cass

By a week into the trip you are exhausted, but that good kind of exhausted where you feel so at peace and so happy. But, that’s what you think triggered it. Not that you could blame anyone else for your lack of sleep. After all, it was you who chose to stay up every night around the fire with Will and his sister Grace, and it was you who insisted on sneaking out in the dark for a midnight lake runs with Will.

So tonight, the family also equally exhausted, all turned in early. After your shower, washing off a mix of sunscreen, tanning oil and lake water, you walk into the room you and Will are staying in, drop your towel, and pick up his sharks t-shirt. It fits you in that perfect way, coming down to mid thigh. So again, it was you who chose to stay up with Will as he showed you just how much he loved the look of you in his clothing.

But now, it is past 1am, and Will is sprawled out over the bed, his arms reaching out like they are searching for you, only your side of the bed is cold.

—

Colleen walks slowly down the stairs to the kitchen, slowly blinking sleep out of her eyes, but she freezes as she hears a faint clicking coming from downstairs. Clicking which sounds like the door lock on the sliding glass doors that lead to the patio.

She frowns, walking fully up. And as she slowly looks around the corner, she sees you.

You’re standing in front of the doors, your hand pulling uselessly on the lock. Your hair is curly from all the lake water, but plopped in a huge bun on your head, pieces falling down on the sides of your face. Will’s Sharks t-shirt covers your frame, but it’s large enough on you that it leans off one of your sun tanned shoulders.

“Honey?” She says, squinting a bit as she walks closer to you.

But you don’t look towards her, it’s almost like you didn’t even hear her. You just keep pulling on the lock, your breathing labored, panicked sounding almost.

“Sweetie.” She says, a bit more firmly but still coated in softness and comfort.

Your head moves towards her at that. As Colleen takes in your appearance her heart hammers. You look… different. Your eyes are glassy and slightly squinted. Your body is stiff and you seem like you’re floating somewhere else.

That’s when it hits her, she remembers it clear as day. A phone call she had with her son a long time ago when she asked how you were doing. Will had told her about this.

“She’s okay. Work’s been taking a lot out of her recently, she actually started sleepwalking occasionally.”

“Sleepwalking?” Colleen parroted back to him.

“Yeah, it’s rare. She only does it when she’s overly tired. Freaked me out the first time, I honestly didn’t know she was asleep.”

So Colleen makes sure her expression is soft and loving, her normal expression when she is talking to you, and she listens as you finally manage to speak.

“I have to get him.” You mumble, your voice so soft she could have easily missed it.

“Get who, honey?” Colleen asks you.

“Rigney.” You say, turning back towards the lock.

Colleen’s eyes flick to the chair in the living room, where Rigney is lying, perfectly safe, and still asleep. She glances back to you, wanting nothing more than to show you the family’s dog is inside, but it seems evident that you’re not abandoning the door without some persuasion.

“Rigney’s inside already, sweetie.” Colleen says very gently, trying not to startle you. “He’s in his normal chair in the living room.”

“No. He’s cold. Colleen he’s out there.” You say, a slight panic starting to rise in your tone. Your glossy eyes get glossier as you beg her to hear you, beg her to listen to you.

“Okay, okay.” She says, stepping closer and noting the shaking of your hands, and the way your chest moves rapidly. “Why don’t you sit down quick and I’ll go grab Will. He’ll help us look okay?”

“Will?” You question, and for a second she swears she can see the fully awake you at the sound of her son’s name.

“That’s right.” Colleen says, leading you so carefully that you think it’s your choice to sit down. “You stay right here while I grab him, alright?”

You only nod in response, but your eyes stay locked on the doors. “Tell Will to hurry, he’s all alone out there, I don’t want him to be scared.” You whimper, and Colleen’s heart cracks at how upset you sound. She’s a mother after all, she wants to fix this, wants to protect you from this, but she knows it’s not her that you need. So Colleen moves quickly, trying to stay silent so she doesn’t wake the rest of the house. She opens the bedroom door, and goes to the side of the bed that Will is sleeping on.

“Will.” She says, setting her hand on his shoulder, but he doesn’t budge. “Will.” She says again, a bit louder as she shakes him lightly.

Will opens his eyes, and takes only a second before he’s looking at his mom in worry. That’s when he notices you’re gone, and the sheets are cold enough to tell him you’ve been gone for quite some time. Will’s heart leaps out of his chest, you missing, his mom looking a bit panicked.

“Mom-“

“She’s alright. She’s downstairs, I think she might be sleep walking.”

Will didn’t need to hear anything else, he didn’t bother with a shirt or shoes as he starts going down the steps. He knows not to startle you, so as he walks into the kitchen he does so as calmly as possible.

“Baby?” He asks, as he sees you. Sees the way you’re stiff, and as if you’re not really here. You turn your face towards his at the sound of his voice.

“Will, he’s out there.” You say, standing up in panic as Will makes his way over to you. He’s crouching a bit, trying to stay eye level with you.

“Who’s out there?” Will asks you, and it kills him to not reach out and tuck your curly strands of hair behind your ears.

“Rigney.” You say, and you choke on the name.

Colleen looks at Will, and he tracks her eyes over to the chair where Rigney is still sound asleep.

“Okay, well let me sit down and put my shoes on and we’ll go look.” Will says, secretly trying to lead you into the living room. You follow him blindly, like you always do.

But then your brain freezes when you hear the familiar shake of metal dog tags, and all of a sudden a wet nose comes and pokes your shin.

“See baby? He’s inside, he’s safe.”

“But he was-“ you start to say, pointing to the doors. “He was out there, and he was cold.” You try to justify.

Rigney jumps on the couch, and Will watches as you reach your hand out and touch the soft fur of the dog.

“He’s warm, he’s here with us.” Will comforts you as tears leak from your eyes. “Hey, hey.” He says, and even in your sleeping state you throw yourself against his chest. The warmth of his skin grounds you, just as much as the familiar smell of his body wash.

Colleen smiles sadly and looks away as Will comforts you. His hand on the back of your head, while one runs up and down your spine through his t-shirt. He waits, while throwing small comforting words in here and there until your cries soften.

“He’s safe?” You ask one more time, and Will smiles at you, your glossy eyes shining in the light of the moon that’s filling the living room.

“He’s safe. Just like you.” He says. “Do you want him to sleep with us tonight? That way we can watch him?” Will asks, and you just nod, tears back in a steady stream down your cheeks. His wipes them away with his thumb, and your eyes stay glued to the dog like he might vanish if you look away.

Getting you to believe Rigney was in the house wasn’t very challenging, but getting you back up the stairs proved to be more difficult than he thought. Rigney of course bolted straight up, making a beeline for the room. You took the steps slowly, Will next to you the entire time. Halfway through you just stopped, and he quietly and calmly reassures you that Rigney is probably sitting on your pillows waiting for you.

Colleen stayed behind you the entire time, far enough away so you don’t feel crowded, but close enough that if for whatever reason you fell backwards she was there to catch you.

But most importantly, they didn’t rush you. They took each step one at a time, and in your hazy fog and confusion, you let Will guide you. By the time Colleen made it to the top step, she wished you both a goodnight, and unknown to you looked at her son, quietly asking if he’s got you. He nods, and turns your body slowly to get into the bedroom.

Sure enough, Rigney has taken over your side of the bed. His head is resting on your pillow as if he’s using it, and for a smaller dog he manages to take up a lot of room.

Will walks you to his side of the bed instead, pulling back the covers and helping you get tucked in. Will slips in next to you, keeping you in the middle while he was dangerously close to the edge. But he pulls you flush against him, your back on his chest, your legs finding comfort tucked under his.

You don’t speak, you just close your eyes, listening to the soft words from your boyfriend. Little “sleep baby” or “you’re safe” or kisses on the top of your head.

To no surprise of Will, it didn’t take long for you to completely pass out, but Will stayed up for a little longer. Almost afraid that you’d manage to slip out again without him knowing. The thought of you getting outside in the dark, alone, with no shoes on, and near an open body of water was enough to scare him senseless. But he reminds himself too, that you’re right here.

He finally drifts off with the image of you sleeping in his chest burned into his brain, not that he’d ever want to forget it anyway.

—

As morning came, Colleen makes her way up the stairs to knock on the door. She didn’t tell anyone else what happened last night, not knowing if you’d be embarrassed or not. As she’s faced with the door it’s cracked slightly, Will must have left it open last night only a sliver in case Rigney needed something.

She opens it a tiny bit more, just enough to poke her head in to wake you guys for breakfast. But she stops, and nothing comes out of her mouth as she takes in the sight before her.

The three of you are curled into each other. Rigney spread out but pressed against your chest, and Will pressed up against your back. The three of you completely sound asleep. The dog and Will guarding each side of you like neither of them wanted you to slip away.

one of the interviewers asked connor who his celebrity crush was. instantly, his face got beet red, and he was hesitant to answer. despite this, he was eventually coaxed into admitting who it was. he said your name y/n l/n, and even though connor played it off like it was mostly a joke, it was definitely not.

you didn’t see this. at least, not right away. you don’t know much about hockey, and there have been quite a few other celebrities/public figures who have cited you as their celebrity crush. it’s always very flattering, but whenever someone does, there’s always the immediate surge of people shipping you and whoever said it.

that did happen when connor confessed that you’re his celebrity crush, but not to the same caliber as when it’s a fellow actor. so even though you saw it, you didn’t pay much attention to it. honestly, you didn’t even look to see who it was. just saw the name. connor bedard. so you just shrugged it off.

about a year goes by, and you were approached by bauer to do an ad. you were set to star in a hockey romance movie coming out the following winter, so you did it.

that’s when you and connor officially met.

at first, it didn’t click that this was the connor bedard, that had said in an interview that you were his celebrity crush. he was definitely a little bit awkward when you first met, but you didn’t think that much of it.

during the filming of the ad, which took about four days due to unforeseen complications, and connor being a really bad actor, the two of you started talking. you realized just how cute he is, and asked for his number, which absolutely gobsmacked him. he’d been really awkward up until that point, and even though he’d definitely been attempting to flirt, he didn’t think it was really going all that well.

after that, things start escalating fast.

first, you’re seen on the streets of chicago. fans can’t figure out why you’re there, because you’re not filming anything there, and there’s no events or anything happening. actually, you should probably be in nyc, because that’s where premieres and things are happening. but no, you’re in chicago.

and then connor’s spotted in new york. it’s during the season, and the blackhawks are playing the rangers, so it makes sense. except… he’s there for a day longer than the rest of the team. they have a day off, and connor’s spending it in new york city?

but then you’re seen in chicago again. this time with a man. a few people online thought it might be connor, but nobody could confirm.

a few weeks later, you were with a man. his face was a little bit more visible in the paparazzi photos, but the two of you were kissing, so it was hard to tell. these were the pictures that had people really speculating you might be dating connor bedard, but the pictures were blurry, and as hard as people tried, nobody could for sure say that it was connor bedard.

for a while after that, the matter was mostly put to rest. slowly, people started to forget. and the two of you got better at being sneaky.

but then you were asked to host snl. it was a really big moment in your career, one of your childhood dreams achieved, and when you were given a run through of sketch ideas, you had an idea of your own to present.

it was the very last sketch of the night/episode. it was a funny one about how crazy paparazzi are when it comes to celebrities. you were playing yourself, and the snl cast members were playing the paparazzi. near the end of the sketch, a crazy fan jumps out of the crowd to kiss you… and then it’s revealed to be connor. the people who know him cheer, but most are just confused.

it doesn’t take long for fans of both you and connor to start freaking the fuck out. people online are talking about how funny it is that you were the lead in a hockey romance, and now you’re dating an irl nhl player. connor’s fans have mixed reactions on it, but the general consensus is that the two of you are cute together.

onto actual headcanons of you and connor together!!

connor is smitten with you. he’s constantly in disbelief that he managed to somehow convince you to let him be your boyfriend, and spends the majority of his time making sure you don’t regret it. he’s very aware of the fact that you are so insanely out of his league, and he refuses to give you any reason to make you want to leave him.

you really like teasing him about the fact that you were his celebrity crush before you were his girlfriend. he gets really embarrassed, his face gets all red and he covers his face; you think it’s the cutest thing in the world.

whenever you go to his games, you get put on the jumbotron as a celebrity in attendance. whenever they do it, connor immediately stops and looks up at the screen, it’s almost like he can sense it. after you wave at the camera, they pan to connor to find him looking at the screen with heart eyes. he always gets chirped about it, but he doesn’t care, because he knows that they’re all just jealous.

speaking of chirping…

connor can not handle getting chirped about you. every once in a while, someone tries it. tells him that she’s too pretty for him, says that they already have tickets to her next movie, et cetera. honestly, it’s not even what they say, it’s the look in their eyes. almost instantly, he’s on them, pushing them to the ice and punching as hard as he can until he’s physically removed by a ref. every time this happens, you try and tell him that he doesn’t need to do that, he has nothing to worry about. but he just can’t help himself! someone starts making suggestive jokes about you, and connor sees red.

you bring him to all your red carpet events, and it’s both hilarious and adorable. he has zero idea how to act, always worried he’s going to embarrass either you or himself. he also just isn’t used to posing for pictures for that long, and eventually his smile gets kind of tired and weird looking. you have his worst one (a picture where he’s fully just grimacing at the camera) as his profile photo in your contacts, and he hates it. he begs you to change it at least once a week, but you keep it.

watches everything you’ve been in religiously. his comfort movie is your first major movie role, you were only five years old, and it’s an absolutely adorable movie about a young girl losing her parents and getting sent to live with her uncle. it’s really heartfelt and cute, and sometimes when he watches it on a road trip, and he sees you as a little kid, he can’t help but wondering if that’s what your kids will look like one day.

he gets asked about you in every interview he does, and he has a love-hate relationship with it. he agreed to making your relationship public, but sometimes he feels like people care more about the fact that he’s dating an actress than his hockey career, which can be a little bit demeaning. it doesn’t bother him very often, because it’s not actually a problem very often, but sometimes it gets to him.

whenever that happens, you go on an absolute tirade on your tiktok and instagram, posting his stats and highlights, make videos raving about what an amazing hockey player your boyfriend is. it’s one of connor’s favorite things that you do.

the two of you are such a wholesome couple, it’s kind of unbelievable. you’re so sweet to each other, always speak so positively about each other to the media.

you’re both very into pda. it’s not even a conscious thing, you just kind of always need to have your hands on each other. you’re apart so often that whenever you’re together you feel like you need to take advantage of it.

you guys are the power couple of the nhl right now! the nhl social media admins are obsessed with the two of you, collecting tiktok edits like infinity stones. right now, the nhl instagram is basically you and connor, and macklin celebrini and will smith. you think it’s hilarious, but connor gets a little bit intimidated by all the attention.

not to say that connor doesn’t like showing you off, because he definitely does. if he’s bringing you to an event or anything where there’s lots of people, he’s got an arm around your waist with a smug smile the entire time. you’re very endeared by it, and also share the sentiment. you show off connor all the time.

occasionally, you’ll have a co-star who thinks you deserve “better,” and who’ll try and hit on you. you shut them down real quick, then spam post pictures of you and connor on your insta story. one time, a co-star didn’t get the hint, so you flew connor in to bring him to set the next day, and you were all over him. connor was very flustered, but definitely not complaining.

ultimately, you and connor are so wonderful together. you love each other deeply, and can’t imagine your lives without each other. even through all the chaos and intensity of your daily lives, you find solace in each other. you have a really beautiful, healthy relationship, and you’re so lucky that you have each other.

Not alone, of course. But watching him all season — the goals, the assists, the leadership despite being only twenty — you know he’s the reason they’re here. First overall pick living up to every bit of the hype.

On the ice, his teammates are mobbing him. Will is screaming something in his face. Ekky has him in a headlock. The veterans are grinning, patting his helmet.

He looks up into the stands, searching, and when he finds you, his smile gets impossibly wider.

You blow him a kiss. He catches it, presses it to his chest over his heart.

Even from here, you can see how happy he is. How alive.

***

The locker room celebration takes forever. You wait in the family area, making small conversation with Cat and some of the other wives and girlfriends, but mostly you’re just buzzing with excitement.

“You must be so proud,” Cat says.

“I am. He worked so hard for this.”

“He’s been incredible all season. But especially these last few weeks.” She smiles. “You’ve been good for him, you know. He’s more grounded than he was last year. More focused.”

“I think that’s just him growing up.”

“Maybe. But I think you help.”

When Macklin finally emerges, his hair is still wet from the shower, and he’s grinning so wide his face must hurt. He makes a beeline for you, picking you up and spinning you around.

“We did it,” he says into your neck.

“You did it.”

“We’re going to the fucking playoffs.”

“You’re going to the fucking playoffs.” You pull back to look at him. “I’m so proud of you.”

He kisses you, right there in front of everyone, and you don’t even care. Let them see how in love you are.

“Come on,” he says when he finally releases you. “Let’s go home.”

***

The drive home is electric. Macklin can’t stop talking — about the game, about the season, about playoffs. His hand is on your thigh the whole time, thumb drawing absent circles.

“I can’t believe it,” he says for the fifth time. “Playoffs. Actual playoffs.”

“You deserve it. The whole team deserves it.”

“Coach wants us to rest tomorrow, then we’ll start preparing for round one. We don’t know who we’re playing yet, but-” He breaks off. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“Ramble away. You’re allowed to be excited.”

“I am excited. I’m-” He glances at you, and there’s something different in his expression. Something heated. “I’m really fucking excited.”

You feel your breath catch. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand slides higher on your thigh. “And I have all this energy. All this adrenaline.”

“Macklin-”

“I want you.” His voice is low, rough. “Right now. As soon as we get home, I want you.”

Heat pools in your stomach. Usually, you’re the one initiating. The one taking control. But right now, in this moment, Macklin is looking at you like he wants to devour you.

“Okay,” you breathe.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

His grip on your thigh tightens. “Good.”

The rest of the drive is torture. Every time you hit a red light, his hand creeps higher. By the time you pull into the parking garage, you’re aching for him.

He’s out of the car before you’ve even unbuckled, coming around to open your door. He pulls you out, pressing you against the car, kissing you hard.

“Macklin,” you gasp. “We’re in the garage-”

“Don’t care.” He’s kissing down your neck now. “Need you.”

“Inside. We should go inside.”

He pulls back, eyes dark. “Then move.”

You’ve never seen him like this. Usually, he’s sweet, pliant, eager to please. But right now, he’s commanding. In charge.

And it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

You fumble with your purse, trying to find your keys, but your hands are shaking. He takes the purse from you, finds the keys himself, and pulls you toward the elevator.

The ride up to the fifteenth floor takes forever. He’s behind you, pressed against your back, his breath hot on your neck.

“You looked so good tonight,” he murmurs. “In the stands, wearing my number. Everyone knowing you’re mine.”

“I am yours.”

“Yeah, you are.” His hands slide around your waist. “And I’m going to remind you exactly how much.”

The elevator dings. The doors open. He practically drags you down the hall to your apartment.

The second you’re through the door, he’s on you.

He backs you against the wall, kissing you hard and desperate. His hands are everywhere — in your hair, on your waist, sliding under your shirt.

“Macklin-” You try to catch your breath. “What-”

“Let me,” he says. “Tonight, let me take care of you.”

“You always take care of me.”

“No, I mean-” He pulls back to look at you. “You’re always in charge. Always taking the lead. And I love that. I love when you tell me what to do, when you make me feel good. But tonight-” His eyes are burning. “Tonight I want to be the one in control. I want to make you feel good. I want to hear you beg.”

Oh.

“Is that okay?” He asks, and there’s a flash of uncertainty. “If you don’t want-”

You pull him back into a kiss. “Yes. God, yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You’re already reaching for his shirt. “Take control. Please.”

He grins, and it’s predatory. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

He pulls your shirt over your head, and his hands immediately go to your bra, unhooking it with a practiced ease that makes you shiver. When did he get so good at this?

“Bedroom,” he says. “Now.”

You go, and he follows, already stripping off his own shirt. By the time you reach the bedroom, you’re both half-undressed.

He pushes you onto the bed, and you land with a bounce. He stands over you, looking down, and the power dynamic shift is dizzying.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. “Do you know that? How fucking beautiful you are?”

“Macklin-”

“I think about you all the time. During games, during practice. I think about this.” He kneels on the bed, crawling over you. “About getting you naked and making you fall apart.”

He’s kissing down your neck, your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. His hands are working on your jeans, and you lift your hips to help him slide them off.

“These too,” he says, hooking his fingers in your underwear.

You let him strip you completely, and then you’re naked beneath him while he’s still in his jeans.

“Not fair,” you gasp.

“What’s not fair?”

“You’re still dressed.”

“I know.” He’s kissing down your stomach now. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

He spreads your legs, and you realize what he’s about to do.

“Macklin, you don’t have to-”

“I want to.” He looks up at you from between your legs. “I want to taste you. Want to make you come on my tongue. Can I?”

How are you supposed to say no to that?

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

The words send a shock through you. He’s never called you that before. You’re the one who calls him good boy, who praises him, who tells him how well he’s doing.

But hearing it from him — hearing the dominance in his voice — makes your whole body light up.

He doesn’t tease. He dives in immediately, his tongue flat and broad against you, and you cry out.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs against you. “So fucking good.”

He’s learned so much since that first time. Knows exactly how to use his tongue, where to focus, what pressure to use. He finds your clit with unerring accuracy and sucks gently, and your back arches off the bed.

“There we go,” he says. “Let me hear you.”

You’re not quiet. Can’t be quiet. Not when he’s doing this, not when he’s so good at it.

His hands grip your thighs, holding you open, and he works you with his mouth until you’re shaking.

“Macklin,” you gasp. “I’m—I’m close-”

“Not yet.” He pulls back, and you whimper at the loss. “Not until I say.”

“What?”

He grins up at you. “You’re not coming until I give you permission.”

Oh god. He’s really doing this. Really taking control.

“Please-”

“Not yet.” He slides two fingers inside you, and you moan. “I want to feel you. Want to know exactly how close you are.”

He curls his fingers, finding that spot, and you nearly come right then. But you hold back, because he told you to, because letting him have this control is the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl. Holding back for me.”

“Macklin, please-”

“Please what?”

“Please let me come.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I need—I need-”

“Tell me.” His fingers are still moving, still hitting that perfect spot. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come. Please. I need you to make me come.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” He leans down, sucking your clit into his mouth, and says against you, “Come for me. Now.”

You do, with a cry that’s probably too loud for the apartment. Your whole body convulses, and he works you through it, his fingers and mouth relentless.

When you finally come down, you’re boneless, shaking. He crawls back up your body, kissing you, and you can taste yourself on his tongue.

“Good?” He asks.

“So good.”

“Good.” He’s stripping off his jeans now, his boxers. “Because we’re not done.”

He’s so hard it must be painful. You reach for him, but he catches your wrist.

“No.”

“But-”

“Tonight is about you.” He reaches for the nightstand, pulling out a condom. “I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to take it, and you’re going to come again.”

“I don’t know if I can-”

“You can.” He rolls on the condom. “You will.”

He positions himself between your legs, and you expect him to go slow, to ease in like he usually does. But instead, he pushes in with one smooth thrust, filling you completely.

You gasp, and he groans.

“Fuck, you feel good. So tight. So perfect.”

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust. He starts moving immediately, hard and fast, and all you can do is hold on.

“This what you need?” He asks, his voice rough. “Need me to fuck you hard?”

“Yes—god, yes-”

“Say it. Say you need me.”

“I need you,” you gasp. “Need you to fuck me, need you to make me come-”

“That’s my girl.”

He changes the angle, hitting deeper, and you’re already climbing again. How is that possible? You just came, but already you can feel another orgasm building.

“Macklin-”

“I know. I can feel you getting tighter.” His thumb finds your clit, circling. “You’re going to come again. On my cock this time.”

“I can’t-”

“Yes, you can.” He leans down, biting your neck gently. “Come for me. Show me how good I make you feel.”

The combination of his cock, his thumb, his teeth — it’s too much. You come again, harder this time, clenching around him.

“Fuck, yes,” he groans. “Just like that. So good. So fucking good.”

He fucks you through it, chasing his own release now. You’re oversensitive, but in the best way, and when he finally comes with a broken moan, you feel it everywhere.

He collapses on top of you, both of you breathing hard. After a moment, he carefully pulls out and disposes of the condom. Then he’s back, pulling you into his arms.

“That was-” You can’t even finish the sentence.

“Yeah.”

“You were-”

“I know.” He sounds almost smug. “Did you like it?”

“Like it? Macklin, that was-” You look at him. “Where did that come from?”

He grins. “I’ve been watching. Learning. Paying attention to what you do, how you take control. And I thought … why can’t I do that sometimes too?”

“You absolutely can. God, you absolutely can.”

“Yeah?” He looks pleased. “Because I really liked it. Liked being in charge. Liked making you feel good.”

“You always make me feel good.”

“I know, but this was different. I felt powerful. Confident.”

“You were.” You trace his jaw. “It was incredibly sexy.”

“Sexy enough to do again?”

“Definitely.”

He kisses you, softer now. “I’m not trying to change our dynamic. I still love it when you’re in charge. Love being your good boy.”

“I know.”

“But sometimes-”

“Sometimes you want to be the one calling the shots,” you finish. “I get it. And I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Seeing you like that — confident and dominant and sure of yourself-” You shiver. “It was one of the hottest things I’ve ever experienced.”

He looks inordinately pleased. “Good to know.”

You lie there for a while, just holding each other. Then Macklin speaks.

“You know what I was thinking during the game?”

“What?”

“That I couldn’t wait to celebrate with you. That making the playoffs was amazing, but getting to share it with you was what made it perfect.”

Your chest tightens. “Macklin-”

“I’m serious. All season, you’ve been there. After good games and bad games. When I was hurt, when I was frustrated. You’ve been my constant.”

“That’s what partners do.”

“I know. But I want you to know that I see it. I appreciate it. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“And I’m really glad we made the playoffs.”

You laugh. “Me too.”

“Because now I get to fuck you like that after every playoff win.”

“Macklin!”

“What? I’m incentivized now.” He’s grinning. “Win games, get to be in charge. It’s good motivation.”

“You’re terrible.”

“You love it.”

“I really do.”

***

Later, after you’ve both showered and are lying in bed, Macklin’s phone keeps buzzing with texts.

“The guys?” You ask.

“Yeah. They’re going out to celebrate.”

“You should go.”

“I’d rather be here.” His hand finds yours under the covers. “With you.”

“They’re your teammates. It’s a big night.”

“It is. But I want to spend it with you.” He rolls to face you. “Unless you want me to go?”

“I want you to do what makes you happy.”

“Then I’m staying.” He pulls you closer. “Besides, I already celebrated. Thoroughly.”

You laugh. “Very thoroughly.”

“Want to celebrate again?”

“Already?”

“I’m twenty and we just made the playoffs. I have stamina.”

“Apparently.”

He kisses you, and it’s slow and sweet this time. “Also, I want to try something.”

“What?”

“I want you to ride me. But I get to control the pace.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He’s already pulling you on top of him. “Trust me?”

“Always.”

And as you sink down onto him, his hands gripping your hips, controlling your movements, you think that this — this shift in your dynamic, this growth, this confidence — is just as exciting as making the playoffs.

Because it means he’s becoming who he’s meant to be.

Not just a hockey player, but a man. Your man.

And you can’t wait to see where he goes next.

***

The next morning, you wake up to Macklin kissing down your spine.

“Morning,” he murmurs against your skin.

“What time is it?”

“Early. But I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

“Too excited. About playoffs. About you. About everything.”

You roll over to face him. “You need to rest. You have practice later.”

“I know.” But he’s already sliding between your legs. “But first-”

“Macklin, you can’t possibly-”

“Watch me.”

And he does. Takes you apart with his mouth again, drawing it out this time, making you beg before he finally lets you come.

“Okay,” you gasp when you can breathe again. “You’ve definitely found your dominant streak.”

“Like it?”

“Love it. But you know you can’t be in charge all the time, right?”

“I know.” He crawls back up to kiss you. “I still want you to take control. Still want to be your good boy.”

“Good. Because I’m not giving that up.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.” He grins. “We can share. Take turns.”

“That seems fair.”

“Besides-” He’s hard again, pressing against your thigh. “I kind of like switching back and forth. Keeps things interesting.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. Like right now-” He rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him. “Right now, I want you to ride me. And I want you to tell me what to do.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Be in charge. Make me be good for you.”

And just like that, the dynamic shifts back. He’s looking up at you with those eager eyes, waiting for instruction, ready to please.

“Good boy,” you murmur, and you feel him twitch beneath you. “Such a good boy for me.”

“Always.”

You take your time, making him wait, making him work for it. And when you finally let him inside you, when you finally give him permission to move, he’s so grateful, so eager, so perfectly yours.

“Thank you,” he gasps. “Thank you, thank you-”

“That’s it. Show me how grateful you are.”

He does, with every thrust, every moan, every broken plea. And when you finally let him come, he does so with your name on his lips and worship in his eyes.

After, when you’re both catching your breath, he pulls you close.

“I love this,” he says. “Love that we can be like this. That I can be dominant sometimes and submissive others. That we trust each other enough to switch.”

“Me too.”

“You’re not worried I’m going to want to be in charge all the time now?”

“Are you?”

“No. I love being your good boy. But I also love getting to take care of you sometimes. Make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

“Then we’ll keep doing both.” You kiss his shoulder. “Whatever feels right in the moment.”

“Perfect.”

You lie there in comfortable silence, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

“Can I tell you something?” He asks.

“Always.”

“Last night, when I was being dominant — it wasn’t just about the sex. It was about-” He pauses, searching for words. “It was about feeling like I’m growing up. Like I’m becoming the man I want to be. Strong enough to take care of you, confident enough to take charge when you need me to. But also secure enough to let you lead when that’s what works.”

“Macklin-”

“I know I’m still young. I know I have a lot to learn. But being with you, it’s making me better. Making me grow in ways I didn’t expect.”

Your throat is tight. “You’re making me better too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You challenge me. Push me to communicate better, to be more vulnerable. To let someone take care of me sometimes instead of always being the one in control.”

“Good.” He kisses your forehead. “We’re good for each other.”

“The best.”

***

A few hours later, when Macklin leaves for practice, you’re still in bed, pleasantly sore and thoroughly satisfied.

He kisses you goodbye at the door. “I’ll be back around noon.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Want me to pick up lunch?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

He grins. “What I want is to come home and celebrate some more.”

“Insatiable.”

“Can you blame me? We made the playoffs and I have the sexiest girlfriend in the world.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Good to know.” He kisses you again. “I love you.”

“Love you too. Have a good practice.”

After he leaves, you lie in bed thinking about last night. About the shift in dynamic, about seeing Macklin so confident and dominant.

You’ve always known he had it in him. Have watched him grow over the past year — on the ice and off. Becoming a leader, becoming more sure of himself, becoming the man he’s meant to be.

And you get to be part of that journey.

Get to see him grow, support him through it, celebrate every step.

It’s a privilege, you realize. Being loved by Macklin Celebrini. Being chosen by him. Being his partner in every sense of the word.

Playoffs. A boyfriend who’s growing into his own while still eager to please. A relationship that keeps thriving and evolving.

Life is good.

Life is really, really good.