⚜️Habs Babe⚜️

February 1, 2026 - Toronto, CAN

There was one thing this email chain had failed to mention. The presence of Macklin Celebrini. You should’ve expected it, really. The media LOVED to put the two of you together. Packaging you up as the future of Canadian hockey. The next Sidney Crosby and Hayley Wikenheiser. 

To be fair, the similarities were there. Both top-line centers for your teams, high goal scorers, and close in age. It was almost ridiculous how many parallels there were in your careers.

“So,” Jesse, the TSN journalist, started. “We’re just going to do some small podcast style. Interviews. We’ll ask you guys some questions, have you yap a bit and then we’ll work on the YouTube content.”

“Sounds good.” You replied as Mack nodded next to you.

God he looked good today. Crewneck Sweater hugging his broad shoulders in a delicious way. His hair was getting long again, and the San Jose sunshine had kept it naturally highlighted. Sitting this close you could see the barely-there blonde stubble on his chin and upper lip. He leaned back in his chair, clasping his large hands on the table behind the microphone.

You were staring, you realized. Snapping your eyes away you adjusted in your seat, resting your elbows on the table. 

There were three other men in the small studio space with you and Mack. Jesse, the man that seemed to be directing the episode, a man not much older than you, and a man that looked a bit older than Jesse. 

All equipment was turned on and Jesse settled in the spot across the table from you.

“Alright guys,” He spoke. “Welcome back to the TSN hockey podcast. Today we’ve got Morgan and Corbin with me. And our guests of honor: Olympic athletes, Macklin Celebrini and Y/N L/N.”

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

You both spoke over each other into the mic. Heat rose in your cheeks, flushing in embarrassment. Mack turned his head to the left, hair falling to hide his face from you. Just as that lump of distress was beginning to form in your stomach, you noticed red patching the skin of his neck.

Was he blushing too?

“Like I said, We’ve got two winter olympians. Macklin, these are your first Olympic Games, how are you feeling?” 

The boy to your left took a deep inhale. “I’m obviously really excited. It’s a huge honor to represent my country on the biggest stage. I’m definitely a little nervous though too, but I’m ready to prove how useful I can be to this team.”

“Are you excited to play with some veterans?” 

“Yeah I’m super excited to learn from those guys. They’re the best of the best and I really hope playing with them can help me be the best for this tournament. Being in a team with those vets is like every hockey player’s dream.” 

Corbin, the oldest man, spoke. “Y/N, you’ve got Olympic experience, you’ve been in Macklin’s shoes before, any advice?” 

Green eyes trained on you, a smile ghosting his lips as he awaited your answer. 

“Honestly I’m still about as nervous as I was last time. I’m not sure if I’m quite the right person to give advice. It’s a lot of pressure to know you need to be the best you’ve ever been. Macklin’s got the advantage of being a little bit older than I was. I think he’s a super talented player, and he wouldn’t be on the team if he wasn’t ready.” 

He was still staring at you and you could feel your cheeks heating up again. 

“I think people package the two of us up a lot.” He said, attention turning back to the hosts. “Compare our careers and stuff. And I’m excited to spend some time with Y/N in Milan. I think there’s a lot we can learn from each other. But she’s definitely leaving me some pretty big shoes to fill.” 

Now you were full on blushing. Your impressive career led to a lot of compliments, and they always sat in your heart, but this one was taking up a lot more space than usual. Macklin, the superstar, role model to thousands, thinks he can learn something from you. 

The conversation pivoted as the hosts asked each of you to recount how you found it you made the roster. Once you were done your short and bland retelling, you relaxed in your seat, eyes trained on Macklin. 

He shifted in his seat, resting his left foot across his right thigh. And his thighs, god, they were huge. The thin fabric of his joggers stretched taught against the hard wall of muscle.

Stop. Staring. 

Folding your elbows on the table and leaning forward to block your view of Macklin's body. Just look at his face. It won't be weird to look at his face while he's talking.

His tongue flicked out to lick his lips, and this was absolute torture. 

You spent a lot of time with Macklin in the past few years. Mostly for media appearances, and the two of you had developed a bit of an acquaintance. Unfortunately for you, a fascination with him had developed alongside said mild friendship. 

It was just a small crush though. It wasn't your fault that the man who shared so many interests and goals as you just so happened to be incredibly attractive. Eventually he'll find a nice California girl and that will kill your crush. Or maybe you could find a nice Montreal boy, and all awkward staring and late night fantasizing will subside. 

The Olympics might actually be the perfect opportunity. Tight quarters filled to the brim with the world's most athletic people. There would be other blonde and green eyed hockey players. Surely there's a Finnish man to match that description. 

The conversation steered back to you as the hosts prompted you to speak about having your regular season captain lead the team. 

"Poulin is an amazing captain," Something tapped your thigh. "Her leadership skills are the best I've ever seen." Macklin's foot brush against your thigh again. "Sh-she sets a great example." Pressure from his foot on your leg. His elbow brushed yours on the table. "They call her Captain Clutch for a reason."

His foot and elbow didn't move for the remainder of the podcast. Relishing in the tingles on your skin you didn't dare move. Every other part of you was buzzing to shift, but your arm and leg were locked in place, anchored to him.

The podcast ended far too quickly for your selfish liking, and Jesse directed the two of you to a separate filming studio. A couch, slightly smaller than a loveseat was pressed against a decorated backdrop. Florescent lights beat down, and a film camera was set up on a tripod. 

"If you guys wanna squeeze onto the couch, we're gonna film some short YouTube content."

The two of you tentatively approached the couch, awkwardly squeezing next to each other. Your shoulders and legs pressed together, skin burning hot through layers of clothes. 

The camera was pointed directly at you, bright lights highlighting your rosy cheeks. This was awful. Your jittery leg, warms cheeks, smiley face and wandering eyes were about to be recorded and uploaded on the internet forever. 

You need to calm down. You needed to get out of this room and away from Macklin. Straining your eyes at a spot on the floor, you breathed. Taking a minute to calm down while simultaneously keeping attention away from you. 

Corbin clipped small microphones to each of your shirts and directed you to clap. The camera was now recording and Jesse was sat behind it, laptop open. He began his monologue with a welcome to the audience before explaining that you guys would be participating as team to complete a quiz on Canadian hockey and the Olympics. 

This news relaxed your shoulders slightly. It couldn’t be that hard to answer questions about your idols, could it? 

Mack leaned back against the couch, raising his left arm to stretch across the top of cushion, just behind your neck. Your baby hairs stood on edge and you cursed the camera pointed at you. 

“Question one: Macklin, you now hold the record for youngest player on the Canadian men’s Olympic team during NHL era. Y/N you held the record for youngest player on the women’s Canadian team. But which players held the records before each of you?” 

“That’s question one?!” Mack’s eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward, his arm brushing the back of your neck. 

He was nervous but you knew the answer. She was one of the players everyone hoped you’d grow into. Someone you looked up to, could turn to for guidance. She was your captain. 

“Marie-Philip Poulin!” You called out, perhaps a bit too excitedly. 

“That’s correct. She was just over a month shy of her nineteenth birthday for her Olympic debut in two-thousand-ten.” 

Macklin’s brows were furrowed, and his pink lips moved slightly as he mumbled his thoughts. He really seemed stuck on this one.

“Watcha thinking?” You prompted. 

“Twenty-ten Olympics. There were a lot of young guys. Crosby? Towes maybe? Or Doughty.” 

“Crosby is definitely older than Towes and Doughty.” You supplied, searching your brain for an estimate of the other men’s ages. 

“I think Towes is older than Doughty.” He mumbled, eyes staring forward. 

“He was thirty-four when he left the hawks.” You remembered reading that in an article about his retirement. “That would make him about thirty-seven or eight now.” 

“Doughty’s only thirty-six I think.” Mack continued, building off your math. “Drew Doughty, final answer.”

“That’s correct!” 

The blonde pumped his fist. “Yes!” 

You giggled at his enthusiasm. 

“We got this!” He held his hand up for a high-five “We so got this Y/N!”

February 19, 2026 - Milan

The large chunk of silver hanging from your neck weighed a million pounds. Plated not just in silver, but in the disappointment of a nation. Failure felt like emotional death. Pressure had been brewing inside your core, crushing. And when that puck slid into the net, it cracked. Cold icy air flushed through you, burning, aching, empty. 

“Thought I might find you here.” A quiet voice echoed through the empty arena.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. His large frame settled on to the player bench next to you, a mere few inches from you. You didn’t turn to look at him. Partially because of the shock and partially because you looked awful. And part of you still didn’t want him to see you at your worst. And this was rock bottom. Crusty tear stained cheeks, chapped lips and wet hair. You wore your defeat on your face. 

Fingers brushed your wrist. Tentative, apprehensive, gentle. You turned your palm up, and his hand swallowed yours. Firm and warm. He squeezed hard. A silent message. A reminder that there was an anchor to reality, someone there. 

A hard swallow to try and clear your dry throat, and the tears started. Pouring down your face, dripping from your stuffy, red nose. A violent half scream ripped from  your open chest and you sobbed. 

“I’m so disappointed in myself.” You choked out. 

Macklin’s hand slid from yours, arm running up your back to hook around your shoulder. He gave you a firm yank, pulling you into his chest. Wrecked sounds pulled from you as the boy tried his best to comfort you. An awkward pat on your back pulled you out of your shocked state.

Laughter bubbled out of you, ridiculously loud, and you pulled your face from his chest. It was adorable and endearing the way he had patted you.

“Are you, okay?” He asked, brows raised, smile in his lips.

Wiping your cheeks with your sleeves you nodded.

“As long as you promise to wipe Finland tomorrow.”

His green eyes trained on yours. “I promise to try my best.”

February 22, 2026 - Milan

He wasn’t in the arena. And he wasn't staying in the olympic village. He didn't linger in the rink, haunting the moment like a ghost. He vanished, likely into the arms of his parents and siblings. Something you should've done. Instead of wallowing in your own failures, waiting for a firm hand to pull you up.

The burn still sizzled, deep in your flesh. But it had settled. And the closing ceremonies were bandaging it up. Swallowed by a sea of red and white. Collections of medals swung from prideful necks.

You wondered if Macklin had opted to wear his tonight.

July 6, 2026 - Vancouver, CAN

It was boiling outside and the rink offered a reprieve from the brutal city summer. Or it did, until now. You were sweaty and gross, lying sprawled on the ice, flat on your back. Macklin was a few feet away, standing at the players bench, water bottle in hand.

“Got any plans for the rest of the day?” He asked, punctuating with a squirt of water in his mouth.

“Not really. Thought I might try to check out the city.”

After a few occasional text conversations post-Olympics Macklin invited you out to Vancouver to train with him and some of the other Vancouver guys. You agreed, figuring a week of training with some other players might do you some good.

“Where’s your hotel?”

“I’m staying at the OPUS on Davie Street.”

He nodded, damp hair falling in to his face. “You checked out downtown yet?”

“No.” You sat up. “Was planning on doing some exploring today. Any suggestions?”

He thought for a moment, bottom lip jutting out. “I mean, I can give you a tour, show you some good spots if you’d like.”

Your fingers and toes tingled as you nodded.

###

Downtown Vancouver was loud. Traffic, chirping birds, voices bouncing and echoing off concrete and glass. The industrial environment exemplified the heat radiating from the sun, and your body could feel it. Despite the thorough cold shower you had taken after the training session you still felt the need to clean off. Your cotton tank top and too-tight denim shorts clung to your sticky skin. 

“How are you wearing a sweater right now?” You asked, slumping your shoulders as you walked. 

Macklin shrugged, shortening his paces so you could keep up with him. “California has made me used to the heat.” 

“Lucky.” You grumbled. 

His shoulder bumped yours. “The coffee shop is just up ahead, you’ll be in the air conditioning soon.” 

Macklin had met you at your hotel about an hour after you both left the arena, an itinerary for the day formed in his head. The first stop of the early afternoon was a popular family-owned coffee shop. He’d never been but the google reviews seemed promising. 

Cool air whooshed over you as you stepped through the door Macklin held. The coffee shop was quaint but incredibly busy. The chalkboard menu was difficult to read from the back of the long line. 

Macklin poked his head forward, green eyes squinting. 

The line moved quickly, multiple baristas shuffling efficiently behind the bar. Once you and Macklin reached the bar, he stepped back, allowing you to order first. The barista took your order and your name, but before you could dig your credit card out, Macklin asked for an iced mocha, tapping his phone on the debit machine. 

“Thank you, but you didn’t have to pay for me.”

Macklin shrugged, eyes wandering the artwork on the wall. “It was my idea to come here, I don’t mind.” 

You followed his gaze, taking in the rainbow of paint skillfully swept across the wall. 

“It’s a really pretty mural.” You commented, grabbing your now ready drink from the counter. 

“You’ll like where we’re headed next.” He smirked, turning on his heel and heading for the door. 

You scrambled after him, stepping through the door he held and back into the city heat. Physical activity isn’t something you’re in any way opposed to, but walking long distances in the mid-afternoon sun wasn’t the most enjoyable form of cardio. You wouldn’t dare complain though. Having Macklin Celebrini as your personal tour guide was perfect. His shoulder bumped yours as you walked, electric shock zipping up and down your left side. You stumbled, mistepping and tripping forwards. Large solid hands wrapped around your bicep, yanking you upwards. 

“You okay?” Mack asked, dipping his head down to face you.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Your cheeks flushed as you straightened. “Sorry.”

He chuckled, raking his hair from his face. “How did you manage to not spill your coffee?”

“I’d rather face plant than lose my drink. Priorities.” You giggled, continuing to walk.

As you turned the street, a large stone building with a grand staircase came into view. Between the pillars at the front entrance were banners with the words ‘Art Opens” scrawled across. 

“The Vancouver Art Gallery.” Macklin explained.

People littered the stairs, sitting on the steps and soaking in the sun. You stepped round them as you climbed. 

Macklin won the payment war for your tickets, holding your wrist away from the debit machine while he tapped his card. You scolded him before you thanked him, trying your best to look upset. 

“Left or right?”

You hummed, considering. To the right was a large wood-panneled room, it appeared to have multiple sculpture displays, the left had only one sculpture, an amalgamation of small items.

“Left.” You decided, leading the way.

Upon closer inspection the sculpture was a collections of shelves and stacked childrens toys. It looked like someone had raided a toybox from the 80s, glueing, hanging and stacking everything together.

“It reminds me of those I Spy books.” You said.

Macklin’s green eyes lit up, smile spreading. “It does. I spy with my little eye, a fireman’s hat.”

“Oh come on,” You playfully complained. “You can do better than that, the hat is right there.” 

“Okay, Okay,” He raised his hands, smile crinkling his eyes. “You wanna play it like that, then we can.” His green eyes sparkled as he scanned the art piece. “I spy with my little eye, the letter ‘Q’.” 

You hummed as you meticulously scanned all the elements of the sculpture. None of the alphabet blocks appeared to have the letter ‘Q” from this angle. Macklin’s gaze heated your neck and cheeks, but he could stare all he wanted. You were going to win this round. An old fashioned McDonald’s nametag sat on one of the shelves next to a model of a Volkswagen van. The name on the tag was Quinton.

You spun to face Macklin, pride shining in your smile. His face was meer inches from yours. 

“Found it.” You declared, voice far too soft.

He simply hummed as his tongue flicked out to lick his lips. His green eyes were trained on your lips, and this proximity allowed you to see the blonde stubble on his chin and the light dusting of freckles across his nose. His eyelashes were unfairly long and fluffy, and oh god you guys were just staring at each other. The realization heated your cheeks and you cleared your throat as you turned away.

“Okay,” You swallowed. “My turn.”

October 8, 2026 - Montreal CAN

Your phone was ringing again. It actually hadn’t stopped ringing since the news broke. First was your family, then friends, old teammates, and soon-to-be teammates. Now, it was Macklin. An incoming facetime call. Tapping the green icon, you propped your phone on your dresser as the call connected. 

“Hey!” Macklin’s chipper face filled your screen. He was wearing a grey hoodie, blonde locks pushed directly back and held with the hood. “Should I start with congratulations or condolences?”

You laughed, digging through your dresser for your most worn pair of sweats. “Congradulations is fine.”

“You’re not upset?” His brows furrowed.

You shook your head, tossing your pants into the open suitcase on your bed. “I’m sad, I guess. I’m gonna miss my teammates but getting traded was kinda inevitable. Our line chemistry just wasn’t there.”

“Seattle isn’t that bad either. It reminds me of Vancouver.”

“So I should pack my raincoat and rubber boots then?”

A sarcastic laugh sounded from your phone as Mack deadpanned. “It doesn’t rain that often. Just the winter.”

“I’m more of a snow girl, but I guess I'll adjust.”

“I’m sure you’ll love it.” Mack’s voice was laced with so much sincerity you knew you believed him. “Plus we play in Seattle more than Montreal.”

November 7, 2026 - Seattle USA

Since trade day, facetime calls with Macklin had become a regular occurrence. You were meal prepping while he packed for a roadie. San Jose would be playing the Kraken in two days, and since your team was on a week of home games, he decided you two would be hanging out. Since Macklin had taken the liberty of planning a tour of Vancouver for you, you felt it only fair to return the favour. 

“So, what’s the plan for Tuesday?" The blonde asked.

“I’m not telling you. The more you ask, the less inclined I am to give you any hints.” You sigh, stirring your large pan of alfredo sauce. 

“Oh come on,” He whined. “Please? Do I need to beg?”

That wasn’t something you’d be opposed to seeing, although in a different context than right now. The thought heated your cheeks and your heart hammered out of your chest. Unfortunately for your dignity, your friendship with Macklin had only fed the small flame of desire inside. Every late night call, teasing, accidental touch, it was all fueling the fire. Part of you wished he would just get a girlfriend so you could get over him. Grieve the loss of something that was never going to happen anyway.

“I’m not telling you. It’ll just have to be a surprise.”

November 10, 2026 - Seattle USA

Macklin insisted on walking, so now it was his responsibility to hold the umbrella. As much as rain was an inconvenience, you had to admit Seattle looked gorgeous in the rain. The towering glass buildings reflected in the puddles on the street. The white noise it offered was a pleasant backdrop to the city sounds of vehicles and pedestrian conversations. 

“I told you you’d like it here.” Macklin stated, smugness radiating from him. 

You smiled up at him, shoulders bumping as you tried to stay under the cover of the umbrella. “I don’t know if I'll stay here after retirement, but I definitely like it for now. Feels weird not to live in Canada though.”

He shrugged. “You get used to it. Or at least I did. Besides, you're not far from the border if you ever do get homesick.”

“Any guesses on where I’m taking you?” 

Macklin’s brows furrowed as he took in his surroundings. Green eyes sparkled when they landed on the Space Needle. His pink lips pulled into a smile. 

You won the payment war, swatting Macklin’s phone away from the debit machine. You were surprised to see how genuinely upset he appeared when the payment went through.

“Hey, you paid when we were in Van, I pay now.” You stated, leading him towards the elevator.

He huffed in response, blonde eyebrows still pulled tight.

“You can’t seriously be upset that I paid.” 

He shrugged, eyes trained on the floor avoiding your gaze. “I guess I just like treating you to things.” He mumbled.

Your heart fluttered and your toes tingled.Macklin likes treating you. That’s something no man has ever told you before. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You pulled your eyes from him, staring out the elevator windows as your face heated. That comment did not help tame the fire in your heart.

The elevator ride and walk to the lookout was silent. You would’ve assumed tense but Macklin was still incredibly close, the back of his hand brushing yours with every step. You learned against the metal bar, taking in the grey and gloomy skyline. It was breathtaking, no matter how many times you’d been here.

Warmth radiated down your back as Mack hovered behind you. Half his chest and his shoulder pressed against your back. His breath fanned against your cheek as he took in the view, large hands covering yours on the hand railing. 

“It’s beautiful.” He whispered, sending shivers down your spin.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“Just like you.”

Your breath hitched, and you spun around quickly, now chest to chest with him. He stared down at you, green eyes wide and sparkling. 

“What?” Your heart was in your throat.

“The view. Almost as beautiful as you.” His pink lips curled upwards.

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.”

Mack leaned closer, closing the space between your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed as you kissed him back, hands connecting behind his neck. His hands landed on your hips, pulling you closer, and the fire in your heart engulfed your whole body.

“Macklin,” You breathed when he pulled away.

“Yeah?”