🐞

The key turns in the lock with a hollow click that echoes the emptiness in your chest. You step into the apartment, the warm, familiar scent of Fraser doing little to soothe the raw ache spreading through you.

As the door clicks shut behind you, a sob tears from your throat, ugly and ragged. You slide down the door, not even bothering with the lights and let the tears you've been holding back for two hours finally fall.

It's always the same. The same restaurant, the forced smiles and the casual criticism that slices deeper than any knife could.

"Hey, I was just wondering..." Fraser's voice cuts off from the living room doorway. He takes in the sight of you crumpled on the floor and his entire demeanor shifts in an instant. He's across the room and kneeling in front of you before you can even try to wipe your face.

"Hey, hey, look at me," he says, his voice a soft, urgent murmur. He gently cups your face, his thumbs sweeping away the tears. "What happened? Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?"

You just shake your head, another wave of sobs wracking your body. You can't form the words, not yet. It's too humiliating, too pathetic. How do you explain that your own parents spent an hour systematically dismantling your life choices? Your job, your apartment, your relationship with him, all of it laid out on the table for their quiet judgment.

Fraser doesn't push. He just gathers you up, shifting so he's sitting on the floor with you tucked between his legs, your back against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight, secure embrace.

He rests his chin on the top of your head and just holds you, letting you cry it out against his chest.

"It's okay," he murmurs into your hair. "I've got you. Just let it all out."

You cry until you're hollowed out, until the only thing left is a headache and the damp spot on Fraser's t-shirt. When the shuddering finally subsides, you take a shaky breath.

"They were just…" you start, your voice hoarse. "They were just so them."

He hums in understanding, his hand tracing soothing patterns up and down your arm. "What did they say this time?"

You shrug, feeling the familiar wave of shame wash over you. "The usual, I guess. Dad asked if my job was still that 'little project' of mine, said it was cute I was still playing office." You take a shaky breath, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "And Mom... she looked at me and asked if I was happy living like this. Said it was a shame I'd 'settled' for someone with a 'dead-end' dream. Said she just hoped I had a backup plan for when it all fell apart."

Fraser tenses slightly beneath you, but his voice remains even. "And what did you say?"

"Nothing. I just sat there. Like always." You pull away slightly to look at him, your vision blurry. "They don't see me, Fraser. They see some version of me they've invented, one that's constantly failing. And I just let them. I just sit there and take it."

His expression softens with so much love it almost hurts to look at. He frames your face with his hands, his gaze earnest and unwavering. "Hey. Look at me. That's their shit, not yours."

He shifts, turning you to face him fully. "You hear me? The person I see is the strongest person I know. You're brilliant at your job. You built this beautiful life for yourself. You walked away from their poison and you made something amazing. And you love me, which makes you the smartest person I know."

A watery chuckle escapes you. He smiles, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

"I'm serious," he continues, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "You are the most loving, supportive, incredible person I have ever met. Everything about you is good. So when they say those things, they're not talking about you. They're talking about themselves. They're projecting their own miserable bullshit onto the one person who doesn't deserve it."

He leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

"Let's go get you comfortable," he says, standing and pulling you up with him. He leads you to the bedroom, his arm a steady weight around your shoulders. He peels your clothes off you like they're contaminated and pulls one of his oversized hoodies over your head. The scent of him immediately envelops you, a shield against the outside world.

He gets you settled in bed, pulling the comforter up to your chin before climbing in beside you. He turns on the bedside lamp, casting a warm glow around the room and then just looks at you.

"You know what I see when I look at you?" he asks, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "I see my future. I see the person I want to come home to every single day. I see the person who makes me better just by being around. Their opinion means less than nothing. Because they don't know you. Not the real you. But I do."

He leans in and kisses your forehead, then your nose, then the corner of your mouth. "And I think you're perfect. So perfect."

You shift closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His arms wrap around you, holding you together. "I love you," you whisper, the words feeling fragile but true.

The low hum of conversation fills the banquet hall of the Penguins charity event. You're perched on a velvet chair, swirling champagne in a glass you have no intention of finishing, watching Sidney across the room.

He's in his element, shaking hands and laughing at jokes you can't hear from this distance. At thirty-eight, he moves with an easy confidence that still takes your breath away, even after two years together.

"Quite the man, isn't he?"

You turn to find Jake smiling down at you, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners.

"He is," you agree, returning the smile.

Jake takes the empty seat beside you. "How's school going? Still finishing that master's?"

"Just one more semester," you confirm. "Then I'm officially unleashed upon an unsuspecting job market."

"You'll be great," he says, then leans in conspiratorially. "Sid talks about you all the time, you know. How proud he is."

Your chest warms at his words. "He's pretty great too."

"Hey, lovebirds," Bryan interrupts, clapping Jake on the shoulder before nodding at you. "Enjoying your night off from being a student?"

"It's nice to dress up occasionally," you say with a laugh.

"Speaking of dressing up," Bryan says, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "did you guys get carded at that restaurant last week? Sid was telling us how the waitress thought you were his daughter."

The air stills. You feel your smile freeze as Jake shoots Bryan a warning look.

"Dude," Jake mutters.

"What?" Bryan asks, genuinely confused. "It was funny. She wouldn't believe you were dating until he showed his ring."

"She's twenty-two, Bryan. Not twelve," Jake says pointedly.

"I know, I know," Bryan backtracks quickly. "I just meant..."

"Hey," Sid's voice cuts through the awkwardness. He's suddenly beside you, his hand possessively on your shoulder. "Everything okay over here?"

"Everything's great," you say, a little too brightly. "Just catching up."

Sid's eyes narrow slightly, taking in your tense posture and Bryan's uncomfortable expression. "Right. Well, I was hoping to steal my girl away for a dance."

You let him lead you to the dance floor, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as you sway to the soft music. For a moment, you allow yourself to relax, to melt into his embrace and forget the sting of Bryan's words.

"You okay?" he murmurs against your hair.

"Of course," you lie. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Sid pulls back just enough to look at you, his hazel eyes searching yours. "Because Bryan has the subtlety of a hippogriff in heat and I saw your face when he said that."

"It's fine," you insist, though your voice has lost some of its conviction.

"It's not fine," he corrects gently. "I should have shut it down sooner."

"It's not your fault," you say, even though a part of you blames him a little, for being older, for being famous, for making people see you as some kind of trophy or novelty.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of forced smiles and polite conversation. By the time you're home, the weight of the evening has settled heavily on your shoulders.

"Talk to me," Sid says, following you into the bedroom where you're already changing out of your dress.

"There's nothing to talk about," you reply, avoiding his gaze in the mirror.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "This is about the age thing, isn't it? About what Bryan said?"

"It's not just Bryan," you admit quietly. "It's everything. The looks we get, the questions people ask, the fact that your teammates still see me as some kid you're mentoring."

"They don't..." he starts, then stops himself. "Okay, sometimes they do. But they don't mean anything by it."

"Maybe not," you say, turning to face him. "But it doesn't change the fact that when you were starting your rookie season, I was still learning to ride a bike. When you won your first Stanley Cup, I was worrying about middle school dances. When you were..."

"Hey," he interrupts softly, closing the distance between you. "None of that matters."

"It matters to me," you insist, tears welling in your eyes. "Sometimes I feel like I'm living someone else's life, you know? Like I'm playing dress-up in a world I don't belong in."

Sid's expression softens, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that's escaped. "Is that really how you feel?"

"Sometimes," you admit. "When people say things like what Bryan said tonight, it reminds me of all the reasons this is… complicated."

He's quiet for a moment, just looking at you with an intensity that makes your heart ache. "Do you remember when we first met? At that charity hockey clinic for kids?"

You nod, unable to help the small smile that forms. "You thought I was one of the volunteers."

"And I couldn't figure out why this incredibly smart, beautiful university student was wasting her Saturday helping a bunch of eight-year-olds learn to skate," he continues. "Then you explained that your research was on youth sports development and I was completely captivated."

"I was trying so hard to be professional," you recall with a laugh. "Meanwhile, I was having a full-on internal meltdown because Sidney Crosby was talking to me."

"Even then," he says, his voice dropping lower, "I knew there was something different about you. Something that made me want to know more."

"But I was so young," you protest.

"You were brilliant," he corrects. "You still are. Age has nothing to do with what's between us."

"Easy for you to say," you murmur.

His jaw tightens at that. "I hate that. I hate that anyone looks at us and sees anything other than two people who love each other."

"I know you do," you say, reaching up to cup his cheek. "But it doesn't change how it makes me feel."

"Then let me change it," he says, turning his head to press a kiss into your palm. "Let me remind you why we're here, why we work."

He leads you to the bed, settling you against the pillows before lying beside you. "When I'm with you, I don't think about the age gap. I don't think about what anyone else thinks. I just think about how lucky I am to have found someone who understands me, someone who challenges me, who makes me laugh, who sees me as just Sid, not as some hockey legend."

"You are a hockey legend," you point out.

"Not to you," he says with a small smile. "To you, I'm the guy who leaves his socks on the floor and sings terribly in the shower and can't make toast without burning it."

"You do burn a lot of toast," you agree with a watery laugh.

"Exactly," he says, growing serious again. "You see me. All of me. And that's something I've never had with anyone else."

You're quiet for a moment, considering his words. "What about when I'm eighty and you're ninety-six? Will you still feel the same?"

"I'll feel even more strongly," he says without hesitation. "Because by then, we'll have a lifetime of memories together. We'll have argued about stupid things and made up in the middle of the night. We'll have traveled the world and stayed home on rainy Sundays. We'll have built a life that's ours, regardless of what anyone else thinks or says."

A single tear escapes, tracing a path down your cheek. "What if I can't get past it? What if it always bothers me?"

The air in the locker room buzzes with pre-game energy, but Beckett's mind is somewhere else entirely. He keeps glancing at his phone, a small smile playing on his lips as he types out a quick reply.

"What's got you so smiley, Sennecke?" Luke calls from across the room, lacing up his skates. "Secret girlfriend we don't know about?"

Beckett's head snaps up, his smile faltering for just a second. "Something like that," he mumbles, shoving his phone back into his pocket. The teasing is familiar, but tonight it hits differently. Because tonight, you're actually here. Waiting for him in the family lounge, just like you've been wanting to do for months.

After the game—a hard-fought win with Beckett scoring two goals—he finds you exactly where he said you'd be, curled up on one of the couches with a book. The way your face lights up when you see him still makes his heart skip a beat, even after all these years.

"You were amazing," you say, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifts you off your feet in a tight hug. "I knew you'd score."

"Always better when you're watching," he murmurs against your hair, reluctant to let go. But he knows they're waiting. "Ready to meet the guys?"

You nod, nervous but excited. This is it—the moment you've been both dreading and anticipating for weeks. Beckett takes your hand, his fingers lacing with yours in that familiar way that still sends shivers down your spine.

The lounge is packed when you walk in, a sea of hockey gear and loud voices. The moment they see you, the noise level drops, all eyes turning to your intertwined hands.

"Well, well, well," Jack drawls, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Sennecke wasn't kidding."

Beckett pulls you closer, his arm wrapping protectively around your waist. "Guys, this is my girlfriend," he says, his voice steady despite the slight tremor you feel running through him. "We've been together since high school."

The revelation hangs in the air, followed by a chorus of disbelief.

"High school?" Cole exclaims. "How have we never met you? How has this man been hiding you for like, five years?"

You laugh, some of your nervousness melting away at their genuine shock. "He's been very protective of his personal life."

"Understatement of the year," Luke chimes in, shaking Beckett's hand. "Nice to finally put a face to the mystery girl. I'm Luke."

As you make your way around the room, meeting each of his teammates, you feel Beckett's eyes on you constantly. He's watching, gauging your reactions, ready to step in if you seem uncomfortable at all. It's the same way he's been since you were sixteen—always watching out for you, always putting you first.

"Never thought I'd see the day Sennecke settled down," someone jokes, and you feel Beckett tense beside you.

"He didn't settle," you say automatically, your hand finding his again. "He got lucky."

The room goes quiet for a moment, and then Beckett is laughing, that genuine, carefree laugh you love so much. "She's right," he admits, pulling you in for a quick kiss. "I did."

Later that night, as you're getting ready for bed in his apartment, you find him watching you from the doorway. There's something soft in his expression, something vulnerable.

"What?" you ask, turning to face him.

"They really like you," he says, crossing the room to wrap his arms around you. "But they're right about one thing."

"What's that?" you murmur against his chest.

"I've been keeping you all to myself for way too long." He tilts your chin up, his eyes searching yours. "I love you, you know that?"

You smile, reaching up to brush a stray curl from his forehead. "I know. I love you too."

You don’t even like parties that much. You don’t like the pushy guys, the drunk girls, or the amalgamation of a drink that’s always shoved in your hands. You only ever go if someone asks.

And then Connor asks you to come to this dumb house party, and you say yes because apparently you’re stupid.

You and Connor had been… something for a few months now. Friends with benefits, maybe. Like you’re in any way, shape, or form built for a relationship like that. You’re not entirely sure Connor is, either, because he’s looking at you with much more love than lust these days.

But not tonight. Tonight, you’ve found a peaceful corner of the house to watch Connor get totally fucking hammered.

You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the visual of the Blackhawks golden child trading drinks with a random blonde girl. You watch miserably as they start a conversation, and she shows him her drink, offering a trade. Investigating the drink for all of two seconds, he gulps down whatever he just gave her. You groan, searching for your car keys in your purse. Maybe this would’ve been fun if you drank, or if Connor gave you the time of day. But neither of those things happened, so you find your keys and attempt an Irish exit. You nearly get out the door.

“Mmm, wait. Wait, don’t leave.” 

Connor Bedard's hands are suddenly on your waist, chin leaning on your shoulder as he tries to stop you from leaving. “Don’t go,” he mumbles, nose resting in the crevice of your neck. “Connor,” You hiss, turning around, and pushing him away by the chest. He simply catches your hands there, holding them still. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t leave, please, I like you being here.” He whines, swaying as he stabilizes himself with your hands on his chest, which he still has stapled to himself.

“Connor,” is all you can come up with, because Jesus. 

“What?” he challenges, blinking slowly. He’s so drunk that it’s making you slightly nervous someone might take advantage of him—which is definitely saying something, for a two-hundred-pound hockey player.

“You’re… drunk,” you spatter, finally wiggling your hands off of him. You briefly thought he was about to fall as you did it. “And you haven’t even talked to me, dude.”

“Mm, yeah, you’re… yeah, I haven’t,” he mumbles, reaching for a totally random cup on the counter behind you. You smack his hand.  “Stop. Stop."

“I haven’t talked to you yet… ‘cause ‘m nervous,” he mutters, smiling at you. He looks so dopey.

You squint at him, unamused. He has never been nervous to talk to you—one, because he doesn’t shut up, and two, well, you are having sex. Frequently. Frankly, you’re not really sure what he could be shy about at this point.

"Okay, bud," you say, exhausted. "You need to go home." 

He nods, delirious. "Mmm...hm. Yeah. Probably. I am... soooo drunk." 

He giggles, swaying, nearly tripping until you stabilize him. It's nearly one in the morning, you're exhausted, and you're scared to leave Connor by himself. So you make a decision.

"Let me take you home. Is your phone in your pocket?" 

He blinks, smacking his pants trying to feel for it.

"Do you have your keys, too?"

"Yes! Yes, I have my keys... in my pocket. And phone."

You roll your eyes at his run on sentences, but you're already steering him towards the door. He's very easy to maneuver, going literally anywhere you push him.

He's stumbling around outside, barely making it towards the direction of your car, when he mumbles something incoherent and kisses your cheek. 

You yelp, pushing him away violently. He nearly falls over. "Connor! What the fuck are you doing?!"

"Kissing you," he says, like it's obvious. "Is... that okay?"

"No! I- yes! Just get in the fucking car, Connor."

He moans as you open your passenger door and push him in. "Buckle."

He plays with the seatbelt for a whole ten seconds before you just do it yourself. "Jesus Christ." 

Clearly, it's going to be a long night. 

He's leaned nearly entirely onto your center console the whole drive, face pushing into your forearm. You almost think you're hearing things when he starts talking.

"Love you.... so much. You're the...only girl f'me, you know. So pretty. All mine. I love you."

You can't help the hand carding through his hair as he talks, now face down on the console. He turns so he's looking up at you. 

You just sigh. It's all too much to think about while actively driving. 

"You're so confusing, Connor." You mumble, finally turning into his neighborhood. 

He looks up at you like he's about to cry. "You don't love me?"

Fucking Christ.

"I'm... I'm driving," you say, rushed. You thank God when you pull into his driveway. "Come on. Let me get you inside."

"Mmmkay," he mutters, finally pulling himself up from the console and banging his head against the window glass.

"My God," you mumble in disbelief, opening your door and approaching his. When you open his door, he falls straight out of the car.

"Connor!" You squeak, catching this giant hockey player before he hits the concrete. You nearly fall on your ass. 

"You are the worst drunk I've ever seen." You groan, shoving him up and dragging him inside.

You close the door and, just like when you were trying to leave the party the first time, he's all over you. Dragging you closer to him, head hanging on your neck as you try to drag him to his bed. You'd settle for his couch at this point.

"Seriously, what is wrong with you?" You say, growing irritated, shoving him off of you. He trips onto his couch.

"Kiss me."

"No."

"Please?"

"Go to bed, Connor." 

He sighs dramatically, and finally starts to trudge towards his bedroom on his own accord. 

You're about to go home and never think about his words again, but you get a bit nervous about just how drunk he is. You've never seen him this fucking hammered, and you're worried about him somehow hurting himself unsupervised. So, you follow him into the bedroom.

By the time you get there, he's taken his shirt off, and fallen asleep on top of his sheets. You sigh, sitting next to him. Briefly, you admire the chest you've become so acquainted with as of late. With his eyes closed, he grabs your arm.

"Mmm... stay."

You frown, gently prying his hand off your sleeve as you get a blanket from his chair and cover him up. It's late, and you're exhausted, so you decide to stay, shoving him to one side of the bed and bitterly unplugging his phone to charge yours (if he's gonna get drunk and say dumb shit to you, you get to charge your damn phone). To neither of your surprise, as soon as you get in the bed Connor hums and practically crushes you with his body. His face is completely glued to your chest in seconds.

It's been a long night. And you do, you really do love Connor. So you let it happen. You let yourself drift to sleep, running your hands through the hair of a boy who won't remember any of this in eight hours.

-----

yourusername this is what you missed;)

view all comments…

yourfriend THE BITCHES ARE BACK

user anyone else think the caption is deliberate ?

-> user yea fs for lando cause he didn’t go out with them

user she’s so awesome 😩😩

user no lando??

-> user chill she doesnt revolve around him

user not a YN post without alcohol and some form of dancing

user YOURE A DIRECTIONER??? Just when I thought you couldn’t be any cooler

user how does it feel to live my dream life😔😔

lando.jpg

lando.jpg 🎰

view all comments…

user wth is YN doing LMAO

yourusername oh hell no lando I told you not to post that

-> lando.jpg I’m sorry but you’re not scary love

-> user LOVE QUESTION MARK EXCLAMATION MARK

-> user UH HELLOOOOOOO

-> yourusername I’ll show you scary

-> user oh hell they’re flirting again

user absolutely feral for this man

maxfewtrell 😎

user he remembered his password!!

user YN really has to be in every one of his posts

user atp it’s confirmed lando and YN are at least hooking up right ?

-> user I think we should leave them alone but each their own ig

deuxmoi

deuxmoi model YN LN spotted leaving a club with actor Harris Dickinson. The pair allegedly had a wild night at the club before going home together. Do you think the model has finally settled, or is the actor just another one of her victims?

view all comments…

user jesus fucking christ what a slut

user framing her as some kind of villain for sleeping with a lot of men is crazy in the big year of 2026

user YN you know ball

user she really just jumps from man to man; lando, elordi, harris the list goes on forever🙄🙄

user this is so weird wtf

user I don't think that woman will ever settle, we will see her with another man soon enough

user I don’t know who is luckier in this moment

user I thought she’s with lando now?

user not this again wasn’t she seen with jacob like two weeks ago??

user when lando is seen with alix and literally runs from the paparazzi it’s ’a man in his twenties’ but when YN does it she’s a slut come on guys I thought we were over this

user can’t you guys leave a girl alone FFS

yourusername

yourusername thought I’d update the fans

view all comments…

user yep she definitely saw the paparazzi shots😬😬

user she’s so bold I love her for it

user no media training in sight LMAO

user YN really went ‘oh you wanna know? here’s a picture of the morning after’

yourfriend should’ve asked them if they wanted the tape as well liked by author

-> user UM YES PLEASE

user I hope whoever called her a slvt is crying in some corner bc they’re so lonely

user YN is so brat but make it pink

user oh I know pr hates her

replies to your close friends story:

yourfriend woman you are fucked

yourfriend also yes to the thirst trap

lando don’t you dare YN

yoursister OMG WHO

alexconsani a man out of all things, really?

replies to your story:

lando you are the devil I hope you know that

yourfriend WOWOWOW

yourfriend did it work???

-> yourusername idk girl he just viewed it

randomguy your so sexy wanna ft?

randomguy2 are you in monaco rn by chance?

user UHHH I WASNT READY FOR THAT

user u r so hot please marry me

user okay who is this for girly

deuxmoi

deuxmoi model YN LN and f1 driver Oscar Piastri getting cosy at a party. the clip was posted on TikTok by a friend of YN’s and has since been removed, presumably because the couple did not want it to be public

view all comments…

user types ‘the couple did not want it to be public’ and then proceeds to post a deleted clip smh

user she really can’t keep her fingers to herself huh

user told you she wouldn't stay with Harris for long

user that could be anyone tho

-> user nah I saw the clip, it was pretty obviously YN and Oscar

user NOT OSCAR STAY AWAY WITCH

user guys YN is known for hooking up with every guy that she meets it’s nothing calm down

-> user is she know for that or is that the narrative that the media has made up around her bc it sells well? I’m honestly so fed up with this shit let her live her life she is IN HER TWENTIES

user am I the only one who kind of likes the idea of them?

user why is she sleeping herself through landos friend group? can’t get him so she’ll be with anyone else?

-> user she’s literally only ever been seen with Oscar from Lando’s friend group, calm tf down

user the question is; is this serious or just another one of her flings?

celebsinthepeddock

celebsinthepeddock YN LN sighted watching the Miami Grand Prix from the Paddock Club. This marks the second time the model has attended a race this season, after her first appearance in Melbourne. It is speculated that she was invited by a member of McLaren

view all comments...

user can these clueless celebs just piss off

user why are we acting surprised? she's friends with lando?

-> user but wouldn’t she be in landos garage if he invited her?

-> user there is actually a clip of her in the garage so maybe she just wanted to get the full fan experience🤷

user shes so pretty wow

user the camera panned to her three fucking times

user why does she look so concerned LMAO

user I want lando and her to be together so bad can you IMAGINE?? they look so good together

-> user idk I think they are too similar

yourusername

yourusername another weekend watching orange car go fast, thanks for the invite @.oscarpiastri

view all comments…

oscarpiastri glad you had fun liked by author

-> user they are such an odd pairing but I'm here for it ig

-> user NOOOO RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN OSCAR

-> user he is so fed up with her i can tell

-> user he literally invited her? how is he fed up?

user heck yeah I love miami

yourfriend the most gorgeous girl alive

user OSCAR INVITED HER??????

user landoscar podium!!!! we prayed for times like these

lando it’s papaya

-> yourusername 🤓☝️it’s papaya🤓☝️

user tagging him on main is BOLD

user supporting your two boyfriends like a true wag

user fast is a funny word when they dnsed 50% of the races so far

user that jacket is sick

user I don’t think I have ever seen her be so desperate for a man what is going on??

-> user I 100% get her have you seen that man??

oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri 👍🏆🌴

view all comments…

user what the fuck is in the air in miami

user this man drives me INSANE BRO I’m actually gnawing at my arm

yourusername congratulations oscar! glad to have been there

-> user ????? she like never does that

-> user who are you and what have you done to YN

-> user LMAO SHE WANTS THAT MAN SO BAD

-> user she really is just one of us

-> user girl GET UP

user WHAT A DRIVE

user oscodium lets gooooo!!!!

lando you have never looked smaller mate

-> user not the size kink again

user the emojis are killing me can’t you just be normal 😭

user holy thirst trap

user he is so cutie patootie look at him

yourusername

yourusername think we kissed but I forgot?

view all comments...

user LAST FRIDAY NIGHT 🕺

user *insert lego batman mesmerized meme*

alexconsani you just had to have been there liked by author

user oh to go to one of YNs parties one day

user this vibe is so sick

user she’s actually the hottest woman I’ve ever seen

yourfriend FUCK YEAH😫

user allegedly oscar was at the party AGAIN

-> user source?

-> user a friend of lando’s posted a story and it looks like oscar is in the background… could honestly also be any other average white guy but let a girl dream

replies to your close friends stories:

yoursister OMG GIRL WHAT THE HELL yoursister WHEN TF DID THAT HAPPEN??

-> yourusername it’s so confusing honestly I flirted with him so openly and he seemed so disinterested I honestly thought he hated my guts😭😭 but I drank too much at the party and got a little too bold🤭

yourfriend I got a video of you kissing u want it??😛😛

-> yourusername um idk do i look hot ?

lando IS THAT OSCAR? lando how did this happen???????

a few months later...

yourusername

yourusername only threw the party 4 you

view all comments...

user thank you YN for gracing us with an oscback pic🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

user oscar jack piastri made a lover out of a party girl who would've thought

-> user rip partygirl!YN you’ll be missed

-> yourusername you can take the girl out of the party but not the party out of the girl dw guys

oscarpiastri I know you did

-> yourusername confident much?

-> user HFJWISINDBF THEY ARE SO FUCKING HOT

-> yourfriend @.lando call the cops they’re publicly flirting again

user never would’ve thought I’d come around to the idea of them but they r actually the otp

user why is no one talking about the fact that they rewatch f1 races together??

lando knew you had an alterior motive when you asked me to invite him specifically

-> yourusername stop exposing me you twat I have a reputation to uphold

-> yourfriend girly we all know u r a loser for your bf

-> user WAIT are they talking about YN's party that Oscar attended back in April???

user I wonder what oscar thinks of her dressing like that🙄

-> yourusername he’s literally obsessed with it😋😋

-> oscarpiastri ⬆️

user the way everyone switched up on them now is crazy

hattiepiastri still a mystery to me how he bagged you

By the time Fraser bought the house, you'd already been calling it yours.

Not out loud.

Never in front of the realtor or the lawyer or the contractor who kept insisting the deck needed reinforcing before winter. But every time the two of you crossed the threshold with coffee in hand or wandered barefoot through the empty rooms, you caught yourself saying things like our windows or we should put a couch here.

Fraser never corrected you.

If anything, he'd smile to himself, like he was waiting for you to realize something before he let you in on a secret.

The house sat along the water just outside Vancouver, tucked away where towering cedars shielded it from the road. It wasn't extravagant. It didn't need to be.

It had weathered cedar siding, white-framed windows, a wraparound porch, and a long wooden dock that stretched over calm water where the evenings turned everything molten gold.

It felt lived in.

Like it had been waiting for someone to fill it with laughter again.

"We're really doing this?" you'd whispered the first night.

Fraser had stood beside you on the dock, hands buried in the pockets of his sweatshirt, ocean breeze tugging at his hair.

"We are."

"And then every August we leave again."

"Mhm."

"And every May we come back."

He looked over at you.

"Home."

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

Home.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Summers became your favorite chapter of the year. Boston would take him for training camp and the season. Road trips, long flights, cold arenas, media, pressure. But Vancouver belonged only to the two of you. No schedules or alarms. No expectations beyond deciding who was making breakfast.

Some mornings Fraser woke before you just to watch the sunrise over the water. He'd make coffee exactly the way you liked it before climbing back into bed with two warm mugs balanced carefully in his hands.

Other mornings he'd convince you to swim before breakfast despite the water being far colder than either of you ever anticipated.

You always shrieked.

He always laughed so hard he nearly inhaled seawater.

"You promised it'd be warm!"

"I said refreshing."

"You lied."

"I exaggerated."

"You absolutely lied."

He'd pull you against him anyway, both of you waist-deep in the ocean, your arms automatically wrapping around his neck.

"You forgive me?"

"Never."

"No?"

"No."

His grin would soften.

"Good thing you're terrible at holding grudges."

Then he'd kiss you before you could argue.

The house slowly became unmistakably yours. Photos appeared on shelves, books piled beside the couch, your sweaters somehow migrated into every room despite there being a perfectly functional closet upstairs. Fraser's hockey gear never stayed organized longer than forty-eight hours. There were blankets draped over chairs because you insisted every room deserved one.

Plants lined the kitchen windowsill. A tiny herb garden took over half the back patio after Fraser confidently declared he could keep basil alive.

He could not.

The basil lasted three weeks. The rosemary somehow survived.

You teased him about it until September.

One rainy afternoon you found him sitting cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by old photo albums.

"What're you doing?"

He looked up.

"Thinking."

You dropped beside him.

Inside one album were pictures from his childhood. Tiny Fraser missing his front teeth, teenage Fraser in oversized hockey gear, family camping trips, Christmas mornings, and lake days. You smiled quietly while turning each page.

"You were adorable."

"I look so awkward."

"You were both."

He laughed. "You ever think about this?"

"What?"

"The future."

You shrugged. "Sometimes."

"Like..." he hesitated, "...kids."

"You asking?" You looked over.

"No."

"You sure?"

"I'm asking for the chance in the future. Eventually, you know?"

Eventually. The word sat comfortably between you, no pressure or timeline. Just a possibility.

You reached over, lacing your fingers with his. "I think about it."

"You do?"

"Mhm."

"What do you think?"

You smiled toward the photographs again. "I think... if it happens someday... I'd want them to have summers like this."

He stayed very quiet. "So would I."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

By mid-August the evenings began arriving earlier. Not noticeably at first but just enough that dinner happened beneath softer skies. The sunsets lingered a little less each night, air cooling. The mornings smelled different. You always hated that part. The end of August meant Boston, training camp, and packing suitcases. Leaving your little house behind until next spring.

You tried not to think about it, Fraser noticed anyway.

"You get quiet every year."

"I'm not quiet," you said, chewing the inside of your cheek.

"You reorganized the pantry again, baby."

"...that's unrelated."

He laughed. "Sure."

"I just don't like leaving," you huff out, anxiety lingering.

"I know."

"It feels like we're putting real life on pause."

He stepped behind you while you stood washing dishes, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. "This is real life."

"It doesn't always feel like it."

"It does to me." He rested his chin on your shoulder. "I don't care if we're here or Boston."

"No?"

"No."

"As long as you're there."

You turned enough to kiss him. "I love you."

"I know."

"You were supposed to say it back."

"I was getting there."

"You were taking forever."

"I love you too."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The ring had lived inside Fraser's sock drawer since June; he'd nearly proposed three different times. The kitchen felt too ordinary, as did the beach; there were too many people. After dinner on the porch, when the time nearly came, you'd accidentally spilled wine all over yourself.

Each attempt had become another reason to wait because somehow he knew it had to happen on the dock at sunset. Your favourite spot to talk about the more serious things in life.

Before Boston called him back, when another season stole months away.

"Come with me?"

You looked up from the book resting in your lap.

Fraser was standing in the doorway to the living room, one shoulder leaned casually against the frame. At first glance, he looked perfectly relaxed. But you'd known him too long.

His fingers kept catching on the cuff of his sweatshirt, rolling the soft fabric between his thumb and forefinger before letting it fall again. One foot tapped lightly against the hardwood, almost absentmindedly. His smile was there, that easy, crooked smile you loved so much, but it looked just a little too careful, like he was trying very hard not to let it grow any wider.

"What?" you asked, smiling despite yourself.

He shook his head once, a quiet laugh escaping through his nose.

"Nothing."

"You've got that look."

"What look?"

"That look. What’s going on?"

His eyebrows lifted innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You do."

He glanced toward the back windows, where the evening sun painted streaks of gold across the water. When he looked back at you, there was something softer in his eyes—warmth mixed with an almost nervous excitement that made your stomach flutter without you knowing why.

"Come with me… please?"

You closed your book around your finger to keep your place.

"Where?"

"The dock."

"We were just there."

"I know."

"It was too cold."

"I know."

"You planning something?"

His lips twitched, the corners threatening to curl into a grin before he caught himself. He ducked his head for a second, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

"No."

"You smiled."

"I always smile."

"You have your suspicious smile."

"I don't."

"You absolutely do."

A laugh finally broke free, low and warm, and for a second the nervousness melted away. His shoulders loosened as he looked at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I really don't."

"Mhm."

He stepped closer, stopping just in front of the couch. His hands disappeared into the pocket of his sweatshirt this time, though you could still see his thumbs fidgeting restlessly inside the fabric.

"Please?"

You let him wait for another beat, pretending to consider it far more seriously than necessary. Then you sighed dramatically, setting your book aside.

"Fine."

The relief that crossed his face was almost imperceptible, a small exhale, the tension easing from his jaw, but you caught it anyway.

"Thank you," he murmured, reaching for your hand almost the moment you stood. You slipped your fingers between his without a second thought, but you never noticed how tightly he held on or how his thumb brushed absentmindedly across your knuckles the entire walk to the dock, grounding himself just as much as he was holding your hand.

The sky was already changing, soft peach fading into gold, clouds brushed with pink. The water reflected every color until it looked like someone had melted the sunset into the ocean itself.

You slipped your hand into his automatically. Neither of you spoke, but the silence wasn't awkward. It never was.

You reached the very end of the dock, where your feet dangled countless evenings and where you'd watched storms roll in, shared midnight conversations, celebrated birthdays, and dreamed about your future.

Your favorite place.

You leaned against him. "I'm going to miss this."

"We'll come back," his voice was quiet, carried away almost immediately by the gentle breeze drifting off the water. 

You looked out toward the horizon, where the sun hovered just above the mountains, painting the surface of the bay in ribbons of gold. "I know." 

"I promise." 

A small smile tugged at your lips. "I know, Fras."

Fraser swallowed, hard enough that you saw the movement in his throat. His hand tightened around yours before loosening again, his thumb tracing absent circles over your knuckles as though he needed the motion to steady himself. "You know..."

You turned your head. "What?"

His gaze stayed fixed on the water for another moment. The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was trying to convince himself to say whatever had been living inside his head for weeks. "I've been thinking."

 "Oh?" 

"A lot."

You smiled, nudging his shoulder gently with your own. "That’s never good for you."

A soft laugh escaped him, quieter than usual. "Yeah."

Silence settled between you again, not uncomfortable, never uncomfortable, just... full. The kind of silence the two of you had learned to share over the years, where neither of you felt any pressure to fill the space.

Fraser inhaled slowly. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you something." 

"You could just tell me." 

"I know." 

"You don't have to overthink everything."

A crooked smile appeared, though it barely reached his eyes. "I really do."

His gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, your fingers fitting together so naturally now that he couldn't remember a time they hadn't. He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand once more before speaking.

"I used to think hockey was the biggest thing I'd ever love."

You looked at him then, really looked at him, the sunset reflecting in his eyes and turning the familiar green into something warmer.

"Used to?"

His smile faded into something gentler, more vulnerable. "Now..." He exhaled, almost like the words themselves weighed something. "...it's this."

He squeezed your fingers.

"This house." His eyes found yours. "You." A beat. "The life we've accidentally started building."

The words settled somewhere deep inside your chest, you hadn't realized until that moment just how much you needed to hear them.

"You've made every place feel like home."

He turned toward you completely now. The breeze caught a strand of your hair, blowing it across your cheek; without thinking, he reached up and tucked it behind your ear, his fingertips lingering for the briefest second against your skin. His expression softened so completely it made your chest ache.

"I can't picture the next ten years without you." 

His smile wavered. "Or twenty." A quiet breath. "Or fifty."

He laughed once through his nose, almost embarrassed by how sentimental he sounded. "I can't picture waking up beside anyone else."

Your eyes burned, and you blinked quickly, but it didn't help. "Fraser..." A tear escaped despite yourself, and you laughed as it rolled down your cheek.

"I want Sunday mornings." His voice steadied with every sentence, as though saying the words aloud made them more real. "I want arguments over paint colors. I want you stealing my hoodies."

You smiled through watery eyes. "They're ours now."

That earned a real smile, one that reached his eyes. "Exactly."

His gaze drifted toward the house sitting quietly behind you—the porch, the windows glowing with the last warmth of the setting sun, the life you'd already begun without even realizing it.

"I want little feet running through this house someday." He looked back at you immediately. "When you're ready." His voice was gentle. "No pressure. No timeline. I just..."

The words caught unexpectedly, his jaw tightening as he looked down for a second, blinking hard before meeting your eyes again.

"...I want every version of our future."

You couldn't stop crying now, just quiet tears that slipped down your cheeks faster than you could wipe them away.

Fraser smiled; it wasn't triumphant, it wasn't relieved, just impossibly tender, like seeing you cry over something happy somehow made him love you even more.

"I want gray hair," he chuckled softly. "I want wrinkles. I want to sit on this dock when we're eighty years old pretending we aren't cold."

A watery laugh escaped you. "I want every end of August to mean packing together." He glanced back toward the house. "Every spring to mean coming home together."

Then his eyes settled on yours again, steady. "I don't want there to be a version of my life where you aren't beside me."

For one suspended heartbeat, neither of you moved.

The waves lapped quietly beneath the dock, a gull called somewhere overhead, and the wind rustled through the evergreens lining the shore.

Fraser took one slow breath, then another, before his fingers slipped reluctantly from yours as he stepped back.

"What are—"

He lowered himself carefully onto one knee, your breath catching so sharply it almost hurt.

"Oh my God."

Despite everything he'd rehearsed, every version he'd practiced in the mirror and whispered under his breath during long drives, every single word disappeared. His hands were shaking, actually shaking as he reached for the little velvet box as it nearly slipped from between his fingers before he caught it. He laughed at himself under his breath.

"I practiced this."

"You practiced?" 

"A lot." His cheeks flushed. "It was better before."

You laughed again, one hand covering your mouth as fresh tears blurred your vision. "Oh, Fras..."

He pulled open the top of the small velvet box.

For just a second, neither of you looked at each other; you both looked at the ring. The diamond caught the last rays of sunlight, scattering tiny flecks of gold across the polished wood beneath you.

Simple and elegant. Just like you’d hoped.

When he looked back up, his eyes were already glossy.

"I love you more than I know how to put into words." His voice barely rose above the sound of the water. "I don't think there's enough language for it." A smile trembled across his face. "But I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying."

He held your gaze, never looking away, not once.

"Will you marry me?"

The world seemed to disappear. The waves, the breeze, the distant cries of gulls, and even the fading sunset, all of it blurred into soft colour until there was only him.

The boy who had become the man you loved; the one who woke before you just to make your coffee, who kissed your forehead without realizing he did it, who remembered every tiny detail you'd ever mentioned in passing, who dreamed about children only if they were with you, who bought a house on the water because he wanted somewhere your future could always find its way back to.

Your safest place.

You didn't even realize you were moving until you were dropping onto your knees in front of him.

"Yes." The word came out as little more than a breath, but it was enough.

Every ounce of tension left his body in one shaky exhale.

"Yeah?" He looked almost disbelieving, like he'd spent so long imagining every possible outcome that he'd forgotten this one could actually happen.

You laughed through your tears. "Yes."

"Really?"

You nodded so quickly it made another laugh bubble out of you. His grin broke wide then, the biggest you'd ever seen, bright enough that it crinkled the corners of his eyes.

His hands still trembled as he slid the ring onto your finger, taking twice as long as he'd intended because he couldn't stop smiling.

The moment it settled into place, you threw your arms around him, the force nearly knocking him backward onto the dock.

His laugh burst free, muffled against your shoulder. "You scared me."

You pulled back just enough to look at him. "I took like three seconds."

"It felt like thirty years."

You cupped his face between your hands; his cheeks were warm beneath your palms.

"I love you."

"Holy shit, Fraser."

He laughed quietly, his nose brushing yours. "Yeah... that's about how I'm feeling, too."

Your thumbs brushed over his cheeks.

Neither of you spoke for a while after that; you simply sat together as the sun disappeared completely beneath the horizon, your newly ringed hand resting in his.

Every few minutes, Fraser found himself glancing down at it—not because he couldn't remember it was there, but because he still couldn't quite believe it was.

Eventually, he let out a quiet laugh. "So..."

"So?"

"What do fiancés do now?"

You laughed, the sound carrying across the water. "I think we keep watching sunsets."

"We can do that," he smiled.

"And maybe call our families."

He groaned dramatically. "...Eventually."

You bumped his shoulder. "Eventually."

He leaned over, pressing a slow kiss to your temple before resting his head lightly against yours. "We're going to have a good life."

You looked out across the water, where the last light lingered stubbornly over the horizon. The season was ending. In a few days there would be suitcases waiting by the front door, flights back to Boston, training camp, and another year apart in hotel rooms and hockey arenas and airports.

But for the first time, the end of August didn't feel like something slipping through your fingers. It felt like the beginning of every August still to come. A house by the water. A dock at sunset. Two wedding bands catching the evening light. One day, children's laughter echoing across the shoreline.

And decades from now, when your hair had silvered and your hands had softened with age, you'd still find yourselves here, shoulder to shoulder, watching another summer fade into autumn.

Home wasn't the house. It wasn't Vancouver. It wasn't Boston. It was the boy who reached for your hand without thinking. The man who asked you to spend forever with him. And the quiet certainty that no matter how many seasons changed, you'd always find your way back to each other.

thank u for reading!! feel free to chat in my inbox!! i am always down to be a freak or talk whenever! ✭