warnings: soft, domestic intimacy; subtle romantic tension; hand-holding and affectionate physical touch; very gentle, slow-paced relationship moments; implied closeness between two people in a relationship
masterlist | requests are open/closed
it starts with his hands.
specifically -
how much bigger they are than yours.
you don’t even notice the first time.
you’re sitting next to him on the couch, some random show playing in the background that neither of you are actually watching, your legs tucked under you while he leans back with one arm stretched along the top of the couch behind you.
he’s talking.
something about practice again, or a teammate, or a play that didn’t go right.
you’re listening -
mostly.
but then his hand drops from the back of the couch to his lap.
and your fingers just…
move.
you reach over without thinking, sliding your hand into his.
palm to palm.
he keeps talking for another second before he realizes.
then -
“…you’re doing a thing.”
you glance up, completely unfazed, “what thing?”
macklin looks down at your hands, then back at you.
“this thing.”
you squeeze his hand once like that explains everything.
“i’m just holding your hand.”
“no,” he says, a little amused now, “you’re comparing.”
you pause.
look down.
yeah… okay, maybe you are.
your fingers stretch against his, lining them up, measuring.
his are longer.
obviously.
you huff quietly.
“your hands are stupid.”
he blinks, caught off guard, “that’s - not usually how that sentence goes.”
“they’re huge.”
“thank you?”
“it’s not a compliment.”
he laughs under his breath, shaking his head.
“you literally grabbed my hand.”
“for research.”
“yeah... research.”
you nod seriously.
then flip your hand over, pressing your palm fully against his again, more intentional this time.
he lets you.
of course he does.
his fingers curl slightly, like they’re trying not to but giving in anyway.
“see?” you say, “this is unfair.”
“how is this unfair?”
“look at it.”
he hums, glancing down like he’s analyzing it now too.
“looks normal to me.”
“your fingers go like -” you demonstrate, stretching yours dramatically, “- way past mine.”
“that’s kind of how hands work.”
you narrow your eyes at him.
he grins.
you try again, this time threading your fingers through his.
it fits differently.
fuller.
his hand closes around yours automatically, like it was built to.
that makes you pause.
just for a second.
macklin feels it.
his thumb brushes once over your knuckles, slow, absentminded.
“problem solved?” he murmurs.
you don’t answer right away.
you’re still looking at your hands.
still noticing.
still… feeling it.
“…maybe,” you say finally.
but you don’t let go.
instead, your other hand comes in - because apparently one wasn’t enough - and you start poking at his fingers, pressing at his knuckles, turning his hand over to inspect it like you’re studying it.
he watches you do it.
quiet.
fond.
“you’re weird,” he says.
“you like it.”
“i do.”
that one comes too easy.
you glance up at him for a second, just to check.
he’s already looking at you.
soft.
steady.
completely serious.
your chest does that annoying little thing again.
so you look back down, grabbing his hand again like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
“your hands are still stupid,” you mutter.
his fingers tighten slightly around yours this time.
not enough to trap -
just enough to keep.
“you’re still holding it.”
“i’m not done.”
“with your research?”
“exactly.”
he smiles, small and quiet.
then shifts just a little closer on the couch.
your shoulders bump.
your hands stay tangled together between you.
he doesn’t try to move them.
doesn’t try to pull away.
if anything, his thumb keeps tracing that same slow pattern over your skin -
Pairing: macklin celebrini x reader!bestfriend, platonic best friend will smith x reader
Prompt: being best friends with Will and Mack was arguably the biggest roller coaster of your life. But when you end up in a super compromising looking situation with Mack in the bathroom at Ty and Cat’s house, it’s Will’s nonstop teasing that gets you and Mack to admit your feelings
Going to the Toffoli’s is one of your favorite past times. By the time you arrive, Ty is in the kitchen pretending he’s not hovering over the food like a suburban dad at a barbecue, Cat is moving between rooms with that easy, amused look she always gets when the house is full. Will is everywhere at once, somehow talking to both of them at the same time, and Mack, as always, ends up near you.
It happens so naturally now, that nobody really comments on it anymore. If you sit down, he drifts that direction. If you get up for a drink, he somehow follows you in two minutes later. If you laugh from across the room, his head turns before anyone else’s does.
You notice him constantly, and he notices you just as much. Though neither of you are smart enough to understand what that means, everyone else is.
You’re sitting on the couch with your legs tucked under you, half listening to Ty tell some story while Will heckles him from the chair, when the inside seam of your jeans starts bothering you.
You shift.
Ignore it.
Shift again.
The tiny plastic piece from the tag is still stuck in there somewhere, and every time your jeans move against your hip it catches your skin in the most irritating way possible.
You try to subtly fix it without making a whole thing out of it, but that only seems to make it worse. You tug a little at the fabric, pressing your hand against your side which does nothing, so you try crossing your legs the other way.
Sitting across from you, Mack notices immediately.
“You okay?” He asks, brows pulling together in worry.
“Yeah.” You say, glancing up to him.
He gives you a look that says he does not believe you for one second, and he doesn’t. Because a moment later he’s asking, “What’s wrong?”
“There’s something poking me in the seam of my jeans and it’s driving me insane.” You say, leaning toward him so nobody else hears.
“Like what?” His asks, his face softening right away.
“I think the stupid piece of plastic from when I ripped the tag off.”
He glances toward your hip, then back at your face. “Can you get it?”
“Clearly not.” You chide, making an unimpressed face. But without another word, he stands. “What are you doing?”
“Come here.” He says, your stomach doing that dumb little flip it always does when he gets all quietly demanding with you.
“Mack-“
“Come on,” he says, softer this time, nodding toward the hallway. “I’ll help.”
You hesitate for only a second before standing up, Mack just lightly catching your wrist and tugging you up from the couch. It should not affect you as much as it does, but around him you know no bounds. He’s one of your best friends, you cannot feel these things with him you think as you follow him down the hall, trying very hard not to think about the warmth of his hand around your wrist or the fact that he noticed your discomfort before you even said anything.
The bathroom door clicks shut behind you, cutting off most of the noise from the rest of the house, and for a second, neither of you say anything.
“Show me.” Mack says, nodding his chin towards your jeans.
You laugh under your breath. “That sounds bad.”
“You know what I mean.” He jokes, a grin pulling at his mouth.
You turn slightly and hook your thumbs into the waistband on one side, rolling your jeans down just enough near your hip to show him where the little plastic piece is stuck in the inside seam.
Mack immediately goes pink, and so do you.
“There,” you mutter, the flush getting worse as you look down, seeing the top lace trim of the underwear you had on currently exposed to one of your best friends, the one best friend you just happen to be a little in love with.
Mack crouches a little to look closer, careful and focused in a way that does nothing good for your heart.
“Okay,” he says. “Yeah, I see it.” His fingers brush lightly over your hip as he grabs the plastic bit, and your breath catches before you can stop it.
Mack stills, his eyes flicking up to yours for half a second. But neither of you says anything about it, and he looks back down and tugs at the plastic piece. It doesn’t move.
He frowns and tries again, wrapping it around his finger to give himself more leverage as he pulls harder this time. Still nothing, in fact you’re convinced that the piece is just part of the jeans at this point.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters.
“This is so embarrassing,” you say, staring at the ceiling, not wanting to keep looking down to him.
“It’s not embarrassing.”
“You are crouched in front of me in Ty and Cat’s bathroom because my pants are trying to maim me.”
That gets a quiet laugh out of him, and in that moment he can’t help but breathe in the scent of your exposed skin. The lotion you use daily filling his senses, and he tries to shake it off. Shake it off so you don’t realize he is kind of losing it down here.
His hand stays braced against your side, warm even through the denim. “I’ve got this.”
“You say that like this is a regular service you provide.”
“Only for you.” He whispers it, all joking leaving his tone for a second as the words come out easy, but they hang in the room anyway.
Mack seems to realize what he said about half a second too late, because the tips of his ears go even redder. He clears his throat and focuses harder on the situation.
You should say something, you think as you look down to the top of his head, but you don’t. Maybe because his face is too close to your hip and his fingers are too gentle and the whole thing feels strangely, and very stupidly intimate in a way you don’t know what to do with.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, then, before you can ask what he means, he leans in closer and uses his teeth on the little plastic bit.
“Mack!” You jerk in surprise.
“It’s fine.” He says, laughing against the denim. “Just hold still.”
“You are not doing this with your mouth.”
“It’ll be faster.” He argues, cheek still pressed into your skin.
“This is deranged.” You whine, but he just keeps trying, one hand steady on your thigh to keep the seam in place, and now your entire face is hot because this is ridiculous, completely ridiculous, except his mouth is right there and he’s so close and-
The door swings open, Will stepping in. But he freezes, totally freezes. Because from where he’s standing, all he can really see is Mack bent low in front of you, one hand on your hip, his face buried way too close to the inside of your rolled down jeans while you stand there flushed and wide eyed in the bathroom.
Silence is heavy as Will’s jaw drops, his eyes get so wide it’s almost impressive. And still, nobody moves, the shock gripping you and Mack too tightly to try to begin to explain that this isn’t what it looks like.
“OH my god-“ Will says, making a horrified choking sound.
Mack shoots upright so fast he nearly smacks his head on the sink, and you stumble back and yank your jeans up. Will is still standing in the doorway, staring at both of you like he discovered a new planet.
“I-“ Will says, pointing wildly. “I- wow. Okay. Just, wow.”
“It’s not what-“ you start, but he cuts you off immediately.
“Nope,” Will says, holding up both hands. “No. I do not want details.”
“Will-“ Mack starts, his whole face is red.
“I said no details!” Will repeats, his voice cracking. “Jesus Christ.”
“Nothing was happening.” You say, staring at him. But Will looks between the two of you, deeply unconvinced.
“Mhm.” Will says.
“Mhm?” you repeat.
“Mhm,” he says again, nodding like the most insufferable person alive. “Sure. Totally. You guys just happened to be alone in the bathroom with Mack on his knees between your legs for like, super innocent reasons.”
Your mouth falls open as Mack covers his face with one hand. “Kill me.” He whispers.
Will takes two steps backward into the hall like he’s physically removing himself from the scandal. “You know what? I’m gonna pretend I saw absolutely nothing. Do whatever weird- no. Actually don’t. Stop it. Get out here in like thirty seconds.” And with that he closes the door.
You and Mack just stare at it, then at each other.
“Macklin.” You whisper, but then you both start laughing. Not really because it’s funny, but because it’s so horrible it loops all the way around into being funny. “Oh my God,” you say again, covering your face. “He thinks we were-“
“I know what he thinks,” Mack says, still bright red.
“This is awful.” You say, dropping your hands just enough to look at him.
He is still standing way too close, one hand still half lifted toward your waist like he forgot what he was doing when Will opened the door. But now that you’re both laughing, now that the initial shock is passing, something else starts to settle in. Something warm and awkward in a very different way.
Mack looks at you, still smiling a little. “I should probably finish helping before he sends Ty in as backup.”
“I am never recovering from this.”
He crouches again, slower this time, and says, “I’m really sorry.”
“For what?”
“For making it weird.” He says, his fingers brush your hip again, and your heart squeezes.
“You didn’t,” you say softly.
His eyes flick up to yours and you don’t know why that makes the room tip on its axis a little, but it does. But he clears his throat, and gives the plastic piece one last sharp tug.
It snaps, and as your pants pop back into place, gone is the uncomfortable scratch against your hip. He stands and holds it up between two fingers in victory.
“Got it.” He says, his face smug as he looks at you.
“You are my favorite person.” You say, relief evident in your voice and you’re sure on your face as well. But Mack goes still at your confession, and as you realize what you said, so do you. The air in the bathroom suddenly feels thinner.
“Yeah?” he asks smiling, small and crooked.
You nod, because it’s true in about a hundred different ways. “Yeah.”
He looks like he wants to say something else, but instead, he opens the door for you. Will is waiting in the hallway like a vulture, the second he sees your faces, he folds over laughing.
“Oh, you poor idiots,” he says.
“We are not idiots,” you say.
“Dude.” Will straightens and looks at Mack.
Mack groans out, pointing at Will. “Don’t.”
“No, because seriously.” Will says, putting a hand over his chest. “I open a bathroom door and find you fully about to risk it all.”
“I was not risking anything!” Mack says.
Will looks at you, hoping you’ll confirm his suspicions. “Was he risking it all?”
“He was fixing something, you ass.” You say, shoving your best friend.
—
Back in the living room, you pray maybe Will will let it go, he does not. For the next half hour, he becomes the single most unbearable human being on earth.
Every time Mack gets within three feet of you, Will notices.
Every time you look at Mack, Will notices that too.
If you hand Mack a drink, Will makes a noise.
If Mack sits beside you, Will grins too widely.
Ty catches on almost immediately that something happened, even if he doesn’t know what. Cat definitely knows something happened, mostly because Will is visibly vibrating with the effort not to say anything.
At one point, Cat asks if anyone wants more to drink. Before you or Mack could politely decline, Will answers.
“Mack? Need anything? I’ve heard you’re super thirsty.”
You choke, and Mack goes to pat your back lightly and pushes your water in front of you for you to grab.
“William.” Cat closes her eyes, trying to hide her smirk from you.
Ty, now instantly alert, looks between all of you. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” you and Mack say at the same time.
Will just beams.
—
Across the room, Mack is glaring at Will while Will looks unbearably pleased with himself. Ty is now openly invested, throwing glances around like he’s trying to piece the story together.
And through all of it, every single time Mack gets flustered, every single time you catch him blushing or looking away or rubbing the back of his neck, something tugs tighter in your chest. Because Will is being ridiculous, but he’s also seeing something. Maybe something you’ve been trying very hard not to. Maybe something Mack has seen too.
—
You’re in the kitchen pouring another drink when Mack appears beside you, not too close to where it would raise an eyebrow, but you and Mack had always been close. Always pushed bounds, always crossed lines.
“Sorry about him,” he says quietly.
You glance over. “He’s going to be like this forever, isn’t he?”
“Probably.”
“Great.” You say with a laugh.
“You okay, though?” Mack asks, leaning against the counter.
The question is simple, but with him, it never feels simple. Because he means it, he always means it. Because even now, embarrassed out of your mind, you still feel steadier the second he’s beside you.
You turn your eyes to meet Mack’s, and you really look at him. At the flush still lingering high on his cheeks, at the way he keeps glancing at your face like he’s checking for damage, at the way he showed up the second you were uncomfortable and quietly took care of it without making it a thing.
“Yeah,” you say. Then, honest before you can stop yourself, “Mostly.”
His brows lift slightly. “Mostly?”
You should let it go, should let it be in the past and move forward. But how could you?
“Did he really think we were…” you ask, feeling hot all of a sudden.
Mack lets out a short breath, half laugh, half groan. “Yeah, yeah I think so.”
“That’s so humiliating.” You say, staring down at the cup.
“Maybe.” He says with a shrug. The word makes you look up, surprise coating your features, and you find his eyes are on you already. His throat moves as he swallows, continuing before you could ask. “But I think it’s maybe more humiliating that part of me didn’t hate the idea.”
Everything in you goes very, very still. The kitchen suddenly feeling too small for this conversation.
“Mack.”
He exhales hard and scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No,” you say quickly. “No, it’s just…” You can’t seem to get the rest out, but he waits. And because it’s him, because he always waits, because he always gives you room to find your words, you do. “It’s just that I didn’t hate it either.”
Mack freezes. The sounds from the living room seeping in, laughter and conversation and the clink of dishes, but they all feel far away now.
“You didn’t?” he asks quietly, and you shake your head. His stare drops to your mouth for the briefest second before coming back to your eyes. “Oh,” he says.
And then, because apparently the universe hates you, Will’s voice rings out from the other room.
“Why are you two alone in the kitchen now? Should I be concerned?”
You both jolt apart like you’ve been shocked, and Ty starts laughing immediately. Will appears in the doorway a second later, grin wicked and knowing, and stops short when he sees both your faces.
His expression changes, not dramatically, but enough for you both to clock it. He looks from you to Mack and back again. Then he says, much too casually, “Huh.”
“What does that mean?” You ask, narrowing your eyes.
“Nothing.” He says with a shrug, even though it means everything. He lingers in the doorway a beat longer, then says, “Ty wants help with dessert.”
“I did not say that.” Ty’s voice booms back, but Will ignores him.
“Anyway. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Will just laughs and disappears again.
But the moment is broken now only in the sense that it has to become something else. Mack looks at you, and you look at him.
Then, softly, you ask three words that make Mack’s heart stop. “Is he right?”
“About what?” He asks, taking one step closer. And now that you’ve asked, there’s no point pretending you don’t know.
“This,” you whisper. “Us.”
His eyes go soft in a way that almost undoes you on the spot.
“Yeah,” he says. “I think he is.” Your heart pounds so hard it almost hurts.
“Since when?”
He laughs under his breath, nervous and fond and wrecked all at once. “I don’t know. A while.”
“A while?”
“A long while.” Mack confirms, inching closer yet again.
You stare at him, and then because you couldn’t help yourself, you start laughing a little.
“What?” he asks, smiling despite himself.
“We’re so stupid.”
“Very.” He confirms.
“You’ve liked me this whole time?”
He nods once. “Yeah.”
You feel shy suddenly, which is absurd because this is Mack. This is your Mack. Your best friend. The boy who notices everything, the boy who just got caught with his face way too close to your hip and still asked if you were okay afterward.
“I like you too,” you say as his whole face changes. It is small, the shift in his features, almost like the world just tilted.
“Yeah?” he asks, almost like he can’t believe it.
“Yeah.”
He steps closer again, close enough that your breath catches.
“Good, because that means I won’t feel guilty doing this.” He says, his hands settling on your waist, careful at first, like he still can’t believe he gets to touch you like this. Then he kisses you, and all the tension of the night, all the confusion and near misses and stupid obliviousness, melts away instantly. He kisses you like it’s a relief. Like he’s wanted this for so long that once he starts, he can’t quite keep the softness from turning hungry.
Your hands clutch at his shirt, and he makes a quiet sound into your mouth that has your whole body lighting up. When you finally part, you’re both breathing harder than you should be from one kiss.
Then Will walks by the kitchen, again. He stops. He backs up, seeing you and Mack standing there wrecked and flushed and close.
And Will absolutely loses his mind.
“I KNEW IT,” he shouts, his face in awe and excitement.
You jump so hard you nearly slam into the counter, but Mack shoves his hand between your back and the marble countertop, as if to brace you from smacking into it. Ty appears behind Will instantly, Cat right behind Ty. The three of them crowd the doorway like the world’s nosiest audience.
“Oh my God,” Ty says, delighted. “Finally.”
“Do not ruin this moment for them-“ Cat says, pointing at Will.
“Ruin this? I made this happen.” He says, moving his hands to point to the two of you.
“You did not make anything happen,” Mack says, though he is laughing now, one hand still at your waist.
Will stares at that hand, then at Mack’s face, then at yours.
“You two are unbelievable,” he says. “Actually unbelievable. I walk in on what I think is an x-rated bathroom situation, spend an hour trying to bully the truth out of both of you, and all you needed was five minutes alone near the silverware?”
“Please stop talking.” You say, hiding your smile.
“Do you know how exhausting it is to be surrounded by people this repressed?” Will says to Ty and Cat, motioning again to the both of you.
“Repressed?” you repeat.
“Yes,” Will says. “Do you know how many times I’ve watched the two of you stare at each other like idiots in a rom com and then do absolutely nothing about it?”
Mack laughs helplessly. “Idiots?”
Will ignores Mack’s comment. “And let’s be so clear right now, I deserve credit.”
“You deserve to be banned from opening doors without knocking,” Mack says.
Will presses a hand to his chest. “I cannot believe this is the thanks I get after witnessing something traumatic.”
“It was not traumatic,” you say.
“It was for me,” Will insists. “I’m young. I’m sensitive.”
“You’re neither.” Ty says squinting at him.
You laugh despite yourself, and Mack’s hand tightens just a little on your waist at the sound. It makes heat bloom all over again, even with everyone standing there staring.
“Take your feral child and go.” Cat says, nudging Ty with her shoulder
“I’m not feral,” Will says.
“You absolutely are,” Ty tells him, steering him backward out of the doorway.
Will lets himself be herded, still talking. “I just want it on record that I was right. And that I’m a hero, and when they get married I expect to be making a speech.”
“You are not getting a speech,” Mack says.
Ty slings an arm around his shoulders and drags him toward the dining room while Cat laughs and follows. “Come on, super spy. Leave them alone for ten seconds.”
When the kitchen finally clears, you and Mack are left standing there in the quiet aftershock, both smiling so hard it almost hurts. He looks down at you, softer now.
“You okay?” he asks again, but time you laugh.
“Yeah,” you say, stepping a little closer. “I’m really okay.”
“Good.” He says, his forehead dropping lightly against yours. He presses one quick kiss to your mouth, then he takes your hand and leads you back out to everyone else.
And this time, when Will starts grinning the second he sees you, you just grin back. Because now he can tease all he wants, because yes, he was right.
“Mackie, you have to try. Come on,” I encouraged, leaning down to catch his gaze. I wanted my boyfriend to be a bit more dominant in bed, to take the lead for once.
“But I—I can’t. I don’t know how,” he whined softly. He was sprawled out in the middle of the bed, his shirt discarded and wearing only his boxers. His hair was a mess against the pillow, one arm thrown over his head in a position of total surrender.
“You don’t know that because you’ve never actually tried. Come on, baby, please? Just for me,” I pleaded. I straddled his hips, my thumbs tracing the line of his cheekbones as I looked down at him.
He whined again, shifting restlessly against the sheets. “Why can’t you just touch me? I like it when you do it,” he pouted, his bottom lip tucked out in that way he knew I couldn't resist.
“I can, and I will, but sometimes I want you to try a little. Even just for five minutes,” I whispered, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to his cheek.
“I won’t even last five minutes,” he groaned, the admission making me let out a soft laugh as I started to get off him. “Hey, no, no, no! Where are you going? Come back!” He sat up instantly, his cheeks flushing a deep red as he watched me move.
“I can teach you,” I said simply, reaching back to start taking my clothes off.
“Teach me?” he questioned, his eyes wide and tracking every movement as I climbed back onto the mattress.
“Yes, baby. Look at your strong muscles; I want you to see what you can do with them,” I nodded, gesturing for him to move. “Here, sit up and let me lie down right there.” He listened, moving aside to let me take the spot where he had just been resting.
“Okay,” he whispered, nervous but willing as he shed his boxers. He hovered over me, unsure of his own weight. “Now what?”
“I’m going to open my legs for you, and you’re going to rub your tip around my folds. That way, I get used to the sensation before you actually put it in,” I instructed him.
He bit his lip, concentrating hard as he got into position between my legs. “Oh... uh,” he moaned softly, his breath hitching the moment he felt himself getting wet against me.
“Mmm, good job, baby. You’re doing so good. Now, when you’re ready, you can put it in, okay?” I nodded at him, watching his eyes flutter shut as he slowly guided himself in.
He was so needy, even while he was on top. He hovered over me, making little frustrated sounds, clearly struggling with the role; he didn’t quite understand why I couldn’t just be the one in charge like usual.
“Good. Now you can move in and out however you want. Whatever pace you need,” I encouraged, kissing his jawline.
He started to move, the moans dropping from his mouth becoming more frequent the faster he went. “Mmm, see? You’re so good. So strong,” I moaned at the feeling, my hands reaching up to grip his biceps. “You need to use these more,” I gasped, throwing my head back as the pleasure built.
Suddenly, whimpers and cries began to rip out of his throat. “I can’t... I can’t hold myself up,” he cried, his body shaking as he got closer and closer to his limit.
“Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” I murmured, reaching up to wipe the stray tears falling from his eyes.
“I can’t do it!” he choked out, his strength finally giving way as his body collapsed heavily onto mine.
“It’s okay. Don’t cry, my love,” I soothed, rubbing his back in slow circles as his tears wet the crook of my neck.
He tried to lift himself up, pouting down at me with glassy eyes. “I tried, and I just can’t.”
“It’s okay. You did so well just by trying,” I promised, kissing him tenderly and brushing the messy hair out of his face.
“Can you do it?” he asked, his eyes glistening with a mix of relief and longing.
“Yes, baby. I’ll help you,” I smiled. I reached down, pulling him out of me gently. “Okay, go lie in your spot.”
He moved back to the center of the bed, lying on his back. I positioned myself over him, sliding down and riding him out. He let out a long, shaky breath—this was where he was comfortable.
“Mackie, stay still, baby,” I whispered, rubbing my hand over his chest.
“Can’t... too much... you’re so good,” he panted, his words broken and breathy.
He kept moving his head from side to side, wiggling restlessly underneath me. I watched his stomach muscles tense and release, pushing out then sucking back in—a sure sign he was right on the edge. Cries rang through the room as he finally hit his peak, his hands gripping the sheets beside him until his knuckles turned white.
“Good job, baby,” I whispered, leaning down to kiss him deeply as I kept moving, clenching around him until I followed him into a release a few seconds later.
As we both settled, I tucked my head under his chin. “You did a good job trying,” I reminded him.
“Mmm... but you always do such a good job,” he mumbled happily, pulling me as close as he possibly could.
summary - in which macklin goes to train in cole harbor, nova scotia and ends up leaving with a lot of hockey wisdom and maybe a girlfriend? link to the smau
pairings - macklin celebrini x crosby!reader
warnings - nathan mackinnon instigating the relationship. also crosby!reader being a menace. tooth-rotting fluff. will smith appearance. i might just be lowkey yapping in the first part
wc - 7.4k holy shit
requested - no
a/n - after about 45,000 different versions of this story, I finally ended with a meeting for crosby!reader and mack that I am happy with! should i do headcanons for crosby!reader or background info for her? i want to tell you more about her.
Summer is your favorite time of the year. The time when you spend every waking moment bathing in the Nova Scotia sun, swimming, and playing tennis. It is also the one time during the year when you get to see her dad for more than one week at a time.
You bike down the road, the sound of your wheels rolling over the asphalt, a quiet section in the symphony that was the sound of Cole Harbour in early August. You curve into the driveway and hop off of your bike, walking it the rest of the way into the garage. Propping it against miscellaneous boxes in the bay your dad swears he will organize. You walk back through the door to the house, humming along to a song absentmindedly.
“Hey sweetheart.” Your dad, Sidney Crosby, is in the kitchen, his voice muffled by your music.
“Hi, Dad.” You pull out your headphones and put them away.
“Good bike ride?” He asks and ruffles your hair.
“Yeah, I ended up riding downtown and went to a little bookstore. I bought a book for some summer reading.” You open the refrigerator and pull out a cold apple.
“What’s it about?”
You hop up onto the counter, “It’s similar to that one movie with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves…umm, what’s it called? The Lake House! Yes, that's it. Where they communicate through a magic mailbox, but he’s living two years in the future.”
“I don’t know if I’ve seen it.” Sidney plucks the apple from your hand before you can bite into it, running it under the sink water and removing the sticker.
“You should, it was really good. Anyways my book is kind of similar, but they live in the same apartment, seven years apart.” He hands you back the apple, dried and washed. “Thanks.”
“Sounds really interesting.”
“I know! That’s why I bought it.” You nod and finally bite into the apple.
“I gotta get my gear ready, I think Nate’ll be over soon. He’s bringing Macklin.” Your ears perk up a little at Macklin’s name.
You try to school your expression, but it’s almost like your dad can tell. He gets a glint in his eye—an all-knowing look that came with age and having a teenage daughter—and nods skeptically.
“So if they knock, let them in.”
“I will.” You agree a little too eagerly.
“Okay…I’m gonna go get my bag together.” Sidney narrows his eyes at you, walking off very slowly.
“You already said that, Dad.” You take another bite of your apple.
“Right. Answer the door.”
“I will.” You sigh, and he finally walks away.
You hop off the counter and pad to the living room and open the curtains, letting the sunlight cascade in through the windows. Unlatching the bolt, you push open the pane of glass, letting the gentle breeze move through the room. Sitting down on the armchair that you had claimed at the ripe age of 5—blue and slightly faded, with armrests that made sitting sideways in it still comfortable—you grab the TV remote to flip through the channels, apple still in hand.
A knock on the door sounds just as you start to get comfortable.
You grumble but get out of your armchair, setting your half-finished apple on a napkin. You walk to the front door and pull it open to the sight of Nathan MacKinnon and a very awkward Macklin Celebrini.
“Hey, Nate.”
“How’ve you been, Gator?” Nate gives you a tight hug.
“Good, I just got back from the Junior US Open, and I’m here for the next two weeks before I go back to my mom’s.” You let the two inside, and Macklin has a wide-eyed expression like he can’t believe he’s actually inside Sidney Crosby’s house.
“I saw congrats on the win.” He ruffles your hair as he walks into the entryway. “How’s your mom doing?”
“She’s doing good, my baby brother keeps her and my stepdad busy.” You shut the door and walk behind them. Nate knows his way around, but Macklin, who still hasn’t said anything, is hesitant to go in further than the entryway.
“I saw that he’s 5 now, right?” Nate moves to the kitchen and grabs himself a glass of water.
“Yep, he likes to think he’s at least 10, but he’s still a baby.” You laugh and stand next to Macklin. “The bathroom is down the hall there, feel free to grab anything from the kitchen, and make yourself comfortable.”
“Okay.” He gives a short nod. “It’s nice to meet you in person.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Macklin.”
“Just Mack works.” He corrects you politely.
“Okay, Mack it is then.” You agree and wave him along further into the house.
Mack follows you, and Nate raises a brow. Your dad rounds the corner, his hockey bag slung over his shoulder.
“Hey, Nate. Mack, welcome to Cole Harbour. How’s it treating you so far?” He sets his bag down near the front door.
“It's been good. Really quiet, it's nice.” Mack says, making Sidney smile.
“Good, I’m glad. We should get going, our rental slot is coming up here soon.” He looks down at his watch.
“Alright, riding with me or taking your truck?” Nate sets his empty water glass into the sink.
“Have fun with the old timers, Mack.” You grin, and both Nate and your dad give you a sharp look. “Oop…gotta go.”
You cackle and run up the stairs, the three hockey players watching you go. Mack’s gaze follows you till you disappear, a light blush coloring his face. He tears his eyes away from where you were standing and turns back to see Nate and your father staring at him.
“Come on Celebrini, we’ve got work to do.”
•••
When your dad finally gets home, you are perched on your favorite armchair, blanket thrown over your lap, Stanford hoodie pulled over your head, and your new book in your hand.
“I’m back.” Sidney sets his hockey bag down next to the door leading to the garage. “Did you eat dinner?”
“Yeah I made a protein pasta with red sauce and spinach, and there is some leftover salad for you.” You press your cheek against the back of the chair.
“Thanks, sweetheart. I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Sidney starts pulling the leftovers out of the refrigerator.
“Yeah?” You close your book.
“Is there something going on with you and Mack?”
“Straight to the point. Got it. I don’t really know Dad. We followed each other on Instagram a few weeks back. I gave him my number so we could text more, but I think we’ve texted about three times? I admitted that I found him attractive, but he hasn’t really reciprocated.” You sigh, slumping further into the chair. “And to top it all off, he barely spoke to me when we met in person. He just said it’s nice to meet you, and corrected me when I called him Macklin. So long story short, I don’t really know.”
“You just have to let him open up to you. And you’re persistent, I don’t know who you got that from. But I know you’ll make it work.”
“I got that from you and Mom. Two of the most stubborn people I've had the pleasure of being raised by.” You point out. “Crosbys don’t quit.”
“Touché.” Sidney sits down on the couch, setting his plate of food in front of him. “Want to show me the movie you were talking about this morning?”
“The Lake House?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay!” You move from the arm chair and to the couch. Sidney shifts over to make room for you to stretch out, and you drag your blanket over with you.
“Don’t count Mack out just yet.” He speaks up, and you look over at him. “He’s a good kid, and he’s certainly better than any other boys you’ve talked to in the past.”
“You are such a dad, the guys weren’t terrible, just either looking for an in with you, wanting eye candy on their arm, or using me for my money…okay fine, they were bad.” You recount the several different guys you’ve encountered while being alive, and Sidney Crosby’s daughter.
“I just want you to be happy, sweetheart. That’s all I want for you.”
“I will be dad, don't worry.” You smile and press play on the movie.
“I know you will.”
•••
You corner Macklin two days later, when he and Nate are invited to breakfast. Because, like you told your dad the two days before, ‘Crosbys don’t quit.’
“Are you having fun training with my dad and Nate?” You say and pour yourself a glass of lemonade.
“Yeah, it’s been really good, learning a lot of things. Being a sponge.” He nods, raking a hand through his hair, only to have it fall in the same position.
“Any other plans besides hockey while you’re here?”
“Not really, no.”
“Well, if you ever want to see more of Cole Harbour, text me, I’ll happily be your guide.” You offer before Nate interrupts you.
“Gator, can you bring the salt and pepper?”
“Sure!”
“Why does he call you Gator?” Mack watches you open the cabinet and grab the shakers.
“When I was younger, I would say 'see you later alligator' all the time, like every time someone left a room.” You laugh and walk with him to the dining room. “I’m also from Florida. I live there with my mom, stepdad, and little brother. It’s better for tennis training too.”
“And she was a biter.” Nate takes the shakers from her.
“I was not.”
“You were too, I remember meeting you for the first time when I was like 15, and you were what, 3? You would not stop biting people, running around screaming “see you later alligator”, and dragging that penguin stuffed animal that you aptly named Sid.” Nate continues the story, throwing his hands around animatedly.
“Oh my god, telling my whole life story.” You sit down at the table.
“Always Gator.”
“I don’t want you to waste a week of vacation here, Mack. How about I give you the day off tomorrow?” Sidney suggests.
“I’m here to train Sid, not to decline your offer. But, I would like to train.”
“Man of my own heart, how about we do an early morning training session, and then I give you the rest of the day off. Come with me and Y/N on the boat.”
“That sounds like fun.” Mack agrees, and Sidney gives a smile.
“Oooo, can I drive the boat?” You plead with your dad.
“We’ll see.” Sidney rolls his eyes at your antics.
“Better have the lake cleared if Y/N’s gonna be driving.”
“I’ll have you know, I have my operator card to drive the boat.” You say offended.
“Doesn’t mean you're good.” Nate raises his eyebrows before turning to eat his food again.
“Hey, I’m not bad at driving the boat. And I’m not happy being bullied in my own house.” You slump into your seat.
“I bet you’re a good driver,” Mack speaks up sweetly.
“Why, thank you.” You beam.
“You can’t take her side on this one, Rook, just because you have a crush on her.” Mack goes beet red at Nate’s words, and you choke on your lemonade.
“Nate.” Sid looks at the man pointedly.
“Sorry, sorry.”
Mack looks wholly embarrassed, eyes trained down on the plate of food in front of him. The table gets awkward, and you stand up, clearing your empty plate.
“Can I take anyone’s plates?” You ask, trying to clear the tension.
“I can help.” Mack stands up too, and you both take the utensils, plates, and cups.
He follows you to the kitchen and helps you to wash the dishes.
“I’m sorry about Nate. He likes to tease a lot.” You apologize for Nate.
“It’s fine, just a little shocking. I thought I was hiding it better.” Mack admits, and your heart flutters.
“So you do have a crush on me?”
“Says the girl who admitted that she found me cute after sliding into my DMs.”
“Just constantly being attacked in my own home.” You joke and turn on the faucet to begin washing the dishes. “Forgive me for being a woman in a male-dominated field.”
“A woman in a male-dominated field is crazy.” Mack lets out a bark of laughter and moves to help you dry the dishes you were washing.
“What can I say?” You shrug, Mack laughs again, and you hand him a plate to dry. “And my comment still stands, you are cute.”
“Good to know. Sorry for being so awkward yesterday, it was a lot to take in.”
“No worries…meeting and training with people you grew up watching is crazy. If I were invited to Maria Sharapova’s house and she asked to train with me, I would probably die on the spot.” You continue to scrub at the dishes.
“Yeah, they say never meet your idols, but Sid and Nate are really cool.”
“Don’t inflate their egos, I’m really just talking about Nate.” You rinse the last dish and turn off the faucet. “His head is big enough.”
“Noted.” The two of you put the dishes away and look at the clean kitchen.
“We did a good job.” You hang up the towel.
“Ready to head out, Mack?” Sidney asks, walking to the kitchen.
“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Mack looks back at you.
“See you tomorrow.”
•••
The sun shining over the lake, reflecting against the gentle waves, creates a beautiful afternoon for boating. You have an oversized Stanford hoodie, a pair of denim shorts over your bikini, and your hair is braided back. You adjust your sunglasses on the bridge of your nose and pull down the brim of your baseball hat. Sidney lugs a cooler onto the boat and sets it up in the seating area of the boat.
“I packed fruit, some meat and cheese, and some sparkling water. I also packed your blackberry flavored water.”
“Ooo, thanks, Dad.” You beam and set your crochet bag down on the seat.
“Mack over here!” Your dad yells to the boy walking towards the dock.
“I’m glad my mom told me to pack a swimsuit, I almost wasn’t going to.” He boards the boat. He's got a backwards hat on, a plain t-shirt, and a black pair of swimsuit shorts.
“Moms always know.” Sidney chuckles and claps him on the shoulder. “Speaking of which, did you call your mom sweetheart?”
“I did, she's busy with my little brother though, so it was a short call.” You nod and sit down on one of the plush seats on the back of the boat.
“Kid’s a menace, I’ll give him that.” Sidney laughs.
“More than I was?”
“No one beats you, Gator.” He kisses your hair. “Still giving me heart attacks to this day.”
You giggle and walk back over to the cooler and pull out the blackberry water your dad bought specifically for you. Sidney unties the boat from the dock, as Macklin sits down on one of the seats.
“Want anything, Mack?” You look over your shoulder at the boy.
“What do you have?” He inquires and walks over to you.
“We have sparkling water in peach, lime, and raspberry, or some flavored water, which is what I'm drinking. I prefer blackberry, but watermelon and cucumber are good.” You dig through the cooler. “We also have snacks.”
“I’ll have sparkling water.”
“Which flavor?” You show him the glass bottles with three flavors on them.
“So many to choose from, let's go with peach-flavored.” He finally picks, and you hand him the bottle, “Anything for you, Dad?”
“Lime, please.” You put the other bottle back into the cooler and walk over to the driver's seat. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
The boat’s motor comes to life and takes off into the lake. You open your water and lounge out on the bench, pulling off your hat and taking off your t-shirt, leaving you in just your bikini top and denim shorts. You put your hat back on, tugging it down over your brow. Mack looks away, trying not to seem invasive, giving you a good look at his side profile. Adam's apple bobbing as the wind ruffles the hair peeking out from underneath his hat has your stomach fluttering.
“You’re a reader?” Mack settles back on the bench, finally looking back at you.
“Yeah, makes for a great way to pass the time on airplane rides, rather than watching movies and such.” You shrug. “Do you read?”
“Not really.”
“That’s okay, reading isn’t for everyone.” You tease.
“I can read, though.” Mack tries to defend himself.
“I don’t doubt it.” You wink and watch his face go red.
“Y/N wanna drive?” Sidney looks back over his shoulder at you, and you grin mischievously.
“Yes, is that even a question?” You put your book back into your bag and walk over to the driver's seat.
“I’d say hold on, Mack, she's got a lead foot.” Sidney sits on the seat across from the wheel as you take it into your hands and sit down. “We’re in open water, Gator, but still be careful, please.”
“I’m always careful.” You roll your eyes and flip your hat backwards, opting for your sunglasses.
“Yeah, right.” Sidney pinches the bridge of his nose.
You cackle and pull down on the throttle, the boat lurching forward and taking off through the lake.
“Oh shit.” Mack grabs onto the bench for support, “Nate was right, you are a danger to the waters.”
“Fine, maybe I am.” You yell over the wind.
“Being humble was never your strong suit, sweetheart,” Sidney shouts, and your shoulders shake with laughter.
Mack swears that if an angel came in the shape of a girl wearing a bikini top, denim shorts, bows of your bottoms spilling over the sides, sunglasses perched on the tip of your nose, a backwards hat, tendrils of hair falling from your braid, and flying around your face. Then you would be the most beautiful angel he had ever seen. Even while fearing for his life as you cut across the lake at a speed that should be patrolled by the Coast Guard, you look amazing with the afternoon sun surrounding you in a golden glow.
“Stop here Y/N, we can anchor the boat, and you can swim!” Your dad calls out, and you cool it on the throttle.
The boat starts to slow to a drift as you shift it into neutral, “And did anyone die?” You joke and let Sidney take over again.
“No, I guess not.” Mack laughs, standing up and shedding his shirt.
You are doing much of the same, unbuttoning your denim shorts, and shoving them down your legs. You throw your hat and sunglasses onto your pile of clothes, and lean over the side of the boat to test the water. It's ice cold, and it sends goosebumps up your arm.
“I’m lowering the anchor now, give it a second, sweetheart.” The boat starts to idle in the water, and Sidney throws in the anchor.
“All good now?”
“Go ahead.” Sidney smiles and sits down, letting himself relax.
You jump over the side of the boat, plunging into the cold water, every nerve lighting on fire as your senses come alive. You break through the surface and brush the hair from your face.
“How’s the water?” Mack asks, leaning over the edge of the boat.
“Just jump in.”
“No, is it cold?”
“Afraid of cold water, Celebrini?” You quip, looking up at him.
“I’m not.” He argues back, and you raise an eyebrow.
“Sure, help me up, and we’ll get back in together.” You hold your hand up to him.
“I know this trick. I grew up with three siblings. You think I don’t know every trick in the book?” Mack shakes his head, refusing to grasp your hand.
“I’m serious, just help me up.” You continue to hold out your hand.
Mack can see the sincerity on your face, or he's blinded by what he thinks is sincerity, and he takes your hand. Your demeanor shifts as you grin wildly and use the boat as leverage to yank Mack into the icy cold water with you.
“Oh fuck that’s cold.” Mack spits as he breaks the water's surface. “And you lied to me, put on a sincere face and made me believe you.”
“You’re just gullible.” You swim through the water gently.
“You're crazy, Crosby.”
“Only a little, don’t let it scare you away.” You retort and flick him with a little water.
“It won’t.”
•••
The three of you get back to the lake house dock when the sun is setting, a smattering of orange, red, indigo, and dark blue painting the horizon. You’re wrapped up in your hoodie again, the cold night air seeping through the fabric.
“I’m gonna shower.” You shiver slightly, feeling the goosebumps all over your skin.
“Alright, I’ll start on dinner. Do you want to stay for dinner, Mack?” Sidney looks over at the boy.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Mack gets to refuse.
“You wouldn’t be. Just stay for dinner, Mack.” You pipe up, opening the back door, you flash him some pleading eyes, and Mack can’t bring himself to refuse you.
“If it’s no bother.”
“It’s not, I invited you here for a reason.” The three of you walk into the lake house.
“Okay, I’ll stay for dinner.” He finally agrees.
“Good, we have a full bathroom down the hall next to the guest bedroom if you want to wash up before dinner.” Sidney pointed down the hall. “I’ll get started on dinner.”
Macklin takes a quick shower before putting on the change of clothes he brought with him. He walks back to the kitchen feeling a lot warmer and cleaner. Sidney is in the kitchen making dinner, so Mack takes a look around the living room, almost afraid to talk to Sidney alone. There are pictures everywhere, Sidney in his younger years: as a kid, an awkward middle schooler, then a teenager. Sidney holding the Cup, and another version of the picture with a two year old you propped up on top of the Cup. There’s also a small number of pictures with both Sidney and you, but the addition of a woman who you seemed to look exactly like.
“That’s Y/N’s mom.” Sidney sees Mack looking at the pictures.
“They look exactly the same.” Mack sets down the frame.
“I know. She has my personality, though.” Sidney agrees and begins to chop some vegetables. “Come over here for a second, Mack, I want to talk.” He waves the younger man over. “Nothing bad, I promise.”
Mack walks over hesitantly and sits on the stools at the counter.
“You and my daughter have a connection.” Sid sets down the knife he is using to chop, which Mack sees as a good sign. “And I want to know what you want from her. Because she has a lot going for her, and you’re both young.”
“I really like her, believe me, I don’t want to mess this up either,” Mack admits.
“You’re 19, Macklin, she’s almost 19. You two are still teenagers and, yes, you will be living 30 minutes apart from each other come August, but how can I trust you with her heart? How can I know that you have her best interests in mind?”
“I’m going to do everything in my power to keep her happy, she deserves it, she deserves everything good that life has to offer.” Sidney can see the genuineness in Macklin’s voice. “But, if she doesn’t want that with me, I will back down. I would never force her into anything she didn’t want. Y/N deserves love and respect, and if she lets me, I will give her that and more.”
“The media will have a field day with your relationship. Are you prepared to handle that? Are you prepared to defend her at all costs?” Sid says testing Mack more.
“Whatever they throw at us, I am prepared to handle that with her, she’ll never have to do it alone.”
Sid nods, slowly taking in the words Mack spoke, the silence stretched out over several minutes. The anticipation was getting to Mack. This would probably be the only chance for him to plead his case to Sidney Crosby on why he should be the one to date his daughter.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Mack is confused by your dad’s answer.
“I give you permission to pursue my daughter. Your answer was sincere, and I trust you have her best interest at heart.” Sidney picks up the knife again.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Never call me that again.” Sidney’s eyebrows raise as he looks at Mack pointedly. “But if you hurt her…”
Sid didn’t even need to finish the sentence for Mack to get the idea, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
You walk down the stairs and look between the two, “What happened here?”
“Just shovel talk, sweetheart. Help me start the chicken.” Your dad smiles, and you narrow your eyes.
“Now why would you need to do that?” You give a suspicious look at your dad.
“Grab the Old Bay.” He ignores your question, and you hand him the seasoning.
“Ignoring the question doesn’t make it go away.” Sidney commits to the bit, and you turn to Mack, “What did he badger you about?”
“I don’t think I’m at liberty to say.” Mack shakes his head.
“This is ridiculous." You huff and pull out a pan for the chicken. “I just want to know what’s going on.”
Both Sidney and Mack laugh at your grumbling, and your intrigue at what they are hiding from you only grows more. Yet, they won’t tell you anything, not through the cooking of dinner, or even the eating of it. They both divert the questions or ignore them altogether, which frustrates you to no end. You continue the pestering as the three of you wash and put away dishes, and wipe down kitchen counters.
“What is so secret about this that you can’t tell me?” You hang up your towel and look between the two again.
“Maybe ask Mack.” Sidney shrugs and walks up the stairs, “If you want to stay the night, Mack, the guest bedroom, if not, Y/N or I can drive you back to your hotel.”
“Thanks, Sid.”
“No problem.” Your dad continues up the stairs to his room, and Mack looks around for you.
You sit down on the back steps of the patio, the light of the moon your only source of light. Mack opens the sliding back door and sits down next to you. You look over at him, and Mack swears his heart starts to palpitate.
“So what were you and my dad discussing?” You ask, your voice gentle, no longer filled with frustration.
“Want to know the truth?”
“Obviously?” You look at him, confused, as if he didn’t hear the billion times you asked both him and your dad what they were talking about.
“He wanted to know my intentions with you.”
“Oh?” You tilt your head, “And, what would those intentions be?”
“I like you a lot. I know we’ve only known each other for four days, but I want to get to know you more.” Mack says honestly. “If you would like that.”
“I’d like that.” You smile softly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Mack hesitates for a second before speaking again, “Does that mean I can ask you on a date?”
“Yes, it does.” You agree, head giving a small nod.
“Then, Y/N Crosby, will you go on a date with me?”
“Yes, I will, Macklin Celebrini.” Mack can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.
“Good.”
“Good.” You reiterate and move a little closer to him.
“So could I take you out sometime soon?”
“Here in Cole Harbour?” You raise an eyebrow.
“I could figure it out.”
“Sure, you could.” You pat his shoulder skeptically. You pause for a moment before speaking again, “You’re sweet, Mack, you know that.”
“You think so?” Mack grins.
“I do. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late, it already did.” He shrugs, “Y/N Crosby called me sweet, how can I not let it go to my head?”
“You are ridiculous.” You roll your eyes.
“But in all seriousness, can I take you out sometime?”
“How about I take you out? Since I know Cole Harbour better, and then when I get to California, you can take me out?” You offer instead.
“I like the sound of that.” He agrees, and you beam.
“Perfect. How much longer are you here?”
“One more full day, then I head back the day after,” Mack answers, and you ponder for a second.
“Bit of a time crunch. Think you can fit me into your training schedule tomorrow?” You lean your chin into your hand.
“I can carve out the time.” He quips and playfully nudges your shoulder.
“Good.” You grin.
•••
“Y/N Crosby is going on a date with you? You pulled, man.” Will’s voice crackles over the phone as Mack checks his appearance in the mirror again.
“I know, I don’t know what to wear though, she said we’re going to a farmers market.”
“I’d just wear jeans and a t-shirt, keep it simple. What do you have on now?” Will asks, and Mack looks at his polo shirt and slacks.
“I should change,” Mack says hurriedly and rummages through his suitcase.
“Wait, what are you wearing? Did you put on a polo?” He cackles over the phone.
“No, I didn’t.” He lies.
“Oh my god, you did!”
“I’m hanging up on you,” Mack yells at him, now polo-less.
“Yeah, right, you need all the help you can get, Mack."
“Says you. At least I’m going on a date.” Mack retorts, and Will scoffs.
“I’m happily living up the single life, don’t worry about me. But you should probably get going, Miss. Crosby said 2 o'clock, right?”
“Don’t call her that.” Mack groans, “Goodbye, Will.”
“Good luck, Mackie, don’t fuck it up!” Will says, far too excited for Mack’s liking. The phone call ends, and Mack doesn’t feel prepared for this date at all.
YOU
I’m downstairs
Text me when you’re on your way
MACK
I’m on my way down
Mack looks in the mirror one last time and walks out of his hotel room. He spots you immediately leaning against a silver pickup truck, you wave to him, and he picks up his speed.
“Good afternoon.” You push off the truck.
“Afternoon,” He reciprocates the greeting, “A truck driver I didn’t expect that for you.”
“Only in Cole Harbour. I drive an SUV in Florida.” You shrug and move to the driver's side.
“How is living in Florida? Every time we go there for games, it’s so humid.” Mack hops into the passenger side.
“I’d say humid is the right word for it. I guess that’s why I like coming up to Nova Scotia, cooler summers, so you don’t feel like you’re being suffocated by dense air.” You chuckle and pull out of the hotel parking lot.
“I can imagine.”
“I haven’t been to Vancouver much, but how are the summers there?” You ask, eyes flicking over to him for a second.
“Warmer than summers here, but not by much. I tend to do the same thing at home as I am doing here. Train, spend time at the lake, and with family.” Mack looks over at you, noticing the concentration on your face as you drive.
“No time off for you either, huh?” Your eyes meet his for a brief moment before you look back at the road.
“Training never stops. I’m guessing it’s the same way with you?”
“I’m at the court every morning by 8, I’m usually there until 10, or 11 if I feel like I need the extra practice.” You turn down a street and find a parking spot fairly close to the entrance of the market. “I like routine.”
“Me too.” Mack agrees, and the two of you get out of the truck. “So what are we here for?”
“Nothing really, I just want to show you a little bit of Cole Harbour.” You shrug, “There’s also this one bakery that does a stall here, and their cookies are to die for. Like the size of...well…a hockey puck, crispy edges and a soft, gooey center. So I guess I'm here for that.”
“That sounds amazing.” He can’t help his mouth from watering.
“Come on.” You grin and wave him along.
The tents seem to go on for miles, they sell breads, fruits, vegetables, small knick-knacks, and homemade sweets. Anything you could have wanted to find was available on this one street. Macklin pulls the brim of his hat down a little lower.
“Don’t worry about being recognized. They may know who you are, but they all know to be respectful and keep things like these to themselves.”
“Are you sure?”
“Have you ever seen a tabloid detailing what Sidney Crosby, Nathan Mackinnon, or Brad Marchand get up to during the summer?” You respond, and Mack can’t recall any stories.
“I guess not.” He shrugs.
“See, perfectly fine.” No one bats an eye as the two of you weave through the crowds.
Mack sticks close to you, hand resting on your upper back so as to not lose you in the crowd. The color blooming throughout every inch of the market sets the scene for your date. You show Macklin around the stalls, and he eats far too much food for only having samples of everything. You stop in a few tents with trinkets, and he finds a few things to take home with him.
“Oh, my god.” Your voice is full of glee, and Mack looks over.
You’re holding a soft penguin plush in your hands. He walks over hand finding your back again, “That’s very cute.”
“It looks exactly like the one I had as a kid.” You stroke the downy head of the stuffed animal.
“You don’t have it anymore?”
“Alas, poor Sid the Penguin got lost in the move between Pittsburgh and Boca Raton. 8-year-old me was devastated. I never loved another stuffed animal again.” You smile, albeit with a hint of sadness. “Slightly dramatic, but I took that penguin everywhere with me, and it being on the move away from my dad, it only made it harder.”
“Then you have to get it.”
“Are you encouraging me to buy a stuffed animal?” You look at him with amused confusion.
“It clearly has a lot of sentimental value to you.” Macklin shrugs, “And I’ll even buy it for you.”
“Mack, I don’t really need it.” You try to put the stuffed penguin back, but he takes it from your hands before you can. “Mack.”
He ignores your protests and takes it over to the person running the tent. You sigh and watch him pay for the penguin, but the smile creeps across your face. He takes the brown paper bag with the newly acquired plush inside.
“Graduation gift, for your dorm.” You roll your eyes at his bad excuse, but you can’t even bring yourself to be annoyed, because the gesture is sweet and only makes your heart race more.
“Thank you, Mack, I really appreciate it.”
“You liked it, and it clearly means more to you than you are letting on.” He gives you the bag, and his hand brushes against yours.
“It really means a lot to me. Really.”
“I can tell.” Mack looks down at your hand that is still lingering on his. You hesitate for a second before boldly grasping it.
“Is this okay?” You ask, and Macklin nods quickly.
“Yeah, it is.” You switch the bag to your other hand, his palm warm around yours. “Where to next?”
“Cookies.” You look determined, and Mack can’t help but grin.
“Cookies it is. Lead the way.”
You two continue down the road hand in hand, and you can’t stop the giddy laughter that escapes your mouth.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. I’m just happy.” You look over at him and see he’s sporting a flush similar to yours.
“I am too.” He agrees, giving your hand a small squeeze.
The two of you found the stall with the cookies, and you were right, they taste amazing. You buy a dozen to take back home with you, and Mack buys two for his plane ride home the next day.
“Do you want to walk to the end of the market or start heading back?” You put the cookies into your bag before taking Mack’s hand again.
“Let’s keep going, then once we get to the end, we can start walking back.” He suggests.
“Okay.”
You both continue walking down the street, and the crowd begins to thin out as you reach the end of the farmers' market. A small stall near the end catches Macklin’s eye, it’s filled to the brim with flowers of every color.
“What’s your favorite flower?” He questions out of the blue.
“Lilies, why?”
“Give me a second.” He leaves you in the middle of the street and makes his way over to the tent.
“Where are you going?” You follow after him. “Mack, what are you doing?”
“Just stay right there.” He calls back to you, leaving you to chuckle at his antics. A far cry from the person you met five days ago, who was so reserved and hesitant.
“You’re crazy, Celebrini.” You stand outside the stall. He emerges after a few minutes with a small, beautifully arranged bouquet of lilies, baby’s breath, and eucalyptus, all wrapped in brown paper and a twine bow.
“For you.” He gives you the bouquet.
“Mack, you didn’t need to get me this.”
“I did, my mom told me it’s always nice to bring a girl flowers. Especially on the first date.” You take it into your hands.
“Well, she’s a smart woman.” You bring the flowers to your nose and smell the fresh floral scents. “They smell amazing.”
He leans down and breathes in the natural perfume of the flowers, “They do smell good.”
You situate the bouquet in your bag, making sure you don’t crush it. “Thank you, Mack.”
“It’s no big deal.” Mack brushes off your thanks, “I guess we should get going.”
“I guess we should,” You sigh, noting that you had both made it to the end of the farmers' market. “When do you go to the airport tomorrow?”
“My flight is at 8:30 in the morning.” The two of you begin the walk back.
“Are you going to Uber there?”
“I was planning to.”
“What if I took you? If you want.” You offer. “The drive is like 30 minutes.”
“If it’s not too much of a bother.”
“It’s not.” You retort, shutting down his effort to not be a hassle. “Besides, it's an excuse to see you again.”
“I guess I can’t complain about that.” Mack agrees.
“No, you can’t.” You grin.
“Are you sure it won’t be too early?”
“I’m sure I’ll just head to the court a little earlier tomorrow and probably take a nap.” You ease his worries.
“Seriously, I can Uber.”
“And I can seriously drive you to the airport.” You retort, “Stop trying to deny my offer.”
“Alright, alright.” Macklin backs down from his attempts.
“Good. Now come on.” You squeeze his hand and pull him along the road. “It’s getting late.”
“Yeah, it is.” There's a finality in his tone that makes you both realize your time together in Nova Scotia is coming to an end.
Mack hopes that you feel the same way about your time spent together. That everything that happened during his time in Cole Harbour wasn’t a summer fling, and it could actually go somewhere. He holds onto the thought of the promises that California brings. The possibility of them being fulfilled and not something that just washes away in the midsummer waters.
He mostly just hopes that he can see you again.
•••
The early morning rays of the sun begin to shine as you and Mack drive in silence. You had picked him up from his hotel at 6 to start the 30-minute drive to the Halifax Airport.
“Are you ready to go back?” You break the silence.
“To Vancouver? Or San Jose?”
“Valid, umm…San Jose.” You clarify.
“Ready to see what the new season brings. I’m feeling good about what the team can do and the new talent we’re getting this season.” He answers honestly.
“That’s good. So professional.”
“Sorry, that sounded like a media question.” Mack laughs softly.
“I guess it did.” You agree and see the airport come into view. “We’re almost there.”
He doesn’t respond to that because if he does, it means it’s true, and then Mack is really on his way back to Vancouver. He just goes awkwardly silent, leaving you to look at him, wondering if you said something wrong.
“Is it too early to say I’m gonna miss you?” You break through the silence.
“No, it’s not,” Mack says quietly, and you look over at him briefly before staring back at that road. “Because I’m gonna miss you too.”
The airport looms closer, and a sense of dread fills your chest. Because what if this is just a summer fling, and all the talk of California never comes to fruition? You just continue driving, trying to push the feeling away, because you can’t bear to break in front of him. You pull up to his airline and turn off the car.
Mack gets out of the passenger side and moves around to the truck bed to grab his things. You get out of the truck and round to the side to give him your goodbye.
“I had a lot of fun, Y/N.” He smiles, and the dread only creeps in more.
“Me too, Mack.” You force out a smile.
“Is everything okay?” Mack asks, noticing the furrow of your brows.
“Um…this isn’t just a summer fling, right? Will we actually see each other when I get to California?” You cross your arms over your chest, refusing to meet his gaze.
“I’ve never been more serious about anyone, Y/N. When I say I want to take you on a date, or multiple dates in California, I mean it.” Mack puts a hand on your arm, and you finally look at him.
“Don’t you think that’s a little bold for you, Celebrini?”
“I have to be bold when it comes to you.” He quips, and your heart beats out of your chest.
“Good.” You quirk a real smile.
“I should get going now.” Mack grabs his suitcase and hockey bag.
“You should.” You agree and watch him begin to walk away.
You don’t move as he nearly gets to the automatic doors, but something in your heart urges you to stop him before he walks into the airport.
“Wait, Mack!” You call after him, and he turns to look at you. You walk over to him briskly and stand in front of him.
“Yeah?” He looks at you, eyes tracing over your face.
“Before you go,” You take a deep breath, calming your racing pulse, “can I kiss you?”
“God, yes.” He sighs in relief and sets his hockey bag down.
You wrap your arms around his neck and press your mouth to his. His hand threads through your hair to cradle the back of your neck, as he kisses you back. Despite the cold summer morning, you feel warm all over. Cheeks flushed and lips melting together, the built-up tension finally dissipates.
You pull away breathless and let out a small giggle. Mack rests his forehead against yours and chuckles with you.
“So,” You say after catching your breath, the feeling of his thumb tracing circles on your waist grounding you in the moment.
“So.” He repeats.
“I guess you should go now.” You let go of him reluctantly.
“I guess I have to.” He untangles his hand from your hair and moves to pick up his things again.
Mack has his hockey bag back on his suitcase, and he adjusts the straps on his backpack before looking at you again.
“I really enjoyed this Y/N.” Your chest warms at his words.
“Me too,” You agree, “Don’t forget to text me when you get home. Just so I know.”
“I will. Don't worry.”
“I guess I’ll see you in California, Macklin Celebrini.”
“See you in California, Y/N Crosby.” He echoes before giving you one last peck on the lips.
Macklin gives you a wave before walking into the Halifax Airport and leaving you to anticipate the next time you two will see each other again.
a/n - this is really long, and I’m not even sure it’s good…
synopsis: when two young big names get together, it’s pretty hard to miss. especially when there’s jealousy and drama involved.
author’s note: this series is completely fictional and does NOT reflect any of the individuals involved in real life. none of this is real, and is purely for fun!
──── .✦ in chronological order! ──── .✦
FICS ⋆.˚
you seem pretty sad for a girl so inlove
➥ macklin celebrini has always had a crush on y/n, the famous young actress, but he can never seem to get with her, all because of her boyfriend. if she’s so in love though, why does she seem so sad?
hope ur ok
➥ seeing macklin and y/n pushes y/n’s boyfriend to his limits. after their breakup, y/n finds herself in the comfort of the young hockey player and his best friend
jealousy, jealousy
➥ y/n and will have been spending an awful lot of time together, which doesn’t go over too well for macklin
you’re still the one i run to
➥ after seeing will talk about y/n so fondly, macklin spirals, leading to some bad decisions, and a lot of sorry’s
can we forget about the things i said when i was drunk?
➥ macklin might’ve accidentally done more than one stupid thing when he was drunk.. and may or may have not sent a bunch of things to y/n’s house
futile devices
➥ y/n and macklin finally decided to talk. everything goes well, and the two are happy, but why does it feel like something’s missing?
goodbye will smith, we hardy knew you
➥ y/n and macklin finally makes it official, and the internet cannot be more ecstatic, but will is still acting off.. and wait, where did he go?
“Macklin, what’s wrong?” I asked, grabbing a glass of water in the kitchen. He had been following me around the house for the last twenty minutes, whining under his breath and dragging his feet across the hardwood floors like they were made of lead.
“Hug me,” he cried, his shoulders dropping as if the weight of the world had finally slumped onto them. I immediately set the glass down, wiping the fresh tears from his eyes and kissing the tip of his nose before pulling him into a firm hug.
“There’s no need to cry over a hug, my love. You don’t even have to ask,” I murmured, rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles. When I eventually tried to pull away, he let out a soft, protestant grumble, but I managed to guide us toward the living room.
I went to sit on the couch, and he was right on my heels, sinking into the cushions next to me. He couldn’t stay still, pouting and wiggling around as he tried to get comfortable, but failing miserably.
“Ughf... urm... uh,” he made little noises of sheer frustration. I looked over at him, noticing his eyes were getting watery and bloodshot again.
“Stupid blanket,” he muttered, shaking his head at the folded throw as if it had personally offended him.
“Baby, do you need help?” I asked gently. I reached over, unfurling the blanket and draping it over his restless frame, tucking the edges around his shoulders.
We laid there for a while, but Macklin was still tossing and turning, his limbs tangled in the fabric. Finally, I gave up on the movie we weren't really watching and got up; he scrambled to follow me so quickly he nearly tripped.
Once we got to the bedroom, I took a sip of my water. Suddenly, Macklin reached out and snatched the glass right out of my hand. I gasped, watching in pure shock as he chugged the rest of the water in seconds.
“Macklin, what the hell?” I raised my voice, startled by the sudden movement.
His lip quivered instantly. He clutched the empty glass to his chest like a shield, tears already cascading down his face. “I was thirsty,” he hiccuped through a sob, his voice small and broken.
“But that’s rude, Mack. You don’t just snatch things,” I said, softened but firm, as I took the glass back and set it on the nightstand.
“I’m sorry,” he stuttered, rolling over away from me and burying his face deep into the pillow, his sobs muffled but heavy.
Seeing him so undone made my heart ache. I crawled onto the bed behind him, rubbing his back through his shirt. “Baby, what’s really wrong? Why do you keep crying?” I asked softly. “I’m sorry for raising my voice, I shouldn't have snapped.”
“I’m tired,” he whispered, finally turning over. His cheeks were red and blotchy, and his eyes were heavy with exhaustion he clearly didn't know how to handle.
“My poor baby. You’re all fussy just because you’re tired,” I spoke calmly, opening my arms wide for him.
He didn't hesitate, climbing into my lap and tucking his head into the crook of my neck, instinctively putting a thumb in his mouth.
“Sleep, baby. No more crying,” I told him softly. I gently pulled his thumb away from his mouth and used my sleeve to wipe the dampness from his face. “All better.”
I whispered sweet nothings into the quiet room, brushing his hair back from his forehead over and over. I watched with a small smile as his breathing finally evened out into a deep, heavy rhythm. Who knew all a nineteen-year-old boy needed was a nap?
We all sat around the living room in my family’s summer house, laughing as the fireplace crackled and some movie played in the background.
Mack snuggled against my chest, pouting the darker it got outside. He knew we couldn’t sleep in the same room, and the thought of everyone saying goodnight soon was making him nervous.
“Is Macklin feeling okay?” my mom asked, looking a bit concerned as he tightened the blanket around himself and covered his face so his expression was hidden.
I nodded, rubbing his back. “Maybe he’s just tired,” I smiled at her. She nodded and continued her conversation with my sister-in-law.
“Mackie, do you want to go up to bed? I can take you if you’re tired,” I said, moving the blanket away from his face.
“No, I’m not tired,” he said, closing his eyes.
“Well, what’s the matter then? It’s not cold, and you’re snuggled so close to me with this fluffy blanket,” I asked.
“We can’t sleep together,” he whispered so softly I could barely hear him.
“I know we can’t. Is that what’s wrong?” I kissed his head.
“Mhm. If I fall asleep now like this, they won’t take you away. They’ll let me sleep here with you,” he murmured, his eyes closed as he sucked his bottom lip.
“Oh Mackie, you’ll be okay in the room alone, and I can stay until you fall asleep,” I said, rubbing circles on his back.
“I won't be okay. I waited all season for hockey to be done so that I could sleep with you and not in hotel beds, just for me to come here and be split apart again. It’s not fair,” he pouted. His eyes grew glassy, catching the attention of several family members.
“He knew he wasn’t allowed to sleep with you, so I don’t know why he’s crying,” my sister-in-law said as she rubbed her pregnant belly. I hated her; she was a bitch.
“Was anyone talking to you?” I smiled at her. Macklin sucked in a breath at her comment.
“Well, I’m just saying, we’re all grown here and we know what’s going to happen if you guys sleep together. So, he shouldn’t have come if he was going to cry about a bed. He plays hockey, right? He should be used to sleeping away from you,” she snapped.
Macklin’s breath hitched, and I felt my chest get wet. I looked down at him as he used his hoodie collar to wipe his face before getting up and walking down the hallway.
“What’s the matter with you? You’re the one who’s pregnant for the fourth time. If anyone needs to be separated, it’s you. If I was going to end up pregnant, it wouldn’t be in this house. He knows he’s not allowed to sleep with me; you just don’t understand how people’s feelings work!” I yelled at her, throwing the blanket off me as I stood up.
“Y/N, calm down,” my brother said, but I walked off in the same direction Macklin had gone.
I knocked on the bathroom door and heard the sink water running. “Baby, unlock the door,” I spoke softly.
I waited until I heard the click of the lock, then opened the door, went in, and shut it behind me. I hugged him, pulling away to wipe his eyes. His cheeks were red and his nose was running from trying to be quiet.
“It’s okay, baby. She’s always a bitch, ignore her,” I said, cleaning his nose with a tissue.
“I’m s-sorry,” he stuttered, melting into my touch. “I-I’m just going to go to bed,” he hiccuped, wiping his face.
“Are you sure? We can watch a movie or something so you can fall asleep. Do you want me to come with you?” I asked, rubbing his back.
He shook his head no, and I kissed his lips. “Okay, do you want me to walk you to the room?” I asked.
“No, I can do it alone,” he replied.
“Okay. I love you. Goodnight.” I kissed him again.
“I love you more,” he whispered, pulling away slowly. We left the bathroom; he went upstairs to his room, and I went back to the living room.
I sat down, and everyone stared at me. “Is he okay?” my cousin asked. I nodded and sat back.
“Where did he go?” my dad asked.
“Bed,” I replied shortly. He nodded.
I grabbed my phone as everyone talked, checking Mack’s location. I saw he was active on his phone and sighed, looking at the time: 1:20 AM.
Eventually, everyone started heading to bed. On my way up, I stopped at Macklin’s room first. I opened the door to see him sitting up on his phone.
“Baby, you need to sleep. Want me to put your white noise on?” I asked, sitting next to him.
“No, I’m watching videos,” he said. I looked at his phone; TikTok drafts were playing.
I kissed him and played with his hair. “If you need me, just text, okay? I’m just in the other room.”
“I’m fine,” he said, focusing on his screen, not wanting to look at me.
“Do you want to sleep on FaceTime, like when you’re on road trips?” I suggested.
“No, it’s fine,” he said, swiping to another video.
“Do you want my blanket?” I asked, offering him the baby blanket I’d slept with every night since I was two. I felt really bad about what had happened.
“No, you need it,” he said, swiping again.
I nodded, said goodnight, and closed the door. I walked to my room and got into bed, sighing and hoping he would eventually get tired and fall asleep.
Macklin tossed and turned until he eventually gave up. He huffed and looked at his phone: 6:00 AM. He pouted, his eyes heavy but unable to catch sleep. He was used to sleeping away from his girlfriend occasionally, but this wasn't the same—she was only a few doors down, not miles away.
He got up, put his phone in his pocket, and walked downstairs. He grabbed a chocolate milk from the fridge, sat on an island stool, and pulled his phone out to put on YouTube.
He drank the milk slowly, fixated on the video. The cold milk coated his throat, making him feel sleepy as the birds began to sing outside and the sun started to rise. He finished the milk and set the bottle down, laying his head on his arm on the kitchen island. His video continued to play until his eyes shut and sleep finally took over.
I woke up at 7:00 AM, stretching before headed to the bathroom. I made my way out of my room to check on Mack, but his door was open and he wasn't inside. I panicked slightly until I walked downstairs and saw him sleeping there. His phone was still playing videos, one hand was in his lap, and the other was on the island with his head resting on it.
His empty milk bottle was beside him. My chest clenched at the sight. I walked over, shut off his phone, and put it in my pocket. I threw the empty bottle away just as my mom, some cousins, and my sister walked into the kitchen to start breakfast.
“Good morning,” my mom said, hugging me.
“Morning,” I said, walking back over to Macklin. “He fell asleep here. I just woke up and saw this.” I sighed as they watched me rub his back.
“You know, I didn't like what Kayla said yesterday. He’s a hard worker, and he knew he couldn’t sleep with me. Mom, if I was going to get pregnant just by sharing a bed with him, it would have happened already,” I said. She nodded.
“I know that, and I trust you guys. But it’s the house rules; you’re only allowed to share a bed if you’re married or engaged,” she sighed, watching Macklin shift in the chair, rubbing his face against his arm.
“I understand that, but you have to understand that we spend so much time apart. He really looks forward to the off-season,” I told her. She nodded and started grabbing ingredients for breakfast.
“Bring him out to the porch to sleep on the hammock swing for a bit,” my mom suggested. I nodded.
“Macklin,” I whispered, my fingers threading through his hair and scratching the nape of his neck. “Come sleep with me.” I kissed his cheek.
“Mmmm, can’t,” he shifted, trying to get comfortable.
“Baby, you’re in a chair. Come to sleep, please.” I wiped a bit of drool from the corner of his mouth.
“Not allowed,” he muttered in his sleep.
I pouted. “You can now. It’s seven in the morning. We can go outside and relax while everyone wakes up and has breakfast.”
He moved around more until his eyes opened. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, his cheeks red and his hair messy. He looked at my mom and cousins in the kitchen, then at me, reaching for my hand. I guided him out to the porch, grabbed a blanket, and lay down on the mesh hammock. He climbed in and lay on top of me.
I covered him with the blanket and pulled his hoodie over his head. The hammock swung softly; his breathing evened out and he cuddled into me, falling back asleep while I stayed on my phone.
A couple of hours passed, and it was around 12:00 PM. Macklin stirred until I saw his eyes open.
“Sleep good, baby?” I smiled.
“Mmmm,” he groaned, his lips swollen from sleep and his cheek marked by the mesh of the hammock.
We stayed there until he was ready to get up and head inside. Everyone looked at us as we joined them.
“Sleep good, champ?” my uncle asked.
“Not really,” Mack laughed, sticking to my side like glue.
“Well, I hope he gets used to it, because he’s going to have to sleep alone for a few more nights,” Kayla said, chomping on some chips.
“I hope you choke,” I smiled at her. I went to the fridge to get Macklin a chocolate milk. Everyone stared, some gasping at what I'd said, but I ignored them.
“Are you hungry, my love? Do you want to eat?” I asked, handing him the milk.
“No,” he shook his head. I nodded and we went to the couch together.
Days passed, and we were all having fun in the backyard. The sun was setting, laughter filled the air, and kids were running around while a campfire burned. It was great.
I stood with some cousins and my sister, chatting about life. Mack was playing football with the kids until I saw him walking over.
“Hi baby,” I kissed him.
“Hi,” he blushed.
“Are you having fun?” I asked, giving him some water.
“Yeah, but it’s nighttime,” he said, shuffling his feet. I sighed.
“I’m getting anxious about bed,” he admitted. “I think I want to go home. You don’t have to come, but at least if I go home, I’ll be able to sleep because I’ll be far away. You can have fun and not worry about me,” he said, picking at his fingers.
“Mackie, you’re not going home,” I pouted.
“Well, I was thinking about it because my tummy starts hurting when it gets later. I feel like I’m going to throw up, my chest starts tightening, and I feel like I’m going to cry,” he told me. “And I’m so tired. I’ve tried sleeping for days, but because I know you’re so close, I can’t. I just stay up all night until you wake up and come to my room. The second you’re in my presence, I fall asleep, so I only get two-hour naps. I’m so tired.” He rubbed his eyes.
“Okay, baby. You’re sleeping with me for the rest of the trip,” I said, kissing his hand.
“We can’t,” he sighed.
“Well, then we’re going home. I’m not going to let you continue to feel like this. If you had told me sooner, I would have packed up and left on the first day.”
I called my parents over and explained what had been happening. As much as they didn't want to bend the rules, they agreed Macklin could share the room with me for the rest of the trip. The moment we got into bed, he fell asleep right away.
clearing my drafts out but please give suggestions!!!
Summary: You’re the new physio intern for the Sharks, but unfortunately the SAP Center has a personal vendetta against you.
The first thing you realize about the SAP Center is that it is not a building. It is a labyrinth, designed to ruin your day.
You’re standing in a concrete hallway that looks identical to the last three concrete hallways you’ve walked down. Your internship badge is clipped to the front of your shirt crookedly, and your phone is telling your that you’re somewhere near Section 127, which means nothing because you’re not here for hockey.
You’re here because you’re a physiotherapy student and you thought it would be a great opportunity in a professional sports setting. You did not account for the maze.
You pass a sign that says “MEDIA”, then another that says “LOCKER ROOM”. It all feels wrong. You turn a corner and immediately run into a very solid human being. You stumble backwards and he doesn’t move an inch.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry–”
“It’s okay!” He says immediately, hands hovering out in front of him like he’ll steady you if you fall. “I’ve been hit harder.”
You look up and see the guy, standing with messy dark hair, Sharks logo printed on his gray hoodie. It’s Macklin Celebrini, of course it is. Your brain short circuits.
He looks down at you, surprised. “You good?”
You open your mouth, close it, open it again. “I’m looking for the physio room.”
He just stares. So you continue talking, because what else are you supposed to do.
“I’m starting my internship today. In, like…ten minutes. And I think I just walked into media? And then like, a storage closet? I don’t know anymore.”
There’s a moment of slience and then he grins. Not in a mean way, just absolutely delighted about this.
“Okay. So…funny thing.”
Your stomach drops at his words.
“You are heading,” he points behind you, “in the exact opposite direction.”
Now it’s your turn to stare in shock.
“Like,” he continues, smiling, “the straight wrong way.”
You let out a long, slow exhale. “Cool. That’s great. That’s really– really awesome.”
He laughs. “First time in the building?”
“Is it that obvious?”
He shrugs. “I did the same thing my first week here. Couldn’t find the locker room for shit. This place is like a maze designed to test rookies.”
That information settles something in you, and the embarrassed flush in your face is starting to fade.
“Do you know where the physio room is?” You ask, hoping for clear directions this time.
“Yeah, I’ll walk you.”
“You don’t have to–”
“I know.” He grins. “But if I let you wander you might end up in the zamboni garage.”
You drop your head, groaning. He laughs.
“Okay, thank you.” You accept.
He falls into step beside you like it’s nothing.
“You nervous for your first day?” He asks.
“A little.”
“That’s normal.”
And you nod, hiking your bag back up your shoulder. You turn down another identical hallway, but Macklin seems to know where he’s going, so you don’t question it. But you’re thinking that they’re really gonna need to start putting more signs up.
“So, what year are you in?” Mack asks.
“Second, doing clinicals. I’ve worked mostly in hospital setting so this is– different.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, it’s intense. But the physio team here is the best. Super smart. They’ll love you.”
“You don’t know that.” You argue lightly.
“Well, you’re about to see for yourself.” He stops, gesturing to a door. “Physio.”
You look at the hall, at the stupid room that is ten feet from where you made your first wrong turn. You laugh, slightly mortified, but also relieved.
“Thank you. Seriously.”
“Anytime.” He pauses. “Also, welcome to the Sharks!”
You glance back at him as he nods goodbye, turning to leave and almost running into someone else. You muffle a laugh as he apologizes.
You step into the physio room, heart pounding for an entirely different reason than it was when you first got here. Maybe this building won’t be so bad after all.
Summary: In which a guy attempting a kegstand kicks you by accident, then panics. Drunkenly apologizing nonstop, somehow turning the apology into asking you out… over and over, until you finally cave. Only after he asks you out the first time, you realize the idiot who nearly took you out is actually the San Jose Sharks star player
Warnings: reader is twenty one, use of y/n, underage drinking, mentions of puking, swearing, ending is rushed, also I know that hat wasn’t wills but it’s fine
Authors note: I’ve been cracking up at that video of Macklin and had something like this started a while ago so I finally decided to finish it . I feel like it’s pretty rushed but i don’t know
You would describe a Boston University darty as something that’s absolutely miserable. The crowds were loud, drunk, overly confident, and all too wild. But, it was marmon—one of the biggest college party days in the Boston area, and you weren't going to sit at home all day. So when your friends said you all were going to the house right down the street for their party, you didn't complain.
When you got there, you had quickly gotten shoved up next to the keg with your friends, right where everyone was trying to get a turn. The music was cranked up, the smell of alcohol mixed with weed drifted through the air.
Your friend was trying to say something to you, but between the cheering and music you couldn't hear what she was saying. You leaned in closer, trying to listen, when something abruptly made contact with your shoulder.
Maybe that was your sign from the universe to just leave while you still could, go back to your apartment, make dinner, and settle down on the couch for the evening. The impact didn't even hurt that much, but you were already starting to get overwhelmed.
You turned to see the guy who was just being held up for the kegstand, his eyes were screwed shut, his face scrunching up in disgust. People were cheering all around him, slapping him on the back, and chanting.
He turned to you quickly, his cheeks red and blotchy. “Oh my god,” he rushed out. “I'm so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah I’m fine. I just love getting kicked by idiots who can’t even do a kegstand and wear newsboy hats.” You replied sarcastically, rolling your eyes.
He didn't catch the sarcasm in your voice, or he chose to ignore it.
“This” he pointed to his hat, “is fashion baby, fashion.”
There was no way he was being serious.
“Whatever you say.” You told him.
“Can I get your number?” He asked suddenly, staring at you to gauge your reaction.
You choked, “What?”
Did he really just ask you for your number?
He repeated the question.
He did, in fact, just ask that.
“You just kicked me doing a kegstand—no, a keg plank and now you want my number? I don't even know who you are.” You said incredulously.
“I'm Mack.” He grinned, like it made all the difference. Spoiler alert: it didn't.
“Okay Mack. Listen, I'm definitely too old for you. So just forget it.”
“I’m nineteen!” he exclaimed, “Just one date, please?” he slurred his words.
“No!” You cried out, throwing your arms up. “I’m twenty-one for christ sake.”
“Okay? I don't care—really I don't!" He slurred, bottom lip jutting out in a pout.
Now, you'd be lying if you said he wasn't attractive. But, did you really have the time to entertain someone who probably just wanted to get in your pants? No, absolutely not, so you told him no one last time and went to find your friends.
******
Somehow, Mack found you again. You were off to the side, nursing a drink you didn't bother to name. Around you, the party still raged, your friends had gone to take shots, and more people showed up—if that was even possible. You were confident the music could be heard way down the block.
You let out a sigh when you saw him walking over, already preparing how to turn him down, again.
“So,” he grinned, “do you go to school here?”
You paused, looking at him with a blank expression. You glanced down at the bold red letters on your shirt that read out “Boston University”. When you peered up at him, you were met with him still looking at you blankly, waiting for an answer.
“Do you have a drinking problem?” You questioned instead. How much alcohol had he already drank?
“No, I don't have a problem drinking.” He said.
You made a face, choosing to ignore his answer. “And yes, I do go to school here.”
“What’re you majoring in?” He asked. The question caught you off guard, not expecting a random drunk nineteen year old to be this determined to know more about you.
“Business economics.”
“Oh shit. So you’re like smart smart.” He told you, eyes going wide.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” You told him, your cheeks betraying you and heating up.
“No no, that's hot.” He slurred, flashing you a toothy grin.
“Thanks, I guess?”
He smiled like he struck gold, opening his mouth to talk again, but he was promptly whisked away by another drunk guy with a baseball glove.
Huh, you thought. The interaction was definitely not something you were expecting.
You heard your name being shouted over the crowd, turning to see your friend walking over, where she found you standing alone. “What’s going on with you and Macklin?” She asked, looking over to where he was standing. His face broke out into a grin when he saw you look over, his arms flailing as he waved dramatically.
You choked out a laugh at his antics. “What?” You asked her.
“You and Macklin?” She asked again, gesturing weakly to him. “Oh my god you don’t know who he is.” She gasped, eyes going wide as saucers.
It all clicked finally—the idiot who kicked you, tried to ask you out, and couldn't take a hint, was none other than Macklin Celebrini.
You sucked in a breath, “that’s Macklin?” You all but shouted. “Macklin Celebrini?”
She nodded.
“You’re fucking with me.” You rolled your eyes at her.
“No I’m so deadass.” She said, “How did you not know who that was?”
“I’ve never seen his face!” You defended yourself. Of course you knew who he was, but you had never really looked at pictures of him.
“Did he not introduce himself?” she questioned.
“Well, no—he did, but—he introduced himself as Mack! How could I know that was actually him?” You cried out.
“Oh my god.” You whispered.
“What? What?” She asked.
“I called a hot professional hockey player an idiot. To his face.” You dragged a hand down your face.
“Oh you think he's hot?” She teased.
“Obvisouly hes fucking hot!” you exclaimed. “I can't start something with a nineteen year old hockey player who lives in San Jose while I live in Boston.”
“Well, I mean hockey season is over right?” She asked, and when you nodded, she continued, “So get up, go talk to him, and when he asks for your number again—because we all know he will, you give him your fucking number.” She said firmly.
“I don't know.” You mumbled.
“Bullshit!” She yelled. You snapped your head around, a few people nearby were starting to watch.
“Okay, how about this? If he comes up to me again, I’ll talk to him. But if he doesn't? We move on and forget about it.”
“Fine, okay.” She agreed. “I’m gonna go get another drink, do you want to come?”
You shook your head no, mumbling about needing to go sit down somewhere.
*****
You didn't expect Macklin to come up to you again, figuring he would have had enough, choosing to pursue one of the girls trying to subtly hover around him.
Instead, you turned your head to see him stumbling slightly before plopping himself down next to you.
“Hope this seat wasn’t taken.” He grinned. You could see his eyes crinkling behind the circular sunglasses he had found somewhere.
“Would it have stopped you anyways?” You questioned.
“Nah, I just would have sat on your other side.” He beamed at you.
“Smooth.”
“Oh no,” he whispered, glancing down at his shoes, “my shoes are all dirty.” He groaned, throwing his head back.
“They can be washed, don’t worry.” You told him, pressing your lips together to avoid laughing.
“Are you sure?” He squinted at them. “I’ve never cleaned them before.”
“You don’t drink often do you?” You asked him.
He winced, “am I that obvious?”
You shrugged sarcastically. “Maybe just a bit.”
He giggled, fixing his hat.
“Where did you even find that hat? The museum?” You teased him.
Macklin apparently thought that was the funniest thing ever, breaking out into a fit of drunken giggles.
“No—no” He gasped out, “I got it from my friend Smitty.”
“Smitty? What kind of name is that?”
“Well, his name is Will.” he giggled, “Well, Will, Well, Will. That's a tongue twister.”
You laughed slightly.
Macklin suddenly got quiet.
“Macklin?” You glanced over at him, “Are you okay?”
He groaned, clutching his stomach.
Uh oh.
“I think,” he swallowed, eyes screwed shut. “I think I need to puke.”
“Do you want to go into the bathroom? It's right inside the house.” You asked, concern evident in your voice. You definitely did not want him to throw up all over himself right in front of everyone.
He nodded weakly.
You stood quickly, offering your hand out for him. “Okay, c'mere."
Macklin grabbed your hand and stood up, following you to the—thankfully—empty bathroom right inside the house.
He sat down in front of the toilet, resting his head against the porcelain. His hat long gone, his glasses abandoned on the floor, sweat glistening on his forehead. His eyes were shut tightly and his cheeks were even more blotchy than the first time you saw him.
“You don't have to stay if you don't want to.” He murmured. “This is humiliating.”
“Do you want me to leave?” You questioned, tentatively reaching your hand down to wipe off the stray hair plastered to his forehead. He leaned into the touch, letting out a soft whimper, chasing your hand long after it was gone. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, clearing your throat awkwardly.
“No, please stay.” He begged. “Dont wanna be alone.”
“Okay,” you said softly, “I’ll stay. What all did you drink?”
“Too much.” He groaned. “I don't do this a lot.”
“Too busy playing professional hockey?” The words came out before you fully realized what you had said.
He glanced up, opening one eye. “Oh, you know who I am?”
You laughed. “I’ve known who you are for a long time, I just didn't know that you were—well you, until my friend told me a bit ago.”
“Does that bother you?” He asked, his voice small.
“No.” You said. “You’re still the idiot who kicked me trying to do a kegstand.”
“I didn't mean to. Promise.” He said, before promptly leaning back down and puking up the alcohol.
You grimaced, rubbing soothing circles on his back, trying to ignore how bizarre the situation was.
Macklin eventually stopped puking, sitting up and leaning against the wall, catching his breath.
“Better?” You handed him a wash cloth you had run under cold water. He gratefully took it, scrubbing his face.
“Yeah,” he grimaced, “Lots better.”
“Good.” You said, sitting down next to him.
You didn't want to leave him by himself, not entirely sure where all his friends had gone. You told yourself it was because you were nice, but the longer you sat there the less you believed that.
“Thanks for not leaving me.”
“Yeah, of course.” You said.
You fell into a short silence after that, both of you sitting on the bathroom floor together, definitely closer than you needed to. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, your legs touching.
You definitely didn't think your friend meant to do this when she said talk to Macklin again.
“Sorry if I came off as desperate earlier.” he picked at the mud on his shoe. “I thought it was just the alcohol, but I’m sitting here realizing I would've asked you for your number regardless.”
You paused, your heart beating so loud you were sure he could hear it.
“Dont say that.” You muttered weakly.
“Why?” He questioned, looking at you.
“Because I’m older than you and—”
“Does it bother you that much?” He interrupted, “That you're, what—two years older than me?”
“Well, no but—”
“So it does.” he interrupted again.
“Listen,” He started, “If it really bothers you that much I’ll stop asking and leave you alone, but you're genuinely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and I don't think I've taken my eyes off you all day.”
You sucked in a breath, heat rising to your face.
“Okay.” You decided.
“Okay?” He questioned, looking over at you.
“Give me your phone.” You requested.
His face lit up, quickly digging in his pocket and pulling it out. You typed in your number, standing up and reaching a hand out to him. He stood, and you both made your way back outside.
“Thank you.” He beamed, “You won't regret it.”
You sighed, but a smile graced your lips. “I hope not.”
“See you around?” He asked.
“Maybe,” You joked. “Text me.”
“I will.” He grinned, glancing at his phone like he couldn't believe he got your number.
You saw your friends watching you from the corner of your eye, their eyes wide and mouths wide open. You were about to get a mouthful from them. You had been ignoring their texts when you were with Macklin, keeping your phone in your pocket, and they had all definitely seen you exit the house with him— both your cheeks blotchy and his hair disheveled.
You sent Macklin one last smile before walking over to your friends, ready to go explain everything that just went down.
******
The lights in your shared apartment cast a warm glow as you sat on the couch, scrolling on tiktok. It was dark—almost 11 pm.
“y/n!” your friend yelled, running into the living room, waving her phone around.
“What? What?” You asked, but were only met with a phone being shoved in your face.
You grabbed her phone to see it was open to twitter. There were a bunch of pictures you recognized of the party. People were posting pictures of Macklin from earlier—his kegstand, him sitting on the ground with you, him with his other friends.
“Oh my god.” you muttered, “what are people saying?”
“They’re just making fun of his kegstand. Nothing about you with him yet.” She told you, grabbing her phone back and scrolling. “Oh wait, nevermind—aww wait, this is so cute.”
“Let me see.” You responded, reaching for the phone again.
The tweet showed all the pictures of Macklin from earlier, it was captioned, “Mack literally looking at this girl in every picture we have of him from today shut up thats so cute”
You looked at the pictures and realized that the girl was, in fact, you. Macklin was looking at you in every picture people had taken of him. You felt heat bloom across your face.
You opened the comments and read a few. “Mack better have got this girls number bc he looks WHIPPED” “shes so pretty omg” “If she can hang out with him while he wears that fuck ass hat he better keep her around” “he was so giggly around her in another video I saw”
“Holy shit.” You whispered.
“Holy shit.” your friend echoed. “Arent you glad I told you to talk to him?”
You smiled slightly, “Yeah, yeah I am.”
Because who knew that the idiot who would kick you while he attempted a kegstand could turn into something like this?
Stealing @abilouwrites’s layout 😝 go check her out
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I need her so bad
Sometimes I think that I can taste it
Macklin Celebrini x Reader quick vote
Macklin has one hand on each of your tits. He’s squeezing them together, straddling your ribs, cock sliding in between them. His head is thrown back in ecstasy as his hips work, desperate to get himself off.
“There we go baby, cmon cmon cmon…Oh fuck!” Macklin’s voice is barely intelligible, the whimpers coming out of his mouth covering and muddling his words. He twists and pinches at your nipples, fingers rhythm-less.
You let out a little giggle. He looks so handsome from down here, head thrown back, blonde hair shining in the lamplight. You forget why you don’t let him do this more often.
His thrusts turn sloppier, his ball sack hitting the bottom side of your tits harder and harder. He’s close. You can tell by the way his precum starts flowing like water.
His tip starts to hit the bottom of your chin repeatedly, smearing precum from your sternum all the way up your neck. Every once in a while he thrusts too hard and his cock slides up to your lips. He’s so distracted by the feeling of your flesh on him that he can’t focus on pace, much less actually keeping his cock between your tits.
His cock twitches once, before white spurts all the way up your chin, reaching your lips. Macklin groans, his stomach hollowing out as his lips form an ‘O’ shape. His eyes roll back to show the whites as he lets out a wrecked sob.
Your brow furrows and you automatically flinch. Macklin’s always had a strong shot, you don’t wanna risk it.
“Open up baby” His voice is shakey as he reaches down, scooping up some of his load onto his fingers. Your eyelashes flutter as you open your eyes. Simultaneously, your lips part as you stick out your tongue.
Macklin grins and wipes his fingers off on your tongue, “Theeeeere ya go, pretty girl…swallow it down”
You do as you’re told, sticking your tongue out after to confirm. His grin widens before he scoots back, leans down, and captures your lips in his.
“Good job baby…Why don’t you clean the rest of this up?”
A Macklin smut where he’s been away on a road trip for a few weeks and he comes home to gf reader and she greets him at the door all sleepy and in one of his shirts she starts kissing him and saying she’s so happy to see him and he just cums in his pants and is all whiny and whimpery
nsfw content below
he doesn’t even get the key all the way out of the lock before the door opens, hinges creaking soft in the dim apartment light, and there you are, barefoot and bleary-eyed, hair a mess, drowning in one of his shirts that hangs off one shoulder and skims your thighs like it belongs there more than it ever belonged on him. your eyes are half shut, lashes clumped with sleep, and when you see him they go wide for just a second before your whole face softens, melts, like relief made visible. macklin freezes on the threshold, backpack still slung over one shoulder, jacket half-zipped, heart slamming so hard he feels it in his throat, because he’s imagined this moment every night on the road, every lonely motel bed, every time he jerked off thinking about you, but none of that prepared him for how gentle you look, how warm, how real.
“hey,” you murmur, voice thick and sleepy, already stepping into him, already wrapping your arms around his waist like you’ve been doing it all along, like he never left. his shirt smells like you, clean and familiar, and it hits him all at once—weeks of missing you, of wanting you, of holding himself together with duct tape and horny fantasies—and he makes this tiny, broken sound in his chest before you even kiss him. you press your face into his neck, right under his jaw, breathing him in, and he shudders, hands flying up to hold you like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he doesn’t.
“i’m so happy you’re home,” you whisper, barely louder than a breath, lips brushing his skin. “missed you so much. missed my boy.”
that’s it. that’s all it takes.
you kiss him then, slow and soft and so sweet it hurts, lips warm and unhurried, nothing sexual about it at all, just affection and relief and love poured into one gentle press after another. your mouth moves against his like you’re savoring him, like you’re grounding him, and his brain just… shorts out. he whimpers into the kiss, a high, pathetic little noise he doesn’t even recognize as his own, knees threatening to give out as his body reacts without permission, without warning, without any fucking dignity at all.
he comes in his pants. just like that. no touch, no grinding, no buildup he can manage—just your voice, your shirt, your mouth on his, and suddenly he’s choking on a sob, hips jerking forward uselessly, warmth spreading in his boxers as he clings to you like he’s drowning. it’s messy and humiliating and so intense his vision goes white around the edges, breath hitching in sharp, broken gasps that sound more like crying than anything else.
“i—i—” he tries, pulling back just enough to look at you, face already burning red, blotchy flush splashed across his cheeks and down his neck, eyes glossy and panicked. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to, i swear i didn’t—fuck, i just—” his voice cracks completely, collapsing into a needy whine as he realizes what he’s done, how obvious it is, how pathetic he must look standing there shaking, pants ruined, cock still twitching helplessly from overstimulation.
you don’t pull away. you don’t laugh. you just cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, steady and soothing, and kiss him again, softer this time, like you’re tucking him back together.
“hey,” you whisper, forehead resting against his. “it’s okay. you’ve been gone so long. you’re tired.” you kiss his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, every touch gentle and reassuring. “poor thing. you missed me that bad, huh?”
that makes him whimper again, a long, shaky sound that drags out of him as his knees finally buckle and he leans all his weight into you, burying his face in your shoulder. “yeah,” he breathes, voice small and wrecked. “yeah, i missed you. so bad. couldn’t stop thinking about you. didn’t mean to—i’m sorry, i’m such a mess—”
“shh,” you soothe, rubbing slow circles into his back, holding him like he’s fragile, like he needs it. “i know. i’m here now.” you rock him gently, like you’re putting him to sleep, like he’s your sweet, dumb boy who just needed to come home.
his hands clutch at the fabric of his own shirt on your body, fingers trembling, and he nods into your shoulder, breathing evening out, embarrassment still hot and sharp but softened by how kind you’re being, how safe. he lets himself sag against you, lets you guide him inside, lets you peel off his jacket and drop his bag by the door, still whimpering under his breath every time you kiss his temple or murmur something soft to him.
mack that treats you like a dog treats it’s favorite chew toy
he just chews and slobbers and humps all over you lol
nsfw content below
your thighs ache from where macklin’s nestled, all heat and tangled limbs, his head pressed to your chest like he’s desperate to burrow right into you, that messy brown hair tickling up your sternum, one hand sneaking up under your shirt so his cheek can press bare to your skin, and he’s mouthing—god, he’s actually mouthing, nuzzling and slobbering sloppy wet at your ribs, nose nudging, a little snuffling whine escaping him when you tug lightly on his hair, not to stop him but just because you like how it makes his hips twitch against your thigh
he’s shameless, sweet as a dog with a favorite chew toy, fixated and frantic, biting not quite hard but eager, hungry, nipping up your side and then latching soft and gummy at the soft flesh beneath your breast, and you laugh, tease, fingers sliding down to cup the back of his head, guiding but never steering, just holding him where he clearly wants to be, letting him get his fill. he’s rutting against you, breath coming ragged, hitches of his hips betraying how much this—just this, the taste and smell of you, your warm weight under his restless squirming—gets to him, makes him needier than he’d ever admit with words
he mumbles, voice gone muffled against your skin, “feels s’good,” and you can’t help but grin, thumbing gently at the blotchy flush staining his cheekbones, rosacea brighter when he’s worked up like this, pupils wide and shining, eyes half-lidded, adoring, “yeah, baby? you like that?” and the way his entire body shudders, a helpless noise torn from his throat, makes you laugh, makes you squeeze your thighs around his waist just a little
he paws at you, earnest and clumsy, hands everywhere—pushing up your shirt, nosing beneath the fabric, mouthing at your belly, then your hip, then higher, chasing your scent and warmth like it’s the only thing that matters in the world. he lets out a little desperate sound, high and pleading, “please—please,” hips rutting, grinding, not even trying to be subtle, the line of his cock pressed against you through thin fabric, so hot and so hard you swear you can feel every heartbeat pulsing through it.
“you want something?” you tease, voice low, petting the back of his neck, not mean, not even really in control, just feeding off how much he wants, how greedy he gets when you let him, “can’t even use your words, mack? what a mess you are, puppy.” and he whines—really whines, choked and sweet, breath shaking, hands clutching your hips, “please, wanna, wanna, god—just, just wanna—”
he doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to; his body says everything, trembling with the need to be closer, closer, closer. he humps, frantic little thrusts, soaking the front of his boxers, your own underwear damp where you grind back up, each movement dragging a louder gasp from him, sloppy and animal and adoring. he lifts his head finally, all puppy-eyed and swollen-mouthed, cheeks blotched pink, a string of spit from his mouth to your skin, panting, desperate, eyes locked on yours, begging for your approval, your affection, your everything
you can’t help but indulge him, thumbing at the corner of his mouth, dragging him back down so he can bury himself in your neck, and you murmur soft, “good boy, such a good boy, macklin, go on, take what you need, make a mess if you want, i’ll clean you up,” and he whimpers again, muffled in your hair, hips stuttering, whole body shaking as he tries to get even closer, as if he’d crawl inside you if you let him—so eager, so full of need, so impossibly, beautifully yours.
Seen you want more Mack smut requests 😏 I seen you wrote something similar recently but maybe mack and reader just moved in together and it’s his first time living with you while you’re ovulating? He’s not used to how touchy, clingy, you are and just how many compliments you’re giving him over little things like his hands, staring at his thighs, touching his arms and back, etc. Basically just sex all around the apartment at random times in the day cause even a glimpse of Mack doing things like coming out of the shower with a towel around his waist or sitting with his legs spread on the couch watching a game turns you on.
nsfw content below
it’s only been four days since you moved in together and macklin already looks half-feral, dazed and pink-cheeked with a dazed sort of pride, so thoroughly fucked out he can barely keep his eyes open but can’t stop smiling every time you pass through the room. neither of you expected it to be like this—the sheer animal-brain compulsion that grabs you the second you smell him damp from the shower, hair sticking up in wild tufts, towel barely clinging to his hips, pink thighs still streaked with water and one big hand absently scrubbing at his hair, green eyes confused and sleepy until he notices you watching, your gaze hungry, fixated, every inch of you broadcasting want like a radio signal he can’t turn off.
he’s not used to the way you touch him, can’t get his head around the fact that the simplest things make you melt—catching you staring at his hands while he slices fruit for breakfast, the way you just sidle up and press your palm flat to the dip in his lower back, tracing lazy circles until he’s squirming and giggling, half-embarrassed, half-aroused, cheeks blotchy with that telltale macklin-red. you keep telling him how pretty he is, how soft and strong his arms look when he’s folding laundry, how thick and perfect his thighs are when he’s sitting spread-legged on the living room rug watching reruns, and every single compliment hits him like a punch, leaving him stuttering and bashful, hiding his face in his hands or yanking you down onto his lap, desperate to kiss you just so you’ll stop talking and start doing.
it gets worse every time you catch a whiff of him, every time you walk by and see the curve of his calf, the flex of his forearm as he fiddles with a remote or picks up a glass, the soft dip of his collarbone visible through a threadbare tee. ovulation’s got your brain scrambled, body hungry, mouth watering for the taste of his skin, the sweet-salty press of his chest beneath your palms, and you’re insatiable—hands roaming every time you cross paths, mouth on his neck in the kitchen, pulling his shorts down just enough to leave a purple bruise above his hipbone, sucking his cock against the bathroom counter while he pants, whining your name and holding on for dear life.
he doesn’t know what to do with the attention, not really, not when you’re this open, this greedy, telling him over and over how much you love his hands, how you want them everywhere, spreading your thighs, squeezing your tits, pinning your wrists to the headboard just so you can see how big they look wrapped around your wrists. you tell him his thighs drive you crazy, the way they tense when he stands up from the couch, the flex and release as he climbs the stairs, and you follow him everywhere, pressing up behind him, groping at his ass, squeezing until he yelps and laughs, trying to twist away but always circling back, always ready to let you touch him, taste him, take him right there on the landing, up against the wall, bent over the arm of the sofa while the afternoon sun pours in and dust floats lazily through the golden light.
he starts looking for you, seeking out your gaze like he’s starved for it, waiting for the next compliment, the next hungry grope, the next time you’ll drag him onto your lap at the dining room table, shoving aside half-eaten takeout just to suck marks into his neck, palming him through his boxers until he’s a mess of whimpers and giggles, cock leaking and desperate before you even get your hand inside. you can’t help yourself—you’re drunk on him, the scent and taste and shape of him, the way his body shivers every time you lay your praise on thick, telling him how perfect he looks all splayed out for you, pink and messy and begging for it.
every time you come into the living room he’s spread out on the couch, one thigh thrown over the arm, tee shirt rucked up so you can see the soft, downy trail of hair below his navel, abs flexing every time he breathes. you drop to your knees in front of him, push his legs wider, kiss your way up his thighs, and he’s already whining, already rutting up into your mouth, hands fisting in your hair, eyes squeezed shut as you suck him down, moaning around the taste of him, desperate and grateful, wanting all of him, never satisfied.
sometimes you catch him coming out of the shower, towel low on his hips, water running down his chest in little rivers, and you can’t stop yourself from pouncing, pushing him back against the door, kissing him hard and needy, biting at his collarbone, mouthing at his nipple until he’s moaning, clinging to your shoulders, cock hard against your stomach as you drop to your knees right there, sucking him off while the steam clings to the glass and his toes curl against the bathmat.
at night, you curl around him, one leg slung over his hips, hand splayed across his belly, tracing the faint outline of muscle, the soft line of hair leading down to where he’s hard and aching for you again. you murmur praises into his ear—how much you love his body, how pretty he looks when he’s flushed and needy, how you can’t believe you get to keep him, live with him, fuck him any time you want. he whimpers, rolling his hips, burying his face in your neck, shivering as you pump him slow and lazy, just enough to make him lose his mind, not enough to let him cum until you’re good and ready.
he’s ruined by the end of the week, so needy and soft, letting you do whatever you want, kissing you back hungrily every time, whining when you break away, hips chasing yours, desperate for more. you tease him about how easy he is, how one week living with you has turned him into a mess, and he just blushes harder, mouth open and eyes shining, so grateful and fucked-out he can barely speak.
hi can u do a fic for macklin where you both kinda want to wait till marriage or farther into your relationship but you both try and realize you can’t hold back?
nsfw content below
lately there’s been this slow-burn ache every time you’re together, a kind of weightless warmth that starts somewhere low in your stomach and rolls through your chest, like you’re both suspended between what you want and what you promised, hovering in that soft, electric tension. when you talk about it—sometimes late at night, when the world’s gone quiet and macklin’s curled up beside you with one arm tucked under his pillow, rosy cheek squished against his bicep—there’s a reverence in both your voices, this honest intention, like if you just say it enough times it’ll stick. “i think we should wait,” you said, that first time, voice barely above a whisper, eyes tracing the curve of his nose, the slope of his jaw where the light hits it soft and sweet. and macklin had nodded, earnest and red-cheeked, brushing his messy hair out of his eyes, his thumb stroking gentle circles along your hip as he said, “me too. i want it to mean something, when it happens. i want it to be right.”
it wasn’t that you were scared, not really, or even nervous. it was just that the thought of crossing that line felt sacred, like a secret you’d both been holding on to, something you’d only give each other when the moment was so big you couldn’t stand it anymore. but desire doesn’t wait politely, and when you’re together, close enough to feel the soft brush of his breath, the little tremors in his body, all your best intentions slip loose like thread unraveling in the dark.
tonight it’s worse—somehow softer and sharper at once. macklin’s sprawled out beside you on your bed, knees hanging over the edge, hoodie hiked up to reveal the pale skin of his waist, hair falling in every direction. you’re lying on your back, arm flung across your forehead, trying not to think about the way his pink cheeks have gone blotchy again, how his greenish eyes keep flicking to your mouth and back, over and over, like he’s fighting not to touch you.
neither of you says anything, but the air is heavy, thick with every unsaid thing. he’s close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off him, can see the wild, nervous flutter of his pulse in his throat.
you breathe out, slow, careful, like if you move too fast the spell will break. “we should probably stop,” you say, but your voice doesn’t sound like you mean it, not really.
macklin looks at you—really looks, his gaze searching yours for something you both know is there. “yeah,” he says, just as softly, “we probably should.”
he doesn’t move away. neither do you.
his hand finds yours, fingers lacing, and for a long moment that’s enough, just his skin against yours, the rhythm of his heart pounding through his palm. but then he shifts, rolling onto his side, tucking his face into the crook of your neck, breath hitching when his lips graze your collarbone. you let out a shaky sigh, tilting your head to give him more room, your own hand rising to tangle in his hair.
you can feel him trembling, trying to keep himself in check, every muscle tight as a bowstring, but it’s useless now, the want too thick between you, sticky and undeniable. his lips trace the line of your jaw, the pulse in your throat, each kiss softer than the last, like he’s trying to memorize you with his mouth.
“if you want to stop, just say so,” he murmurs, voice rough, breaking in the middle like it always does when he’s flustered.
you bite your lip, heart pounding so hard you’re sure he can feel it. “i don’t want to stop,” you admit, the words falling out before you can think better of it, raw and real and so, so honest.
his breath catches, his hands tightening in your hair, and for a second you both just breathe each other in, caught in the gravity of it.
“me neither,” he whispers, so quiet you almost miss it.
it’s clumsy at first, hands fumbling, mouths colliding, all teeth and tongue and unspoken apologies. you’re both shaking, too eager and too careful, giggling into each other’s mouths when noses bump, when your knee knocks his leg and he yelps, face redder than you’ve ever seen it. every touch is electric, sparking through your nerves, the kind of heat that makes your skin feel too tight.
macklin is gentler than you expected, even now, his hands mapping your body like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, his voice barely more than a breath in your ear, “are you okay? is this okay?”
you nod, too breathless for words, arching up into his touch, letting him see every inch of you, trusting him in a way you’ve never trusted anyone before. when his mouth finds yours again it’s different—deeper, needier, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise, like a secret you’ll never tell.
clothes come off slowly, in fits and starts, laughter tangled with gasps, his cheeks blotchy and fever-hot as he takes you in, eyes wide and awed like he’s never seen anything so perfect. your bodies fit together awkwardly at first, knees knocking, elbows in the way, but it doesn’t matter—you’re both grinning, giggling, kissing through it, letting the nervousness melt into something hungry, something sweet.
he’s inside you before you even realize it, the world shrinking down to the place where your bodies meet, where his breath stutters and yours catches, and for a moment everything else falls away. there’s no fear, no hesitation, just the soft, urgent press of skin on skin, the rhythm of his heart against your chest, the way he holds you like you’re something precious, irreplaceable.
macklin’s voice is a low, shaky whisper in your ear, “i love you,” and you can feel the truth of it in every touch, every trembling gasp.
you move together, slow at first, then faster, letting the moment carry you, letting the need wash over you in waves. he moans your name, high and desperate, cheeks flushed and mouth parted, eyes locked on yours like he’s afraid to look away. you’re right there with him, every nerve ending lit up, the world spinning around the two of you, nothing else mattering except this, this, this.
afterward, tangled in each other’s arms, sweat cooling on your skin, you both know something’s changed, something fundamental and permanent. you didn’t wait, not the way you planned, but it still means everything. it’s not about the timing, you realize, not about some perfect moment in the future—it’s about the way he looks at you now, the way you feel in his arms, the way your bodies and hearts finally, finally fit together.
he kisses your forehead, thumb tracing lazy circles on your bare hip, and you laugh, breathless and happy, letting yourself sink into him, knowing you wouldn’t trade this for anything, not even for all the promises you made before.
been thinking too much ab dom!mack lately (though honestly i’m thinking too much ab any type of mack 🤒) anyways please write something for that if you could!!
nsfw content below
it’s raining, not a storm but a steady drizzle that patters at the window and turns the whole world to watercolor, streetlights smeared into glowing gold and silver streaks on the slick pavement below, and you’re both curled up together in your room, the sheets wound around your legs, the hush of the rain making everything quieter, softer, more secret. macklin’s lying on his side facing you, head propped up on his arm, hair even more of a mess than usual from where you’ve run your hands through it, cheeks tinged with that familiar splotchy pink, not from embarrassment this time but just from being so close to you, the heat of your skin, the glow of your attention, green eyes soft and shining as they wander over your face.
he looks at you like he’s memorizing the way you look at rest, the sleepy lines of your mouth, the little details no one else sees—how your lashes stick together in little triangles, how your lips purse a little when you’re thinking, the way your breathing changes as he brushes his fingertips up and down your arm, featherlight, making you shiver.
there’s a quiet confidence in him tonight, something that’s been building over the last few weeks, ever since that moment he realized just how much you trust him, how much you want him to take the lead sometimes, and it settles over him now, a gentle weight, a permission he wears like a favorite hoodie, something warm and soft and entirely his. you see it in his smile, the way he traces the curve of your hip through the sheets, the way he says your name—softer than a secret, lower than a prayer.
“c’mere,” he murmurs, and you scoot closer, his hand guiding you so you’re half on top of him, chest to chest, heart to heart, his palm splayed between your shoulder blades, anchoring you there. he kisses you, slow and deep, lips plush and patient, giving you time to melt into it, to match his rhythm, and you do, humming against his mouth, fingers sliding into his hair, feeling the damp heat of his blush blooming beneath your touch.
when he pulls back, he doesn’t move far—just enough to brush his nose along your jaw, thumb drawing lazy circles on your back. “wanna take care of you,” he whispers, voice rough around the edges but steady, and you shiver at the promise in it, the certainty, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.
he rolls you onto your back, not rough, not hurried, just guiding you with careful hands, eyes never leaving yours, searching for any hint of doubt or hesitation, and when he finds none, he grins, soft and secret. “let me make you feel good, yeah?” he says, and it isn’t a question, not really, because you’ve already said yes a thousand times with every sigh, every kiss, every way you’ve let yourself be vulnerable with him.
macklin’s hands are sure tonight, slow and patient, tracing every inch of you like he’s mapping new constellations with his fingertips, memorizing the places that make you arch, the spots that make you gasp and whimper. he takes his time, no rush, just the two of you and the rain and the tangle of sheets, the hush between heartbeats growing heavy and warm.
he kisses down your neck, mouth soft and open, sucking just enough to leave a blush of pink, not enough to bruise, murmuring praise between each kiss—“so pretty for me… always so sweet… love the way you sound when i touch you…”—and you feel yourself melting under him, letting go, every muscle loose and wanting.
his hands slide under your shirt, callused and warm, palms spanning your waist, thumbs circling slow, grounding you in the moment, making you feel safe and wanted and adored. he doesn’t rush, doesn’t push, just watches your face, asking for permission in the way his eyes linger on yours, and when you nod, he grins again, shy and proud all at once, like he can’t believe how lucky he is.
he undresses you with reverence, every movement deliberate, unfolding you like a secret, and when you’re bare beneath him, he just pauses, drinking you in, green eyes wide and awestruck. “gorgeous,” he breathes, and you flush under the weight of his gaze, not embarrassed, just seen, cherished.
he touches you like you’re fragile and precious, teasing slow, tracing every inch, coaxing pleasure from you with gentle, careful strokes. his mouth follows his hands, kissing your skin, mouthing at the places that make you squirm, whispering sweet nothings and soft commands—“relax, baby… that’s it… just let go for me…”—and every time you obey, every time you whimper or moan or reach for him, he rewards you with a kiss, a whispered praise, the kind of affection that seeps into your bones and leaves you boneless, open, aching for more.
when you reach for him, desperate to give back, he just smiles, shaking his head, catching your wrists in his hands and pinning them gently to the pillow above your head. “let me,” he says, voice gentle but firm, and you shiver at the authority in it, the way he’s claiming this moment for himself, for you, for the two of you together.
he brings you to the edge slowly, over and over, never letting you fall until you’re begging, panting, pleading for release, and when he finally lets you come, it’s with his name on your lips, his mouth on your neck, his hand tangled in yours, holding you through the wave and whispering soft praises into your hair.
afterward, he gathers you close, wrapping you up in his arms, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, murmuring sweet words as the rain beats on the window, and you feel safe, cherished, worshipped, every inch of you known and loved by this boy with messy hair and soft green eyes and blotchy red cheeks, who’s learned how to be gentle with your heart while owning every inch of your pleasure.
and as you drift off to sleep in his arms, you think there’s nowhere else you’d rather be—nothing softer, nothing safer, nothing sweeter than being taken apart and put back together by macklin, his love a steady, quiet strength in the hush of the rain.
i need a blurb ab mack being with his girl and he’s just GREEDY. like his hands can’t stop moving against her and he’s just groping and squeezing at every part of her because he just can’t get enough. like the poor baby just feels so lucky to be with his girl and he just needs to memorize every inch of her, like he NEEDS to hear her moan because her pleasure is his pleasure
nsfw content below
sometimes it feels like he can’t believe you’re real, that you’re here with him in this too-small bed, light leaking in from the hallway, your legs wrapped around his waist and his heart just hammering wild and rabbit-fast in his chest because every time he touches you, every time you breathe his name, something comes loose inside him, some knot that’s only ever tightened when he’s alone. macklin’s hands are everywhere at once, greedy and desperate, rougher than he means to be because he can’t help it, because there’s no patience left in him, not after days of thinking about you, of lying awake in unfamiliar rooms, aching for the warmth of your body and the sound of your voice, and now that he has you he just can’t stop.
his hair is an absolute disaster, strands sticking out in every direction, his cheeks painted up in splotchy, helpless pink, and you swear you can feel his hands shaking as they move over you, fingers digging in like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your thighs, the swell of your hips, the soft curve of your stomach, not wanting to miss a single inch. he groans when you squirm under him, half-buried in your neck, nipping and kissing, little gasps and whimpers vibrating against your skin.
“fuck, you’re so—oh god, i can’t,” he whispers, voice cracking on every word, fingers dragging up under your shirt to squeeze at your waist, your ribs, thumbs stroking in desperate, uneven circles as if he can’t decide where to touch first, where to settle. you can feel the urgency in him, every bit of it, the wild gratitude that shudders through his whole body every time you arch up into his palms, every time you let him hear the noises he loves, the ones that make his breath hitch and his hips buck forward.
“please, just—just let me, let me, i need—” he moans, voice so raw and high it almost breaks into a sob, as if he’s starving for you, like touching you is the only thing keeping him alive. his mouth finds your shoulder, biting, then kissing, then just mouthing at your skin, worshipful and frantic, and his hands keep roaming, greedy and helpless, squeezing your thighs, your ass, every soft place he can reach. his fingers slide between your legs, rubbing, pressing, always too eager, and every time you gasp or moan, he shudders, whining into your neck, so overwhelmed he can’t control the sounds he makes, just a mess of breathless, broken little cries.
“fuck, you sound so good, you sound so fucking good, please, please, do it again, i want to hear you, wanna make you—oh, fuck,” he rambles, half-incoherent, hips grinding down against you, blush running wild and hot across his cheeks, all the way to his ears. he’s not shy, not when he’s like this, not when his hands are shaking and he’s squeezing at your breasts, your hips, your thighs, desperate for more, always more, needing to have you under his hands, under his mouth, to feel you twitch and arch and cry out for him.
every time you gasp his name, he melts, shudders, practically sobs against your skin, voice breaking with pleasure so sharp it almost sounds like pain, every sound from you feeding something in him, making him frantic, so greedy, so needy he’s almost embarrassed, but he can’t stop, won’t stop, not until you’re as wrecked as he is.
he nuzzles into your neck, sucking a bruise against your pulse, mumbling, “can’t help it, i just—just wanna feel you, need to make you feel good, need to—please, please, let me, let me, i’ll do anything,” voice trembling, hands clutching at your waist like you might vanish if he lets go for even a second.
“baby, you’ve got me, i’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, giggling when he whines again, a raw, shaky sound, pressing his whole body tighter to yours, arms locking around you with desperate strength.
“please, please, want you, need you, fuck, can’t get enough, never, never enough,” he babbles, grinding his hips into yours, every part of him flush and frantic, whimpering and moaning as if your pleasure is his oxygen, as if he’ll fall apart without it, greedy hands sliding everywhere, everywhere, squeezing and kneading and holding you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.
and when you finally cry out for him, voice shivering and wild, he nearly loses it, choking on a moan that’s half a sob, clutching you to his chest, breathless and shaking, “god, i love you, i love you, i just—can’t stop, don’t wanna stop, please, let me—” his words dissolving into kisses and whimpers, greedy and lost, as if loving you like this might finally be enough to fill him.
edging with mack… him begging for it… his whines…. (brb going insane)
nsfw content below
the first time you edge him, you don’t plan it—just get caught up in how good he looks, how he falls apart so easy, all you have to do is drag your nails down his ribs, kiss that trembling pulse under his ear, and his whole body tenses up, cock twitching and leaking all over your thigh, so fucking eager it makes you want to laugh. macklin’s never had any patience; he’s a mess the second you touch him, can’t last, can’t stop himself, never once tried to hide how desperate he is for you, red-faced and breathless and so pretty when he’s begging.
tonight’s worse. he’s been whining for it all day, clinging to you like a puppy, hands always wandering under your shirt, into your waistband, pressing hot and frantic against your skin. you finally give in, pinning him to the bed, crawling between his legs, his eyes going huge, pupils swallowed up in hazel-green, mouth parted in a half-moan, half-prayer as you settle in, palm wrapped tight around the base of his cock, squeezing just enough to make him gasp.
his whole body trembles, thighs shaking, hands fisted in the sheets. he keeps looking up at you, then away, too embarrassed to keep eye contact, but unable to look anywhere else. his voice is wrecked before you even start, just from anticipation—he’s so keyed up you barely have to stroke him, just one slow, twisting pump and he’s already whining, hips trying to fuck up into your hand.
“please,” he breathes, and you can feel his cock throb in your palm, leaking slick and hot, desperate for more friction. “please, babe, i can’t—need it, need to cum, please—” he stutters, voice trembling on every syllable, the kind of raw, pathetic sound that would make you pity him if he wasn’t so fucking cute like this.
you slow your strokes until they’re barely there, just enough pressure to keep him teetering, not enough to let him go over. he whimpers, almost sobs, twisting his hips, trying to force himself deeper into your grip, but you hold him down, squeezing tighter, not letting him have what he wants.
“shh,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss his neck, biting just hard enough to make him flinch. “you’ll get it when you earn it. can’t just cum whenever you want, macky. gotta be patient.”
he shakes his head, eyes glossy, already starting to squirm, thighs twitching under your hands. “don’t wanna be patient, don’t wanna—just wanna cum, please, baby, i’ll do anything—please, please, please, just let me—”
you tighten your grip, thumb rubbing right under the head, and he makes this wrecked, desperate noise, a high, helpless whine that climbs straight out of his chest, so loud you’re sure the neighbors can hear it. his cheeks are a blotchy mess, pink and red and burning hot, a feverish flush that crawls all the way down his neck, over his collarbone, bright patches like he’s been out in the cold too long.
“you’re so needy,” you taunt, grinning into his skin, letting your tongue trace the shell of his ear. “such a greedy little thing. is that all you think about? getting off? filling me up? you ever think about anything else?”
he whimpers again, shaking his head, too far gone to argue. his cock pulses in your grip, pre-come slicking your fist, making every stroke easier, messier. you let him get close, so close you can feel the way his thighs tense, his stomach fluttering under your free hand, every muscle wound tight as a spring. he starts to gasp, hips rolling in tight, desperate little circles, chasing the edge, babbling nonsense—“please, please, please, oh fuck, need it, please, i’ll be good, i’ll do anything, just let me cum, please—” voice breaking, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
you let him get right to the brink, feel him start to twitch, then pull your hand away completely, watching him shudder and collapse back to the bed, sobbing out your name, so ruined and desperate it almost breaks your heart. his hands scramble for your wrist, trying to pull you back, but you just lean over him, brushing his hair off his forehead, kissing his cheeks, his jaw, whispering soft nonsense to soothe him as he whines, shuddering all over, cock leaking against his belly, so swollen and red it almost looks painful.
he blinks up at you, eyes shining, lip trembling, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “why’re you doing this,” he mumbles, voice so small, broken with need, “please, i need it, hurts, please, i can’t—please, i’ll be good, just let me cum, please, i need you, i need it so bad, baby, please—”
his voice cracks and he buries his face in your chest, body wracked with shivers, sobs catching on every breath, so utterly undone by your touch, by your voice, by your control. you stroke his hair, kiss the top of his head, and promise him you’ll let him cum soon—just a little longer, just until he’s really begging for it, tears and all, your sweet little mess, your needy, whimpering macklin, desperate and red and yours.
RavenHaven @thespiritofraven - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
