βΛΰΏ i thought that i was dreaming when you said you loved me
β emily, she/her, aries, madison beer, hot chocolate, nj devils, autumn, san jose sharks, animal crossing, tyler the creator, deer, snoopy, thrifting, taylor swift, sonny angels
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hey I love your work you are so amazing girl!! I was wondering if you could do a smau for Fraser x fem!athlete reader like maybe a Boston legacy player? I think it would be so cute and maybe she gets injured at some point? Idk but just a suggestion! Keep doing what youβre doing :)
hi angel! im not currently taking requests but ill make sure to keep this in mind when i reopen my requests :)
summary:Β when you're in a perfect relationship with a perfect man, the only thing that can come between the two of you is yourself, with all your insecurities and your toxic thoughts. you assumed that, after ruining the best thing that ever happened to you, will would never want to see you again. yet, he's far more stubborn than you'd anticipated
warnings:Β swearing, themes of self-sabotage, one brief mention of sexual settings (no details), hurt/comfort
wc: 4.8k
note:Β to the anon that suggested will for this: i am in love with you. i'm so obsessed with this song i just knew there had to be a fic inspired by it. val write a wsh fic with no angst challenge FAILED
your brain was wired differently. you'd always known, ever since you were a kid, that some of the thoughts that kept you awake at night, that you tried so hard to suppress, shouldn't have been there to begin with. you'd figured it out as a teenager when, venting with your best friends, whenever you shared your feelings, whenever you opened up your heart, all you got in return were odd looks and concerned questions about your mental status. so, you stopped.
you found out pretty early on in your life that the average little girl doesn't wish she could disappear from the earth forever everytime someone scolds her, just to make them feel bad and let the memory of her haunt them. the average little girl isn't left speechless everytime she receives an act of kindness, saying she hasn't done anything to deserve it.
when your first relationships came around, much later than they had for every girl your age you knew, you came to the harsh realization that maybe that wasn't what you were made for. you weren't someone who could be loved endlessly, you weren't someone that people craved to be around, someone who's company your loved ones cherished.
your first boyfriend, back in high school, dared to say the words 'i love you', and you still remembered clear as day the feeling of absolute void that the organs in your ribcage sank into. he didn't love you, he couldn't. he was lying, and liars didn't have a place in your life. the two of you never hung out again after that day.
the next handful of guys that had approached you afterwards were equally as untruthful, saying you were the most beautiful girl ever, saying your mind was brilliant, saying they'd die to get a date with you. lies, lies, more lies.
you weren't someone that people could ever want to pursue romantically, because the love you had to give would never be enough. because you would never be enough. why give your entire heart to someone that would just leave you at the realization that the world is filled with girls who are prettier, nicer, more easygoing?
that was not you. you were that gloomy presence that lingered too long in a room and made the fun atmosphere die down. flowers died in your wake, you brought destruction everywhere you stood. of course, that was your own perception of yourself, and it hardly ever matched what others thought of you.
you were objectively a trusted presence, always there listening and trying your best to give everyone a good piece of advice, but when it came to you, you closed up and shielded away your feelings from everyone. you were stoic, but far too much for your own good.
the life youβd learnt to live, with a tight circle and no romance whatsoever, was working out perfectly for you. after all, you never had to worry about feeling like you owed your partner something for simply bearing the burden that was your presence.
it was working, but that didnβt mean you didnβt lie awake in bed at ungodly hours at night, wondering what the fuck was wrong with you and why you couldnβt let yourself be in love.
that, until you met will.
the night your eyes met those blue irises that changed your life forever was a blur, bar hopping with your group as you passed around spliffs and different signature drinks to try. it was in a cozy, half-empty pub downtown, with wooden walls and yellow dim lights, that your gaze inevitably fell on him.
you had no clue whether it was the weed, the alcohol, or a fever dream, but you couldnβt stop stealing brief glimpses of that guy. you were entranced by those blond curls falling softly over his forehead, by the way his sleeves were rolled around his arms, by those wholehearted, wide smiles that he showed off to the people he was sitting with.
and, for once, your mind was at ease about your emotions. those same emotions that you usually felt so deeply that they nearly consumed you, leaving you isolating yourself from anything that you thought was slipping out of control. that night, you didnβt have control, and it felt fucking amazing.
before you could overthink it, your legs moved faster than your brain as you stood up from the wooden bench and approached him. youβd waited just enough for him to get up and reach the bar, probably getting another drink.
βhey.β
βhi there.β he replied, seemingly even more enthusiastic than you. that bright smile was now directed towards you, and your insides nearly melted at the sight.
he was so easy to look at, and even easier to talk to. in about half an hour, you returned to your seat, surrounded by your friends, with his contact in your phone and the promise of a text to set up a proper date.
text that, when you woke up the following morning, wasnβt there.
youβd let the buzz get to you, but with the newfound clarity that the early hours brought, you couldnβt help but wonder how you couldβve been so stupid, so foolish to think it couldβve worked out. nothing ever did, not with you, and maybe you deserved it.
you went on with your day as usual, not leaving behind the same old self-deprecating nonsense that swam around your head and refrained you from enjoying anything ever. then, at three pm, your phone buzzed.
youβd be lying if you said your hands didnβt almost drop it as you rushed to check where the notification was from, and youβd be lying if you said your heart didnβt skip a beat as your eyes read βwill (bar guy)β when the screen lit up.
βmorning! you busy tonight, letβs say, around 7? ;)β
your hesitation was replaced by pure delight, your lips curved into a soft smile and you chuckled at yourself for always being so damn catastrophic, for assuming the worse. maybe it wasnβt going to be bad, maybe good things were around the corner for you.
yet, calling will smith simply a good thing was minimizing.
after bringing you to his favourite restaurant for the evening, sharing so many stories about himself that made you feel like you were long lost friends, after going for a ride around town and reaching the best viewpoint of the area, stargazing on the hood of his car as you talked about girl scout cookies and snorkeling and your favourite punk-rock band, you felt like you were breathing fresh air for the first time in your life.
βso,β he mumbled quietly as he started the car, after offering to drive you back home. βwhen are we doing this again?β
your voice stuttered slightly while you tried your best to form a coherent sentence. βagain? with me? like, this, again?β
his brows furrowed and he looked towards you briefly as he backed up from the parking spot and onto the dry and softly lit road.
βi thought we had a good time together, did i get the wrong impression?β
βno! iβm sorry, i enjoyed being with you, iβm justβ¦ confused. i didnβt- i mean, i wasnβt going to assume anything.β
what youβd meant to say was you didnβt think heβd want to see you again, but you realized that exposing such an insecure, vulnerable part of yourself after barely one date was most likely going to scare him away. you shook your head as you debated with your own head, and will chuckled as he stole occasional glances to you.
βi understand,β he nodded firmly, slight smirk still pulling at the corner of his lips. βbut you donβt have to assume. i do want to go out with you again, i really, really do. if you do too, that is.β
and once again, when you were around him, all your rationality jumped out of the window. you could barely contain your excitement, a smile broke out onto your face despite your attempts to bite it back.
βyeah, of course i do.β
βgreat, iβll call you, then.β he replied, car coming to a halt right below your building.
he leaned over towards the passenger side and, as if to seal the deal youβd just made, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, dangerously close to the corner of your lips. your stomach jumped, your heart fluttered. you took a deep breath, trying to regain your composure, before smiling politely and wishing him a good night as you unbuckled the seatbelt and walked out of the vehicle.
your friends couldnβt recall the last time theyβd heard you talk about a date with such enthusiasm, but they could all see how radiant you looked as you blushed under their scrutinizing eyes whenever they tried to get some details out of you during brunch the following day. it wouldβve taken approximately two years before you got into specifics.
however, as the hours passed and your phone buzzing never signaled a new text from him, your heart filled with doubt all over again. maybe that first date hadnβt gone as well as youβd thought, maybe heβd only said otherwise out of courtesy, to get rid of you without any questions. it wouldnβt surprise you that someone so amazing would have no interest real in you.
the spiral of sick thoughts swallowed you for the rest of the day, that you spent rotting in your own misery locked in the safe walls of your bedroom. it hadnβt even been twenty four hours, but you felt like your world was about to collapse. until your phone buzzed yet again and, after grabbing it unenthusiastically, after having given up on all of your hopes, a short text appeared in a notification bubble, in the middle of your lock screen.
βsorry iβm late, practice killed me and i napped all noon. breakfast tomorrow? :))β
breath after breath, it was like your heartbeat had finally settled and stopped threatening to break free from your body. your lips curved involuntarily into a soft smile, one that felt freeing after spending the entire day with your usual overthinking.
you stood against the window, eyes darting at the dark sky and the sparkling stars scattered across it. then, the moon caught your attention, so bright and yet straying away from everything else. completely alone, all the time.
your tendency to stray away from affection seemed to fade, but never completely. after your first time together, still laying in bed entangled, a sudden wave of self consciousness hit you and led you to burst the bubble of comfort, just to drive back home and spend the entire night analyzing every action, every word that had come out of willβs mouth, almost desperately looking for something wrong.
but nothing was wrong. will was perfect in everything he did, especially when you were on the receiving end.
there wasnβt an exact breaking point, it was rather a slow succession of events throughout the months, those signs that you have to explain right away, because if you brooded over them even for an extra minute, theyβd become too painful.
at first, it was a girl stopping him as the two of you were in the parking lot of the arena, right after a home game. the californian air was warm, the breeze on your exposed arm comforting as you and will walked across the broad expanse of concrete.
then, she approached you. well, she approached will.
you stared at her, not intimidatingly, just taking her in. the more your eyes stayed fixated on her, on the perfect way her hair curled at the ends, on the sultry smile she showed off to your boyfriend as she pulled out her phone to take a picture, the more you felt yourself fall back into the devastation that was your mind.
how easy would it be for will to find someone better than you? clearly, all he needed to do was step outside.
βbabe, can you take it?β
willβs sweet voice pulled you out of the unbearable trance youβd put yourself into. your head barely shook, as to bring you back onto earth. you noticed the brunetteβs hand - holding her phone - extended towards you, radiant smile still on her face.
you wanted to speak, say something, not seem like a rude person, but your throat was dry and coarse. you nodded, grabbed the phone and shot a couple of pictures. their arms were around each other, not in an inappropriate way, but it was enough to shoot a sharp pain into your chest.
the girl thanked you both with such kind manners that you tried with everything in you to smile at her, forcing a small beam.
willβs arm wrapped around your shoulders the way it had as you left sap center earlier, but it didnβt feel nearly as soothing. he seemed to notice the tension in your muscles, the way your face had gotten completely still and emotionless.
βbaby, is everything okay?β
you nodded and hummed, lips slightly tilting in a hint of a smile as you quietly climbed into his passenger seat, praying he wouldnβt push it any further. he didnβt.
you thought it was because he didnβt care, but he was truthfully just trying not to overstep your wishes, and hopeful that youβd open up to him whenever you felt like it.
a couple of weeks later, with summer fast approaching, you decided to give yourself a chance to enjoy the offseason with him in his hometown.
the streets of the small town looked straight out of a movie, and you deeply enjoyed every little detail that will recalled as you two walked through them hand in hand: the kindergarten where he learned how to tie his shoes, the rink he practiced in for the first time, the cafe that had served him the best strawberry milkshakes of his childhood, every small memory he shared seemed to help you get even closer to him.
then, one evening, the two of you decided to tag along to a house party at an old high school friendβs house.
you probably shouldβve seen it coming, but the crash down came so unexpectedly fast it knocked your breath out.
you befriended willβs childhood friends immediately, joining in on their conversations and group jokes with an ease that made willβs heart swell in his chest.
the party was about two hours in when someone sitting at your left stood up and called out a name, sarah. your eyes moved swiftly across the room, finally settling on what seemed to be her.
your gaze lingered a moment too long, but you couldnβt stop yourself: sarah was nothing short of a model, taller than you and with long blond hair that looked like they were taken directly from a barbie doll. her smile was contagious and her skin was soft, dazzling, perfect.
quickly enough, everyone around you greeted her warmly, like her mere presence had just reactivated something dormant within their soul. will hugged her, not tightly, not for too long, just a quick and easy hug between old friends, or so you thought.
he introduced the two of you, and you thought nothing more of it until you and will found your seats once again and his hand reached for your own. βyou remember sarah, right? i did mention her.β
you looked at him confused, brows furrowed as you went back to every conversation youβd had in the past months. seeing your expression, he smiled softly and joked about your short-term memory.
βmy first girlfriend? the one whose hamster i almost killed that one time?β
the words echoed in your ears like shards of glass. your smile faltered, you stood frozen at the table, wooden edge digging into your palm as you clung to it for support. that was his first girlfriend. you felt like a nobody looking at her, and she came first. it wasnβt just easy for him to find someone better than you, it was already done.
youβd known about her, but nothing could have prepared you for the burning sensation of inferiority that would settle in you at the sight of her, drop dead gorgeous and ridiculously nice. how could you even compare to that?
willβs mouth opened, like he wanted to add something else, but closed right after. his hand, still tangled with your own, delivered a firm squeeze under the table.
pushing aside the ache in your chest, you smiled like nothing had happened and nodded, like your vision wasnβt blurred by the anger and the sadness you were feeling. you continued to bond with the group with your usual joyful demeanour, without them knowing it was taking you an absurd amount of self-restraint to not scream and cry and leave.
when you returned from your trip to massachusetts, you avoided will for five days.
five days of being within a ten-minute drive from each other, and yet you kept making up different excuses as to why you couldnβt hang out with him. once it was your grandma who needed help with the tv, once you were too tired after a particularly intense workout at the gym, once you had to meet up with your friends for some well earned girl-time.
none of it was true.
you thought youβd been smart about it, that your fabricated justifications had been enough to fool him.
on the morning of the sixth day, a knock on your door startled you. you werenβt expecting anyone, youβd planned your entire day around your intention to cry and denigrate yourself while motionlessly laying in bed.
nothing could have prepared you for the way your stomach flipped when, on the other side of the wooden frame, the very familiar head of blond curls appeared.
as your gaze darted towards anything that wasnβt willβs tired face, with dark circles and messy hair and eyes full of concern, you felt like your heart was disintegrating from within you. you didnβt think it was possible but seeing him right there, showing up for you after youβd tried so hard to push him away, was making you feel worse.
he did everything he always did when he entered: he took off his jacket, put it on the second knob of the coathanger, grabbed the phone from the right pocket and shoved it in the front pocket of his sweats. when he finished his routine and you inevitably ran out of things around your entryway to observe, you were forced to face all of your worst fears and, finally, face him.
his eyes pierced into yours as he inhaled and exhaled slowly, like the movement was calculated rather than involuntary. he needed to say something that wouldβve fixed the situation, something right, because he mustβve done something hurtful to push you away for so long, with little to no explanation.
he cleared his throat before speaking. βwhy are you hiding from me?β
βiβm not hiding from you.β
βyou are.β he said, matter-of-factly, tone not raising one bit. βyouβve always said that even seeing each other for five minutes was enough, but itβs been five days since iβve last seen you.β
βiβve been bus-β you started, interrupting yourself when will shook his head firmly.
βthereβs no way you havenβt had five spare minutes in the span of five days.β
he was right, youβd had an unreasonable amount of spare time that youβd spent calling yourself things that if will heard heβd go insane, crying yourself to sleep and waking up not even feeling fully conscious. you hadnβt just had five minutes, youβd had five full days to become the shell of yourself, because you knew your presence was irrelevant, that you could be substituted like nothing had happened. youβd seen it yourself.
you inhaled sharply at the recollection, biting the inside of your cheek to calm the nerves. βi donβt know what you want me to say, will. i just wanted some space, thatβs all.β
βyou want me to leave you more space? is that it?β
christ, no. that was the worst case scenario.
βthatβs not what i mean.β
βthen what do you mean?β a hint of irritation crept back into his voice. βwhatβs the problem? talk to me.β
you felt rushed. you felt cornered. you were in a situation where breaking free was impossible. that feeling of sheer panic got straight to your head, your chest felt tight as you cleared your throat, words suffocated while they left your mouth.
βi donβt think this relationship is going anywhere.β
will was stunned, his lips parted slightly as his breathing grew irregular. he felt his legs give up so he sat down at the dining table, hands resting in front of him, twitching and fidgeting.
βwhat are you talking about, baby?β
βthereβs not much more to say.β
βare you kidding me?β he asked, eyes widening ridiculously. βthereβs a whole lot to say. did i do something to upset you? what happened?β
you shook your head, nails digging into your sweaty palms as you tried not to cry, lying straight through your teeth. βiβve been feeling this way for a bit now.β
he was incredulous, eyes blinking back tears as he scanned your face in search of something, anything that wouldβve woken him up from that bad dream.
βthatβs not true.β
his words were directed at himself rather than you, but itβs not like it made much of a difference; you were too caught up in your own head to pay any attention to what was happening in front of you. you stood there, in front of him, hoping he would just leave you alone and forget about you, go on to live a happy life without the insurmountable burden that you were.
you swallowed your saliva like you had rocks in your mouth, scraping along the inside of your throat and jagging whatever was left of the shell of your body.
βtell me you donβt love me and iβll believe you.β will said firmly, eyes damp but still full of what could only be described as hope. βlook me in the eyes and say it to me.β
βoh fuck you, will!β your venom-filled words fell on his deaf ears, but all he could focus on was the way your voice cracked, and the tears that pooled inside your eyes.
will blinked slowly once, twice, then he stood up from his chair and ran a cautious hand through his hair.
βletβs talk later.β
your brows furrowed with something that was a perfect mix between rage and confusion. βi donβt want to talk later.β
βweβll solve nothing if we continue right now. letβs both blow off a little steam, yeah?β
he leaned over and pressed a small, burning kiss to your temple, before grabbing his jacket and leaving through the front door. you stood there, speechless and with your arms crossed in front of you, as to shield you from the external world.
you werenβt used to this level of calmness, to being understood without needing to say a word. at first, you thought it wouldnβt help, that your anger would stay boiling under your skin everytime sarahβs face appeared into your head. the more hours passed, the more your feelings shifted into rational thinking.
realistically, you couldnβt bring yourself to be the one to break willβs heart.
a part of you, the most egoistic and selfish part, wished he would walk back through the door and just stitch you up like nothing had happened, fix what was broken, whatever was wrong with you. you wished he could fix you with everything you had.
but he couldnβt. and, even if he tried, you would never let him. you wouldnβt let him near your decaying soul, you couldnβt let him rot with you.
your eyes were vacant, staring in the distance. your chest was rising and falling in shallow, rapid gasps as the debate within you seemed to never cease. you tried to be the bigger person, to end things and let him be, but the slightest resemblance of a pout on his face had been enough to stop you in your tracks.
scavenging through the depths of your mind in search of something that would ease the hurt in your soul, that would help you finally make up your mind and prepare the speech you were going to deliver to will, you could only find joyous moments and heartfelt words exchanged by the two of you.
you remembered the first time he said βi love youβ, the wave of uncertainty that faded with time, replaced by trust and a newfound self awareness that you could actually be loved, and will did it so effortlessly. yet, at the slightest complication, everything fell apart.
it wasnβt because of will, it was solely and purely because of the twisted mind games you played on yourself.
the vortex of thought swallowed you and the concept of time that passed, and you only realized once you heard a new set of knocks on your door. he was back, and you were more of a mess than you were when he left. you had obtained no clarity, no calmness, nothing but chaos.
willβs demeanour, on the other hand, had completely shifted. as soon as your front door opened to let him in, he took the few steps that separated you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into a tight and much needed embrace. you inhaled, smelling his cologne and slight notes of your own perfume, which had lingered on his jacket for more than a week, just how he liked.
after days of barely hanging it together, harsh sobs rippled through you before you could stifle them.
βshh, itβs okay,β will mumbled, hands caressing your back like you were made of porcelain. βlet it all out and then you can tell me whatβs been bothering you.β
not sure where to start, you just let him take care of you for a while longer. he sat on the couch with you, grabbed a cup of water, held you close until your breathing went back to normal, until you finally managed to get words out.
it wasnβt easy to explain, youβd never revealed so much about yourself to anyone, especially not something that caused so much shame and so much suffering to you. will didnβt judge you, because he never did: he listened to your confused words as you tried to make sense of your deepest, most secret feelings, hand still entangled with your own. he nodded occasionally, squeezed your hand when needed, never interrupted.
those big blue eyes seemed to be staring directly into your soul, but never in an unsettling manner. if anything, you felt finally seen.
he reassured you in the best way he could, choosing his words carefully as he told you you deserved everything good that had been given to you, that every word and action that came from him always came from a place of pure love and adoration, that you didnβt have to worry about anyone from his past, that you were the one and only who could make his heart beat out of his chest. and you stood there, for once in your life really taking those words in, as he didnβt dare interrupt your thoughtful silence.
βyou know,β you started, voice cracking after not speaking for a couple of minutes. βiβve always felt miserable, in every relationship iβve ever been in. now, i felt the most miserable when you left.β
βi donβt wanna leave, ever.β
βyou donβt know that. i donβt know that, and the fact that i donβt makes me feel crazy, like one day iβll just wake up and youβll disappear because you got tired of me.β
βyou think i donβt wanna be with you, that iβll get tired of you?β he scoffed, not mockingly, almost like he was surprised. βyou have no idea how hard it is for me to stay away from you, even for half a day.β
your eyes watered all over again before you could realize, not giving you a proper chance to fight it back this time. will promptly noticed, his hands took ahold of yours and his thumbs brushed your knuckles with the same care he put in everything that regarded you. his head shook slightly, before he spoke again.
βevery time i drop you off at your place, i wish you could just stay with me forever. when i get home, i hug my pillow and wish it was you, because i canβt fall asleep otherwise. yeah, you might kick me and drool all over my shirt,β he said, interrupted by your breathless chuckles that brought a smile back to his own face as well. βbut youβre my first thought every morning.β
he was looking at you with that dopey, sickening grin, the one that showed his teeth just enough to have you swooning. you inhaled deeply, corner of your lips shifting into a sincere smile in the middle of your tear-streaked face.
he pulled you into another hug, bone-crushing like heβd meant to engulf your frame into himself. he whispered a soft βi love youβ right to your ear, and for what felt like the first time, you blindly believed it.
im sorry but saying slurs isnt something i take lightly, wether its a close family member or someone whoβs a celebrity, i donβt agree with the use of that word and i never will.
its kinda the same situation with people like the hughes brothers β they did something controversial, i stopped writing for them. its just the way it is.
iβll only write about people im personally okay with writing for/about because its me that has to put the hours of work into the stuff i do, id like to enjoy doing so without thinking back to him saying slurs lmaooo
A PARTY DURING the weekday was never ideal, to you personally. you hated the idea of having to restrict yourself from getting too drunk so you didnβt suffer a hangover during a lecture the next day. you also hated getting drunk and suffering said hangover the next day during your lecture. the idea of even staying up so late when you had early class the next morning just didnβt appeal to you.
maybe back in your freshman year, when college didnβt feel so serious but rather a fun game to play to postpone adulthood. now, it felt as serious as ever as you were approaching your final year and still having to retake damn classes - a party on a wednesday night sounded stupid.
cozy nights were more your vibe lately, content indoors, especially when you had some new pyjamas, a face mask, fresh bedding and a new movie to watch - but especially because you were on your period, this just sounded 10 times more appealing.
by the time you got home, your back was sore, legs too, and your mood was just low in general. nothing had tipped you over the edge but you felt the urge to cry. throwing your bag on the floor, you stood in your room with a frown, unable to believe you had to get ready for this damn party brad was dragging you to.
your week so far hadnβt been the best - a new assignment in return for the one youβd just handed in, practice papers that needed to be done in a weeks time, an intense practice that left you tired and sore. brad had been having a rough time as well, so he wasnβt exactly comforting. heβd ranted to you yesterday about the dynamic of the team, how his coach wasnβt listening to him and he was sick of losing, how his touchdown on monday had been overruled, how he didnβt like his haircut, how he couldnβt drive his car, and when he came to hang out with you yesterday, youβd just topped off his god-awful, horrible week by telling him you were on your period in the middle of trying to coax you into bed.
heβd told you that you were going to the party, that you needed it and he refused to let you stay in and feel shitty about yourself. youβd told him youβd probably feel shittier by going, but he was adamant after a few drinks, youβd feel better about yourself and less stressed about the week you were having. βtwo hours at leastβ and heβd take you home.
so, after a quick nap, you jumped in the shower. you washed your hair, scrubbed your skin, moisturised your entire body in that vanilla-coconut lotion that stuck to you for days. you blow dried and did your hair basic, threw on an outfit without much thought but as always - it was beautiful. so chic. an outfit without a lot of styling but worn in that simple, effective way that brought that 90s supermodel vibe to it. you accompanied it with a cute bag and shoes before texting brad you were on your way.
part of you did feel sorry for your boyfriend in having a shitty week too, you just wished he had the same idea as you when it came to doings things that would make you both feel better - to make you feel good.
you wished heβd jump into bed with you, turn the lights off and watch a silly movie in some face masks. tickle your arm and rub your back, keep you warm with the rain pouring down.
that wasnβt really bradβs thing though. as much as you tried, he was never one to chill in bed and watch a movie with you, unless he was hungover and dead asleep . . . or ignoring the movie completely and trying to slip his hand in your pants. no, his idea of letting loose had to involve drinking and a party, and a part of you dreaded the potential possibility of how pissed he was going to get tonight with the week heβd been having. you actually wondered if for a second, heβd wanted you to come so you could make sure he was ok β and by ok you meant pretty much babysitting him . . he gets so drunk he becomes unbearable and youβre pretty much the only person who can coax him to even leave.
standing there, it suddenly clicks what kind of night youβre in for, and all the more reason for why you donβt want to leave.
. . . but then you get a text from him, and itβs a photo of his beer next to your favourite seltzer.
brad β€οΈ
[1 image attached]
brad β€οΈ
got your favourite waiting for you β€οΈ
itβs the red heart that gets you, so, feeling endeared, you leave your dorm.
maybe youβre wrong. maybe you will have a really sweet night and youβll be back in bed in two hours with him, watching that movie.
-
the place is packed. youβve been here over two hours and it feels like more and more people are showing up.
the music is blasting and the garden has already been trashed. floors are sticky, thereβs drink all over the counter, you heard a couple having sex in the bathroom on your way up the stairs and brad is nowhere to be seen.
well, thatβs a lie - he was in the kitchen last you saw him, opening another beer while you settled for a diet coke.
it just wasnβt hitting. you knew it wouldnβt. youβre hot, irritated and desperate to go home.
brad calls you again, voice deep, words slurred. βy/n?! y/n?! babe??β
he does this. he calls you, you join him by his side, itβs fine, then he starts being annoying, you leave before you say something that starts a fight, he calls you back after 10 minutes - itβs a cycle. this is the third time and your patience is running thin. you seriously want to go home. you donβt even need to be here.
you feel like a spare body just standing in the corner, trying to stop the base of the music from giving you a headache. you canβt even mingle because he has a problem with how much people you leave him to go talk to, or shoots daggers to anyone who tries to do so, so you stay put.
βiβm sorry, iβm sorry,β he smiles, opening an arm to have you tucked under again. he knows heβs being annoying, but he knows youβll keep coming back if he apologises. βhere, i got you this.β
he hands you another seltzer, and instead of telling him again youβre done drinking, you just pluck it from his hand and place it on the counter behind you with a thanks.
heβs talking to his friends, leaning against the oven, laughing and joking about different things. a box of 30 bud light cans is emptied amongst the four of them. bradβs arm stays secured around your waist, his touch starting to irritate you because he canβt stay still while the other swings his drink around, almost spilling over your shoulder.
he senses your quietness, and dips his head between you, his musky aftershave filling the air. βyou ok?β
βyeah.β
βyouβre quiet.β
you shrug, looking straight ahead.
he doesnβt say anything.
instead, he scans you from head to toe, eyes catching the pendant on your chest, down to your little short skirt, emphasising the length of your legs.
he then clocks your crossed arms and pouty lips, and nudges you a little rough, removing his hand. βfix your face.β
you pause, brows narrowing. β . . . what?β
βi said fix your face - youβre standing here like youβre at a funeral,β he takes a swig of his beer, stunning you with his casualty.
βiβm standing here like iβm at a funeral because it feels like my fucking uterus has died,β you spit, watching him roll his eyes at your dramatics. βi didnβt want to come and you still forced me.β
βi didnβt force you to do anything.β
βyou talked me into coming or you woulda been in a mood with me.β
his brow perks at your tone. βi didnβt want you to be miserable, staying in on your own, but i seem to be in a mood anyway with you here.β
βi told you i didnβt want to come.β
βright, because god forbid we do one thing i want.β
you stare at him. βone thing?β
βdonβt.β
βyou never want to do anything i want.β
βbecause all you want to do is lie in bed and watch movies.β
βso?β
βso? itβs fucking boring, y/n. sorry iβm not 80.β
it hurts more than it should. you look at him and then look away, gaze dropping to the floor.
βoh my god,β he says. βdonβt do that.β
βdo what?β
βthat pouty thing.β
βiβm literally just standing here.β
βyeah, like a fucking raincloud.β
his friends laugh despite acting like theyβre not listening.
your face begins to warm.
you shake your head, βiβm going home.β
you push off the counter, but his hand catches your elbow immediately.
βwhere are you going?β
βhome,β you repeat.
βno youβre not.β
βiβm tired, brad.β
βyouβre not going home.β
when you try to pull your arm back, his fingers tighten. βlet go?β
βwhy are you being like this?β
βbecause i want to leave,β you almost stomp you foot.
βbecause you want attention.β
you stare at him, mouth falling open. βwhat?β
βyou do this every time,β he says. βyou get pissed off, then threaten to leave so i have to chase after you. iβm not doing it today.β
βiβm not threatening anything?β
βyes, you are.β
βi donβt want to be here?β
you seriously donβt understand the issue. you want to go home. he doesnβt need to follow you.
his hand slides further up your arm, grip tightening when you try and step away.
βstop it,β his large hand wraps around your arm.
you wince. βyouβre hurting me.β
βstop pulling away then.β
your stomach twists and you go still.
he notices that too.
he also notices people watching you both.
his expression changes instantly - softer, calmer, like a switch. βbaby,β he says, quieter now. βcome on.β
you donβt answer.
βdonβt do this.β
βi want to go home,β you repeat, refusing to look at him, your arm cramping in the position itβs in. βyou donβt need to come, you can stay here.β
βokay,β he nods quickly, βno itβs fine. we can go home.β
you look up at him. βreally?β
no hatred in his tone, no sulking. βyeah.β he rubs your arm where heβd been gripping it, thumb brushing over the skin, βif you wanna go, weβll go.β
you stare at him, waiting. waiting for the next part.
he just tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, dragging his eyes down your frame. βweβll go back to mine,β he mutters in your ear, βwatch a movie or whatever you want, yeah?β
you donβt say anything, he just slips his hand to your waist. βdonβt be mad anymore,β his large hand gives your ass a pat.
you look at the floor. βiβm not mad.β
βgood,β he smiles like youβve said the right thing, βbecause you know i hate when we fight.β he presses a kiss to the side of your head, fingers digging into your hip just a little too hard. βgo say your goodbyes. iβm gonna finish this drink and then weβll go.β
you nod, and dismount from him, leaving for the stairs to use the bathroom. you didnβt know anyone here, not anyone you had to say goodbye to anyway.
your head spins.
you feel like shit now, dragging him home. he really doesnβt have to come, and to be honest, you donβt want him to come.
if brad thinks thereβs any chance of you having sex tonight, he is so unbelievably mistaken. youβd rather him stay out than to have the argument and face his coldness when you turn him down - again.
you donβt know how heβs stuck you this long, considering he wants to have sex all the time and you just donβt. itβs not that youβre a prude, youβve (unfortunately) lost your virginity, and every couple months, you give brad a little something, but only because you feel obligated to. sex with brad is exactly how youβd imagine - quick, rough, and anticlimactic - for you at least. he doesnβt know your body at all, and when you tell him what you like, he complies for maybe a minute before focusing back on himself, going at his pace, his rhythm, chasing whatever helps him finish.
you assume thatβs just what sex is, how sex with guys is - jab, jab, jab, grop, squeeze, grop, maybe a hand on you neck for a second or two. you kind of just fake your turn when he comes, not bothered to let it continue any longer than it needs to. you donβt get the hype around sex, itβs absolutely not what they make out in the movies. thereβs no head throwing, no loud cries - youβre actually pretty quiet in the bedroom.
you think youβre broken at times, weirded out that you donβt get horny or yearn for him to touch you like that, but then you do get hot and bothered, and the most you want is a hot and heavy kiss.
donβt get you wrong, you love the affection and can get giddy at times when his hands are all over you - the sex just feels uncoordinated a lot of the time. like youβve lost your rhythm. sometimes when youβre drunk, you get a thrill, but lately you canβt imagine anything worse than having his fingers in your pants, your libido being the lowest itβs ever been in your whole life.
you donβt get the big deal about it. you donβt get this mind-blowing stigma around it. you grew up in a home you could say was big on the idea of traditional values: date to marry, only have sex after marriage, donβt have any kids before youβre married - it was your favourite excuse when you ran out of them when brad was trying to talk you in to doing something - telling him you feel too guilty and if he had a problem, youβd call your parents up and tell them why he wouldnβt be coming for dinner at the weekend - because you wouldnβt have sex with him.
brad drunk is just double that problem. he gets so drunk at times, he canβt even get his dick up and then wonders why you wonβt do anything with him. itβs a wonder he hasnβt cheated on you yet. you really credit him for his loyalty, because he must love you some heck of an amount if heβs stayed with you this long.
you come back ten minutes later, your stomach cramping as you walk back downstairs. you push through people to get to the kitchen. brad has moved to the island now, two empty shot glasses behind him, and heβs pulling a face at his friend like what he said is on the money.
ββbut she can be such a fuckinβ bitch at times, youβve seen it yourself, manβ he lets out a hearty laugh, βitβs hard work fellas.β
they laugh, and you stall.
βeveryday, itβs something. itβs always something: she didnβt wanna come, she wants to go home, she doesnβt feel goodββ he puts on a mocking voice, βcan we just watch a movie?β laughter erupts amongst them. βno, i donβt want to watch the fuckinβ movie, fuckinβ . . suck my dick.β
they cackle, punching his arm for his audacity while you stand there, at the entrance, your mouth catching flies.
ββshe doesnβt even remember what it looks like anymore, sheβs always tired, sheβs on her period, sheβs got a headache, her stomach hurtsββ he rhymes off, letting it all out to his boys. you donβt realize youβve even moved βtil his friends spot you first, and he turns to see what theyβre all looking at.
his face doesnβt change, just perks a brow at your presence. βyou ready?β
βyou . . . are you serious right now?β
βwhat?β
βyouβyou were fucking taking about me?!β
βyeah i was,β he turns to fully talk to you, setting his bottle down.
no regrets, no remorse.
your eyes are wide, barely blinking. βwow.β
βdonβt start, y/n,β he shakes his head.
βdonβt start? you called me a fucking bitch?!β you scoff.
ββcause . . youβre acting like one.β
you just stare with your mouth open, waiting for any backtrack.
there is none.
he takes another swig of his beer when you twist on your heel to leave.
he doesnβt let you get far, his hand catching your wrist. βdonβt walk away from me,β his voice is calm, his grip effortless - yet, it holds you there.
βlet go.β
βno.β
βlet go brad!β you grit your teeth, but he only pulls you closer, his grip hardening. his jaw is clenched, but he talks through his teeth with a smile so no one picks up on it. βstop doing that.β
βiβm not doing anything!β you try to pry his hand off.
βno you do this every fucking time,β he says, huddling you both into the corner. βyou push and push and push until iβm the asshole.β
βi didnβt even do anything.β
βexactly,β he laughs once, βyou never do anything. you stand there with that fucking face and make everyone else miserable.β
your eyes sting. βbrad . . . β
βstop crying.β
βiβm notββ
ββyes, you are,β he leans in closer, βand iβm not doing this here.β
βthen let me go, please,β you beg, pulling your hand back. you can feel your heart racing, your blood boiling, hands shaking. you can feel the edge of your fight or flight begin to teeter to fight . . .
you try to sidestep him, but he backs you up against the fridge, in one corner of the kitchen where youβre not really viable to anyone. it makes you nervous.
βwhat the fuck is wrong with you tonight?β he mutters between you.
βwith me?!β
βyes, with you,β he laser focuses his attention on you, βyouβve been a fucking nightmare all night.β
βi didnβt want to come,β you repeat, voice steady.
βand iβm sick of hearing that.β
βthe maybe you shouldβve listened,β you snap, eyes burning.
his eyes darken, and he takes a step forward, looking down on you. βwatch your mouth.β
you look away, unfavourable of his gaze.
he brings his hand to your jaw, fingers pressing a little too hard, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for you to, βlook at me when iβm talking to you.β
you do.
you always do.
he holds your eyes, not allowing you the option to look elsewhere. βdonβt stand there and act like iβm the bad guy, like iβm a bad boyfriend just because youβre too sensitive to take a joke. toβto get upset about something you werenβt even supposed to hear.β
βa . . . a joke?β
βyes. a joke.β
βyou . . you called me a bitch?β
βbecause you are one,β his thumb presses harder into your face, eyes swallowing yours.
βbrad,β you whisper, helplessly wrapping your hand around his wrist. βdonβt . . .β
βthen stop it,β he bites, βyouβre making a scene and embarrassing yourself.β
you nod, giving up. βok . . ok sorry, iβi just wanted to go home.β
he stares at you for a minute further, face in his hand before letting go. βyou should be sorry.β
you nod, looking up at him through damp lashes, waiting for whatever he says next.
instead, he just reaches for the bottle heβd been drinking from earlier and lifts it back to his mouth like the conversationβs over already.
βweβll go when i finish this.β
you blink. βnoβyou . . you can stay.β your hands lift instinctively, small, cautious motions like youβre trying not to set him off again. βyou donβt have to come.β
βiβm coming with you.β
something in your stomach drops.
βno, no, i donβtβ you donβt need to.β your words trip over each other now, too fast.
βi want to.β
your eye twitches faintly. heβs still not hearing you. not actually hearing you.
βi . . β you swallow hard. βi donβt want you to.β
his eyes narrow slightly. βwhy?β
because he knows why.
because heβll walk you back to your room acting soft and sorry, all gentle hands and quiet voices for ten whole minutes. heβll tell you he didnβt mean it. tell you to stop crying. tell you he loves you β and then, eventually, his hands will start wandering again β up your thighs, under your shirt β and the second you tense or pull away, the irritation will come straight back like it never left.
you canβt do it tonight.
you want your bed. you want silence. you want him nowhere near you.
βbecause i said so . . . β you mumble, wiping harshly at your nose with your sleeve. βiβm going now.β
he sighs through his nose, setting the bottle down before following after you anyway.
your panic spikes instantly.
his hand reaches for your arm and you whip around before he can touch you, yanking yourself back like his fingers burned.
βstop touching me,β you warn, voice sharp and shaking all at once.
βy/nββ
βSTOP,β you snap louder this time, recoiling again at the brush of his fingertips against your wrist.
you take another step away, already feeling your breathing turn uneven β and then his hand lands against the small of your back, steering, like heβs decided for the both of you.
and something in you finally blows: βOH MY GOD, BRAD, GET OFF OF ME!β you shove him away from you.
everything stops.
everyone turns to look.
his friends stare.
someone by the cooker raises their eyebrows. people in the living room look in.
youβre breathing hard, shaking everywhere, and instantly you know how this looks.
crazy. hysterical. overdramatic.
brad just stares at you for a second before slowly lifting his hands, like heβs the reasonable one here. the calm one. βokay . . β
βback. off,β your voice shakes violently. your eyes lock onto his β wild, wet, cornered-looking - like an animal thatβs both scared and ready to pounce; tear him to shreds. he had a nightmare once that you did.
βokay,β he repeats carefully, βi just wanted to make sure you got home okayββ
βI DONβT WANT YOU TO!β you scream out loud. βI DONβT NEED ANYBODY TO?!β
βy/nββ one of his friend perk up.
ββNO!β you spin toward the room instead, frantic now, hands out like you can physically force everybody back. βeveryone just leave me alone! oh my god!ββ
βbaby, you canβt walk home by yourself,β brad says softly, stepping back in with that patient tone that makes you feel ten times worse. like youβre a child throwing a tantrum. like heβs rescuing you.
βOH MY GOD!β you wrench yourself free so hard your shoulder stings. βI DONβT WANT TO GO HOME WITH YOU!β you shriek, wishing someone would get him the fuck away from you.
youβre about to seriously lose it. the kitchen window is looking seriously fucking appealing right now.
ββiβll take her home.β
the room pauses.
so do you.
you freeze completely, eyes darting toward the new voice.
standing in the kitchen doorway is will, one hand still resting against the frame. navy jacket half-zipped, expression unreadable except for the fact he doesnβt look annoyed, but he doesnβt look entertained either. just . . normal.
βi can take her,β he says again, calmer this time.
you look at him, eyes still wide and glassy with panic. your whole body trembles with leftover adrenaline, chest tight with that awful feeling of being cornered β like the walls are closing in and every single person in the room has witnessed this ugly and humiliating act of yours.
the second you feel bradβs grip slacken, you yank your arm free. βfucking hell . . . who invited this guy?β he completely dismisses you, focused on the freshman.
will ignores him. βy/nββ he repeats, watching you make your exit.
you escape them all, pulling your sleeve as you brush past him and out the front door, surprised you donβt trip when you dash down the steps leading to the front yard.
βy/n!β
willβs voice is calm even as he yells. it doesnβt panic you . . . but you ignore him, too embarrassed to face him, to face anybody.
he doesnβt let you get too far. βy/n . . y/n wait up! i can take you home!β
ββI SAID IβM FINE, WILL!β you raise your voice, storming on with your arms folded. βiβm NOT getting in your car!β
βthen iβll walk youββ
that makes you turn around, probably giving him the perfect view of your ugly makeup and psycho state. βi donβt need you to walk me! iβm not going home with you either now leave me alone,β you turn around.
will pulls a face as you strut on, but walks distantly behind you nonetheless. βlisten y/n, i donβt care how you want to get home, but iβm not letting you walk by yourself. i have a sister and if i thought for one minute anybody would leave her to make her way home at this time of the night on her own in a vulnerable state, iβd probably smash every one of their faces in. so, if you donβt want to walk with me, iβm letting you know iβm still gonna follow you from a distance until i make sure youβve made it home safe.β
that makes you pause.
you look at the walk ahead, the dark streets even with the street lamps on, and the leaves that blow invitingly into the distance.
βyou have a lime on the bottom of your shoe by the way.β
you turn around, seeing will with his hands in his pockets, chilled, fully prepared to follow you back.
you take a step back towards him and watch, from a two-meter distance, him take a mirrored step forwards you.
you shoulders slump, and you shake your head. he waits for you to take a few steps back to him. you do.
you feel him staring as you come face to face, avoiding his gaze on the ground. βi . . . i promise iβm not a psycho . . .β
βdidnβt say you were.β
βwell, you sure looked at me like one . . .β you accuse, looking at the ground.
will pinches his brows at that, the second time youβve offended him with assumptions. βi was looking at you βcause you were freaking me out. you were freaking out. was like watching a trapped animal not knowing where to run. i was worried . .β
you look at him unexpectedly, unfamiliar with his words. βwell . . iβm fine.β
βyeah, you sure look it,β he takes a few steps closer, slow and calm, collected and natural. βare you . . are you okay?β
you donβt answer. just nod.
you just want to cry, to be honest.
βi can walk you home . . but itβs up to you: from a distance, or beside you . . . although iβll probably just end up behind you, waiting for that lime to fall off your shoe.β
your eyes soften, but itβs enough for him. he smiles, and when you glance at the back of your heel, you see a tiny, baby lime, stuck to your sole.
you turn back to him, feeling at little more at ease. βi . . . we can take your car - if itβs ok - we donβt have to.β
he just swings his keys around his finger, smiling satisfactorily. βsweet. letβs go.β
his car is parked at the next house down from the party one, and he opens your door when walking past it before circling around to his own. youβre actually confused at first by the action, fully expecting him to get in the passenger seat.
the drive isnβt long. about ten minutes, but itβs a constant bend of streets and small stretch of roads that are empty at this time. will doesnβt talk to you, just keeps the car warm and quiet, knowing you probably have a lot going on in your head right now.
you feel so inconsolably heavy.
it feels like the weight of the word is on your shoulders, how low you feel right now, how tight and suffocating your throat feels while looking out the window. your chest hurts. your head hurts. your jaw and wrist hurts which only makes your chest hurt more.
that ugly, hallow, narrowing feeling that kind of feels like itβs trying to drag you to drown.
you donβt know how youβre going to get over this. how do you? where do you start? everyone just saw you have a total psycho meltdown and is probably telling brad right now how strong he is for coping with a girl like you.
you look at will, wondering what he thinks, what he heard when he found you, but heβs just looking straight ahead, kinda looking like he doesnβt have a single thought at all going on in his head. you turn back to the window, leaning your head on it.
you swear, you close your eyes for 20 seconds and it envelopes you into the deepest sleep that when will says your name, you donβt budge.
βy/n,β he repeats, touching your arm next.
you jump, eyes wide awake before looking at him, and he just holds his hands up in surrender, waiting for you to come around. βhey, itβs chill. itβs just me,β he points to your dorm building. βweβre here.β
you sit up with discomfort, scraping your hair back. βoh . .β you mumble, looking to unbuckle the belt. it pops with a click. you turn to him. βthanks will, i . . i really owe you one.β
βyou really donβt,β he watches you rest your hand on the handle. βjust wanted to make sure you got home safe.β
you nod. βiβm sorry for being a bitch. i know you were just trying to be nice. i was just . . . being a psycho.β
βyouβre not a bitch, y/n.β he quickly shuts down. ββn youβre not a psycho either.β
you try to smile. βyeah . . tell that to brad.β
will shakes his head. βthe only psycho in that house is brad. anyone can see that.β
you furrow your brows at his comment, and turn slightly there to face him. βhow long . . how long where you there? at the party?β
βa while,β he shrugged. βlong enough to see you bored and on your own.β
βstalking me?β you use his line on him.
βi was in and out of the kitchen for drinks.β
βi thought you were sober?β you try to catch him out.
βwater, gorgeous,β he winks, βiβve got a reputation to upkeep, a future to secure, yβknow? canβt be drinking illegally,β his sarcasm makes you almost roll your eyes.
you know heβs joking, but it makes you blush when he uses the word βgorgeousβ. you are definitely not gorgeous right now.
he watches you sit there, initially chuffed by his comment, and then it fades to flat, like he can see the reality hit of what your next step is for the night - a lonely night in, just you and your thoughts and the memory of what happened tonight, probably tearing yourself to pieces over it.
will doesnβt want you to be on your own. βis your uh . . is your roommate home?β
you shake your head, opening the door. βsheβs at her boyfriendβs.β
he mentally grumbles. he doesnβt like the sound of that.
then a light bulb appears at the top of his head. βcan i grab your file?β
it makes you pause, and when you realize what he says, you laugh a little. βsure.β
he follows you inside.
your room is dark when you walk in. you flick the lamp on and immediately feel embarrassed by how small it looks: messy bed from your nap, clothes on the floor, makeup in front of your mirror, pills for your cramps on your desk. you tiredly kick some stuff out the way. βsorry, itβs a mess.β
βitβs not.β
he waits at the door for while you hunt for the work, and when you hand him it, he wishes heβd came up with a better reason to come up here. βthanks,β he smiles, and feels the need to ask once more before he goes. β. . . you sure youβre okay?β
you nod.
he looks at you for a second, your voice still hoarse, eyes dull, β. . definitely?β
you pick your nails, βyeah, stop worrying.β
βyou were shaking.β
oh.
that makes your throat tighten.
you look down at your shoes and self-consciously smooth your skirt. βsorry.β
βwhy are you apologising?β
you donβt answer, because youβre not even sure. you always apologise for things. βiβi dunno.β
he stands there, and you donβt know what to do with yourself.
you feel too raw. too tired. too embarrassed.
βdo you . . want a drink of water?β you ask quietly.
βonly if youβre getting some.β
you nod and busy yourself for a minute because it gives you time to think. will allows himself in, sitting on the end of your bed.
heβs quiet for a second, you both are, sitting opposite ends of the bed, deep in your thoughts.
will canβt keep quiet for too long.
βdoes he always talk to you like that?β
you look at him and hesitate, raising a shoulder. βsometimes.β
βsometimes?β
you shrug. βwhen heβs drunk.β
βhe was drunk.β
βyeah.β
βand?β
you donβt know. you shrug again, βhe just gets angry.β
βat you?β
βat everything.β youβre not lying, you know your boyfriend is a hot head, he gets riled up pretty easy when things donβt go his way - itβs what makes him play good in games, but you can get pretty angry too, it feels. βhis moods can switch really quickly.β
will watches you observantly, hands tapping the bottle of water. you definitely donβt look like the bubbly, cheery confident cheerleader he sees strutting around campus with her head held high right now.
you look beat down and worn. βyou looked scared.β
you hate how quickly your eyes burn. βi wasnβt.β
he doesnβt say anything, which makes you feel worse.
βi justββ you laugh weakly. βi donβt know. when he gets like that i just try not to make it worse.β
βworse?β
βhe hates when i argue back.β
βso you just let him say whatever he wants?β
βitβs easier . . iβll talk to him in the morning about it. tonight i just . . was overwhelmed or something. it doesnβt really bother me as much, i just had a long day.β
the second it leaves your mouth, you hate it. you know how pathetic it sounds, but itβs true.
he looks at you for a long second, not wanting to overstep, but he still says, βthatβs not normal, you know.β
you fiddle with the plushie that follows you around the globe. βi know . . β
βthen why are you with him?β
the room is quiet.
βi dunno.β
βyes, you do.β
βi donβt.β
βyou do.β
you let out a breath. βheβs not the worst person in the world . . when heβs nice, heβs really nice.β
will feels like itβs the equivalent to hearing nail scraping sharply down a chalkboard.
ββand i can be really difficult at times,β you continue, βi ask for too much, i know i do, and i think i can be hard on him when heβs got a lot going on. i know he loves me, and i do love him - itβs normal for couples to fight, of course. heβs a good guy, everyone knows that, everyone thinks heβs amazing.β
βeveryone doesnβt think heβs amazing.β
you look at him.
he gives you a look.
βok you donβt count.β
βiβm not the only one.β
you roll your eyes. βhe just . . he makes me feel like iβm overreacting, but maybe i am.β
βyouβre not.β
βhe says i am.β
βhe says a lot of shit. you definitely donβt overreact.β
you go quiet again.
thereβs a lump in your throat that hasnβt gone away.
you donβt know what to say. talking to will about how great a guy your boyfriend is probably not the best choice . . .
βyou know what one of my coaches said to me in middle school?β
βwhat?β
βhe said if one person thinks youβre a horse, theyβre probably weird. if ten people think youβre a horse, you should buy a saddle.β
you stare at him, lips tugging slightly, β. .ok?β
he laughs, βi spent, like . . a full week offended because i thought he was calling me a horse.β
you laugh despite yourself. βok?β
βbut he was saying if one person calls you something, maybe ignore them β if everyone does, maybe thereβs something to it.β
βok . . what does that have to do with me?β
βbecause one guy telling you youβre crazy doesnβt make you crazy.β
your smile drops slightly.
βeveryone else in your life loves you. your friends love you. people like being around you.β
βyou barely know me.β
βi know enough.β
βyou know iβm a nut job.β
βi know you gave your drunk boyfriend three chances to stop being a dick before you finally lost it,β he pauses, βwhich, honestly, was generous.β
you laugh again, settling to silence with the little comfort he provides. βthanks will . . β
he sends a small smile, embracing the quiet.
he watches you from across the room, fingers absently stroking the teddyβs fur while you avoid his eyes completely. you look deeply uncomfortable being part of the conversation, like this is the only topic that youβd pay money to get out of.
bradβs worn you down into something smaller over time, shaped you carefully around his moods, his wants, his version of you β and now you take every word he says as truth without even realizing it.
βheβs an asshole,β he says simply.
βi think i just make him angry. . β
βyou donβt have to keep defending him.β
βiβm not.β
βyou are a little.β
βbut i do,β you insist, βi know how to push him and i know when heβs in a bad mood and i stillββ
βstop.β
you stop.
will actually hates how obediently you do stop. βthis β none of this is your fault, y/n. you did nothing wrong. if you want to go home, you should be allowed to go without seeking for approval.β
it hits you, slowly, his words sinking slightly. itβs actually strange how simple it sounds on his tongue.
you drop your head to your hands, embarrassed. youβre even more embarrassed that itβs will, someone you donβt really know, a freshman who probably likes you no more than to look at - deal with you like this. be probably finds it so satisfying.
deep down - you know he doesnβt. you know thatβs your insecurities sinking in, because you donβt know will - but you know him well enough to know heβs a kind person.
you think back to the encounter, to brad - the kitchen. his hand on your arm. the way everyone looked at you. the way he stood there calm while you felt insane.
βhey,β he says quietly.
you shake your head apologetically, βiβm sorry will.β
βy/n what are you apologising for? itβs okay?β he reaches for your arm, not wanting you to hide.
βiβm just embarrassed.β
βdonβt be,β he stresses, and he sounds sincere.
βi literally screamed at him in front of everyone,β you croak, feeling him peel his hands from your face.
βbecause he was awful to you,β he reasons.
βeveryone thinks iβm crazy.β
βnobody thinks youβre crazy,β maybe crazy to be with him in the first place, βand who cares what they think?β
you wipe your eyes with your sleeve. βeasy for you to say.β
βseriously,β he leans forward, βyou spent the whole night trying not to upset him and he still found a way to make you feel bad.β
you donβt say anything, because you know heβs right.
βyou deserve better than that.β
the room goes very still.
you look down at your hands.
nobodyβs ever said that to you before, not out loud - and not like they meant it. you donβt know how to respond. it sounds entitled if you agree.
so you shrug, barely giving a nod, βhe was drunk,β you brush it off, βhe gets annoying when heβs drunk.β
βdrunk or not he shouldnβtβve spoken to you like that.β
βhe didnβt mean it.β
the second it comes out your mouth, you hate it, because it sounds rehearsed.
will looks at you like youβve insulted him. βyou know thatβs bullshit.β
βwell . . i can be difficult sometimes.β
will just scoffs and shakes his head, but youβre trying to burst this bubble of perfection he has stamped on you. βno really, i was probably asking for that fight.β
βfrom what i saw, you spent most of the night trying not to.β
you play with the stuffed animals arms again.
you realize you donβt like arguing with will, for real . . . especially when heβs right.
he reaches over, resting a hand carefully against your crossed leg. the contact sends a strange little jolt through you, enough to almost make you flinch, but he keeps it there anyway, thumb brushing lightly against your knee.
he can tell youβre upset - uncomfortable more than anything.
and even if he disagrees with you, even if he thinks youβre wrong, he needs to let you know this isnβt an argument. thereβs no sharpness to it, no raised voices - itβs calm, itβs civil, no-oneβs angry at anybody. itβs the kind of conversation that should feel safe, even if youβre not on the same page.
βseriously,β he says, βyou looked like you were trying so hard to keep him happy.β
βi was.β
βi know,β he agrees, taking your word. the way he says it - not mocking, not pitying - but empathic like he understands. it makes you pause.
you look down quickly because suddenly your eyes sting again. hearing the truth in detail makes you uncomfortable, you almost squirm. βi . . yeah. i donβt know why iβm with him sometimes . . β
will studies you.
youβre right β he doesnβt know you that well. not really. he doesnβt know what youβre like in a relationship, doesnβt know your habits or your worst moods or what youβre like when you love somebody - but he knows one thing for certain: you are not hard to be around. from personal experience, he feels like he even breathes better when youβre around.
he bets a lot of people on campus feel like that.
but then he watches you curl further into yourself at the conversation, visibly distressed by it, and he finally understands the real problem.
itβs not that you donβt see what bradβs doing, itβs that heβs spent so long convincing you that nobody else would tolerate you that now you instinctively defend him before anyone can challenge it. that being with you requires patience, tolerance and management.
so every time he hurts you, you end up believing you probably pushed him there somehow.
smitty can already see how this goes. you wonβt leave brad after tonight. maybe youβll ignore his texts for a few days, maybe youβll make him panic a little first, but eventually brad will apologise in that soft voice of his, hold your face like heβs scared to lose you, and youβll convince yourself it wasnβt as bad as it felt in the moment.
itβs comfort. itβs security. itβs familiar.
thereβs no use in trying to open your eyes, will decides, itβs not possible. the more aggressively he tears brad apart, the more likely you are to shut down and start to pull away from him too, and selfishly, he doesnβt want that.
until you start seeing things for yourself, he knows its no use, not yet - not when you barely know him either. he considers the possibility you think heβs only here in hopes you give him something in return, which mentally makes him grimace and recoil.
so, he gives in for tonight, and decides to wrap up the conversation, for the sake of your comfort. βyou stay because heβs good at making you think this is all you deserve,β a beat follows, βitβs not.β
you donβt say anything.
βyou deserve somebody who actually likes you,β he says, voice quieter now, βnot just when youβre fun, or pretty, or doing what they want . . . you deserve someone who wants to watch a movie with you because youβve had a shit day. someone who takes you home because you donβt feel good and doesnβt make you feel guilty about it,β he tries to make it sound lighthearted instead of telling you off, despite his frustrations.
βthatβs like . . bare minimum,β you mumble, picking at the blanket.
βexactly,β he says, βand he still canβt do it.β
your chest cracks. you wish heβd stop taking βcause it really fucking hurts.
you look at him for a second - really look at him.
the way heβs sitting on your bed, now kind of lying on it, comfortable with his legs up beside your torso, holding one of your decorative pillows to his chest. heβs laying there chilled, looking at you like youβre not crazy - like youβre not too much, like he actually means every word heβs saying and not even passive-aggressively.
heβs just having a normal, factual conversation with you.
it suddenly hits you that heβs almost filling in as one of the girls, being your therapist, listening to your problems right now at the end of your bed when he definitely didnβt plan on it being the reasoning he ended up in your bed. will perks up at your softening features, your relaxing shoulders and the grin thatβs fighting so bad to not show up on your face. βwhat?β a smile breaks out onto his own face.
you let the laugh slip out, tiny but free, genuine. βsorry, you just . . iβve ruined your night by holding you captive here . . you can go,β he watches you awkwardly rub your arm, still smiling, slightly blushing.
βyouβre not holding me captive,β he pulls a face, βand if you were, i definitely wouldnβt be complaining about it,β his brow twitches playfully.
βsmitt,β you throw the pillow at him, smiling with a roll of your eyes.
βthere she is,β he grins, catching it.
the sight of him makes your heart burst, realizing just how endearing will smith is. such a kind and caring soul. you feel so much lighter than you were an hour ago.
youβre convinced heβs probably the only person able to do that.
youβre lucky to have crossed paths with him. βyou can go if you want . . iβm not kicking you out, iβm just letting you know you can go back to the party and be done with my dramatics.β
βtrust me, youβre not even close to the most dramatic thing iβve seen this month.β
βoh?β you lean back into your pillows.
βlast away game, one of the guys got dumped over facetime in the locker room.β
you grimace. βoof.β
βyup. full meltdown. punching lockers, saying sheβd regret it when he made the new york rangers.β
you laugh so suddenly you nearly spill your water, βno.β
βyeah, and the worst part?ββ
you raise your eyebrows.
ββhe plays fourth line and gets, like, four minutes ice time.β
you laugh harder.
he laughs with you.
and for the first time tonight - the room doesnβt feel so small anymore. the night doesnβt feel so heavy. youβre still tired, your arm still hurts a little where you were grabbed, but youβre sitting on your bed in your dorm room at maybe like, two in the morning, laughing about some hockey player youβve never even met.
for the first time all night, you donβt feel like you canβt breathe.
he tells you another story, and you tell him one back, and it snowballs from there, another hour passing of you both taking turns in recalling funny memories, laughing at nothing, revealing little crumbs at a time about your life outside college.
when you talk to will, you donβt feel like you have to say the right thing, or laugh at the right moment, or backtrack and add βiβm jokingβ to every comment you make so that he doesnβt get annoyed at you β you just talk.
and he listens.
he even asks questions, asks to see photos. shows you photos in return, like the one of him dressed up as a leprechaun for one of his birthdays, or a pic of a nasty scar he got from playing basketball out his backyard.
by the time you glance at the clock, itβs way later than you thought. βoh my god,β you mumble, βyou should go.β
βyeah, probably,β he agrees with a heavy breath, tucking his phone in his pocket. it sounds like he doesnβt want to, like the effort of now having to go home is draining.
you wish he didnβt have to either, but you refuse to be the reason he wakes up exhausted tomorrow just because you can talk forever.
he stands eventually, and grabs his keys from your desk, slipping his sneakers back on. βtext me when you wake up tomorrow?β
you look up at him confused. βwhy?β
his mouth opens, and he almost responds shyly as he twists his ankle the shoe, βjust . . wanna make sure youβre okay,β he says like itβs obvious.
your heart does a weird little thing.
βokay,β you say softly, βmaybe let me know when you get home safe?β
βof course.β
you smile, and he smiles. βgβnight y/n.β
βgoodnight will,β you call after, getting a click of a closed door in return.
when you stand to lock it, youβre smiling crawling back under the covers, laying there in the dark for a second, staring at the ceiling.
the night still hurts, but not as much, not when you can still hear his laugh in your head, which makes you laugh to yourself as you snuggle in deeper to your mattress.
you wait for your phone to ping with his message to make sure he got home safe, and while laying on your side, covers tucked up to your chin β you spot that he didnβt even take the file with him.
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could you do a Macklin imagine where his girlfriend gets new nails and he loves them and he begged her for back scratches and head scratches and finally she caved but then she stopped scratching his back to answer her mom on the phone and he flipped out but in a cute way? if so I'd be so gratefulll, love your storiessss !!
This one is a little shorter, very sweet, thank you for the request βΊοΈ
1.4k words
Practice must've been brutal, you can tell the second Macklin walks through the apartment door.Β
Normally when Mack comes home, heβs talking your ear off the second he walks through the door. Something about practice, teammates, random thoughts he had on the drive home, but today he just drops his gym bag next to the door and exhales, long and tired.Β
You look over at him from where youβre standing at the kitchen island, mindlessly scrolling through something on your phone while dinner simmers on the stove. βRough day?β you ask.
βMhm.β
His voice is muffled slightly by the hoodie he's currently pulling over his head.
You give him a soft smile, not even sure if heβs seeing it, βCome here,β you say.Β
He doesn't hesitate. Immediately, heβs crossing from the entryway into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face against your shoulder and breathing you in. The hug lasts a little longer than usual, and you figure he just wants to be held for a little bit, so you donβt loosen your grip.Β
You run your hand through his damp hair and ask, βTired?β
βVery,β he mumbles.Β
You hum in response, and you feel him nod against your shoulder. For a while neither of you move, youβre just standing there in the middle of the kitchen while dinner cooks on the stove.Β
Eventually he pulls back enough to look at you, and his eyes immediately drop to your hands on his waist. He grabs one and brings it up to look at. Heβs looking at your nails. Again.Β
You laugh, βWhat?β
βThey still look nice,β he says, running his thumb back and forth over your fingers.Β
βYou've told me that six times in the past two days.β
βThey do.β
He reaches for your other hand. Now heβs holding both your hands in his, and staring at them. Examining them like he hasnβt spent the past couple of days doing this exact thing.Β
A small smile tugs at your mouth, βIβve probably thanked you a million times already, but thank you for paying for them, you donβt have to do that.βΒ
βI know I donβt,β he says, βbut I know you like having them done so why wouldnβt I?βΒ
You grin at him, reaching up to press a kiss onto his cheek.Β
βBest money I've ever spent,β he says, smiling.Β
You laugh, slowly backing away from him to turn the eye of the stove off and finish fixing the two of you dinner.Β
Later that night, he's stretched out across the couch. Not quite asleep, but very close to it.Β
The apartment is dim now except for the lamps in the corner of the living room, and the glow of the TV not currently playing anything, but flashing slow ads for every movie and TV show imaginable.
You're tucked into the opposite end of the couch reading something on your phone, quietly.Β
After a while, Macklin shifts his head up to look at you, then away, then back to look at you again. You notice it immediately, βWhat?β you ask.Β
βNothing.β
βMack.β
Then he hesitates. Macklin hesitating either means he wants something or he has to talk to you about something serious. You assume itβs the former, because if it wasnβt you would've already had a conversation about whatever was on his mind.Β
You set your phone down, βWhat do you need?β
His ears go a little pink, which you find cute because he almost never gets nervous to tell you or ask you something.Β
βCan youβand you can say noβcould you maybeβ¦nevermind,β he says, and stuffs his face back into the couch cushion.Β
You immediately start smiling, βMacklin.β
βI'm serious,β he mumbles, his words muffled by the couch.Β
βBabe," you insist, trying to get it out of him. He looks back up at you, embarrassed now. "You got your nails done,β he says, cautiously.Β
You stare at him, a little confused, but then it clicks, and you immediately understand.Β
βOh.β
His expression gets even pinker somehow, βYeah.β
You laugh softly, βOh, sweetheart.β
βDon't call me that,β he says, but heβs smiling.Β
βYou want scratches.β
He tries denying it, βNo.β You raise an eyebrow, and he caves instantly, β...Maybe.β
The smile on your face becomes impossible to hide, because for all the confidence he has everywhere else in his life, asking for affection still makes him shy sometimes.Β
"Come here,β you say. His entire face brightens, and he starts moving to your side of the couch.Β
βYou couldβve just asked, Mack.β
βWhat?β he says, stopping in front of you.Β
βYou could've just asked,β you repeat.Β
βI did ask.β
"You looked like you were about to ask for something insane.β
He shrugs, βI didn't know if you'd want to.β
The fondness that hits you is overwhelming, because heβs so sweet. βIβd always want to,β you say.Β
His expression flickers, almost confused. βWhy?β he asks.Β
You stare at him for a second, βWhat do you mean, why?β
He shrugs, suddenly looking very interested in a loose thread on the couch cushion. βI dunno. I just feel bad sometimes.β
Your heart practically melts. βMack, you shouldnβt feel bad.β
He glances up.
You continue, βYou know I love you, right?βΒ
His ears immediately turn pink, βYeah,β he mumbles.
βThen why would I not want to do something that makes you happy?β
The blush spreads higher across his cheeks, and he grins. βI love you too,β he says, placing a kiss on the top of your thigh, before laying his head across your lap.Β
Five minutes later he's basically melted into you. His head is still in your lap, his eyes are closed. One of his arms has looped loosely around your waist while the other is running slowly up and down the side of your leg.Β
Meanwhile your nails drift slowly through his hair, down the back of his neck, then lightly across his shoulders.Β
Every now and then heβll sigh, or nuzzle deeper into your lap. He just seems so content.Β
βGood?β you ask quietly.
βMhm,β is the only response you get, and you smile.Β
His eyes donβt open, but heβs not fighting sleep like he was earlier, now heβs just completely relaxed.Β
βYou're spoiled,β you say, joking lightly.Β
He protests, βNo.β
βYou absolutely are,β you argue.Β
He shakes his head against your legs.Β
You give him a look, even though he can't see it, βBaby.β
Finally one of his eyes opens. βI buy you flowers," he says.Β
βThat's true,β you say, smiling
He continues, βI make you coffee, and I paid for the nails.β
You start laughing.
βI think I'm entitled to some benefits,β he says.Β
You shake your head. He's ridiculous. But he's also visibly relaxing under your hands with every passing minute, all the tension he came home with from practice is slowly disappearing the longer the two of you lay here.Β
His shoulders are loosening, his breath is evening out; and thatβs exactly when your phone rings.Β
You glance at the screen to see whoβs calling: Mom.
βSorry, one sec,β you say as you take your hand off his back to reach for your phone. Immediately the scratches stop, and surprisingly Macklin doesnβt say anything. He doesnβt even open his eyes at first, he just waits.Β
Then after about thirty seconds you feel him shift, and a minute later he opens his eyes, looking up at you expectantly as you listen to your mom talk about things going on back home.Β
Heβs looking at your hand, then heβs looking back at you. You almost laugh. Right now heβs reminding you of a puppy watching itβs favorite thing be taken away.Β
His expression is so sad, not manipulative, he looks genuinely disappointed.Β
You take the phone away from your ear for a second, βYou okay?β
He nods, but then he pauses. βYou stopped,β he says quietly.Β
Your heart nearly stops because he looks upset that you stopped. Once you give him a sympathetic look, he immediately looks embarrassed.Β
βNo, it's fine,β he insists.Β
Your brows furrow, confused. He just nods.Β
He pauses again, looking like he wants to say something else, he finally does, βBut when you're done, can you...β he trails off and gestures to your hand and then his head.
You smile so hard your cheeks hurt, and without missing a beat, you move your free hand back into his hair. The relief on his face is immediate. His eyes close again, and his entire body relaxes.Β
By the time your phone call ends ten minutes later, he's completely asleep in your lap. Still holding your waist, still resting his other hand on your leg, and you donβt stop moving your nails across his back.Β When you look down at him, all warm and comfortable and completely content, you can't help thinking: Maybe he wasn't lying when he said paying for the nails had been the best money he'd ever spent after all.
requests are open π
I just want to say: Thank you sososo much for all the support π₯Ή I love you all!! π«Ά
Word Count: 5,158 (this was supposed to be a blurb omg)
Warnings: reader is sick (has a cold), hurt / comfort, established relationship, emotional hurt / comfort (heβs so soft), brief mentions of crying, mild angst (more than I intendedβ¦oops), let me know of anything else?
Summary:
Mack comes home a day early from a brutal road trip expecting hugs, kisses, and a few days of making up for lost time.
Instead, he finds a week's worth of evidence that youβve been sick and taking care of yourself alone.
Unfortunately for you, Macklin Celebrini has some very strong opinions about being left out of taking care of the people he loves.
The keys rattle in the lock for only a moment before the door to your shared apartment swings open. He steps in, toeing off his beat-up sneakers easily, placing them beside yours at the door like second nature. Shutting the door behind him with a soft click and flip of the lock.
Immediately, it feels like he can breathe again, shoulders relaxing with a heavy exhale as his hockey bag drops to the floor with a gentle thud - mindful of the people living in the apartment below yours.
None of the main overhead lights are on, but he didn't expect them to be at this time of night anyways. Instead, the apartment glows with the collection of lamps you'd insisted on buying over the years. Warm pools of light spill across the room, softening every corner.
He'd never understood your hatred of overhead lighting.
Then again, he'd never cared much about how the apartment looked.
Not the way you did.
He'd let you take the lead on most of it, content to nod along whenever another lamp or throw blanket or oddly specific decorative item found its way into the cart. Just wanted to see you happy.
But somewhere along the way, the place had started feeling like home and not just a house
Maybe because you were in it.
Just around the corner, he hears the light murmurs of one of your shows playing on the TV. Your soft laugh flows from the living room melodically, bringing a slow smile to his lips that he couldnβt deny even if he tried.
What gives him pause, however, is the painful sounding cough that follows quickly after.
As if that wasnβt enough to have warning bells blaring in his head, the helpless sniffle tacked on at the end has worry sinking heavily in his chest.
He freezes, βBaby?β he questions.
The TV pauses instantly, a moment of tense silence following before he hears you call out softly, βMack?β you question back.
It was supposed to be a surprise.
The team had been on a roadie for the past 5 days and they were supposed to spend another night away before returning back to the Bay Area. It had been gruelling, far from one of their better trips, and management had pulled a few strings to get the guys on a flight home a day early. Everyone seemed to agree that a night at home with family might be exactly the reset they needed.
He rounds the corner quickly, coming to a pause as he takes you in. The top of your head is the only thing he can see from this angle, eyes peeking just over the back of the couch, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Even in the dim lighting, he can see the glassy sheen in your eyes and the shadows that lay under them.
Your breath is caught in your throat as you continue to stare at each other for a moment. You donβt dare move. Know that heβll get a read on you the second you do, and youβve been so careful with hiding it from him while he was away.
His eyes narrow, lips pressing into a thin line.
Even though you havenβt moved, the lack of your normal greeting gives you away. Itβs been days since you last saw each other. Since you last touched.
Youβve lived together long enough to have established a routine for when he gets home from away games. Usually on each other the second he gets in the door - taking just as many days as he was gone, if not more, before you guys return back to your normal routine.
Something is wrong, and his stomach churns with unease.
Worse is that he can see the way you lean in slightly on the couch, drawn to him, wanting to make up for the time away just as much as he does. But you still havenβt moved.
If you wonβt come to him, heβll go to you.
Easily.
Every time.
So, he takes calculated steps towards you, eyes staying on your face as you come completely into his view - taking in all the information he can to figure out exactly whatβs going on. The first thing he notices is the irritated redness of your nose. The second is how much it stands out against the lack of colour in the rest of your face.
Youβre wrapped up in a fluffy blanket and one of his hoodies, hood pulled up over your head. He takes in the tissue box and steaming cup of tea resting on the coffee table.
Water bottle full - untouched - no one here to make sure you were drinking it.
His eyes catch on a plate abandoned on the coffee table. One piece of toast with no more than a few bites missing. Gone cold hours ago.
He notices the slight shivers that seem to wrack your body regardless of the thermostat having been turned up and the soft bundle youβve turned yourself into. A small trash can overflowing with tissues sits beside the couch for convenience. He knows theyβre from more than just a bad afternoon
The way he whispers your name has your heart clenching in your chest painfully, face falling as you take in the look he gives you.
Heβs wrecked. Completely caved in on himself and wearing the most heartbreaking frown.
Your stomach drops.
Youβd recognized the warning signs of the incoming sickness a few days before he left. You had hoped it would all go away within a day or two, nothing to worry about.
Maybe it was how much you missed him. Or maybe it was the lingering fatigue from the exhausting semester youβd just finished. Whatever the case, the worst of it had started the day he left. You hadnβt gotten the chance to talk to him until that night - over the phone when the game was over and he was back in his hotel room.
It had been a brutal loss, 5-1, and the team as a whole looked disconnected on the ice. He was already so down about the game; anxious about how the rest of the long road trip may play out when the team wasnβt playing anywhere near their best.
So instead, you had kept quiet about the reality of how you were doing at home.
You avoided facetimes when possible, knowing if he got one look at you he would be able to tell something was off. Kept phone calls short, muting when a coughing fit would take over or you needed to blow your nose. But you made sure to text him plenty to make up for it, sending him stupid tiktoks and little things that made you think of him. With the trip going the way it was, it had been enough to keep him from getting suspicious.
Now, seeing the devastated look on his face, youβre not so sure of yourself.
You clutch the blanket a little tighter, like maybe that will keep you from falling apart.
When he rounds the couch, he takes notice of another blanket crumpled and discarded on the floor at your feet. Kicked away during a spike in your fever.
βHow long?β he whispers.
βA few days.β
βA few days?β he repeats, eyes wide, like he canβt quite believe what heβs hearing.
Your eyes start to water.
You wish it was just the fever.
βI didnβt want you to worry,β you start.
βI get to worry.β he cuts in, eyes cutting to yours.
Your chest seizes up. A lone tear falling from your eyes. You sniffle, wiping it away with your sleeve just as quickly as it came.
βWhat was I supposed to do, Mack?β
βBaby-β
βNo, seriously.β
You gesture helplessly around the apartment.
βYou were halfway across the country.β
βI know.β
βYou had practices. And games. And meetings. The trip was already going bad.β you continue.
His eyes drop.
βI know.β
βThere wasnβt anything you couldβve done.β
His jaw flexes. His eyes squeeze shut.
βBaby.β
Softer now.
βI know that.β
Finally, his eyes lift to meet yours.
βBut I wouldβve liked the chance to try.β
Another tear rolls down your cheek.
His legs give out and he sinks onto the couch.
Only then does he take in the rest of the area. Everything thatβs been arranged around this one spot.
The phone charger trails from the wall into the nest you've built for yourself amongst the cushions, tangled up in the multitude of blankets. An abandoned mug on the side table beside the couch.
His eyes dart to the kitchen. Two more teacups stacked by the kitchen sink. The kettle left out on the counter with a jar of honey sitting almost half-empty beside it.
He continues to scan the space.
DayQuil. NyQuil. Cough drops ripped open haphazardly. Thermometer.
All lined up neatly on the island counter.
It knocks the breath out of him.
Because he recognizes the way it's organized.
Exactly how he wouldβve done it.
Every short phone call. Every excuse to skip facetime. Every text telling him not to worry. It all suddenly makes sense.
You follow his gaze, cheeks heating up in embarrassment at the state of things. At the state of you.
βI washed the sheets as soon as you left,β you start, βyouβre probably tired, I swear everything in the bedroom is clean, you can go lay down.β
βBaby, why are you not in bed? Why did you wash the sheets?β
βSo I wouldnβt get you sick when you got homeβ¦β you trail off.
The silence that follows is devastating.
He says your name like it physically hurts him.
Then, βWhere have you been sleeping?β
But he already knows the answer.
You look away.
βHere.β you whisper, so quietly he almost doesnβt hear it.
The answer knocks the breath from his chest anyways. And for a moment, he canβt even look at you.
His gaze drifts back across the apartment.
The mugs.
The blankets.
The medicine.
A week. Your week. Reduced to the evidence scattered around the living room. And he didnβt know about any of it.
His eyes squeeze shut briefly.
He slides closer to you on the couch, hooks a finger under your chin and guides your gaze back to his.
βWeβre talking about this later.β he says, softly. But you know itβs a promise.
βMack, I was just trying to-β
βI know.β
His thumb brushes across your cheek and you melt into his touch.
βI know exactly what you were trying to do.β he whispers, voice breaking around the words.
βThatβs why it hurts.β
The words hang between you for a moment.
Then, his frown deepens.
The hand on your cheek shifts as he presses his palm more completely against your skin, then moves it to your forehead.
His brows immediately pull together.
βJesus, baby.β
Then, louder, βWhen was the last time you checked your temperature?β
You blink. βWhat?β
βTemperature, baby.β
The question is gentle, but the tone leaves no room for argument.
βI-β you cut yourself off, lips snapping shut. You try to think back, you really do, but the day feels blurry, time slipping away from you in strange ways over the course of the last week.
Mackβs jaw tightens.
Because somehow, thatβs worse. Because youβve clearly stopped keeping track.
He brushes the hair away from your face, hand moving to cup the back of your head as he leans in to drop a gentle kiss to your feverish forehead, exhaling a shaky breath before standing up determinedly.
He fixes the soft blanket to better wrap around you, heart clenching at the way he can feel the shivers trembling through your body as he does.
He takes quick strides to collect the little recovery centre youβve made for yourself on the countertop over the last week, already running through a mental checklist. He returns back to you a few moments later, and itβs clear he doesn't want to spend any more time apart from you, especially given the state heβs come home to find you in.
His arms are full. Thermometer, medicine, a fresh water bottle. His expression does something awful when he sets it all down on the coffee table. Careful. Controlled. Like heβs trying to hold himself together by force.
He drops to his knees in front of you. βSit still for me, baby.β
And you listen.
He reaches up, removing the hood from your head lightly, brushing your hair back from your face before tucking it behind your ear. The touch is so gentle it makes your chest ache again.
He presses the thermometer into place. The silence stretches.
You watch his jaw tense as he waits for the reading, watch the way his free hand settles on your knee. Like he needs the contact just as much as you do.
The thermometer beeps and the colour drains from Mackβs face. You donβt even have to ask, already know that whatever number appeared on the little screen wasnβt one that he liked.
Trying to lighten the heaviness hanging between you, even just a little, you offer him a weak smile, βThat bad?β
His eyes lift to yours, and for a second, he just looks at you.
Then, his hand comes up to cup the side of your neck, thumb stroking the fever-warmed skin tenderly. He sighs, head dropping briefly to your shoulder as a humourless chuckle escapes his lips. The ones you really wish you could be kissing right now instead of all this.
You reach up automatically, fingers threading through his messy locks. Already in a state of disarray from how much he must have been fidgeting with it during the travel day home to you. He lets out a shaky breath at your touch.
Head lifting as his eyes flick back up to yours, βDonβt ask questions you already know the answer to,β he murmurs.
You scratch along his scalp like that can help ease whatever heβs feeling. His eyes close, shivering at the touch, before snapping back open with an intensity that has your breath catching.
βWhenβs the last time you took anything?β
You wince. Fingers stilling in his hair. Macklin stares at you. Just stares.
βIf you didnβt like my answer about my temperatureβ - or lack thereof - βyouβre definitely not going to like my answer to that one.β you reply jokingly.
His eyes widen slightly, brows lifting in quiet disbelief. βPlease donβt tell me-β
The rest of whatever he was about to say dies on the tip of his tongue the second a cough tears through your chest.
You double over slightly, elbow coming up to cover your mouth. Wincing when another violent cough follows closely behind it.
Any trace of humour - which, granted, was very little - disappears from the room.
Mackβs hand is on your back in an instant. Steady. Warm. Grounding as you wait for it to pass. When you finally manage to catch your breath again, heβs rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades.
βHow come you didnβt take any this afternoon?β he asks quietly. Not accusing, or angry. Just trying to understand. Because with you, he knows thereβs always a reason underlying it all.
You look away, donβt want to bear the weight of whatever reaction he has to what you say next.
βI was saving it for tonight because I knew it would run out if I took it this afternoon.β
Silence follows. You immediately regret saying it.
You try to smooth it over, βI was going to run out and get more tomorrow before you got back,β but it doesnβt land as intended.
His eyes close. Not dramatically, only for a second, like he physically needs to pause.
When he opens them again, thereβs something wrecked sitting behind them.
Your name drips from his lips, barely above a whisper. You suddenly wish youβd kept your mouth shut.
Silence follows.
He needs to do something. Needs to take care of you. Canβt sit with the weight in his chest right now.
He reaches behind him, long fingers wrapping around the water bottle he grabbed minutes ago. He holds it out to you expectantly and waits.
You eye him, not quite sure how to handle him like this. Feels like everything you say is only making it worse. You grab it from his hold, fingers brushing against his. You take a sip then put it down.
His eyebrows rise. βReally?β
You huff, βI drank some earlier.β But the evidence of your old water bottle still sitting on the table - completely full - tells a different story.
He looks at it. Then to you. Then just stares. β... Baby.β
And, of course, you cave under the look in his eyes. You bring the bottle back to your lips, drinking it down with a pointed look. The water eases the burn in your throat and your shoulders release some of the tension theyβd been holding.
He hums, pleased.
βOkay,β he sighs, sitting back on his hunches, hands dropping to rest on your knees, thumbs stroking absentmindedly. And you can tell heβs thinking.
Then, a moment later, βOkay.β This time, thereβs finality in it.
βCome on.β he says, coming to a stand in front of you. Hands grasping yours.
You blink, βWhere?β and the stare you get back is completely unimpressed. βBed.β
Your head starts to drop back, rolling on your shoulders. You sigh heavily, drawing out his name, βMacklinβ¦β
βPlease,β he says, quietly. Your eyes snap back to him at the tone. And the look heβs giving you stops you cold. Not frustration. Not impatience. Something far worse.
Like heβs asking for this. Like after everything heβs come home to, he needs this one thing from you. Needs to know youβre finally going to let him take care of you.
Heβll get on his knees again and beg if he has to. But he needs to see you resting in bed. Canβt stand the idea of you on the couch out here for another night. Doesnβt even want to see it for another minute.
The defeat is written all over you. No strength to fight with him on it right now.
βI can walk.β you say, trying to maintain at least some of your dignity if this is how it's going to play out.
βI know.β
Which doesnβt stop him from slipping an arm around your waist anyways. You open your mouth to argue, but the look he gives you shuts it immediately. His other hand slides beneath your knees.
βMack.β
βI know.β
βMacklin.β you say more firmly.
He looks at you, βBaby. I know.β
Then, heβs lifting you anyway. As if carrying you has nothing to do with whether you can walk and everything to do with the fact that he needs to hold you right now. Like letting you walk there yourself was never really an option.
Your body betrays you, relaxing the most itβs been all week into his steady arms.
God, you missed him.
Missed this. The warmth of him, the certainty of him. The feeling that you donβt have to do everything alone.
He looks so determined. Jaw set, eyes focused. So gorgeous, even like this.
His grasp remains tender, holding you just a little tighter to his chest. One of your arms wraps around his neck, the other coming to rest over his heartbeat. The one thatβs beating just a little too fast. The furrow in his brow tells you itβs out of worry. You hate being the reason for it.
The bedroom is dark and cold.
True to your words - not that he ever doubted you - it's completely spotless; everything wiped down and sanitized, clean sheets and perfectly made bed. The slightly sterile feeling makes him choke, reminds him more of the hotels that heβs been in the last week and how they lacked the warmth that you always bring wherever you go.
He pushes the feeling down. Places you gently on the untouched bed, immediately pulling back the fluffy duvet and soft sheets to help you slide in.
He can see the way youβre trembling and makes a split second decision. βArms up, baby.β he murmurs. Can see the frown pulling at your lips and the question shining in your glassy eyes, but you trust him. It makes his heart ache. He immediately moves to assist you in pulling the old hoodie off your frame, cursing softly at the way your shivers intensify the second itβs gone.
He moves with urgency to pull the hoodie heβs wearing over his head. The fabric warm from where it had been sitting against his skin. He guides your hands through the sleeves before carefully helping to settle it around your shoulders. The second itβs on you, his scent surrounds you. Nose burying in the neckline with a shaky sigh, shoulders dropping just a little. The way you cuddle up into the warmth of it makes him melt on the spot.
He covers you up before your shivering can get any worse, pulling the covers up till they reach your chin as you lay amongst the fluffy pillows. He takes one of the soft blankets you had out on the couch with you and lays it over top.
He reaches to the bedside table, switching on the lamp and illuminating the space in a soft glow. Moving to do the same with the salt lamp on the dresser beneath the TV, grabbing the remote while heβs over there.
Your gaze follows him over the edge of the blankets as he moves about the room. He flicks on the TV, goes through the practiced motions of putting on one of your comfort movies. The one he knows you like to watch when youβre not feeling well.
You almost start tearing up again.
He comes back over to you, taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside where youβre bundled up. You look like a sick little marshmallow blinking up at him, swallowed up by his hoodie and the mountain of blankets and pillows surrounding you. For the first time since hearing you cough from the living room, the feeling in his chest eases. Not much. Just enough to breathe a little easier.
His hand drifts back to your cheek, thumb stroking over the warm skin. Eyes unbearably soft as he gazes down at you. Your hand finds its way out of the pile of blankets to rest on his, fingers sweeping over the back of his hand, like that can convey even a little bit of what you wish you could say to him right now.
βI really wish I could kiss right now.β
Itβs barely a whisper, spoken with the kind of longing he usually saves for airports and road trips.
Whatβs different is the way he squeezes his eyes shut, like saying it out loud feels selfish right now.
βMe too.β you whisper back, lone tear rolling slowly down your temple.
He thumbs it away easily.
The breath that leaves him sounds painful, like relief and agony tangled together.
He turns your hand over in his, threading your fingers together before lifting your knuckles to his lips.
The kiss lingers longer than it should.
βHow long ago did you make that piece of toast?β he asks, quietly.
You look away.
He sighs, presses another kiss to the hand still clutched in his.
His lips move against your skin as he continues, βHave you eaten anything else since then?β
You shake your head.
Another kiss.
βIβm going to go make soup. And then Iβm going to come right back.β he says. As if he needs to reassure himself that leaving the room doesnβt mean leaving you.
βOkay. Thank you.β you whisper.
His eyes squeeze shut. Then, heartbreakingly, βOf course, baby.β
He gives your hand one last squeeze, one last kiss before he tucks it back beneath the duvet and rises to his feet.
For a moment, he just stands there. Like he canβt quite get himself to leave yet. Like walking away from you, even for 20 minutes to make soup, feels wrong after spending the last week not knowing any of this was happening. His fingers trail over the blanket one final time before he forces himself toward the door.
The second he disappears into the hallway, the room feels quieter. Emptier. Closer to how it felt all week.
Later, youβll blame the sickness for how emotional youβve been during this whole thing. The fever. The exhaustion. The fact that youβve barely slept.
But right now, curled up beneath his hoodie and surrounded by the lingering warmth heβd left behind, you feel every bit of it.
β
He comes back not even 25 minutes later, carrying a tray, a packet of tissues held between his teeth.
You sit up slightly, eyes widening and breath hitching as you take it all in.
βMacklinβ¦β you trail off breathlessly, not quite sure what to say.
A bowl of steaming soup sits in the middle. Crackers. Medicine and tea arranged carefully to the side. Your phone charger. A napkin. A spoon. A full water bottle. Even a handful of cough drops sitting in their wrappers.
The tray looks like a physical manifestation of every worried thought heβd had in the last 25 minutes.
Everything about it suggests that he walked around the apartment asking himself what you might need before deciding to just grab all of it and get back to you.
He gives you a moment to sit up a little bit straighter before placing the tray gently across your lap. Then, he reaches for your charger, plugging your phone in and setting it within armβs reach on the bedside table beside the tissues.
βBe right back,β he says. You barely have time to take a sip of water before heβs gone, walking out the door again. A minute later you hear rummaging from the hallway closet.
He reappears carrying the humidifier. His eyes immediately find you.
Checking. Assessing
Making sure youβre okay before continuing toward the ensuite.
βMack, I can go eat at the table, baby. Itβs okay.β
βDonβt even start with me right now.β
The faucet runs briefly, shuts off. Then he's back again, steps a little bit more careful as he tries to balance the water in the humidifier, plugging it in beside the bed.
A soft stream of mist begins curling into the air almost immediately.
Only then does he seem remotely satisfied.
βDo you need anything else?β he asks.
You look at him for a moment. Really look at him.
The messy hair. The exhaustion sitting beneath his eyes. The way heβs been moving around the place since he got home, like if he lets himself stop for too long heβll have to think about all the things he missed.
βJust you.β you say, honestly.
Something in his expression crumbles
The tension leaves his shoulders in a slow exhale.
Looking like he might unravel at any moment.
βYeah,β he murmurs. βOkay.β
Like that was the answer heβs been hoping for.
He kicks off his sweatpants, tossing them haphazardly into the laundry bin, then climbing in beside you. Close enough that your knee bumps his. Like neither of you are willing to waste another second apart.
β
You side eye him as he steals another cracker from your tray. Eyes deadlocked on the movie with an intensity thatβs almost laughable.
βYouβre getting crumbs in the bed.β
He blinks. Turns to you with a pout thatβs hard to take seriously when he has cracker crumbs dusting his lips. βBaby.β
βIβm serious.β
You point toward the growing collection scattered across his chest. He has the nerve to look scandalized.
βYou spent almost a week sleeping on a couch and surviving off half a piece of toast.β
He points at the unfinished bowl balanced in your lap. βEat your soup.β
Despite yourself, a laugh escapes you. Small and scratchy. Immediately followed by a cough. But his hand is on your back before the coughing even finishes, slow up and down motions. Never missing a beat.
You donβt think heβs gone more than 30 seconds without touching you since he joined you in bed. Not that youβre complaining. It still doesnβt feel like enough after spending the last week missing him.
β
The tray is eventually abandoned on the bedside table. The movie continues to play softly in the background. Only a small warm light turned on now.
At some point, you end up tucked against his side beneath the blankets. Neither of you remember exactly when.
Your head rests against his chest. His heartbeat steady beneath your ear. One hand traces lazy patterns along your back while the other occasionally drifts up to play with your hair. Twisting a strand around his finger. Untwisting it. Starting over.
You donβt even think he realizes heβs doing it.
βYou should have stayed with one of the guys tonight.β
The words are so quiet he almost misses them, but he can feel your breath along his skin.
His arms tighten around you immediately. βWhy?β
βBecause Iβm probably going to get you sick.β
A quiet laugh vibrates through his chest beneath your cheek.
He presses a lingering kiss into your hair.
βBaby.β
You can hear the small smile in it,
βThereβs nowhere else Iβd rather be.β
The answer settles somewhere deep inside your chest. Warm. Certain. You donβt argue. Donβt tell him heβs being stubborn. Because deep down, youβve always known heβd choose this.
Choose you.
Every time.
β
The movie is still playing when your words begin to slur together. Your responses growing slower. Softer. Until eventually they stop altogether.
Mack waits until your breathing evens out before reaching for his phone.
More cold medicine. The throat lozenges you like. Electrolytes. More soup ingredients. Crackers. A few easy snacks he knows youβll actually eat.
Something sweet, too. Just to hopefully make you smile tomorrow.
He adds it all to a list heβll stop and grab first thing in the morning.
Hopefully while youβre still sleeping.
Hopefully while youβre getting the rest youβve needed all week.
Then, he looks down. Youβre sound asleep against his chest. Cheeks flushed pink and nose stuffy. One hand curled loosely in the fabric of the hoodie heβd given you, still holding on even in your sleep.
Itβs the most peaceful youβve looked since he walked through the door.
The sight nearly undoes him.
He sets his phone aside without another thought, careful not to jostle you. His now free hand settling against your shoulder, rubbing slow comforting circles before pulling you just a little closer.
The blanket gets tugged a little tighter around you and a gentle kiss presses into the top of your head. His hand continues its slow path along your shoulder and across your back. The humidifier hums softly from the corner.
And for the first time all week, youβre not carrying it by yourself.
A/N: all my work is written and owned by me. Please do not steal my work, put it into AI, or on any other platform.
hi angel, so, basically iβm not writing for him at this very moment due to the fact that him saying the r slur really quite put me off a bit? esp as someone who has potential autism, using that word is really horrible and just rubbed me in the wrong way. down below is my list of who i currently write for :)
i also wanted to use this as an opportunity to say i no longer write for the hughes brothers at this moment in time.
summary : secret relationship yada yada yada this is short but idc
ynyln
β« etta james β’ at last
liked by connorbedard, yourdad and 675.9k others
ynyln ily chicago <3 ur the best ! n2 π
comments. . .
user1 love love love
madisonbeer <3
β³ ynyln love ya
chicagoblackhawks πβ€οΈ
user2 my show π₯²π₯²π«ΆπΌ
youropener <3
β³ ynyln ily angel
user3 HOLY SHIT THATS ME AND MY FRIENDS SIGNS WE CAME ALL THE WAY FROM MEXICO TO SEE U
β³ ynyln i love u all so much <3π₯Ή
user4 you deserve this so much angel
user5 im so proud of you.
oliviarodrigo obsessed w u
user6 why tf did connor like wtfππ
β³ user7 he just has good taste
unitedcenter so excited for another night of this π€
connorbedard π€
β³ user8 airball πππ
via instagram stories. . .
ynyln
β« the fratellis β’ chelsea dagger
liked by _connorbedard, chicagoblackhawks and 530.5k others
ynyln hi lol @/_connorbedard
comments. . .
user8 ok maybe not airball
user9 HELLO???
user10 literally less than 2 days after she called him a cutie
user11 i call him a cutie everyday how do i not get this ππ
user12 WTF
user13 wait no cus theyre so cute..?
_connorbedard π±π
β³ user15 sushi story confirmed
chicagoblackhawks we luv u !!
user14 i saw them coming out of the players carpark today lmao
β³ user15 GIRL WHAT
β³ user14 they were deep in conversation about where to go to get dinner so i didnβt disturb them
β³ user16 DINNER??? HELLO
β³ user14 yeah and then my friend saw them at this boujie ass sushi place, they literally were talking the wholeeee night apparently like wouldnβt shut up no matter what !!
β³ user15 AWWWWW
madisonbeer ππ
ynyln
β« frankie valli β’ cant take my eyes off of you
liked by _connorbedard, oliviarodrigo and 775.9k others.
ynyln last night in chicago! i love u all more than words can describe <3 you mean the world to me, seriously.
comments. . .
user17 lover girl as the surprise song and i wasnβt there.
user18 i saw connor last night!!
β³ user19 wait like at the show!?
β³ user18 yes girl!! he was stood next to me majority of the night he was watching in awe
β³ user19 theyre so cute.
_connorbedard amazing π«ΆπΌ
β³ ynyln supprised u could even spell amazing
β³ _connorbedard omg shut up
user20 stargirl
user21 its so crazy how they started talking so quickly π
Ⳡuser22 to be fair, theyve been following eachother for over like a year⦠so it could have been a secret relationship??
β³ user23 HOLY SHIT UR ONTO SOMETHING
β³ user24 kinda gagged they kept it a secret for so long
β³ user25 ive been a fan for 2 ish years and i remember seeing connor at her previous tour? he def walked away pretty fast after the confetti but not towards the exit? he was talking to security people..
β³ user24 omfg.
β³ user23 GIRL THIS IS VITAL INFORMATION?!
Ⳡuser25 i do also remember seeing a photo of them posted on twitter and y/n got it deleted instantly⦠idek i think theyre together and have been for a while.
_connorbedard
β« ynyln β’ lover girl
liked by ynyln, macklincelebrini and 674.9k others.
_connorbedard i love u @/ynyln happy 3 years π
comments. . .
user26 THREE FUCKING YEARS
franknazar ππ
user27 STFU
user28 WEβRE SO BLIND???
user4 HELLO
user25 told ya
user29 IM GAGGED??
ynyln love u <3
user30 HOW DID WE NOT KNOW
user31 IM SHELLSHOCKED
user32 im so happy for them π₯²
madisonbeer hehehe
chicagoblackhawks β€οΈπ
ynyln π½π½
user33 IM SO HAPPYYY
user34 im so shocked?? HOW DID WE NOT KNOW AFTER 3 FUCKING YEARS??????
alexvlasic π₯
ynyln
β« taylor swift β’ lover
liked by _connorbedard, chicagoblackhawks and 928.2k others.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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fraser gives me the vibes that he would let you draw on his hands/wrists when you get anxious simply because he knows that it makes you feel better. and he even keeps a pen on him at all times in case you forget yours!
A fluffy Fraser request! I wasnβt rooting for Canada in the IIHF tournament, I am American ofc Iβm rooting for Switzerland, duh. Oh, captain my captain, Nico Hischier is on the Swiss team as an alternate. Iβm so proud, with my baby Timo, I love my Devils boys. I am happy for Brownie over on the Canada side of things, and Mack is an amazing captain! Very proud all around, but I must root for my captain. Anyways, I hope I did your request justice! Please enjoy!
And for the record, I'm usually working on two imagines at a time, always one for Luke and then usually a request or a little blurb, or something, that's why I usually have two imagines out in the same day.
Word Count: 2008
Warnings: Use of Y/N, AFAB! Reader, mentions of anxiety, fluff, chirping,
Summary: At a Bruins team potluck, Y/N becomes overwhelmed after getting pulled away from Fraser and surrounded by conversations. Fraser notices her anxiety from across the room, joins her on the couch, and hands her a pen. He lets her draw all over his hand while she calms down. The other Bruins players tease Fraser relentlessly, but he doesnβt care.
_________
The team dinners at Charlie and Kiley's house had become one of those things everyone looked forward to.
Every player brought enough food for fifteen people. The wives and girlfriends somehow brought even more. Kids ran through the house at full speed like tiny hockey players in training, and every available surface ended up covered in drinks, snacks, desserts, jackets, purses, and somebody's forgotten phone.
It was always reminiscent of a family reunion, and tonight was no different.
The second you and Fraser walked through the front door carrying two large trays from your bakery, Charlie practically materialized out of thin air.
His eyes immediately locked onto the desserts. "Tell me those are brownies."
You laughed. "Hello to you too, Charlie."
"Brownies first. Greetings, second."
Fraser snorted beside you while Charlie shamelessly tried to peek beneath the foil covering the trays.
Before he could get a better look, Pasta appeared from the kitchen like he'd sensed dessert entering the house.
"No touching."
Charlie looked offended. "I live here."
"Doesn't matter."
"It absolutely does."
"It does not."
You were still laughing when Kiley rescued the trays from both of them and carried them into the kitchen.
One tray contained the protein brownies you made specifically for athletes, the other contained normal brownies.
The protein brownies disappeared first, then the regular brownies disappeared second, which, honestly, both impressed and shocked you.
Over the last few months, the Bruins had essentially become your unofficial taste-testers, and if there was one thing you'd learned, it was that hockey players would eat absolutely anything placed in front of them.
For the first hour or so, everything was easy.
You stayed mostly attached to Fraser's side while everyone filtered in, mostly because being around him felt comfortable there. You always get easily overwhelmed during large gatherings, and thankfully, your relationship had settled into something comfortable and natural months ago.
Neither of you had to think about it anymore. If Fraser sat down somewhere, eventually you'd end up beside him. If you wandered into another room, he'd unconsciously drift that direction eventually.
So for most of the evening, you were exactly where you always were. Next to him.
Talking with Jeremy about a new coffee shop he'd found. Listening to Charlie complain that protein brownies should somehow count as a vegetable. Watching Pasta steal food directly off other people's plates like an overgrown raccoon, but you never said anything because you thought it was silly.
Normal Bruins behavior.
The problem started when one of the other girlfriends sat beside you. Then another joined. Then someone else asked you a question about the bakery. Then somebody wanted wedding cake recommendations. Then another person wanted the recipe for one of the desserts, which you never give out, so you offered to make her a batch whenever she needed, and before you really realized what was happening, Fraser had gotten pulled into a conversation across the room while you found yourself planted on a couch surrounded by six different people.
Normally, that wouldn't have bothered you. You liked all of them, genuinely, you did.
Everyone had been incredibly welcoming from the beginning. The issue wasn't the people; it was everything else.
The longer the night went on, the louder the house became, the music got turned up, the kids somehow got more energetic, and more conversations started happening simultaneously.
The television was playing in the background, somebody dropped something in the kitchen, Charlieβs dog started barking, and laughter erupted from another room.
The sounds began stacking on top of each other until it felt like every noise was competing for space inside your head.
You tried to stay focused. You really did, nodding along to the conversation, smiling when someone spoke to you, and you answered questions as best you could, but little by little, you could feel yourself becoming overwhelmed.
Not enough for anyone else to notice, in fact, most people probably would've thought you looked completely fine, but Fraser had spent enough time with you to recognize the signs long before they became obvious.
Your fingers disappeared inside the sleeves of his hoodie, which you stole. A habit you'd never managed to break. You started twisting the fabric between your hands, your responses became slightly shorter, and your shoulders gradually tightened, and eventually, without even realizing you were doing it, your eyes started searching for him.
Just little glances around the room, looking for the one person who always made everything feel quieter.
Across the house, Fraser was standing near the kitchen island with Jeremy, Charlie, Elias, and a few of the other guys.
At least, that was where his body was. His attention, however, had never completely left you. He was half-listening to Charlie tell some story, or at least pretending to because somewhere in the middle of the conversation, his eyes drifted toward the living room.
He noticed the way your hands were tucked inside your sleeves, the way your smile wasn't reaching your eyes anymore, the way you kept glancing around the room, and he could see your eyes looking for him.
The tiny flicker of relief that crossed your face when you did find him, and your shoulders dropped slightly, like you'd finally located your exit strategy.
Fraser's expression softened.
Charlie noticed mostly because Fraser had completely stopped listening. "Dude."
No response.
"Fraser."
Still nothing.
Jeremy followed Fraser's line of sight. His expression changed. "Oh."
Charlie looked too. Then smiled. "Go."
Fraser didn't even pretend to argue; he set his drink down, mumbled something about being right back, and crossed the room to you.
The moment you saw him heading toward you, you felt yourself relax a little.
One of the girls scooted over to make room, and Fraser thanked her before dropping onto the couch beside you.
His thigh pressed against yours, the familiar scent of his cologne replacing some of the noise in your head. You leaned into him slightly without even thinking.
His arm settled behind you on the couch. "Hey, Ducky." The nickname came out soft, barely above a murmur.
You looked over. "Hi."
His eyes searched your face for a second. "You okay?"
You hesitated, then gave a small shrug.
Fraser understood that you were overwhelmed, not upset, or ready to leave, just overwhelmed. Without another word, he reached into his pocket.
You frowned. "What are you doing?"
Instead of answering, Fraser pulled out a black pen.
Your entire face changed to one of confusion. "Fraser."
"What?" The smile pulling at his mouth told you he already knew exactly what you were about to say.
"Why do you have a pen?"
He looked genuinely confused. Like the answer should've been obvious. "For you."
Your heart practically folded in half. "Fras..."
"Well, I figured you forgot yours because you brought the small bag, and that only fits your wallet and meds."
"I didn't tell you that."
"You checked your purse four times."
You stared at him. "You counted?"
"Ducky, you checked it four times in ten minutes."
Then, as casually as breathing, Fraser placed the pen in your hand, then he turned his wrist over, and placed it gently into your lap.
His hand rested comfortably against your leg. Large and warm.
Your throat tightened slightly because nobody had ever done things like this before. Youβd been with Fraser for almost 2 years, and he was still finding ways to surprise you.
Nobody else had paid attention to the tiny details or noticed things before you even said them out loud, but Fraser always did.
You uncapped the pen and started drawing.
The first few lines came naturally, tiny stars scattered across the side of his hand, then clouds and flowers.
The repetitive movement quickly began calming your racing thoughts by giving your brain something simple to focus on.
Across from you, the conversation continued. People laughed and talked while kids ran through the room, but it all felt farther away and much less overwhelming because your attention wasn't being pulled in twenty different directions anymore.
It was focused entirely on the hand resting in your lap.
At some point, Jeremy wandered over and started laughing. "Oh, we're drawing tonight."
Fraser didn't even look up. "Yep."
Charlie followed a minute later, then Pasta.
Soon, half the guys had migrated toward the couch.
Not because anything exciting was happening, just because that's what teammates did; they gathered, they chirped each other, they always occupied the same space, and instead of making things more overwhelming, it helped because Fraser was there.
Every few minutes, he'd glance down at whatever you'd added next with the proud expression of a man admiring fine art, even though his hand now featured a shakily drawn duck wearing a hockey helmet.
By the time you finally capped the pen, nearly forty minutes had passed, your anxiety was gone, the tension in your shoulders had disappeared, and Fraser's hand looked ridiculous, covered in doodles.
"What's this one?" he asked, pointing toward a squiggly shape near his wrist.
You stared at it. "...I genuinely don't remember."
Jeremy nearly choked on his drink. "You drew it."
"I know." You nodded.
"You don't know what it is?" He asked incredulously.
"No." You shook your head,
Jeremy looked horrified, and Charlie laughed so hard he had to put his plate down.
Fraser simply nodded. "Cool."
"You don't even know what it is!" Jeremy saidΒ
"Doesn't matter." You rolled your eyes.
"You're impossible," Jeremy groaned.
Fraser went right back to admiring it.
The duck was the centerpiece. You spent nearly three minutes perfecting the tiny hockey helmet.
Fraser had watched the entire process with the seriousness of a man observing open-heart surgery.
When you finally finished it, he held his hand up to inspect it. "Oh, that's sick."
The duck was not sick; the duck looked concussed; its helmet was too large, one eye was bigger than the other, the stick looked more like a pool noodle, but Fraser acted as if you'd just unveiled a mural.
Pasta leaned over, and his face lit up. "Oh my God. The duck."
"The duck?" Jeremy asked
"The duck." Pasta pointed. "That one's my favorite."
"You would pick the duck," Charlie said, rolling his eyes.
"Obviously," Pasta said
"Why?" Jeremy said, confused.
Pasta looked genuinely offended by the question. "Because he's just a little guy."
That statement caused another round of laughter from everyone sitting nearby. Even you couldn't help but laugh, Fraser smiled, thankful you looked like yourself again.
Comfortable, relaxed, and happy, the difference was impossible to miss. Still, Fraser never pointed it out; he simply stayed where he was.
Letting you draw.
Letting you lean against him.
Letting the moment happen naturally.
By the time you finally clicked the pen shut, nearly forty minutes had passed.
You hadn't even realized it.
The conversations around you had blurred into comfortable background noise. The knot in your chest had disappeared, the tension that had been sitting between your shoulders all evening was gone, your breathing had slowed, and your hands had stopped fidgeting.
Just like that, everything else seemed to fade into the background because the look on your face now was completely different from the one he'd seen nearly an hour ago.
You were smiling and leaning comfortably against him, and that alone made his chest ache in the best possible way.Β
So while everyone else laughed at the ridiculous artwork covering his hand, Fraser couldn't bring himself to care because they weren't really looking at what he was looking at.
Where they saw silly little doodles, he saw proof that you were okay, and if carrying a pen around every day meant he could help you get back to that place? If it meant giving up his hand as a human sketchbook whenever you needed it?Β
If it meant walking into Bruins practice tomorrow with a shittily drawn duck in a hockey helmet drawn across his wrist?
Then he'd do it every single time without a second thought because he liked to take care of you in any way he could.
summary - a day in the life of you and nate on an avs game day on your first week of maternity leave
pairing - nathan mackinnon x doctor!reader
warnings - pregnancy, suggestive content, hints of nesting anxiety, and not proofread
wc - 5.1k
requested - no!
a/n - avs please I canβt do this rnβ¦please
βI feel huge.β You sigh from the couch, looking at the bowl of oatmeal that you had carefully balanced on your bump.Β
βYou're growing our child, so of course you feel big.β Nathan shakes his head at your antics and continues to meal prep.Β
βYeah, I know, your huge ass baby.β You tilt your head back and look at Nathan in the kitchen upside down.Β
βBaby girl is not that big.β He puts more meals into the refrigerator, βEat your breakfast, please, Y/N.β
βThatβs not my name.β You retort, sounding like a petulant child.Β
βIt is your name.βΒ
βNoβ¦you refer to me as baby, babe, my wife, or light of my life. Not Y/N.β You tap the bowl but make no move to eat it.Β
βBaby, please eat your breakfast before I leave for practice. I donβt want to have to tell Bednar the reason why Iβm playing shitty is that my pregnant wife didnβt eat her breakfast.β He puts away the last of the meal containers and walks over to you, sitting on the couch with you.Β
βFine, did you put Nutella and strawberries in here like I asked? Last time you were very skimpy on Nutella.β You raise an eyebrow.Β
βI did, but you didnβt check the bowl when I gave it to you, did you?β He picks the bowl up off your bump and urges you to sit up.Β
βNo, I just let you set it on my bump, and I thought it would be fun to see how long it would stay.β You smile sheepishly and take the bowl back. Taking a peek inside, you see there is a generous amount of both strawberries and Nutella on the oatmeal. βIβll eat it now.β
βThank you.β Nathan watches you take a bite before kissing your forehead and getting up. βIβll be back around noon, then weβll finish up the nursery. Please donβt touch it while Iβm gone. I canβt have you getting hurt.β
βI wonβt, Iβll probably watch something.β You shrug. βThere are some shows I want to start.β
βWhatever keeps you out of the nursery.β He agrees and walks to grab his gear.Β
βThis oatmeal is really good, babe.β You hum and take a few more bites.Β
βAll to your liking?βΒ
βYeah, perfect amount of Nutella this time.β Nathan comes back with his backpack slung over his shoulder.Β
βIβm glad, Iβll be back to make lunch.β You smile over at him, and he sits on the arm of the couch.
βOkay. Iβm coming to the game tonight, though. I canβt keep staying in this fucking house, or else Iβll lose my goddamn mind.β You sigh and lean your head into your hand.Β
βI donβt want you to lose your mind staying in this house.β He chuckles.
βOof.β You put a hand on your bump as your baby girl kicks. βSheβs active today.β
Nathan reaches down and places a hand on the curve of your stomach. βVery active, be nice to your momma, baby girl. I have to go now, or Iβm gonna be late. I'll see you in a few hours.β
βDrive safe.β He nods and cups your cheek, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth.Β
βI will.β
βGood. Now I canβt have my baby daddy being late to practice.β You peck his mouth again.Β
βBaby daddy? Iβm your husband.β Nathan scoffs, and you laugh.Β
βMy husband, who is going to be late. You have full permission to blame me, and tell Bednar to call me.βΒ
βYouβre in a silly mood this morning. I love you, my beautiful wife, who is doing such a good job keeping our baby safe. Iβll be home later.β He kisses you one last time.Β
βI love you too.β
Nathan leaves for practice, and you settle back into the couch with your oatmeal. You try to get comfortable watching a show, but the thought of the still unfinished nursery. You know Nathan would kill you for even setting foot in there. However, your mind keeps wandering, and the trash TV show youβre watching does nothing to distract you. Your eyes flick up the stairs, and you sigh. Pushing yourself off the couch, you waddle up the stairs. God, you hate fucking waddling.Β
The nursery is almost finished, the crib is halfway built, the walls are painted to a pretty light blue, and all of the clothes, toys, and diapers need to be organized. Itβs all so disorganized, and you need to do something about it.Β
Your phone rings on the changing table, another thing that needs to be finished, you grab it and press it to your ear.Β
βHey Y/N, how are you doing today?β Melissa Landeskog says cheerfully over the line.Β
βNateβs gonna kill me.β You sigh and open the boxes of baby clothes and stuffed animals.Β
βItβs been about twenty minutes since he left for practice, and I did the one thing he asked me not to do.β You want to turn around and walk away from the room, but you just canβt. βIβm in the nursery, and I just keep on thinking about all the things that need to be done in this house before the baby gets here. God, I think Iβm going crazy, like Iβve been home for what? Three days? And I already have cabin fever.β
βSlow down, honey. Do you need me to come over and help you sort everything out? I would happily do that.β Melissa offers generously.Β
βNo, I canβt do that. Nate already said he would help me once he got back from practice. I just canβt seem to sit still.β You slump into the rocking chair placed in the corner of the room.
βYouβre normally so busy, Y/N, itβs fine that youβre feeling this way. But youβre having a baby, honey.βΒ
βI know I am, I just feel so useless.β You rock slowly back and forth, hand resting on your belly.
βYouβre pregnant, not useless.β Melissa chuckles.Β
βWell, it doesnβt feel that way, I mean, my attending benched me from all surgeries, so I was doing scut work as if Iβm not a goddamn doctor.β You feel tears burning at the back of your eyes, βIβve just been doing so much since the moment I left home at 18, that being told to sit back and relax makes me want to say damn them all and do everything. Sorry, Iβm just emotional right now.β
βNever apologize, you have every right to feel this way. But I have to ask, have you told Nathan any of this?β Melissa is a voice of reason, like an older sister who knows just what to say. βIβm taking your silence as a no.β
βI just donβt want to bother him with it, heβs stressed about making the playoffs, and Iβm 36 weeks pregnant. He has enough on his plate.β You rub your temples.
βYou are his top priority, like the utmost important thing in his life right now. Playoffs be damned, he wants you to be safe. So telling him how youβre feeling is something he deserves to know.β Everything Melissa says makes you realize how in the dark youβve been keeping him. All for the so-called sake of protecting him, but have you really?
βThanks for this, Mel. I should talk to him.β You come to the conclusion easily.Β
βYou should. If no one has told you yet, youβre doing great. You and Nate are going to be amazing parents.β The words catch up to you, and a tear rolls down your face.Β
βThank you, it really means a lot.β
βItβs really no problem,β Melissa guffaws, βWill I see you at the game later?β
βYeah, you will.β You sniff and wipe at your eyes.Β
βGood, Iβll see you then. Bye Y/N.β Melissa says.Β
βBye Mel.βΒ
The phone call ends, and you drop your phone into your lap with a sigh. You donβt really feel like getting up from the chair, and thereβs a box of toys next to you. You pick up a dog plush that someone got you for the baby shower. You stroke its head and set it on the curve of your bump. Baby girl kicks, and you let out a watery laugh.Β
βLike the dog baby girl?β You ask, and the flutters come back, βI guess so. Itβs all yours, girly.β
You keep on rocking back and forth, cradling the plush against your chest. Your eyes begin to close, and sleep overtakes you.Β
β’β’β’
βY/N!β Nathan yells, and youβre awoken from your nap. βBaby, where are you?β
You clear your throat, βIβm up here.βΒ
You hear him walk up the stairs and peer into the doorway of the nursery, the worry is clear on his face. βI told you I would be back to help.β
βI didnβt touch anything. I just got anxious, but Mel and I talked for a bit, so that took my mind off things. Then I fell asleep.β You feel bad because Nathan looks extremely concerned. βIβm sorry.β
βDonβt be. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.β He crouches in front of you. βDo you want to get this done now or have lunch first?β
βLunch.β You agree.Β
βAlright.β He helps you up from the rocking chair and places a hand on your lower back. βWhat did Mel have to talk you down from?β
βI guess I should talk to you about it.β You look over your shoulder at him. βIβve been feeling pretty useless lately, like yes, I went on maternity leave three days ago, but I was feeling useless at work for weeks too. But I didnβt want to bother you because you have games, road trips, and the playoffs to think about, so I didnβt tell you.β
βY/Nβ¦β
βI know, I know. I should have told you.β Nate sits you down on the stools underneath the kitchen island.Β
βYeah, you should have. Weβve been together for 7 years now, baby, married and not. I want to know about everything that concerns you, tell me everything.β You nod and lean into the hand he has pressed to your cheek.Β
βI will promise.β You agree, and Nathan smiles.Β
βGood, now what do you want to eat?β
βLike a crispy sandwich, pesto, cheese, prosciutto, arugula, and focaccia. We should have everything for that. I bought some when I went to the store yesterday.β You pat his ass as he walks into the kitchen.Β
βYeah, it looks like we have everything. Do you want to drive with me to the game? Iβd feel better if we could arrive and leave together, not that you canβt drive.β Nate pulls out all of the ingredients.Β
βThree hours is a long time to wait at the arena. Maybe you could drop me off at Landyβs house, and I can go with Melissa.β You hop off the stool and round the island to the other side of the kitchen.
βSounds good, then we can leave together, and we donβt have to worry about a second car.β He watches you waddle around prepping ingredients. βI can make you lunch, you donβt need to help.βΒ
βWe just had a conversation about me feeling useless. I haven't had this much time off since our honeymoon, so sitting still is not appealing to me.β You slice open the bread and start to spread butter on it.Β
βRight, sorry, ummβ¦Iβll get started on the arugula topping.β Nathan backs down, honoring your need for autonomy.Β
βPerfect.β You hum, and the two of you get to work.Β
You both work in tandem perfectly, making lunch and eventually working your way upstairs to the nursery. Nathan finishes the crib, and you begin putting away the onesies, toys, and other accoutrements that are perfect for a newborn baby.Β
βShe kicked when I put this on my bump.β You show Nate the dog plush that causes the flutters from your baby.Β
βDid she?β He takes the stuffed animal with a grin. βJust like her dad.β
βShe better have some of me in there.β
βShe should get your smarts, cause everyone knows that youβre leagues smarter than me.β He kisses your head and places the plush into the crib.Β
βVery true, I can say Iβve never had a concussion.β You jab at him.Β
βAnd Iβve had more than I can count.β He chuckles.Β
βI know, your nose didnβt always look like that.β
βHey, it has charm.β He touches his nose, and you smile.Β
βIt does.β You press your head to his shoulder. βWe should start getting ready. This is the best we can do for now.β
βYeah, we need to get going here soon. I have to be at the arena by 4, so Iβll need to drop you off soon.β He agrees, and you turn off the light in the nursery and make your way to the master bedroom.Β
βWhat to wear, what to wear.β You hum and rummage through your closet.Β
βBe comfortable.β
βBelieve me, I will.β You pull out the only maternity jeans you own and try to pull them on. βHelp.β
βCome here, sit on the bed.β He chuckles as you sit down on the bed and Nate helps you into the jeans, βand how about a sweatshirt?β
βYes, please, I want the maroon one, the one the WAGs got for Christmas.β You watch him walk back into the closet, half-dressed in a suit.
βThis one?β You nod, and he hands it to you. βWhat about a shirt underneath in case you start to get hot?β
βAlright.β You take off the baggy shirt you were wearing and grab a long tank top that fits over your bump. You put the sweatshirt on over top and fall back onto the bed, feeling slightly winded. βWhy is it so hard to do that?β
βBecause youβre pregnant?β
βThank you, Captain Obvious.β You laugh and watch him get ready, eyes trailing up and down his body. βFuck if I wasnβt pregnant already, Iβd let you get me pregnant.β
βJesus Christ, woman, you canβt just say things like that.β Nate blushes hard.
βWhat? That I think my husband is hot?β You sit up and flutter your eyes at him, making him blush again. βCan I not say that?β
βNo, you can.β
βBut you have to focus, be βNathan MacKinnonβ right now to get into the mindset, and Iβm distracting you.β You track him around the room with your eyes.Β
βYou are extremely distracting, sitting there pregnant with my kid and saying youβd let me get you pregnant again.β Nate stops fixing his collar and looks at you like you personally offended him. βRecipe for distraction.β
βCaveman.β You tease, and he does the final button on his shirt.Β
βNo, just completely devoted to you.β
βDonβt I know it.β You push off the bed and pad around looking for the perfect shoes to wear with your outfit.Β
βAlright, Iβm ready to go. Iβll meet you downstairs?β He peeks into the closet, and you give a nod.Β
βIβll be a second.β You grab a pair of white sneakers with maroon accents and take a few seconds to put them on. βIs my purse down there?β
βYeah, itβs on the counter!β Nate yells up the stairs, and you begin your slow descent down them. Taking a step at a time, trying not to throw your balance.Β Β
βLetβs go, you have pregame prep to do.β You take your purse from his hands, and both of you get into the car.Β
β’β’β’
You and Melissa get to the arena around 6:30. Both of the Landeskog children are with a babysitter, so a child-free night was upon you both. Well, other than the nearly fully formed child inside of you. Security lets you in easily, and you both walk to the family suite.Β
βYouβre literally glowing.β Melissa holds the door open for you.
βReally? I just feel huge, like Iβm actually waddling around and shit.β You sit down on the seats closest to the glass of the suite.Β
βNormal part of pregnancy, hon, the waddle gets to everyone eventually.β Melissa grins.Β
βUgh, I know, it still sucks.β You settle into the chair. βMy street cred in the hospital is gone.β
βYouβre funny.β
βNo, seriously, all these new interns come in and the first impression they have of me as a senior resident is me pregnant.β You sigh and lean into your hand. βDonβt get me wrong, Iβm so excited to have this baby, because I wanted kids eventually. But I wanted to have kids after I became an attending.β
βYou and Nate got this, I promise. And weβre all here for you both. Let me know if you need anything.β Melissa touches your shoulder.Β
βI will. Nateβll take some coaxing, but Iβll reach out, don't worry.β You joke, and Melissa laughs with you
βGood. Now, do you need anything like water or food?β She asks, and you shake your head.Β
βAll good for now, but thank you.βΒ
βAlright, just let me know.β She touches your shoulder.
βI will.β You nod and feel your phone buzz in your purse. You pull it out, seeing Nathanβs contact on your screen. βItβs Nate, I'll be right back.β
βYeah, yeah, go.β Melissa shoos you off, and you press the phone to your ear as you get up out of the seat.Β
βHey, baby.β You speak sweetly into the phone.
βHey, yourself, did you get to the arena okay?βΒ
βAll in one piece, both me and baby.β You tease, and Nate sighs at your bad joke.Β
βGood, letβs keep it that way.β He lets out a soft chuckle.
βSir, yes, sir.β You snicker and lean into the wall next to you.Β
βYouβre ridiculous.βΒ
βYeah, but you married me.β
βThat I did, and I don't regret it.β His tone is sincere and warms your heart.
βBetter not, 'cause youβre stuck with me, MacKinnon. For the next 18 years, then we can reevaluate.β
βI think Iβll need more than the next 18 years with you.β Despite your many attempts at teasing, he always says something so heartfelt that your chest wants to burst. βHow does forever sound?β
βHmmβ¦forever is a long time.β You try to keep up with your previous antics, but youβre melting by the second.Β
βYeah, maybe, but youβre worth it. Both you and the baby.β Youβre going to cry, like burst out in tears.Β
βStop being sweet right now, Nathan Raymond MacKinnon. You have a game to play, and I cannot cry before puck drop.β You scold him, not doing a very good job at hiding your watery voice.Β
βGovernment named? Youβre being very serious, alright, Iβll stop.βΒ
βThank you. Now, go play a good game. I love you.β You dab at the corner of your eye.Β
βI love you too. See you after the game.β
βSee you after the game.β You repeat, and the call ends quickly after. You sit back down next to Melissa, and a couple of other WAGs that joined you two in the suite.Β
βY/N! You look amazing.β Tracy Makar, places a soft hand on yours.Β
βOh, thank you, getting bigger and bigger by the day.β You settle back into your chair, trying to get comfortable.Β
βAll a part of the process is what Iβm trying to tell her.β Melissa nudges your shoulder, and you roll your eyes.Β
βYou and everyone else. But my body was not prepared for this baby at all. She is really comfortable.β
βI bet you two have picked out names?β Kerry Toews, the other wife that joined you, asks.Β
βWe actually have her whole name picked out. My mom got stuff monogrammed for the baby shower, so youβll have to see it then.β You and Nate had picked out the name months ago. A combination you both loved and has sentimental value to make it feel special.Β
βOoo, Iβm excited. You have great taste, so I trust you picked out something that will suit your little girl perfectly.β Tracy clasps her hands together with a wide grin.Β
βWe love it.β You feel her kick and rub the spot gently.Β
βTake these last weeks in, soon your life will be all baby and nothing else.β Mel pats your hand, knowing full well whatβs coming for you and Nate.Β
βOh, I know, it's not ideal to have the baby right near the end of the regular season, but weβll have to make do.β
βOh, for sure, but like Mel said, weβre here for you.β Kerry reiterates, and you take a deep breath.Β
βThank you, guys. Wait, did you get the invites for the baby shower?β You look at the other three women, panic rising for a second.Β Β
βYes, they were adorable. I should have sent back the RSVP.β Tracy nods, and you calm down.Β
βI should check that. Shouldβve probably been the first thing I did.β You shake your head.Β
βYouβre all good, Y/N.β Mel pats your arm. βOh, the game is starting.β
All of you move to the edge of your seats and watch the Avs skate out onto the ice. You see #29 move around on the ice, Nathan looks up in your direction, and you give a small wave. Your baby girl kicks at the same time, and you laugh in awe that sheβs able to understand.Β
The game starts, and you settle back into your seat.Β
β’β’β’
βThat was a bullshit call!β You yell, knowing full well the refs canβt hear you. You plop back into your seat. There are 45.2 seconds left in the third, and the Avs are only up by one. Baby girl is rolling around from excitement, and every so often, one of her limbs catches on a rib or your bladder. βThis is ridiculous.β
βThe refs are on something tonight.β Mel shakes her head. βIf this game goes to overtime, I think Iβm gonna head out. Beat the traffic and say good night to the kids.β
βYeah, Iβm so tired.β You agree. βBut Nate has the car keys and would be left stranded if I took them.β
βI can take you home if you need. Itβs no big deal.β Mel offers.Β
Normally, you would decline, but being pregnant has you yearning for your cozy bed. βThat would be amazing, thank you so much.β
βNo problem.β
You continue to watch the ice, waiting for the confirmation that this game wouldnβt go to overtime and the Avs would get the win. Your eye is starting to twitch a little from being so tired, and the need to rest your eyes is becoming more prevalent.Β
The goal horn goes off, and youβre immediately more alert. The Avs score a goal and win the game, you sigh in relief. You wonβt have to stay at Ball Arena for longer than necessary, and you get to go home with your husband. Falling asleep in his arms sounds like literal heaven right now.Β
βIt was a good game, but Iβm not staying here longer than I have to. Iβll see you, ladies soon?β Melissa says as all four of you stand up.
βYes.β You give her a quick hug, and she does the same with Tracy and Kerry.Β
βDo you still want a ride back?β Mel asks as she circles back around to you.Β
βNo, Iβm good, no overtime, so Iβm going home with Nate.β You shake your head.
βAlright, rest up, honey.βΒ
βI will.β Melissa heads out, leaving the rest of you to walk to the family room.Β
There are a few other families that probably sat in the stands, waiting to see their respective players. You settle on a chair, your hips and back aching from the length of the day, and your eyes drooping with the heaviness of sleep. If Nate doesnβt get out of media soon, youβre probably gonna fall asleep in the room.Β
You luckily donβt have to wait too long. Nate walks through the door back in his game day suit. His eyes search around before landing on you, a smile spreading across his face.Β
βHi darling.ββ Nate can see the need for sleep written across your face. βReady to go home?β
βPlease, Iβm gonna fall asleep on my feet here soon.β He pulls you up out of the chair, and you step closer into his side. Pregnancy and tiredness make you clingier.
Nate lets his arm fall over your shoulder, and the two of you walk out of the room. Comfortable silence makes its way between the two of you. Nate played a good game, and youβre too tired to talk about anything other than getting in bed. Heβs practically guiding you to the car at this point, places are fading out of view as you possibly fall asleep on the walk there.
Nate helps you into the car and buckles your seatbelt. βWait, I didnβt say goodbye to Tracy and Kerry.β
βI said goodbye for you, they know you are tired.β He eases your worries.Β
βOkay, good.β You nod slowly, and he shuts the door.Β
Nate starts the car, and the hum of the engine has your eyes fluttering closed for a second. A short moment. Or what you think is only a moment, but when you open your eyes again, the car is pulling into the garage.Β
βOh my god, I fell asleep.β You run a hand through your hair, blinking the sleep out of your eyes.Β
βYou needed it.β Nate chuckles and turns off the engine, βHead inside Iβm gonna grab a package I saw on the front porch.β
βOkay. It might be the stuff my mom got for baby girl.β You tell him and get out of the car.Β
βWe can take a look.βΒ
βOkay. Wait for me to open the package.β You toe off your shoes and wait in the kitchen for Nate to come back.
You hear the garage door close, and Nate walks in with a box underneath his arm. He places the box on the counter, letting you read the label.
βYeah, this is the baby bag, blanket, and onesies that she got monogrammed.β You tap your fingers on the box, βShe thinks it would be cute to have it set up on a table at the baby shower and have people try to guess her name from the initials.β
βLetβs take a look at them.β Nate grabs a pair of scissors to cut the box open.Β
You take out the tissue paper and pick up the diaper bag with your soon to be daughters initials on it. NRM is written in pretty white cursive, standing out from the black fabric of the bag. Nate takes it from your hands and runs his fingers over the letters, the same ones derived from his own name.
βPeople wonβt think Iβm conceited for giving my daughter my own initials, right?β
βIf they do, I donβt care, because I love the name we picked out for our child.β You place a hand on his bicep.Β
βYouβre right.β He nods and moves to look at the other things in the box. βThis blanket is cute.β
He pulls out a pink floral blanket with your babyβs first name written on it. βOh, itβs just darling.β You smile and take it into your own hands.Β
βI canβt wait till we have her actually in our arms, holding her in this blanket. Being able to use these onesies and this bag.β He places a hand on your bump, and your baby girl kicks softly. You know Nate feels it from the smile that spreads across his face.Β
βI know, weβre so close. 6 or so weeks, then we get to hold her, and sheβll be real and all ours.β You place your hand over his. Nate leans down and kisses your mouth softly.Β
βI canβt wait. Until then, you should get into your pajamas and go straight to bed.β He rests his forehead against yours.Β
βYes, please, my back and hips are killing me.β
βAnything I can do for you, baby?β His hand drifts to your lower back, rubbing up and down your spine.Β
βNot right now, I just need to go to sleep.β You shake your head and slowly climb the stairs.Β
βI agree. You were out in the car, like there was some traffic and people were honking, but you stayed asleep through all of it.β Nate says, following behind you.Β
βIβm really tired right now. Growing a baby takes it out of me.β You make eye contact with the bed, and all of a sudden, thereβs a gravitational pull. It has you making a beeline for the plush blankets and soft mattress.Β
βNot yet, if you get in bed now, I wonβt be able to get you out. Wash your face and brush your teeth, and Iβll get your clothes set out for bed.β He steers you in the direction of the bathroom, and you grumble, even though you know Nate is right.Β
βFine.β You huff, the tiredness in your bones makes everything feel slower and heavier.
You pull your hair away from your face and grab your skincare. Washing your face and freeing it of the makeup you had on makes you feel fresher. You catch a glimpse of Nate folding a pair of shorts and a large shirt for you to wear onto the bed, as you grab your toothbrush. You smile at his meticulous preparation of your sleep clothes before squeezing a generous amount of toothpaste and beginning to brush your teeth.Β
βYour sleep clothes are on the bed. Iβm gonna shower quickly, and then Iβll join you in bed.β Nate joins you in the bathroom, and you give a nod while continuing to brush your teeth.Β
You rinse off your toothbrush and wipe your mouth as steam starts to fill the bathroom. You let Nate shower in peace while you free yourself from the maternity jeans and sweatshirt youβd been wearing. Slipping into bed, you prop yourself up with the pillows. Normally, youβd be able to fall asleep just fine without Nathan in the bed, but right now you need him to be near you.
Heβs true to his words, and the shower turns off minutes later while you're burrowing into the covers. He emerges from the bathroom hair damp and wearing sleep shorts.Β
βI thought youβd be asleep by now.β He says quietly, climbing into bed.
βJust waiting for you.β You move closer to him, and Nate pulls you into his side.Β
βWell, Iβm here now, and you can go to sleep.β You nod, eyes drooping, heavy with weariness.Β
βOkay, gβnight, Nate. I love you.β You mumble.Β
βGoodnight, baby, I love you too.β He kisses your forehead and wraps his arms around you. A hand lands on the curve of your stomach and says so softly you almost donβt hear. βGoodnight, baby girl, we can't wait to meet you.β
You smile softly, eyes too heavy to open, but in your heart, you know your baby girl will be so loved. You canβt wait to bring her into the world.Β
Soon. Really soon.
a/n - I picked out baby girlβs name and then realized afterwards that nate had the same initials. It was a lucky accident, really! what do you guys think it is?
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