling again, and it feels like the air gets thinner in this cramped bathroom. “Mine was also very obvious too.”
“Don’t call me stupid. You’re pushing your luck right now.”
“When did you know?” The towel falls between both your feet.
“I’m not sure. Maybe thirteen or fourteen?” You flush because it’s so embarrassing to admit you’ve been pining after him for that long. You were sure his answer would be tamer.
“Oh, jeez.” His hand covers his face.
“What? I know it’s really young—“
“No! Oh, God.” He says again.
“What?” You say impatiently. If he was going to make fun of you, he might as well say it.
“I liked you since we were six.”
“Why are you lying to me? Are you trying to fuck with me?” You push his chest half-heartedly. He stumbles back, grinning from ear to ear.
“I’m not! I swear!”, he stops laughing, “seriously.”
You look at him warily. He responds, “We’ve been lying to each other too long to start now.”
“When did you get so poetic?”
“Communications major, remember?”
You groan. “Shut up. Can’t you just kiss me? All you do is talk and talk—“ and then he does.
He tests you first, plush lips softly angling into yours. When you withdraw, foreheads touching, there aren’t any more reasons to wait. He’s on you again with a quiet hunger. The smacking sound of your lips fills the room, and it all becomes a tangle of your hands in his hair, one of his hands cupping your cheek, and the other firm on your side, afraid to let you go. You don’t know how long you stand there, finally half of him.
You would be wasting so much time worrying about all the little events that should have made you two realize it sooner. You were both scared kids, afraid to hurt the other. It didn’t matter now. You had him breathless against your body, and that sight alone made it all worth it.
You’re the one to pull away. You need oxygen, and he’s been depriving you of it your whole life. He stares at you, love-struck.
“Can you cover up now? You’re indecent.” You pat his chest.
“I’m so decent and you know it.” His hands fumble around the small buttons. You pick up the towel, folding it nicely on the counter.
“They should make a button that immediately turns you off when you’ve reached maximum stupid word limit.” You glare at him like he didn’t make your cheeks turn the color they are now.
“You would get so bored you’d have to turn me back on.” He wiggles his eyebrows at his poorly structured double entendre.
“I’m done with you. Goodbye.” You try to get past him, to evade his broad shoulders, but you can’t. All he needs is one hand on your shoulder to make you stop.
“Okay, sorry, but I can’t really go back out there.” He gestures to his shirt.
“Did you congratulate the bride and groom?” You ask.
“Yeah, like two hours ago.”
“So we can leave.”
“Like…together?”
“Are you twelve?”
“Why are you asking me when you know the answer is yes?”
You sigh. You finally brush past him, and he’s all eager, his hands on your shoulders, practically jumping up and down behind you.
As you walk down the paved concrete, he's holding your hand, and not because he was trying to drag you through a packed td garden, down the stairs to watch the bruins warm up before a game, but because he’s able to hold you like he always wanted to.
“It was all for you,” he says. You stop, and he turns to look at you in the darkness. It feels like a recreation of that night, without the tension and anger and stupid decisions. “College, the NHL. Wanted to make you proud somehow. Wanted to do it because you couldn’t.”
“That’s dumb.” Your eyes water, and he knows you mean the opposite of what you say.
request: "Olivias "My Way" and its reader getting hit on by someone else in the league and mack starts a fight on the ice bc whoever was hitting on her started chirping during a game"
warnings: swearing, brief description of a physical fight, one sex joke, beckett catching strays I’M SORRY
wc: 2.5k
note: another olivia inspired fic because we love her on this blog!!! @kitnootkat love you for sending this in 😭 writing this was very different since i basically considered ‘my way’ to be mostly from mack's pov, but let me tell you i had FUNNN
macklin knew he was about to have a bad day.
it just happened sometimes that he woke up in the morning and could sense something was off. it wasn’t the tidiness of his room - because everything was in its designated spot -, neither something physical like an ache or anything of the sort, he felt absolutely fine. he just felt like something was about to go south, and he was hardly ever wrong.
the best way to deal with it, he had figured, was to just ignore the feeling and go on with his day. that’s what he did: he took the same route to reach the rink, did his usual warm up and the same drills he always did during practice, had the usual breakfast, shot you a good morning text at a time he knew you’d be awake.
except, the message he got back from you wasn’t what he’d expected.
‘when you come over later, i have to show you something. just promise me you won’t get mad.’
that couldn’t have been a good sign, he thought to himself. maybe it was one of your little side quests gone wrong, like that time you’d asked him to help you remove wax stains from your sheets, or the time when he’d had to kneel by your bathtub and help you unknot your hair after you’d tried a rather ruinous hairstyle tutorial.
either way, he decided that for his own mental wellbeing, he was going to avoid his lingering questions until you’d answer them.
when macklin knocked on your front door, he was welcomed by the sight of you rather in distress, fidgeting and fumbling with your phone. his confusion grew even further as he leaned down and kissed your lips tenderly, after fantasizing about that moment for the entire day. you were tense, your shoulders and your overall posture felt stiff.
you led him towards the couch, sitting down beside him.
"so, what on earth did you do?"
"nothing!" your eyes widened, and your head shook frantically. he could see the slight shaking in your hands as they carefully unlocked your phone. "so, i got a text this morning. from a guy."
macklin's thoughts suddenly grew erratic. he wasn't usually one to blame you for receiving attentions from other people, he knew it was inevitable when being as perfect as you were. however, you'd never been nervous about it, you had never been so hesitant to tell him or show him. if anything, you oftentimes just laughed it off. why was this time different? was he someone you liked? someone better than macklin? had he made you realize how much higher you could aim?
before all his doubts could swallow him, you turned your phone so he could look at the screen. "don't get mad, don't do anything stupid. i'm just showing you so that you're aware this happened."
it took one second for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, then he read the name on the top left corner. there was no fucking way.
out of every single scenario he'd pictured in those past few instants, there was not a single one in which beckett sennecke sent a message to his girlfriend, let alone one that said 'don't you think you're way too pretty for someone like celebrini?'
he had some fucking nerve, for sure.
then, it clicked. you knew this was going to ignite something in macklin that was usually lenient, that was the reason behind your cautious approach. he took a deep breath, acting like his stomach wasn't turning and twisting with the utmost anger he'd ever experienced.
"okay, i see." he nodded once, slowly, voice slightly shaking. "what stupid thing were you scared i might do?"
"i don't know, send him something, probably?" it was more of a question than an answer, but that was enough for macklin.
"no, okay, i won't do that. don't worry, baby." he mumbled, arms wrapping around you and pulling you into him just enough to press a kiss to your forehead.
you thought that was the end of it, you thought it had gone well, but macklin was exploding inside. he felt challenged, he felt disrespected, he felt furious about how that prick had devalued you and reduced you to just a pretty face when, to macklin, you were so much more. you were his entire world.
two weeks passed and macklin had to physically refrain himself from letting his mind wander over to beckett and the stunt he'd pulled with you. he was nearly embarrassed by how much reading that stupid, dull and idiotic message had gotten to him. afterall, it was a type of sentence he'd only ever heard coming from teenagers in minor leagues. so, ridiculous.
he couldn't deny, however, that it had left a bad taste lingering in his mouth. he couldn't just shake it off, the proud and overly stubborn part of him was hard to keep quiet.
that only worsened when he realized the highly-anticipated next home game his team was going to play was against anaheim, for a sharks-ducks game that fans awaited for. great, he was going to be forced to see his annoying, moronic face for the entire night, unable to react to it. he had told you he wouldn't have done anything stupid, even despite numerous following attempts of his to reach out to you again, that you had clearly ignored.
he just never seemed to get the message, and macklin's fists itched to show it to him themselves.
he walked into the locker room without his usual warm, gentle demeanor, that afternoon. he was the beating heart, the center of the team, and it was nearly impossible for his teammates not to notice the faint frown on his face as he wore each piece of equipment and tied his skates with his daily meticulousness.
will, who was sitting in the stall to his left, nudged his side with an elbow, trying to gain his attention. "dude, what's up with you?"
macklin looked up, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. he hadn't planned to share his preoccupation with anyone, but it was impossible to keep a secret from the curly-haired blond at his side.
"nothing, just... someone hitting on my girlfriend. i told her i wouldn't do anything stupid about that, but i don't know if i can keep that promise."
"oh, man, that's it?" he scoffed, hand jokingly shoving him away by the shoulder. "relax, you're probably never even going to see that loser."
the younger boy nearly laughed in his face, igniting will's confusion. no wonder he failed to see the irony in that story, he'd left off the most important detail.
"no, smitty, that's the problem." he signed, frustratedly running his fingers through his hair. "it's sennecke."
will's lips shut immediately, forming a thin, straight line. brows pinched together, he tried to decode what he'd just heard. he stared at the floor in front of him for a couple of seconds, before raising his head and shifting his gaze towards his best friend.
"as in beckett sennecke? anaheim ducks' beckett sennecke?"
macklin inhaled heavily through his nose, then nodded slowly as he exhaled.
"sorry boys, didn't mean to overhear but i couldn't help it." tyler spoke up from his stall, looking between the two boys like he was trying to make sense of what he'd just heard. "mack, you gotta kick his ass."
"see, that's the point, i can't!" he exasperatedly muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wooden panel.
he stood like that for a minute, pinching the bridge of his nose as his two friends returned to their regular locker room talk, after whispering a 'good luck' to him.
macklin knew you were sitting in the lower bowl with cat, that night. he knew that was your favourite area to sit in and he even spotted you halfway into the sharks' warm-up. you jumped up when your eyes met, arms swinging left and right and smile reaching your ears as you greeted him. he thought about that poor excuse of a boy on the other team, at how he wished - despite having been able to avoid him so far - he'd watched how excited you were to see your boyfriend. not him, macklin.
things went smoothly during the anthem, and oddly enough throughout the first period. then, eight minutes into the second period, the ducks opened the scoring with a slapshot, inevitably rubbing in the crowd's faces how slow the sharks' defence had been that night. macklin couldn't bear to be on the losing end, he needed to do more, to do better.
his game turned nearly desperate, he strode along the ice with a different force than before, he looked for the puck more often, the mumber of shots he attempted grew substantially. yet, his first real shot got stopped by a glove save just as the intermission came around.
macklin went back to the bench, listened to his coach's instructions obediently, because that's just what he always did. he gulped down some water and quickly rinsed his face from all the sweat, before skating back to the middle of the ice to take the face-off. before he bent over the puck, he looked over towards you once more. he saw you sitting there, lips pressed in a tight smile as you sent him a reassuring wink. then, he was shaken out of his little bubble.
"if you're scoring as well as you're fucking, she'd be better off with me."
beckett's smug voice reached macklin's ears right as the referee let the puck fall in front of his stick. with his muscles shaking with anger he shoved the puck to the side, not even checking to see if someone was there to catch it. in the blink of an eye, his gloves were dropped and his fist made contact with the duck's face, finally wiping that disgusting smirk off of it.
his burst of rage was so sudden, before they could even finish one single passage, that players from both teams were left speechless, unsure whether they should've dropped the gloves as well or just waited for the two youngsters to resolve whatever kind of conflict was going down.
if he was being honest, he didn't exactly know what to do either: he was the star player that his teammates defended with their lives, he was the one cheering them on from the bench, hitting his stick against the boards and starting chants. hell, he wasn't the one throwing the first punch. he hadn't been in at least a couple of years.
all he knew was that his vision was blurred with flashes of hot, white anger. the messages, the chirping he'd just received, the mere disrespect towards you, they were all lines that the man writhing under him had plenty stepped over.
macklin's hands grabbed the rough fabric of his jersey, pulling him up slightly. "say that again to my face, you fuckin' idiot." he barked, bloodshot eyes, before punching him square in the face again.
he did it again and again, and he barely felt the hits on his face coming from the boy underneath him that fought back, at least until he felt the hold of what he assumed to be a referee grab him by the arms, pulling him out of the scuffle.
he was expecting to feel some sort of guilt creep up from his stomach, but he could only feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. afterall, he hadn't started the fight out of the blue like you feared he would. it was beckett's snarky comment that had made him resort to that.
the crowd was cheering in a way he hadn't heard in a while, everyone in the stands was jumping excitedly in their spots. everyone but you, nervously at the edge of your seat with your leg bouncing the way it did when you felt uneasy. your eyes met his for a brief second before he got locked in the penalty box and out of your line of sight. your head shook slowly, a tight-lipped smile faintly making an appearence.
he really wanted to feel bad for betraying your trust, but he couldn't. not when the images of that guy's overly-confident and pathetic grin were still so clear in his head.
the adrenaline was running so quickly in macklin's veins that he went on to score two goals for the sharks, which ultimately led them to take a 2-1 win over anaheim. he felt like he had a point to prove, and he did.
the guys had cheered him on to no end, and will and tyler exchanged knowing glances with him, hiding a hint of mischievous delight. that wasn't important. all macklin seriously, truly cared about, was you. his shower was quicker than usual, he was pretty sure he'd skipped a couple of buttons when closing his shirt, but he had to see you.
he rushed his way across the arena and found you by the back exit, where you always stood waiting for him. at least you weren't so mad you ditched him there. you were leaning against the wall, typing something on your phone before looking up at the sound of his steps approaching.
"look who we got," you announced, hands spreading theatrically in the air. "the enforcer."
he was about to laugh, but then he saw your stone cold expression. that wasn't a joke, that was you telling him he'd fucked up. yet, when your eyes glimpsed over at the dark bruise forming on his cheekbone, he saw your hard façade falter for a moment.
your knuckle came up to his face, carressing the swollen area above his cheek. your touch was soft, soothing. everything macklin needed.
"what was that, mack? you weren't supposed to do that."
"i mean, in my defense i wasn't really planning to." he remarked, hands circling your waist like a peace offering.
"and then what happened?"
"then he acted like a jerk and said something about you. look, baby," he held you closer, weak pout tugging at his lips. "he was being fucking weird and i wasn't going to let him disrespect you like that. especially not in the middle of a game, fuck's sake."
you dwelled on his words for a moment, he could see it in your eyes. what you were secretly dwelling on was the way his breath had quickened with irritation, the way his eyes had narrowed when talking about something he felt so deeply. you couldn't lie and say the beaten up, bloody tough guy act wasn't sparking up something within yourself.
you finally broke out in a soft smile, and macklin felt a weight lift off his chest. his hand found yours without looking, fingers intertwined as you two walked across the parking lot discussing all the other aspects of the game you’d witnessed from the stands.
"what did he even say to you to get you all riled up?" you asked as you got into his car.
macklin's brows raised under your curious gaze, and his head shook dramatically. "no way in hell i am ever telling you."
summary - it’s Macklin’s 20th birthday and you said you couldn’t make it to Vancouver. Or could you?
pairings - macklin celebrini x crosby!reader
warnings - established relationship, the celebrini siblings terrorizing each other, tooth rotting fluff, make out session, smut, protected p-in-v, oral (f receiving), use of lube, oral fixation, a couple of switches, porn with some plot, and other things I surely missed.
wc - 5.7k
requested - no!
a/n - happy late birthday macklin! This is the first time I’ve written smut in like a year so don’t judge me if it’s bad lol.
crosby!reader masterlist
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too, baby. I really wish I could be there.” You hold your phone between your ear and shoulder as you hastily pack your suitcase.
“You’re busy, it's understandable. I play a winter sport, and you play a summer one.” You hear Macklin shift around on the other side of the phone. “It’s just we haven’t seen each other since my season ended and you left California.”
“I know, Mack, I’ll try to get up to Vancouver before Wimbledon. I just have this one last training session in New York, then I’m all yours.” You have to stop yourself from smiling because the trip to New York is a lie. Your mom is going to drop you off at the airport, and you have your passport ready to get to Vancouver.
“Okay, I’m excited to see you again. It’s been a month.” He sighs. “That’s too long.”
“I agree, but you’ll get me for a few days. Then I’ll be back in July, and you have me until August.”
“That’s like over a month away, baby.”
“It’s going to go faster than you think it will.” You zip your suitcase closed.
“Time to go, honey!” Your mom yells from downstairs.
“I gotta go, Mack. I’ll call you when I get to New York.” You grab your passports, the small gift you got him for his birthday, and put it into your backpack. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” You hang up the call and roll your suitcase out of your room.
“Got everything?” Your mom asks and grabs her car keys, “Both passports?”
“Got both,” You show off the two blue booklets.
“Perfect time to go. I’ll meet you in London with your tournament gear, but find a court when you can. We don't want you to lose strength this next week.” You grab your smaller tennis bag from the floor and put it on your suitcase.
“I will, Mack’s sister plays, so maybe I’ll be able to convince her to play with me.”
“Sounds good, but remember to have fun too.” You pack your stuff into the car to head to the airport. “But don’t drink too much and wear protection.”
“Mom!” You look at her wide-eyed.
“What? I was 19 when I got pregnant with you. I know what’s going on.” She chuckles and starts the car.
“Well, I know that.”
“Just be safe, please, I’m your mom, I’ll always worry about you.” She pats your hand and pulls out of the garage.
“I’ll be safe. Promise.” You smile and settle back into your seat.
“Good, I don’t want to have to fly up there. I know your dad will.” You agree with her statement.
“He would.” You laugh and pull out your phone to send a text to Mack’s mom.
Mack’s whole family knows you're coming for his birthday, a joint surprise you’d been planning for the last few weeks while you were in Paris for the French Open. A quick trip for his birthday before you had to leave for London, and he trained his ass off for the upcoming season. He was sure to be surprised if no one spoiled said surprise.
You look out the window, giddy with anticipation.
•••
When you get to Vancouver, you hastily get ready to meet Mack and his family for his birthday dinner. You throw on a nice top and jeans, after a hot shower and fresh makeup, before you Uber to the restaurant.
Mack’s mom, Robyn, kept you updated on their location just so you didn’t show up to the restaurant before they did. She’d texted you the go-ahead, and you arrived at the restaurant just moments later.
“Hello, Miss.” The hostess greets you.
“I’m with the Celebrini party.” You respond, and she nods in understanding, leading you in the direction of the more private area.
“Just through that archway.”
“Thank you so much.” You smile and walk through to the semi-private room.
Mack, his parents, and three siblings are all conversing amongst themselves, none aware of your presence.
“Is there room for one more?” You ask, and the family looks up at you.
Mack does a double-take before bolting out of his seat and over to you. “You’re here? You’re actually here?”
You give him a tight hug, and Mack practically wraps himself around you. You laugh as you both almost topple over.
“Surprise.” You practically hold all of his body weight on you. “Happy Birthday, Mack.”
“I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” Your bodies sway back and forth as you hold him tightly.
“What about New York?” He pulls his head back.
“The plan was to come here the whole time.”
“That’s a sneaky plan.” He kisses your cheek.
“Yeah, but you’re hard to surprise.” You shrug and nod to the table, “Let’s sit.”
“What about London?” Mack pulls out your chair, and you sit down next to him.
“I’m leaving from here. You have me for the next few days.” You smile at him.
“Not more?”
“I’ll be back in July, and then the US Open isn’t until September.” You scoot your chair in before turning to his family. “Sorry, it’s rude of me not to greet you guys. It’s nice to see you all again.”
“It’s no problem, Y/N, we’re happy you’re here.” Robyn shakes her head, her smile is the same one you see on Mack all the time.
“Thank you for having me.”
“Mack has been moping around, so thank you for putting us out of that misery.” Aiden teases, and Rick gives his eldest a pointed look.
“Can you play tennis with me?” Charlie blurts out excitedly.
“Let’s not bombard Y/N.” Robyn tries to get a hold of the situation.
“It’s okay. I was hoping I could convince you to be my hitting partner anyway.” You wink, and Charlie looks triumphant.
“Why do you look like that?” RJ speaks up, confused at the look on Macklin’s face. A soft smile, with hazy eyes focused solely on you. It could only be described as a look of pure love.
“I’m being made fun of on my birthday.” Mack scrubs a hand down his face, but he hasn’t stopped grinning. “This is crazy, you’re all supposed to be nice to me.”
“Birthdays protect no one from familial teasing.” You pat his thigh. You feel him tense underneath your hand, but make nothing of it as you pull away.
“Guess not.” Mack catches your hand before it settles back in your lap. Pulling it so it’s entwined with his on top of his thigh.
“Y/N, how are your studies going?” Rick asks, and you take a sip of your water.
You clear your throat before speaking, “They’re going really well! I'm learning a lot, but I’m happy with what I chose to major in.”
“Remind me what that is again?”
“Sports Medicine. I’m thinking of possibly using it to get my PhD in Biomechanics later on down the road.” Rick nods, impressed, and you do a celebration on the inside.
“How do you balance that with the WTA tours and challengers?” He questions.
“Meticulously,” You laugh, “but really, my advisor is helping a lot. I’m currently in like five online courses right now to transfer credits just to make sure I can graduate on time, early even.”
“You have a solid plan.”
“I can’t take all the credit. My mom is also helping me navigate this.” You feel Mack’s thumb run over your knuckles, but you aren’t sure if the motion is supposed to be comforting you or him.
“Well, she’s doing a very great job.” Robyn chimes in.
“I’d say so too.” You agree.
Mack is talking with his siblings, their increasing noise level as you speak with his parents gives you an inkling that they’re arguing about something. All of a sudden, Charlie is fully leaning over Mack and pushing him against the back of his chair.
“Y/N, you have to tell me what the Australian and French Open were like.” She says excitedly as Mack tries to push her off of him.
“Get off of me.”
“I’m trying to ask Y/N a question.” She looks at her older brother, eyes narrowing.
“You could do it while sitting in your chair.” He grumbles, and she rolls her eyes, but relents, sitting in her chair properly.
“Better?” Charlie asks snarkily.
“Much.” Mack matches her bratty tone.
“Okay, please tell me everything about the Opens. Like everything.”
You turn to face Charlie more, knees bumping with Mack’s thigh. You make no move to adjust your position, keeping the point of contact. You watch Mack’s face flush, but don’t comment on it.
“They were crazy, like an adrenaline high that I couldn’t come off of. Like, after I got out of the Australian Open, I was genuinely bouncing off the walls. My nervous system was so out of whack that I couldn’t come down from this self-induced high. I crashed when I got back to California, and I was sick for a week.”
“Really?” She tilted her head.
“Really. Like once my body was finally aware that I wasn’t in the tournament anymore, my immune system shut down with it.” You laugh, “But it was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I didn’t do the greatest at the Australian Open, but honestly, just being there was surreal.”
“I bet. But the French Open.” Charlie does a jaw drop motion, “I watched every match. The upsets were crazy.”
“I know,” You nod, “Being there and watching it happen in real time is something else.”
“For sure! You made it really far this time, too!”
“I know! I was proud of myself for making it to the quarterfinals. Like my second Grand Slam tournament.” You grin, and Mack squeezes your hand.
“We’ve been following along with Charlie and Mack. For your first professional season, you’re doing really well.” Robyn places a soft hand on your forearm.
“Thank you, it means a lot.” A warmth fills your chest from the kind words.
“No need to thank us.” She shakes her head.
“I know, but I still will because it really does mean a lot to me.”
“I’ll let go this time.” Robyn pats your arm before placing her hand back in her lap, and you laugh with her.
“Okay.” You grin.
•••
The rest of Mack’s birthday dinner goes really well. You talk with his entire family, and you feel closer to the Celebrini’s. You and Charlie already have plans to hit the courts every day while you’re in Vancouver. You’ve given Rick your Mom’s contact info so they can converse on college plans for the rest of the Celebrini kids. RJ is still confused and unsure of what emotions his older brother is experiencing. Aiden wants to take you and Mack bar hopping, but Mack promptly shuts it down because he wants to spend the rest of his birthday with you only.
“Happy birthday, honey. Be safe tonight.” Robyn gives Mack a hug.
“I will.”
“Be aware of your surroundings, and Uber back to Y/N’s hotel.” Rick pats him on the back.
“I will, Dad.” Mack nods, taking your hand.
“Drink something for me.” Aiden smacks his shoulder, and Mack just rolls his eyes.
“Alright, time to go,” Rick says, and the rest of the Celebrinis walk in the opposite direction from you two.
You both start walking down the pavement, Mack’s hand finds yours, easily pulling you closer into his side. He slows to a stop on the street, and you stop with him.
“Everything okay, baby?” You ask as Mack wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you to his chest.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” You take his face into your hands.
Mack leans down and captures your mouth with his. Your mouths move against each other, heat and friction buzzing underneath your skin. His tongue prods at your bottom lip, but you pull away. Mack lets out a whine, his mouth forming a pout.
“Baby…”
“Do you want to go to the bar? Or do you just want to go back to my hotel?” You ask, hands sliding down his neck.
“I need you.” He whispers against your mouth before kissing you hungrily. You know the answer to your own question.
“Let me order an Uber.” You mumble back and reach for your phone.
Mack's hand creeps up underneath your top, splayed on the skin of your stomach. He’s pulled you flush against his body, holding you as you tap through your phone ordering a car.
“Can it get here faster?”
“It’ll be here in five.” You quirk an eyebrow at him, the impatience humming through his body.
“Too long.” He groans and lets his head fall to the crook of your neck.
“You’ll survive. I also have to give you your present. It’s in my hotel room.” You hum and watch the little car on your screen get closer.
“You didn’t have to get me anything. You’re here on my birthday, that's enough for me.”
“That is very sweet of you, but it won’t make my gift go away.” You wrap your arm around his torso, giving his side a mischievous squeeze.
“Fine.” Mack kisses your neck softly before pulling his head back up.
The Uber pulls up next to the curb, and Mack pulls open the door for you. You step inside, and he follows suit, sliding into the seat next to you. His hand finds your thigh as the car pulls into the street, fingers caressing the seam on the inner thigh of your jeans. You haven’t been in each other's presence since April. So you two have also been on a two-month stint of unwilling celibacy. His hand tries to creep higher, but you politely grab it and place it on your lap. You send him a sharp look and jerk your head in the direction of the driver.
You could already see the headlines: “Uber Driver Tells All: NHL Star, Macklin Celebrini and Girlfriend Caught Getting Handsy in the Backseat.” You would be relegated to the title of girlfriend or Sidney Crosby’s daughter, depending on which news source is writing the article. So it was best to stay respectful in public.
The driver pulls up to your hotel, and you give a quick thanks before letting Macklin lead you out of the back seat.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” You chuckle as he drags you into the hotel.
“No, but you’ll tell me.” He says matter-of-factly.
“This way.” You take the reins and walk towards the elevator.
You look over at Mack, his pupils blown wide. He looks intoxicated, but it can’t be the case. Neither of you has had a lick of alcohol all night. The moment the elevator doors slide closed, Mack’s mouth is attacking yours.
“You are really impatient.” You mutter between kisses.
“It’s been two months, baby, cut me some slack here. Can’t I miss my girlfriend?”
“You can miss me.” You smile and peck his mouth again, “Missing me is very much appreciated.”
“Did you miss me?” Mack raises a brow, noticing the lack of verbal reciprocation on the feeling.
“So much.”
“Good.” Mack presses one last kiss to your cheek as the bell of the elevator rings.
You lead Mack down the hallway and unlock the door to your room. You toe off your shoes and start removing your jewelry. Earrings and rings first, before the bracelets and necklaces, save for the bracelet Mack got for your birthday and the necklace with your birthstone that you never take off.
Mack sits down on the hotel bed, watching you put the accessories into your travel case, fingers tapping on his thigh incessantly.
“Do you want your present now or later?” You ask, looking over your shoulder.
“Later. Can you please just come over here? I'm dying, baby.” Mack whines, and you move to the bed.
“Dying? Should I call the doctors?” You ask, swinging your leg over his lap, hands braced on his shoulders. Mack’s hands grip your waist as you settle into his hold.
“No, just need you.”
“So I’m the remedy?” You run your fingers through his hair, and the feeling of his cock starting to press against the zipper of his pants has you smirking.
“And the problem.” He jokes, and you roll your eyes.
“I can tell.” You tease and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “What does the birthday boy want?”
“You.”
“Well, I know that, but anything specific? What do you need?” His eyes nearly roll back into his head every time your nails scrape against his scalp.
“Nothing specific, just want to be with you.” He says sweetly, and you give him a real kiss this time.
Warmth seeps into your bones as your hands move from Mack’s hair, down his neck and chest, before reaching the hem of his shirt.
“Can I take it off?” You mutter against his mouth, and he nods.
You work the shirt over his head, discarding it behind you somewhere, all the while still kissing him. Mack’s tongue prods at the seam of your mouth, and you let him inside. He moves the hair away from your neck and presses wet kisses on the skin. You cradle his head in your hands as he continues his assault. Mack sucks a particularly harsh hickey right below your ear, causing you to gasp. The sensation is replaced by his tongue darting out to soothe the bruise. His hips buck into yours, pressing the seam of your jeans right into your clit, and shudders of building pleasure roll through your body. Your underwear is growing damp by the minute.
“You’re disgusting.” You chide, feeling Mack smile against your neck.
“And yet you’ve never told me to stop.” He grins up at you before taking your weight from his lap and flipping you to lie flat on the bed.
“I can like it and still think you’re gross.” You widen your legs and let Mack settle between them.
You pull off your shirt and throw it to where you’d put Mack’s. The black lace bra you had on underneath has him groaning and shifting to hover over top of you.
“You’re so beautiful.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” You tease, and Mack takes offense.
“That’s all you have to say about me?” He gasps and pinches your side.
“Don’t worry, I think you're beautiful, too, pretty boy.” You cup his cheek as Mack’s hand moves up and down your jean-covered outer thigh.
“I was really worried there for a second.” He leans down and kisses your mouth one last time before making his way down your body.
His lips trail down your neck and collarbone, mouthing at the skin of your sternum before moving to the swells of your breasts. Mack finds the waistband of your jeans, sitting back on his haunches to undo the fly. You help him shimmy them off of you, and he takes off his own pants as well, the hard line of his dick evident behind his tented briefs. The pile of clothes on the floor continues to accumulate.
“Need any help with that?” You tease, sitting up on your forearms.
“Maybe later.”
“No birthday blowjob?” Your gaze follows him as he moves back up your body to be face-to-face.
“Tempting, but I want to taste you first.” Mack grins as your hand runs through his hair, fingertips trailing lightly over his face.
“All of the options in the world, and he wants to be the giver on his birthday.” Your thumb brushes over his bottom lip, and he bites at the tip of it.
“What I like the look of you all fucked out.” He settles between your legs, hands rubbing up and down your thighs.
“Jesus.” You groan, throwing your head back against the pillows.
“My name is Mack, baby.” You roll your eyes hard.
“You’re ridiculous like that was actually the worst joke ever.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” He leans forward to rest his face on your stomach, pressing soft kisses to your navel.
“Really?” You look at him, facial expression, asking him if he’s joking.
“Fine, it was bad.” His fingers hook underneath the sides of your underwear and pull them off completely. You’re wet, like really wet, folds glistening in the dim lamplight. If Mack could get harder than he already is, his dick would be blue. “Fuck me.”
“Trying to, but we just keep on talking.” Mack pulls you towards the edge of the bed, kneeling between your legs.
“Well, I like talking with you,” He says, kissing the inside of your knee.
“I like talking too, but like I’m pretty much naked right now, and I’d really like you to eat me out.”
“I can’t say no to that.” Mack bites your sensitive inner thigh, causing you to jolt.
“Mack, please.” You plead, the heat flooding your body is filling you with anticipation.
His lips press the tiniest kiss to your clit, providing nothing to give you the high you’ve been chasing for months. Yes, the phone sex had been plentiful, but the toys and your fingers just weren’t cutting it anymore. You need Mack to give you everything you’d been waiting for.
“Mack…” Your fingers fist the sheets as he sends you a teasing smirk.
“Yeah, baby?” He rests his cheek against your thigh, stopping any progression towards your much-wanted orgasm.
“Please. I don’t want to beg for a third time.” Your voice is raspy as you look down at your boyfriend.
“Since you asked so nicely.” He hooks a leg over his shoulder and fully dives in.
He licks a long stripe through your folds, collecting your slick on his tongue. You let out a long moan as your hand tangles in his hair. You feel Mack smile against your pussy, before finding your clit and giving it a light suck.
“Oh fuck!” You tug at his hair, and Mack whines into your skin.
“Sorry, did I hurt you?”
“No,” Mack peers at you breathlessly, talking in between kisses and licks, “keep going.”
“You too.” You can feel your orgasm building as his tongue circles your already sensitive bundle of nerves. “Fucking hell.”
Macklin is properly making out with your pussy, tongue everywhere, your clit throbbing in his mouth. The coil of pleasure is reaching its breaking point as he throws the other one of your legs over his shoulder for more leverage. His hands brace against your hips, holding them down as his tongue fucks into your entrance.
“Oh fuck, oh my god.” You throw an arm over your eyes, “I’m so close, baby.”
“Cum, please cum for me.”
You press your heels into his back, grinding into his face as best as you can in a prone position. Every time his nose bumps your clit, another wave of ecstasy brings you closer to the edge.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck.” You heave, chest rising rapidly.
Mack knows you’re close. The way you’re roughly gripping his hair and the incoherent string of expletives falling from your mouth are a telltale sign of your impending orgasm.
“Cum for me, baby.” He manages to speak before burying his face back into your folds. Mack gives one last harsh suck on your clit, and it’s over for you.
You just let go as a wash of euphoria rips through your body. Heat spreads from the center of your body to the tips of your fingers. Mack presses a few featherlight kisses to your inner thigh, being wary to not overstimulate your body.
“I don’t think I’ve come that hard in a long time.” You grin lazily, beckoning Mack to come to you.
“Yeah, are you okay?” He crawls up onto the bed, hovering over you as you push up on your forearms. Mack cranes his neck down to press his mouth to yours. You smile into the kiss, wrapping an arm around his neck, slowly guiding his back to the bed.
“I’m good.”
“Ready for more already?” Mack asks, hands settling on your waist.
“I bounce back quickly.” You reach your hands behind your back to unhook your bra, but you stop. “Wait, condoms.”
“In my wallet.” Mack points to his pants on the floor.
“That is so douchey of you.” You move off of him and grab his pants from the floor. You pull his wallet from the back pocket, sure enough, there is a strip of condoms where cash should be. “Like genuinely a frat boy move.”
“I just like to be prepared.” He leans against the pillows, watching you rip off one of the condoms. You find a small tube of lube you packed in your suitcase and walk to the bed.
You throw the package at him, and he catches it with ease. You unhook your bra and leave it on the floor. Mack looks you up and down, acting like he hasn’t ever seen you fully naked.
“Perv.” You straddle his lap again, his cock pressing against your ass.
“I’m just appreciating the view.” He looks up at you, hands rubbing up and down your sides.
“That’s so corny.”
“What? You look good.” Mack kisses your collarbone, fingers brushing underneath your breasts.
“Why, thank you.” You run your hands over his shoulders.
He nips at your skin, gaze roaming all over your naked body. Mack is beginning to look desperate as his hips buck up for friction. You let out a breathless sigh, the stimulation has heat pooling in your stomach.
“Baby?” He asks, pulling his head away from your neck.
“Yeah?” You respond, eyes heavy with lust.
“I want you to ride me.”
You nod and grab the condom from the bed, sliding off his lap, “Take off your briefs.”
Mack obeys quickly and pulls off his underwear quickly. His cock slaps against his stomach, red and flushed with pre-come collecting at the tip. You take the condom wrapper between your teeth and tear it open.
“Fuck that’s hot.” Mack settles back against the pillows, watching you pull out the condom.
“Anything turns you on, bro.” You joke.
“Please don’t call me bro right now.” He looks at you pointedly, but is quickly cut off by the feeling of you rolling the condom down his length.
“Sorry, baby.” You straddle him again, but stay up on your knees.
“I need to be inside you.” He groans hands cupping your hips.
“Okay.”
You look down and take hold of his dick, pour a generous amount of lube into your hand. Mack’s head lolls to the side as you pump it a few times, spreading the lube over the condom. You line it up with your entrance before sliding down the length of him. Your walls flutter around him to adjust to his size. Once he’s fully seated inside you, you both take a pause. Mack sits up, arms wrapped around your body, keeping you in place.
“Fuck I missed this.” He buries his head into your shoulder.
“Me too.” You kiss the side of his head, “I’m gonna start moving.”
You slowly rise off of him, before sinking down again, using his shoulders as leverage. Mack’s palms make a slow glide to your hips, eyes never leaving your own. You watch every twitch and movement in his face as you roll your hips slowly creating that much-needed friction. His hands cup your breasts, squeezing the flesh, stimulating your sensitive nipples.
“Not just sex, I missed you, Y/N. Like every day, I missed you.” He brushes a strand of hair from your face.
“I missed you so much, too.” You press your cheek against his.
Everything is so soft and gentle, just two people being united in the most intimate way. Mack peppers kisses on your face, trying to muffle his moans against your skin.
“Mack, baby, I want to hear you, don’t be shy with me.” Your pace starts to increase, the head of his cock bumping against your G-spot.
“Fuck baby, move faster, please.” Mack groans out loud as your walls clench around him. You grind down trying to increase the friction on your clit.
You watch Mack bite his lower lip, trying again to muffle his moans. Your hand creeps to his mouth, thumb pressing at his lips.
“Open.” You breathe out and watch him open his mouth willingly.
You press two fingers into his mouth, and he moans around your digits. You grin at the sound, pace increasing as the heat in your stomach starts to spread through your body, every nerve ending on fire. His tongue dances around your fingers, occupying his mouth as you continue to ride on his cock.
“Fuck I’m gonna cum, baby.” He slurs around your fingers, saliva collecting at the corners of his mouth.
“Already?” You remove your fingers from his mouth.
“Don’t tease me.” He whines and fucks his hips into you, trying to chase his climax. Yours is building quickly, too, but you can tell Mack is about to come.
“I need more.” You sigh and snake your hand down your body, fingers finding your clit.
“Lemme help.” Mack replaces your hand with his own, fingers circling your bundle of nerves.
“Fuck that feels good.” You roll your hips faster, finding a pace that makes your orgasm start to build.
“Baby, can I cum please?” He asks, mouthing at your breasts.
“Yeah, go ahead.” You nod and throw your arms over his shoulders.
Mack guides your hips up and down his length, increasing your pace to bring him to his climax. The coil in your stomach tightens again, your orgasm approaching quickly.
“Fuck I’m right there.” He rubs your clit faster, trying to bring you right to the edge with him.
“So close.” You mutter and kiss him, moving chest to chest as you ride him. “You can cum, baby.”
“Not without you.”
Mack moves his hand from between the two of you and cradles the back of your head. Your mouths move against each other as you both tip over the edge. Mack cums first, and you follow suit moments later. You know he’ll pout, but at this point, you don’t care.
You slump forward, fully sweaty and spent, legs cramping from the position and spasming from the orgasm. Mack has his face buried in the side of your neck, mouth pressing light kisses on the skin.
“Let’s not go that long without sex again.” He jokes, and you just let out a chuckle.
“Yeah, it might have to be another month, though.”
“Not unless I come visit you in London.” Mack offers, looking up at you with his sparkly green eyes.
“What about training?” You ask, lifting your hips, slowly sliding off of him. There’s a slight emotional emptiness that comes with the sensation of being actually empty.
Mack pauses before answering, “There’s gotta be rinks in England.”
“True.” You watch him push off the bed as best as he can, rolling off the condom and discarding it in the trash. He picks up his briefs from the floor before disappearing into the bathroom. “Would you really come through?”
“Would I actually come? Baby…you think that lowly of me?” He re-emerges with a wet towel to clean you up and his briefs back on.
“No, but I know you’re busy.”
“Not too busy for you, your first Wimbledon is a big fucking deal, and I already feel bad enough that I missed the Australian and French Opens. I’ll be there.” Mack picks up his shirt from the floor and hands it to you.
“Okay,” You smile, warmth flooding your chest, you just love him so much.
“Can I?” He touches your knee softly, and you nod, parting your legs again.
Mack cleans you up, making sure to be careful with your sensitive skin. You pull his shirt over your head when he’s done wiping between your legs.
“Oh! Your birthday present. Gimme a second.”
“Take your time.” Mack settles back onto the bed.
You push onto shaky legs and walk to the bathroom, making sure to pee so you don’t get a UTI. You exit the bathroom and grab a clean pair of underwear, sliding them on before reaching for the small box containing Macklin’s gift.
“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” Mack sighs and takes the box from your hand as you crawl into bed beside him.
“I know, but I love you, and I give gifts to people I love, so you’ll just have to deal with it.”
“I guess I will,” He undoes the ribbon and pulls off the top of the box. “What did you get me?”
“Just look in the box.” You rest your cheek against his shoulder, watching him pull the piece of paper from the box.
“It’s paper.” He teases, holding the folded sheet.
“Read it.” You pinch his arm.
His eyes scan over the contents of the paper, “What the fuck, Y/N.”
“Surprise! We’re going to Hawaii.”
“You’re crazy.” Mack kisses your mouth and pulls away with a smile.
“Maybe, but we’ll be there for a week just the two of us. It’s obviously after Wimbledon ends, so you’ll be okay to take a week away from the rink, right?”
“If they have a gym, then yes.”
“Is that even a question?” You raise an eyebrow.
“I’m kidding, yeah, I’ll gladly take a week away with you. Thank you, Y/N, this is an amazing gift.” He pulls you into his side.
“You’re welcome, Mack.” You grin. “So how would you rate this birthday?”
“10/10, best birthday ever.” He answers.
“Such high praise.”
“What can I say, my girlfriend surprises me by flying here before Wimbledon after not seeing each other for two months, then we have mind-blowing sex.” You shove his shoulder lightly, “Then she gets me a trip to Hawaii, a week for just the two of us. Overall, a really great day.”
“I guess you could say that.” You get under the covers of the bed as Mack sets his gift on the nightstand.
“Yeah, it’s been a good day.” Mack kisses your hairline as he crawls under the sheets with you.
“I’m glad,” You mutter, eyes starting to droop with sleep, “Happy Birthday, Mack, I love you.”
“I love you too, thank you for a good day.” He wraps his arms around you, head resting on your chest, and you throw a leg over his hip.
“No problem.” You smile sleepily, the warmth of being tangled in his embrace lulling you to sleep. “Goodnight, birthday boy.”
“Goodnight, baby.” You reach over to the side table and turn off the lamp, enveloping you both in the darkness of the night.
a/n - this is lowkey freakier than I thought it would be. How do you write smut without cringing? I had to take breaks when writing this.
ICE PRINCESS, macklin celebrini x figureskater!reader
you’re a famous figure skater competing at the olympics, you didn’t expect to have a crush on a canadian hockey player.
genre: smau, fluff
warnings: none? reader being called a lot of cute nicknames and we are gonna ignore that canada loss don’t remind me it did NOT happen💔
face claim: isabeau levito (my girll)
a/n: another olympic fic cause why not and was lowkey debating if this should be a fraser or macklin smau but i already have a bunch of fraser fics in the worksss
yourusername
liked by mackcelebrini, amberglenniceskater, and 366,409 others…
yourusername: first week <3
comments…
user: ready to get golddd
user: QUEEN!
friendusername: WE ARE SO BACK
↳ yourusername: ;)
user: so excited
user: wait macklin liking this post…
↳ user: he’s been a fan of hers for a while
mackcelebrini: legend
↳ yourusername: thanks!
↳ user: what the FUCKK
↳ user: what is going on now…
↳ user: macklin just casually commenting on y/n’s post i mean sure!
↳ user: SHIP
↳ user: MACKLIN AND Y/N WTF???
amberglenniceskater: obsessed with you ❤️🩹
↳ yourusername: i love you queen
more comments…
mackcelebrini
liked by yourusername, _willsmith2, and 327,903 others…
mackcelebrini: milan week 1 🇨🇦
comments…
user: MY GOAT
user: canada for the win
yourusername: canada down
↳ mackcelebrini: 🫡
↳ user: me asf
↳ user: Y/N you’re from usa 😭
↳ user: god forbid a girlie cheers for canada!
↳ user: is this flirting…
↳ user: a duo i never expected to see but i love it
sanjosesharks: 🔥🔥
user: OUR OLYMPIAN !
user: still not over mack and y/n casually commenting on each other’s posts…
olympics:😮💨🔥
more comments…
yourusername
liked by alysaxliu, mackcelebrini, and 421,575 others…
yourusername: 2026 olympian ❤️ thank you olympics
comments…
user: OUR GIRLLL
user: you did amazing ❤️
mackcelebrini: you killed it
↳ yourusername: 💋
↳ user: they are definitely dating…
↳ user: he was spotted there watching her skate!!
↳ user: OMGGGGG
↳ user: yall are gonna break the internet literally
↳ user: AM I MISSING SOMETHING?
↳ user: just KISS ALREADY i mean what
alysaxliu: ice princess <3 you did so good
↳ yourusername: im gonna miss you ❤️🩹
↳ user: i love YALL
friendusername: BEYOND proud of you always 🫶
↳ yourusername: i love YOUU
user: OUR PRINCESS
more comments…
yourusername
liked by mackcelebrini, alysaxliu, and 477,902 others…
yourusername: back to practice
comments…
user: i wonder who gave you the flowers… cough cough @ mackcelebrini
alysaxliu: ICE PRINCESS IS BACKKK
↳ yourusername: missing you already 💔
user: is our ice princess officially taken???
yourusername liked this comment!
user: SOFT LAUNCH LAST SLIDE??? HOLY MOLY
amberglenniceskater: i miss you
↳ yourusername: I MISS U MORE
friendusername: lover girl!!
↳ yourusername: you know ittt
mackcelebrini: i like the monkey plush
↳ yourusername: thank you my biggest fan got it for me 😙
↳ user: WHAT THE HECK IS THIS CONFIRMATION
↳ user: macklin YOU ARE NOT NONCHALANT
↳ user: DATING CONFIRMED??
↳ user: AHHHHHH
user: mack and y/n hanging out together after the olympics is so cuteeee
more comments…
mackcelebrini
liked by _willsmith2, yourusername, and 347,021 others
mackcelebrini: good to be back
comments…
user: HOLY HARD LAUNCH??
user: bro casually hard launching y/n l/n means so much to me
yourusername: who’s that baddie in the last slide😍
↳ mackcelebrini: idk she just showed up
↳ yourusername: im gonna strangle you…
↳ user: I LOVE THIS RELATIONSHIP ALREADY
↳ user: yall are so cute
↳ user: AHHHHH I LOVE YALL TOGETHER SO MUCHH
↳ user: i need this kind of relationship
_willsmith2: is this who you wouldn’t shut up about on the phone
↳ mackcelebrini: shut up
↳ user: AWWWWW
user: bro is DOWN BADDD
user: this lover boy he would post his gf HE DONT GIVE A FUCKKK
Hii do you think you could do asking me bf rage bait questions or pranking them we signed up for a fully nude yoga class on accident (idk if you seen that trend on tt)
stretching boundaries
pairings: quinn hughes, nico hischier, luke hughes, jack hughes x reader
summary: there's no way you'd actually sign up for nude yoga, he just doesn't know that
warnings: fluff
wc: 2k
QUINN HUGHES
the evening had been uneventful in the most comfortable way. quinn was sitting on one side of the couch, tablet in his hands, replaying clips from his recent game with the kind of focus that made you wonder if his brain ever really turned off. you were stretched out beside him on the couch, scrolling through your phone, half paying attention to the game footage playing aloud.
you'd been sitting on the idea for hours.
the nude yoga prank had been flooding your feed for days, and if there was anyone you wanted to test it on, it was quinn. not because he was explosive -- he wasn't. it was because of the fact he wasn't. because he'd try to approach the situation logically, and strategically. as if it were another problem to solve.
you cleared your throat lightly.
"i signed us up for something tomorrow."
he didn't react at first, just tapped his screen to pause the video. "what time?"
"ten."
that made him glance over his shoulder at you; ten was manageable. early, but not unreasonable.
"it's a yoga class," you added.
he nodded once. it sounded good -- stretching, mobility, recovery.
you let a few seconds pass before finishing your sentence.
"it's a couples class, and it's fully nude."
the room didn't get quieter or louder, but something in the air shifted. quinn's shoulders went still. completely still. the kind of stillness that only happens when someone is recalculating.
he slowly set the tablet face down on the couch and turned around fully to look at you. his expression wasn't angry, it wasn't even shocked. it was analytical.
"fully," he repeated carefully.
you nodded, keeping your face neutral. he leaned back against the couch, forearms resting on his knees now. there was a faint tightening along his jawline. his brain was clearly running scenarios -- room layout, number of people, proximity, you in the middle of it all.
"with other people there?" he asked.
"yes."
that's when you could see it -- the smallest flicker in his eyes. not insecurity, not distrust, but protectiveness.
he wasn't loud about it, didn't raise his voice or snap. instead, he asked how many people, whether you'd already paid, if it was refundable.
every question he asked sounded calm, but the tapping of his fingers against his knee betrayed him.
when you told him it wasn't refundable, he leaned back and exhaled through his nose, head tipping toward the ceiling like he was absorbing a minor catastrophe.
"i don't see the purpose of being fully nude," he said finally, voice level. "why would stretching require...that."
you shrugged lightly, "it's meant to be freeing."
his eyes flickered to you again, sharper now. the idea wasn't sitting right with him. not because he didn't trust you -- you could see that clearly. it was the strangers. the setting. the lack of control.
he leaned forward slightly, voice lowering, "if i'm doing yoga with you," he said evenly, "it's not going to be in a public gym."
there it was. the line in the sand.
that was when your composure cracked. the laughter slipped out before you could stop it, and the confusion on his face lasted exactly two seconds before the realisation dawned on him.
his eyes dropped to your phone propped up against the arm of the couch.
"you're joking."
you nodded, still laughing.
he shook his head once, reaching forward to tug you closer to him. his arm slid around your waist instinctively, holding you there like he'd been bracing himself for something he didn't want to picture.
"you're unbelievable," he muttered, but his grip didn't loosen.
he wouldn't admit it outright, but he'd been quietly spiraling. he absolutely would have shown up just to stand between you and every imaginary stranger in that room.
NICO HISCHIER
the cafe was quiet, early morning light casting soft shadows across the table between you. nico sat across from you, posture relaxed but attentive, and fingers loosely wrapped around his coffee cup.
he always listened fully when you spoke. eye contact steady, focused. which is what made this more interesting.
"i'm trying something new tomorrow," you said casually.
he tilted his head slightly. "oh?"
"a yoga class."
he nodded approvingly, knowing the advantages that came with yoga.
"it's nude yoga. one of my friends invited me."
the pause was subtle. he didn't react immediately. didn't frown or raise his voice. he simply blinked once, then leaned back slightly in his chair, folding his hands together in front of him.
"nude," he repeated calmly.
"yup."
"and there will be other people?"
you nodded.
his jaw set slightly. not aggressively. just firmly.
"i trust you," he said evenly after a moment. "that isn't the issue."
there it was. he wasn't angry. he wasn't insecure. he simply didn't like the idea of it. you could see it in the way his thumb pressed against his knuckle -- a small tell of tension.
"i prefer privacy," he continued, voice measured. "especially with something like that."
the calmness made it more intense somehow. he wasn't pleading. he wasn't reactive. he was drawing a boundary. when you mentioned you'd already paid, his brows lifted subtly.
"then we should discuss it," he said, tone firmer now.
that was when you let out a chuckle. he stared at you for a long second before he realised why you started to laugh. you were just playing a silly prank on him to see how he'd react. upon the realisation, he exhaled slowly, tension dissolving.
"you are so mean," he said quietly, but there was the faintest smile tugging at his mouth now.
he reached across the table, taking your hand in his.
"next time," he added, thumb brushing gently over your skin, "leave me out of your little experiments."
and with that, he leaned back, still steady, still composed, but his hand lingered just enough to remind you that he'd been paying attention the whole time.
LUKE HUGHES
you told luke while the two of you were folding laundry together, sitting cross-legged on the bedroom floor. it was domestic and quiet, the kind of soft moment that made the prank feel almost cruel.
almost.
"i signed us up for something tomorrow," you said lightly.
he glanced up immediately, smiling. "what?"
"a yoga class."
he nodded, folding one of his hoodies neatly. "that's good."
you swallowed the grin threatening to surface. "it's couples yoga...and it's fully nude."
the hoodie slipped slightly in his hands. he blinked.
"nude?" he asked quietly.
you nodded.
there was no dramatic reaction, no pacing, no immediate argument. instead, luke went very still, staring down at the fabric in his hands like he was trying to reorganise his throughts before speaking.
"are there gonna be other people there?" he asked after a moment.
"uhh yeah i think so."
his throat bobbed slightly when he swallowed. you could almost see the internal spiral beginning -- steady overthinking.
he trusted you. that much was obvious. but the idea of strangers seeing you like that unsettled him in a way he didn't quite know how to articulate.
"i'm gonna be honest, i don't really like the sound of that," he admitted softly.
it wasn't controlling. it wasn't accusatory. it was vulnerable. you watched the faint flush creep up his neck. he rubbed the back of it absently, a nervous habit surfacing.
"are you sure you want to do that?" he asked.
there was genuine concern in his voice -- more about you than himself.
when you told him you'd already paid, his eyes widened slightly, stress flickering across his face.
he set the hoodie down and shifted to sit closer to you, his hand brushed against your almost accidentally. "i don't know if i'm okay with that," he admitted softly, voice low and careful.
you reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "it's just a class," you said, trying to soothe the unease you could feel radiating off him.
he swallowed and nodded, but didn't let go of your hand. "i know," he said quietly. "it's just...hard to picture. i guess i just...want to be with you, not...everyone else."
there was no anger in his words, just sincerity. his eyes searched yours for understanding.
you smiled softly, brushing your fingers over his. "relax," you said, leaning a little closer. "it's a prank. i just wanted to see your reaction."
his eyes widened slightly, and for a moment his mouth opened like he wanted to say something, then closed again. relief flooded over his features, and the faint pink on his neck deepened, this time from embarrassment instead of panic.
"you...you're joking?" he asked, incredulous, voice low and still careful.
"yes," you said, stifling a laugh. "no nude yoga tomorrow. you can relax."
luke exhaled slowly, leaning back against you, a small, half-laugh escaping him. "i- okay, i- wow," he muttered, shaking his head, still processing. "you are absolutely impossible."
you grinned, letting the tension melt between you. "i know. but admit it -- you totally panicked."
he looked down at your intertwined hands, cheeks still flushed, and managed a small, reluctant, smile. "maybe a little," he admitted, voice quiet, almost sheepish. then he added, softer, almsot tenderly, "but i would've held your hand the whole time, just so you know."
you laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder. "good to know. that's reassuring."
he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, still keeping his hand around yours. "you're lucky i like you," he murmured quietly. "even when you're impossible."
and there you stayed, side by side on the floor, the prank done, the tension gone, and luke entirely flustered -- soft, protective, and completely yours.
JACK HUGHES
you told him while the two of you were in the kitchen, sunlight spilling across the countertops. jack was leaning against the island, absentmindedly spinning a water bottle in his hands while you pretended to scroll through your phone.
it was the perfect setup.
"i'm doing something tomorrow," you said casually.
he looked up immediately, "what?"
"a yoga class."
he shrugged. "hot yoga?"
you shook your head slightly. "not entirely...it's nude yoga which really helps you sweat everything out. i'm going with a friend."
the reaction was instant. his hand stopped mid-spin. the bottle clattered lightly against the counter as he blinked at you, trying to decide if he misheard.
"nude," he repeated. "like fully naked, no clothes at all?"
you nodded.
he pushed off the counter, pacing once across the kitchen like he needed movement to process it. his reactions were never subtle -- everything showed on his face.
"with who?" he asked.
"a friend, and of course everyone else attending the class."
you watched the shift happen in real time. the playfulness drained first, then the casual confidence. what replaced it wasn't anger -- it was agitation.
he ran a hand through his hair, jaw tightening. "how many people?"
you shrugged, "uhh i don't know, maybe like fifteen?"
he let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "absolutely not."
the words came out fast, impulsive, and protective. he wasn't yelling, but he was definitely reacting. his body language said everything -- pacing, shoulders tense, eyes flicking back to you like he was trying to understand how you could possibly think this was fine.
"i trust you, obviously," he said quickly, almost defensively. "that's not what i'm concerned about."
you tilted your head, feigning innocence.
"it's some random dudes in a room," he continued, frustration threading through his voice. "why would you wanna do that?"
there was something almost boyish about how transparent he was. he wasn't calculating his response. he wasn't filtering it. he just didn't like it.
when you added that you'd already paid, he groaned and dragged a hand down his face, turning away for a second as if trying to cool himself down.
that's when his eyes landed on your phone angled suspiciously on the counter.
he froze.
"...are you filming?"
you broke immediately.
relief washed over his face first -- visible and dramatic -- followed by mild betrayal.
"you're insane," he muttered, stepping toward you and pulling you against his chest, not letting go of you.
his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, chin resting on your head like he needed to reassure himself the scenario wasn't real.
"for the record," he said more quietly, "i was not jealous."
you hummed into his shirt. he tightened his hold just slightly.
"okay, maybe a little."
a/n: first time writing for these players, and i'm not as familiar with them compared to others so hopefully this wasn't too bad !! tysm for the request nonnie, it was great fun writing for other players :D
In which you and Will try your hardest to hide your relationship from your older brother
Contents: implied sex, dirty talking, secret relationship, arguments, some fluff + macklin being bad at keeping his mouth shut
wc: 2,380
author’s note: i started losing the plot halfway through so this is absolute shit but i really wanted to post a smitty fic
Sometimes Will forgot how hard it was to keep your relationship secret. If you were anyone else, he probably would be able to.
But you being Tyler Toffoli’s younger sister?
That made his life ten times more difficult than it needed to be.
It was hard to look Tyler dead in the eye during practice after tearing your clothes off the night before and trying to act like nothing was going on with the two of you.
Going over his house to hangout with him, Misa, Macklin, and Dicky, and happening to see you there? He had to act as if he’s only ever talked to you when Tyler was around, trying to forget all the erotic things you both have said to each other.
But it was times like these when he was alone with you that made it easier to ignore the nerves that were set on him because of your brother.
You told Tyler that you had slept over at a friend's house the night before, which technically wasn’t wrong, but he thought you were still there even though you had left and picked Will up hours ago.
Since then, the two of you had been hiding away in the back and practically kissing each other to completion.
You were laying on top of him in the backseat of your car, pressing gentle kisses along his jawline, creating a pathway down his neck. You had only your bra and shorts on, while Will was in only his sweatpants.
Will’s hands were rough on your hips, holding on to you tightly as if you were going to disappear.
You could hear him gasp slightly as you began to delicately press kisses to his chest and down to his abs, your hands hooked onto the waistband on his pants.
Just as you were about to pull down his pants, your phone was ringing.
You both sighed as you leaned forward to get it from the front seat, muttering, “Who the fuck is trying to cock-block me?”
Will giggled as you picked up the phone, putting a hand over his mouth so that he didn’t blow your cover.
“Hello?” You rolled your eyes as you answered, but your attitude quickly washed away into relief when you heard your Cat’s voice.
Will, oblivious to who you were talking to, started to rub soft circles on your hips with his thumbs.
“Yeah, yeah. No, don’t worry, I’ll be home soon.” You paused for a minute, looking over to Will, a smirk on your face. “Don’t worry, I’ll be able to pick Will and the others up and bring them over.”
He raised an eyebrow at that, now trying to genuinely listen in on what you were saying.
“Hey, maybe they would want to stay for dinner too? I’m willing to make spaghetti, or maybe bake something for dessert.” You waited for a response before a grin broke out on your mouth. “Perfect! I’ll be over there as soon as I can! Thanks Cat, bye!”
“We gotta pick up the other guys?” He sat up, running a hand through his hair.
“Movie night at my house, I guess. We gotta get the guys and then stop at the store, Cat said to grab some ingredients for dinner, and I need brownie mix for our dessert.”
“I’m excited for that then.” He hummed, pulling his t-shirt back on. “But also upset because we weren’t able to finish this.”
You leaned close to his face, noses almost touching. “That’s okay, honey. We can finish this later.” You placed your lips on the crook of his neck, kissing the frown right off his face.
He didn’t think he was going to be able to wait until later.
—---
“Dude, do we seriously have to stop here?” Dicky groaned as he trailed behind you and Will, Macklin and Misa not too far behind.
“Yes, Sam. Do you want a free dinner and dessert or not?” You rolled your eyes as you grabbed a cart.
He accepted that, not choosing to argue against it, though Macklin had no problem starting his mouth.
“Can we at least try not to take longer than 15 minutes? I don’t want to accidentally break your windshield too and have to pay for both yours and Will’s.”
Will turned around to glare at him, causing the rest of you to laugh at them.
“If we start to take too long just go sit in the car, but it shouldn’t last too long, probably.” You said as you pushed through the baking aisle, scanning the shelves for the right brownie mix you always use.
Once you found it, you had decided it would be quicker, for the sake of your car, that everyone were to split up and find what you needed so that you didn’t waste time in the store.
Will had decided to stay with you, like you were attached to him at the hip, but you didn;t really mind it at all.
In about 10 minutes, which was record timing according to Macklin, everyone had met back up and you checked out.
Once you finally made it to your house the boys practically ran inside and dove straight for the couch which left you to bring in all the bags.
“Hey, there you are!” Tyler smiled next to the coffee pot as you walked into the kitchen, setting the groceries on the counter.
You groaned, managing to muster out a hello back to him before joining him next to the coffee pot, taking a cup for yourself and filling it up.
“Did the boys treat you okay at the store, not too annoying?”
“They were good, I’m just happy that my car is still in good shape considering I think Macklin was pretty close to punching my windshield.”
“And how was your friend's house? You stayed there a lot later than you normally do.” He sounded almost suspicious of you, like he knew you were lying.
You immediately got nervous, but covered it quickly like you always did. “Oh yeah it was fun. I probably would have come earlier but we lost track of time and got super into this series we were watching.”
And yet he believed you. “Sounds nice, I’m glad you had fun.” He said, hugging your shoulders before walking away into the living room.
You sighed, setting the cup down on the counter with a look of relief on your face. “Thank god…” You muttered to yourself.
You stayed in the kitchen until Cat finally came in so the two of you could work together and create a perfect dinner, a moment of peace for you two before the boys got too loud and annoying.
One of the guys, mostly Dicky, came in from time to time to mess with you guys or steal something that you needed.
Dinner passed quickly and you then immediately got to work on your brownies, which you knew everyone would be excited for, especially Will since he thought they were one of the best things on Earth.
“It smells crazy good in here.” He hummed as he entered the kitchen, sitting next to you at the island and pushing your phone out of your hand.
“You also smell pretty good.” He chuckled, leaning in to kiss the crook of your neck, your perfume catching him off guard.
Your cheeks flushed, but you pushed him away, looking at the doorway with a nervous expression. “Someone’s feeling really bold.”
“Sorry, I just got a little distracted by my beautiful girlfriend who happens to be in front of me.”
“Well you need to stay focused because Tyler could have seen us, hell we’re not even hiding behind a wall, Will!”
“Unless Tyler has cameras in the kitchen, he can’t see anything.”
You raised an eyebrow, peering back into the living room before looking back at Will.
“He took Cat and the others to get ice cream, so I told him to get me and you something and that I’d rather stay here. You should thank me, I bought us some time to ourselves.” He grinned, that stupid irresistible glint in his eyes.
“God, I can’t believe he trusts you this much.”
And suddenly that trust was not real.
“Hey, Tyler sent me back in because he doesn’t trust you not to accidentally break anything and–woah.”
Macklin’s jaw dropped open as he paused in the doorway of the kitchen.
Will’s hands were on your waist, your arms thrown around his neck.
The two of you quickly jumped apart as you looked at Macklin nervously.
“Dude, Macklin, it is not what it looks like, promise.” Will said, hands up in the air as if he was about to get arrested.
You looked between the two of them, watching what seemed to be a staring contest.
“I think it’s exactly what it looks like, William Smith.” He cocked his head and crossed his arms. “Is this why you wanted to stay here so badly? So that you could be alone with Tyler’s little sister?”
“No, that’s not,” he paused, “That’s not the whole reason I stayed.”
“Oh, but it’s part of the whole reason!” Macklin jumped, pointing a finger at him with a successful smile, like he was some sort of detective.
“Oh my god, Mack, yes it’s part of the reason, okay? I’m sorry I wanted to spend time with my girlfriend.” And then the room went silent.
Both Will and Macklin’s eyebrows shot up, Macklin from shock and Will from not realising what he had said.
“Nice going, Will.” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You’re really good at keeping secrets aren’t you?”
He looked back at you, his mouth opening to say something but immediately shutting as his lips formed a line, his brows furrowing together.
“I’m going up to my room, I’ll be down to get the brownies when they’re done.” You rolled your eyes as you walked out of the kitchen, your feet pattering against the steps.
Meanwhile, Macklin and Will were trying to understand each other.
“Why were you trying to keep this a secret?”
“Because Tyler would kill me if he found out I was dating his sister?”
“But why though? I feel like he would trust you so much more than some random guy. Dude, you have to tell him.”
“No, she won’t talk to me if I tell him. She’ll be unbelievably pissed with me.”
“If neither of you tell him, then I might.”
“Macklin, I will personally beat your ass if you even think about doing that.”
He sighed, glancing at the ground before looking back at Will.
“Fine. I will try not to tell him.”
“You better try your hardest.”
They stood there in silence for a few moments before they heard you come back downstairs and head for the living room.
“I’m going to get my ice cream from them and then come get the brownies.” You said as you put on some slippers and walked out the front door.
“Keep your mouth shut about this, you said you would try.”
Macklin kept his eyes on Will as they both went to sit down in the living room.
Dicky and Misa came in before you did, talking and smiling with Tyler and Cat as if Macklin didn’t blow your cover ten minutes ago.
“Will, Mack, I gotta get the brownies so I’ll put your ice cream in the freezer cause they’re about to be overcooked.” You announced as you crossed through the hallway.
Tyler peered through the doorway to make sure he was out of earshot before turning to the two of them.
“Okay, one of you fess up. I can tell when she isn’t actually happy and when she’s trying to cover it up. What happened while we were gone?”
“Nothing.” They both spat out, Will sounding calm while Macklin’s voice sounded tense.
Tyler watched them skeptically before crossing his arms and walking away to the kitchen where he saw you sitting at the counter, waiting for your brownies to cool.
He glanced at you as he grabbed the boys ice cream from the freezer, watching as you started to cut the brownies and place them on plates for everyone, which you thought would be good with the ice cream.
He stood next to you, not saying anything as he took a few of the plates.
“Be careful, those are still super warm.”
“Will do.” He smiled as he walked back to the living room, passing a plate out to everyone.
Once he sat down, he looked back at Will and Mack.
“I’ll give you guys another chance, what happened?” He stated firmly.
They both looked at each other before Macklin couldn’t hold it back.
“Will’s dating your sister!” He blurted out, looking at Tyler, avoiding Will’s eyes at all costs.
Dicky and Misa’s mouths both dropped as they looked at each other.
Tyler let out a sigh of relief. “That’s all that happened? Macklin figured out you guys were dating and she’s upset about that?”
Will’s brows furrowed together. “Wait, so you don’t care that I’m dating your sister?”
He was laughing at Will this time. “I don’t care at all! You’re probably my top choice for her anyways. So no, I don’t care that you’re with her.” He paused for a moment. “I would like it if you could go cheer her up though. I would rather her be happy for movie night.”
“You got it, sir.” Will shot up, going into the kitchen where you were.
You were finishing up washing the bowl and pan you used, drying your hands as you turned around to see him.
“What do you want?” You frowned, setting the towel down.
“Well, Macklin told Tyler what happened.”
“What? Are you serious?” You rolled your eyes.
“But he’s actually fine with us being together, he seemed happy.”
“Really?” Your frown switched to a grin.
“Really, Macklin was convinced that he needed to know.” He smiled as he stepped closer to you.
“I guess he probably did need to know.”
He nodded, placing his hands on your hips. “I’m glad he knows because now I can express how much I love you.”
“I know.” You leaned in, kissing him softly before pulling away. “Me too.”
