For a fluff request… Date night at home with WillMack maybe they’re all cooking dinner together, and Will and Mack try making cupcakes to practice for the “elevated cupcake experience”… but they absolutely fail.
the kitchen is a disaster.
not the cute, organized kind of cooking mess either. flour is dusted across the counter, a cracked eggshell sits precariously close to the edge of the counter, and at least three mixing bowls are stacked in the sink, abandoned mid-mission.
you lean against the counter with your arms crossed, trying not to laugh.
across from you, will is staring down at the cupcake batter like it's a math equation he can't quite solve.
“i followed the recipe,” he insists.
macklin is standing next to him with a whisk in his hand, looking just as confused. “no, you didn’t.”
“yes, i did.”
“you added like, double the milk.”
will gestures offendedly at the bowl. “you said it looked too thick!”
you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
this whole thing had started because of the “elevated cupcake experience” will had dragged them into. something about learning to bake fancy cupcakes for a team thing.
now there's...whatever this is.
mack dips the whisk into the batter and lifts it.
it pours out like water.
you lose it, doubling over with laughter.
“that is not cupcake batter,” you laugh.
macklin points at you accusingly. “you were supposed to help!”
“i tried!” you defend. “you kicked me out of the kitchen.”
“because you said we’d mess it up! we didn't need that negativity,” mack says.
you gesture at the bowl. “…and how'd that work out?”
will sighs and grabs the box of cupcake liners anyway. “whatever. we’re baking them.”
mack shakes his head. “i don’t trust that batter.”
twenty minutes later, the timer goes off and mack takes the tray out of the oven. the cupcakes have sunk, each one forming a small crater in the middle. you immediately start laughing.
“…that’s definitely not right.”
mack pokes one gently and it jiggles.
“why are they wet?” he frowns, yanking away in disgust. will crosses his arms defensively. “they’re not wet.”
macklin attempts to lift one out of the tray and it collapses in his hand, a dripping, soggy mess of batter.
will frowns, defeated.
“okay,” he admits. “they’re not perfect.”
mack holds up the destroyed cupcake. "these are soup cupcakes.” he deadpans.
will looks between the two of you, then back at the tragic tray of wet cupcakes.
"maybe the elevated experience can just be buying cupcakes." he grimaces.
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thinkin about trevor just yappin constantly!! like this man does not shut up ever (affectionately)
you're lying on the couch, half scrolling through your phone, half listening to whatever story trevor's been telling since he walked in the door post practice.
“…so then I told him, I was like, dude, there’s no way you actually thought that was gonna work,” trevor says, gesturing wildly with both hands.
you hum absentmindedly, not even sure what part of the story he's on anymore.
“and then jamie looks at me, right? and I’m thinking—okay wait no actually before that—because this part matters—”
you glance up slowly.
"trevor."
he pauses mid-sentence. “yeah?”
“…what are you even talking about?”
“the play from practice earlier,” he says, as if that clears everything up.
“you started this story about a dog you saw this morning.”
he blinks, like he can't recall what exactly he was on about, head tilting in confusion.
“oh, right. okay, yeah," he tries again, pacing a couple steps across the living room, “i’m leaving the coffee place this morning and this dog just bolts across the street out of nowhere.”
you raise an eyebrow.
“like, i'm talkin' full sprint,” he says, mimicking the motion with his hands. “and i’m standing there thinking i’m about to watch the worst thing ever happen because there’s cars everywhere.”
you nod, stifling a smile.
“but then this guy runs out of the café yelling the dog’s name,” trevor continues.
“and?”
"the dog's name was meatball."
there’s a beat of silence.
then,
“but it reminded me of practice because jamie tried this move and I swear the puck popped up just like that dog—"
"trevor!" you groan, burying your face in the nearest pillow.
the apartment is dim except for the soft glow of the kitchen light. it’s late by the time kk gets home, and you’d been half-dozing on the couch while waiting for her.
the sound of the door unlocking startles you awake.
you sit up just as she walks in, hoodie pulled over her head and her hockey bag slung over one shoulder. she drops it by the door with a tired sigh.
“hey,” you mumble, voice still sleepy.
kk looks over at you and her expression softens instantly. “hey, baby. sorry, didn't mean to wake you.”
“you didn’t,” you say, even though she clearly did. you push the blanket off and stand, making your way over to her. you can practically feel the frustration radiating off her. “rough one?” you ask gently.
she shrugs, pulling the hoodie over her head. “yeah. just… one of those games, y'know?”
you nod a little. you’d watched it. you know exactly how hard she played. how she'd battled along the boards for puck possession, laid major hits, blocked shots like it were easy.
without another word, you wrap your arms around her. kk tenses for half a second, then melts into it, her arms sliding around your waist as she buries her face into your shoulder.
“you played so hard tonight,” you murmur.
she shakes her head slightly against you. “didn’t feel like it mattered.”
“it did,” you say quietly.
after a minute she pulls back just enough to look at you.
“you stayed up waiting?” she asks.
you shrug. “can't sleep without my favorite hockey player.”
kk snorts softly, the corner of her mouth lifting. the tension visibly eases from her shoulders.
“your favorite hockey player missed a wide-open net in the third tonight,” she says depreciatingly.
you reach up and gently push a strand of hair back from her face with a soft grin.
“still my favorite.”
her expression eases again, and she leans down to press a slow kiss to your forehead.
“c’mon,” she murmurs.
you let her pull you back toward the couch, where she immediately drags you into her side, one arm wrapped around you as you both sink into the cushions.
the game still lingers somewhere in her mind, but with you tucked against her, she lets herself forget about it for tonight.
beneath the cut, you'll find every fic i've written on pwhl players. this is also where you can find the list of players i'm willing to write about! (for inquires on players not on the list, send me a message!)
please make sure to read all warnings before reading! use the legend below for symbol meanings! lowercase intended
beneath the cut, you'll find every fic i've written on pwhl players. this is also where you can find the list of players i'm willing to write about! (for inquires on players not on the list, send me a message!)
please make sure to read all warnings before reading! use the legend below for symbol meanings! lowercase intended
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
beneath the cut, you'll find every fic i've written on college hockey players. this is also where you can find the list of players i'm willing to write about! (for inquires on players not on the list, send me a message!)
please make sure to read all warnings before reading! use the legend below for symbol meanings! lowercase intended
thinking abt a fluffy makeout sesh with will smith just a lot of kissing and cuddles cause he’s so prettyyyy
the apartment smells faintly like vanilla from the candle you lit earlier, mixed with the clean, warm scent that followed him out of the shower.
will's standing in the kitchen in a loose t-shirt and gray sweats, leaning against the countertop as he scrolls through his phone. the warmth of the overhead light catches his hair, soft golden curls drying against his forehead.
you don't even realize you're staring.
he glances up and catches you.
"what?" he asks, already smiling because he knows you, and he knows that look on your face.
you walk closer without answering, arms winding around his waist and effectively trapping him between your body and the counter. up close, it's actually unbelievable how pretty he is. his skin is still flushed from his shower. his lips are pink and plush, so soft-looking you have to resist the urge to reach out and thumb over them. his eyes are soft and half-lidded, like he's exactly where he wants to be.
"you're unreal," you mumble, thumbing over the apple of his cheek.
he lets out a quiet laugh, the sound low and a little shy, but he leans into your touch nonetheless, cheek warm beneath your palm.
"you have a serious staring problem," he teases softly.
"can you blame me?"
his curls fall slightly into his eyes before you push them back. his lips part like he's going to shoot back another tease, but he doesn't. instead, his hands slide down to rest on your hips.
the kiss starts gentle, the slow and steady press of his lips to yours. lingering in a way that makes you forget what you were supposed to be doing in the kitchen in the first place.
his hands tighten slightly on your hips, tugging you closer until there's no space left between you. your fingers slide up to his curls, and he makes the smallest sound against your lips, almost a sigh.
he tilts his head down, kissing you slower, like he's savoring the taste of your lips. his thumbs hook into the waistband of your sweats, rubbing comforting circles against your hips. every time you pull back for air, he chases, pressing another kiss to your lips like he can't bear let it end.
you smile into one of them and he finally pulls back for air, nose bumping into yours. his curls are messier, lips flushed. he rests his forehead against yours, breathing slow and warm against your skin.
"you were getting water," he murmurs, voice low and rough.
"hm," you hum. "changed my mind."
he grins, shy and boyish and beautiful, before leaning in to steal another kiss.
the game has been over for at least twenty minutes, and your heart is still racing.
you've watched the replay four times now. macklin celebrini. your macklin, in a team canada jersey, putting the puck in the net like it's a casual shoot around at the practice facility back in san jose. except it's not. it's the olympics. it's his first goal on the biggest stage in the world.
you wait until you know things are probably settling down, then press the call button.
it only rings twice.
"hey," he says, breathless and laughing. "did you see it?"
"did i-?" you scoff, like he's insane for even asking. "mack. you scored your first olympic goal. for team canada. i literally cried."
he lets out one of those shy, light laughs that you love so much. you can picture the blotchy pink rising up his neck and cheeks, and your heart clenches a bit at the visual.
"it doesn't feel real. i just...tipped it in."
"oh, 'just tipped it in,'" you tease. "yeah, no big deal. just the olympics."
there's a quiet pause. you can imagine him sitting there at his locker, one of the last few lingering in the locker room, still half-dressed in his gear, and damp hair sticking to his forehead.
"when it went in," he murmurs, " i just thought of all the early mornings, all the extra reps, just...everything. then i saw the flag in the crowd and it hit me."
"i'm really proud of you," your voice is soft, all hints of teasing gone. "not just for scoring, but for how hard you've worked. you earned your place there, mack."
that lands somewhere deep in his chest.
"thanks," he murmurs, voice chocked full of emotion and adoration. "that means a lot from you."
you lean back against the couch, smiling to yourself.
"keep the puck," you remind gently.
"it's already in my bag."
"good," you giggle. "it's going straight on the wall when you get home. i'm ordering a display case tomorrow."
he laughs and you find yourself missing his sweet, gummy smile.
"go celebrate," you tell him. "soak it in."
"i will," he says. "i miss you. call you when it's quieter?"
"i'll be here, probably still rewatching the clip."
"love you," his honeyed voice whispers over the receiver, like it's meant only for your ears.
"love you, more. congratulations, mack. you've earned this."
omg dom!will and dom!reader punishing a very bratty!mack 😵💫😵💫 pls say u see the vision. theyre so condescending & rough with him ughhhh
NSFW content beneath the cut
the two of you had barely touched him, but macklin was already squirming, brown hair sprawled across the pillows. cheeks pink and blotchy as he whines. will had stripped him long ago, leaving him bare against the tangle of sheets. he's a mess of deep purple love bruises; hickeys littered over his chest and thighs.
"you-you're both assholes," mack whines, legs kicking out against the sheets in something of a tantrum as will's fingers dance through the patch of dark curls at the base of his tummy. he's purposely paying no mind to mack's angry red cock, thick and twitching and practically begging to fill your mouth.
your hand brushes through his hair, comforting and condescending all at once. your fingers get caught, offering a hard tug to his scalp and the sound he lets out is so visceral, it makes your thighs clench. his back arches off the bed for the briefest moment before will locks him back down.
"what's wrong, buddy? you need something?" will patronizes, fixing mack with a lidded stare. mack whimpers, tucking his face into the side of your thigh so he can look up at you with a pathetic, pleading gaze.
will's sharp yank to his hair pulls him back.
"uh-uh. don't look at her. i asked you a question."
mack's cock twitches at his tone.
"please," his voice is nothing more than a choked whisper, eyes closed and bottom lip tucked so harshly between his sweet, gapped teeth that you're worried for a moment that he might draw blood. will grins victoriously, head tilting like he's trying to understand
"what was that?" he mocks, brushing the rough pad of his finger against the leaking tip of mack's cock.
"fuck! please! please, i'm sorry- i'm sorry!"
"you're sorry?" you join in on the teasing, tilting mack's chin up to properly see his face. he nods, green eyes blown out and wet from the frustrated tears pooling.
"you run your mouth all day, and now you're sorry?"
mack nods frantically, squirming and bucking his hips up to chase will's touch. he lets out a choked sob, overwhelmed and underwhelmed all at the same time.
"poor baby," you coo, brushing a stray tear from his cheek. "take a deep breath and try again. nicely."
obsessed with your writing pls give me minty sizekink headcannons nswf + sfw with a shorter girl like 5ft
sfw
taller!fraser who isn't just 6'2, he's built. broad shoulders, thick arms from years of hockey, and a solid chest. next to you, he doesn't just look tall. he looks huge.
taller!fraser who first clocks it when you're standing in front of the bathroom mirror together. you're brushing your teeth and he's behind you. your head barely reaches his shoulder. he just sorts of...blinks, then rests his chin on top of your head.
taller!fraser who has to mind his stride when you're walking together because you take two steps for every one of his.
taller!fraser who thinks it's sweet how small you look in his clothes. sleeves past your hands, hems of t-shirts nearly mid-thigh. he tugs the hoods of hoodies over your head just to laugh at how your face barely pokes out.
taller!fraser who likes to kiss your forehead mid-sentence.
taller!fraser who automatically bends down when you’re talking in crowded places so he can hear you better.
nsfw content below the cut
taller!fraser who is almost eye-level with you when he's on his knees.
taller!fraser who is obsessed with the way your tummy bulges with each thrust into your warm cunt.
taller!fraser who likes to fuck you on the counter just so he doesn’t have to bend as far, hands planted on either side of you while he stands between your knees.
taller!fraser who adores missionary because his hyper-aware of the way his body drapes over yours.
taller!fraser who could cum at the sight of you on your knees for him. he's far too sweet to ever admit it, but seeing you look so small does incredible things for him.
taller!fraser who lifts you effortlessly when you wrap your legs around him, hands steady under your thighs. he doesn’t even break the kiss.
taller!fraser who cums harder and pumps you fuller after he notices the intense size difference.
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will smith fluff with shy reader who babies him so much
the front door barely clicks shut behind him before you're off the couch and in front of him.
will's still cladded in team-issued sweats, sling strapped tight around his chest. the faint bruise peeking out from his collar is already turning a deep, ugly purple.
you swallow.
"hey," he says softly.
the pittsburgh game feels like it happened a year ago, not two days. you watched him get driven into the boards. your mind hadn't stopped replaying it yet.
you step forward slowly, like any sudden movement might send a new shock of pain through his bruised shoulder. you reach for his bag before he can get his shoes off and guide him inside, toe the door shut with your foot so he doesn’t have to twist.
"don't carry that."
"i've got it."
you take the duffle bag from his good hand, anyway, putting it aside gently, like the sound of it hitting the floor might startle him. then you step back in front of his, a worried crease tugging between your knitted brows.
"does it hurt?" you ask, voice barely audible.
"a little."
once will's settled on the couch, you kneel next to him without a word. your hands move to the strap at his neck, adjusting it in small increments, smoothing the fabric where it rubs at his skin.
"too tight?" you ask softly, fingers rubbing soft circles into the skin at the nape of his neck.
"no."
you adjust it again for good measure and he makes no move to stop you. you shove a pillow under his forearm, noticing the way his shoulder drops a fraction and the tension eases from his jaw.
"I hated that hit," you admit quietly, busying yourself with fluffing the pillow to avoid the gentle, guilt-ridden look he's fixing you with.
"i know," he murmurs almost apologetically.
he studies you for a moment. the worried crease between your brows, the way your thumb soothes comforting circles into his skin, the anxious bounce of your knee.
"you're hovering," he says.
"i know."
will shifts carefully, ignoring your quiet protests and draws you closer with his good arm until you're folded into his side. you adjust automatically, angling yourself away from his injury like it's contagious.
you press your head to his chest and exhale a warm breath.
"my poor baby," you murmur, muffled against the cotton of his t-shirt. he lets out a breathy laugh, relaxing deeper into the cushions.
"you're makin' it worse."
"i'm making it better."
you press a kiss to the center of his chest just to prove your point, and his good hand comes up to affectionately smooth over your hair. you drag the blanket over him, tucking the corners into him.
"i've got you, bub."
his good arm tightens around you.
you adjust the sling one more time, then tug the blanket up higher over his lap. he tips his head down to rest against yours, letting the warmth draw him into a lazy haze.
hi! i missed you on here hope you’re doing well!! saw you needed fluff requests for minty and ugh i just lay my head on his shoulder while he’s on his phone or something he just seems so sweet and comforting
the couch dips under the two of you, legs tangled through plush blankets. fraser's sitting next to you, one arm wrapped around your shoulder, the other scrolling through scores of a few west coast games. the soft glow of a lamp casts a golden hue across fraser's apartment, bathing everything in warmth.
outside, wind rattles the windows and the faint chill of boston winter creeps through. you're clad in one of his old toronto maple leafs hoodies that he keeps specifically for you, soft and worn, sleeves long enough to cover your perpetually cold hands.
you're tucked into him, head resting just above his collarbone, where his heartbeat is slow and sure. the scent of him — sandalwood scented shampoo and the familiar smell of his laundry detergent — wraps around you like a warm coat.
he shifts slightly, tilting his head to let his rosy cheek rest against the top of your head, and you can feel the rhythm of his steady breathing.
"you comfortable?" he murmurs, voice low and softened with sleep.
you nod against him. "mhm. don't move."
a quiet breath of laugh leaves his chest, and he places his phone face down on the coffee table.
his thumb moves in slow, absent circles on your upper arm. not meant to soothe but doing it anyway. fraser exhales, long and slow and unhurried, sinking deeper into the couch. his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose.
he leans in, pressing a warm kiss to your hairline.
"fras?"
"hmm?" he's drowsy, exhausted from a long day of practice and meetings. he's soft and pliant and so undoubtedly yours. his eyes are half-lidded, and his arms subconsciously tighten around you.
"don't fall asleep on the couch," you murmur quietly, brushing your fingers through his dark curls.
the lamp's golden glow illuminates the strong curve of his shoulders, the soft muss of his hair, and the gentle warmth of his face. his hand slips beneath the fabric of your hoodie, settling heavy on your bare waist.
"'kay. love you," he's already drifting off as he mumbles the serene words and you can't bring yourself to jostle him.
you let him rest there, slipping his glasses off his peaceful face, and ignoring the painful crick in your neck and the way he's heavy on your chest.
it was just summer. just the lake house. born of the consequences of the heat and too many beers after a boat day.
it brewed between moments. luke was distracted by his old umich teammates visiting; the house was crowded enough to allow you to slip away unnoticed, loud enough to muffle any noise.
you drifted down the hall towards jack's room, heart pounding from the thrill. the door was cracked open.
he was there, leaned against the dresser. his linen shirt was unbuttoned enough to offer you a peak of his tanned chest, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. the way he looked at you made your chest tighten and your belly twirl, reminding you of the danger.
luke had been your best friend since your freshman year at michigan. you trusted him in a way that felt natural; the trust that came from late night study sessions, spring break road trips, and too many overpriced drinks at rick's.
it made this so much more complicated.
"finally," jack groans, pushing off the dresser. "thought you'd chicken out."
"you said two minutes," you shoot back with a scoff, feigning annoyance despite the grin growing on your face.
"it's been five."
jack doesn't waste a second. a hand slipping around your waist, tugging you close enough to find your lips, hungry and fast.
you gasp into the kiss, fingers tangling in the fabric of his white button up. his hand presses firm against the small of your back as he subtly grinds his hips against yours.
"gotta be quick," you murmur, head tilting back to offer him more surface area as he nips down your throat. "i told luke i'd-" you cut yourself off with a gasp as jack's hands squeeze the fat of your ass.
he pulls back with a cocky grin.
"told him you'd what?"
"fuck you, J," he lets out an oof as you shove him down to the mattress with a roll of your eyes. he lands back on his elbows, grinning smugly up at you.
"it'd be my pleasure."
his hands find the hem of your tank top, dragging it up and over your head. a choked noise escapes from the back of his throat as your bare tits bounce free, hands automatically coming up to pinch and squeeze at the mounds.
"walking around here without a bra? what happened to my sweet girl, huh?" jack mumbles, gloating in the noise he tears from your lips as he tugs your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.
he tugs your shorts down, leaving you in only a pair of white cotton panties that are considerably wetter than they were before you walked into his room.
his hands drag you by your hips, settling you down in his lap, thighs spread on either side of his. he tugs his shorts down just enough to free his aching cock, letting it smack up against your bare inner thigh.
he tugs your panties to the side, sliding the head of his cock between your folds. his tip bumps your clit, drawing a moan from you that's a bit too loud for his comfort and he immediately swallows it with a messy, open-mouthed kiss.
he lifts you up just enough to position the tip of his cock at your entrance.
"c'mon, angel. ride it for me," he encourages, hands dragging up and down the smooth skin of your waist. you let out a little whine, sinking down on his cock and he groans at the feeling of your warm, wet heat enveloping him. the stretch of him is delicious, leaving a fluttery feeling in your tummy.
"that's it. fuckin' made for me, baby. gotta be quiet, right?" he murmurs, hips fucking shallowly up into you. "don't want lukey to hear."
+ anonymous: "please another smut with Mack celebrini I don’t mind what u do with it!!"
NSFW content below the cut
the pool water shimmered under the morning, san jose sunshine. the scent of sunscreen mingled with the familiar sweetness of blooming flowers and chlorine. you had spread your towel across your favorite lounge chair, soaking up the warm sun in your tiniest swimsuit after ignoring macklin's pleas to stay in bed. sunglasses perched on your nose; you leaned back and let the warmth envelop you like a cozy blanket.
then the sun abruptly disappeared, a shadow casting over your scantily clothed form. you peered up the nose of your glasses, catching macklin's pouty expression, arms crossed like you'd personally offended him.
"hi, sunshine," you coo, biting your laughter back at his sulky demeanor. he doesn't respond, settling down between your plush thighs on his tummy. his head rests on your chest, and he lets out warm puffs of air against your skin.
"baby, you're blocking my sun," you laugh, nails raking through his soft hair.
he lets out a barely audible whine, clinging to you. "you left me," he mutters petulantly. you giggle softly and he momentarily brightens, like the sound of your laugh could easily soothe all his worries away.
he lets out a soft hum, pressing a kiss to the curve of your boob before sliding lower. he moves down your torso with a drag of his lips as he drifts towards his favorite place. he pauses to press a sweet kiss to your naval, preening as you cup his pink cheek.
"where you going, honey?" you murmur, thumbing over the apple of his cheek. he sighs contentedly, not answering with words, but rather a gentle tug to the strings knotting your swimsuit bottoms together. he peeks up at you with a dreamy questioning glance.
"go ahead, babydoll," you murmur, petting his hair back out of his green eyes. his hands quickly untie the fabric, letting it fall away from your hips.
he wastes no time, slotting himself between your thighs. he takes a breath, savoring the scent of you, mixed with sunscreen and sweat. he quietly noses through your folds, resting there for a moment before allowing himself a taste.
his tongue slides through your folds, collecting your juices with a reverent moan. his tongue swirls your clit, relishing in the breathy noises he draws from your parted lips.
"just like that, mack. god, you're so good. i love you," you keen, fingers dancing through his hair. he flaunts through the praise, eagerly lapping up everything you have to offer.
he sucks your clit into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth and snickering when you give his hair a rough tug. he revels in the attention, slurping messily between your thighs. he moans like he's the one receiving, like he'd live right here, nose buried in your cunt, if you'd let him.
you have to drag him away when you finally finish all over his tongue. he's not happy, whining like a dog that just lost its favorite toy. he presses kisses to your clit, giggling as you twitch and write from overstimulation.
hiiii I'm a bit new here and idk how much you get into willmack,,, but i read the older fem reader x willmack smut and i was inspired
maybe something in the same universe where the reader makes them suck each other off? i can't decide which i like more: the mental image of mack very enthusiastically giving his first bj, or him getting head and writhing against the sheets... both of them including will desperately trying to hold himself together and the reader watching on, maybe giving some words of encouragement, or a guiding hand on one of their heads...
part one (can be standalone) this is my first shot at mlm so please bear with me lol
NSFW content below the cut
mack swallows thickly from where he's perched between will's thighs. his eyes are nervously locked on will's leaking cock, hard and imposing and so close he could almost taste the precum running down the length of it.
will's chest heaves, eyes glued to the ceiling. his shaky hands are fisted in the sheets. his face is twinged with a pink hue as he waits for something — anything — to relieve the need brewing between his legs. he shivers involuntarily as your nails rake through the fine hair coating his thighs.
macklin tentatively leans forward, licking a warm stripe up the underside of his cock, humming softly at the taste. "there you go, honey. just like that," you murmur reassuringly, nestled just close enough behind mack to speak gently in his ear.
will chokes on a moan, face scrunched as he grips the sheets tighter. you gently pry his hands free of the white cotton. "you can touch him, baby," you remind, guiding his hands to mack's soft strands. will lets out a shaky breath, lacing his hands into the blonde's hair and just barely tugging his head closer.
mack kindly obliges, taking a steady breath before wrapping his lips around the tip of will's cock. he suckles once, eyes flittering up to gauge will's reaction.
will softly cries out, offering a quick jerk to mack's hair that he immediately attempts to soothe when mack whines pitifully.
your hand finds the back of mack's neck, a guiding hand as he takes more of will's cock down his throat. "shh, easy, honey. take your time."
will moans and gives a jerky thrust into his mouth, causing mack to choke. you admonish will with a quick pinch to his thigh, hand rubbing up and down macklin's back.
"sorry. f-fuck! sorry, mack," will whines, writhing against the mattress as mack's confidence grows. his head bobs without your guidance, eagerly suckling and swirling his tongue along will's aching cock. he's a mess of spit and tears, barely giving himself a moment to breath before returning to the task at hand.
will lets out a deplorable sob, hand searching desperately for yours. "you need me to hold your hand, angel?" you coo almost mockingly, intertwining your fingers with his as he tries to remain still.
"mack, you're gonna- shit! i'm gonna cum, you gotta-" will interrupts himself with a high-pitched whimper, one hand squeezing yours as the other attempts to pull mack off. mack lets out an indignant hum, swatting his hand away as he continues to suck enthusiastically.
will cries, ripping his hand from yours to hold mack's head down on his length, shooting warm spurts down his throat. "good boy, will. breath, honey," you hum, petting through macklin's mussed hair.
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heyyyyy girl, could you write a soft smut with wsh please!!!! love ya!
+ anonymous: "will smith and reader being really soft and giggly in bed"
NSFW content below the cut
the lights are off except for the floor lamp by the window, casting everything in a hazy, honey-gold glow. clothes are scattered across the hardwood floor of his bedroom, discarded with nervous giggles and awkward hands. will's bare form hovers over yours, cross chain dangling between the two of you. it sways a little every time he lets out a quiet giggle.
he leans his forehead against yours with no hesitation, eyes flickering shut with a quiet noise escaping his throat. it's something between a groan and a whimper and it makes your tummy twist, desperate to hear it again.
your cunt flutters around him and will chokes out a full whine, burying his face in the crook of your neck. your hands find his back, eager to trace down the hard plane. his chest heaves, then he lets out an airy laugh.
"you're so warm," he gasps through the words, almost as if he can't believe this is real. like he'd do anything to stay buried here forever. his fingers tighten around your waist when you giggle.
"you can move, will," the muscles along his back tense at your whispered words and he takes a composing breath before drawing his hips back, cock dragging through your warm, gummy walls. his breath catches on another disbelieving laugh.
"holy fuck," he mutters, hips snapping forward. his tip catches a perfect spot, causing your nails to dig into the soft skin of his back. he lets out a little yelp of surprise and you both pause for a second.
"sorry," you poorly bite back a grin, smoothing your hands across the offended surface. will's face is a soft shade of pink, embarrassed but ultimately lost in the snug, wet heat you've so beautifully offered up to him.
"no, you're not."
you stare at each other for a moment before dissolving into giggles. he tries to kiss you through a mess of laughter, settling for obnoxiously smooching across your entire face. "will!" you laugh, pushing his face away.
he finally pulls back, a dopey smile gracing his perfect lips. "sorry," he fibs. "you're so pretty."
your legs hook around his waist and will takes the hint, readjusting his grip on your waist. his hips snap against yours and his cock nudges that spot against, drawing a moan from you. he takes his chance, tongue slipping past your parted lips, warring with your own.
he groans into your mouth, hips losing their rhythm as he draws closer. his hand fumbles between your bodies, desperately swirling your clit. "fuck, 'm not gonna last long," he pants, a gorgeous whine ripping from his throat with another brutal thrust of his hips. your hands find his soft, golden curls and give them a sharp tug.
he chokes on a gasp, furiously circling your soaked clit. your tummy tightens, the familiar feeling sneaking up on you. "please cum with me. fuck- 'm sorry, baby. i'll make it up to you later, i promise," will pleads, thrusts getting sloppy. you can feel his cock twitch as he nears his release.
"will!" your cunt clamps down on him, milking him for all he's worth as you soak his cock. "ha- oh god. shit!" he gasps out, thrusting shallowly as he pumps the condom full. he's tense, eyes shut tight and hands digging almost painfully into your hips.
he comes down slowly, relaxing against your warm body. he lets out an airy laugh, pressing gentle kisses to your throat. "holy shit. i've never cum that quick in my life."
summary: a dog park meet cute with the potential to change your life. or: months ago, @theemporium & i went down a spiral ab that picture of Nico & the dog with the devil horns. this fic is what came out of it. 10.1k words
warnings: mentions of alcohol, doodle slander (adopt don’t shop)
There’s a guy in the dog park who’s staring at you. Really, you should be more nervous about it, because he’s a large man, and you don’t know him, and he keeps looking at you. But his dog- Bernie, you think he called her- is cute, and she’s getting along great with your dog, so you’re a bit inclined to let it slide. Besides, he’s not being creepy. He’s probably just checking to make sure you’re okay with your dogs playing together. He’s here often- you recognize him well, but it’s the first time the dogs have taken interest in each other.
You watch another dog join the fray, some sort of hypoallergenic doodle, if you had to guess. The type that costs thousands of dollars for no apparent reason. It’s wearing a Patagonia puffy jacket, which makes you laugh. You hide it behind your hand. You watch as the dog bows low between your dog and Staring Guy’s dog, and then the doodle rolls over in the mud, and-
“Excuse me!” Someone yells. “Excuse me- hey, you! Is that your dog?”
You turn and blink, realizing the woman is talking to you. She’s storming your way in her matching Patagonia coat, face red with anger. You stare, eyes wide. Staring Guy is looking, too, not even trying to hide it now.
“Um. Which one?” You ask.
She gestures wildly. “The- that black mutt,” she hisses. You frown. “The one who was in the mud with my Bessie.”
Staring Guy snorts from his spot twenty feet away. Your eyes flicker to his, and he’s holding back laughter. You chew on your lip to keep yourself from doing the same.
“Yeah, that’s Moose,” you say, turning to look over your shoulder. Moose and Bernie have abandoned Bessie in the mud, more interested in sticks. “Sorry, is something wrong?”
“Yes! My dog is covered in mud now!” The woman snaps, and you rear your head back. “I mean, honestly-“
“Oh, yeah, she really seemed to like that puddle,” you agree, nodding. “You know how dogs are.”
She shakes her head angrily. “Not my Bessie. She’d never do that. So.”
“So?”
“So are you going to pay for her grooming? And the dry cleaner for her coat, oh, that coat-“ the woman sighs. “She’d have never done this if she hadn’t been influenced-“
You turn to look over your shoulder, to where Bessie is still rolling in the mud. “I’m sorry. Are you trying to say my dog influenced yours to roll in the mud? And now you want me to pay for- you understand how ridiculous you sound, right?”
She huffs. “Bessie is a well behaved, purebred Bernedoodle. Yours is-“
She stammers, so you fill in the gap. “Moose is a rescue.”
“Right, so-“ she waves her hand. “You see what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.” You say, incredulously.
The woman is so angry, now, that her whole face has gone beet red. She lurches towards you, and you take a couple steps back. Her hands are in fists at her sides. You’re not exactly afraid of her, but you hadn’t been planning on getting into a fistfight in the dog park, and she’s making you feel a little uneasy.
“Hey,” a deep voice says. You turn and find Staring Guy, walking up with his hands in his pockets, brows furrowed. “Everything okay?”
You widen your eyes at him, praying he gets the message. He sends you a smile, turning up the corners of his mouth softly. He has a kind face, warm brown eyes, thick eyebrows that arch over them. The woman goes off on her tirade again, about her precious Bessie and your awful influence of a mutt, and how you hadn’t done anything to stop them from playing in the mud. Staring Guy’s dog comes trotting up as she goes on and on, and Moose isn’t far behind. He winds himself in front of your legs, and you reach down to fix one of his ears, the one that always gets flipped inside out. Bessie isn’t far behind. You chew on your cheek to stop yourself from laughing at the sight of her, soaked in mud.
“Oh, that’s probably Bernie’s fault, actually,” Staring Guy says, dark brows furrowed. “She really loves the mud. She’s the one who started it.”
The woman splutters. “Oh- but- well- I’m not sure-“
Staring Guy shakes his head. He takes a couple steps forward, effectively placing himself between you and her. Your heart melts just a little. Moose looks up at him, and his ear flips back inside out. You sigh at the sight of him- he is covered in mud, and it’s going to be a pain to get him cleaned up.
“I just think she should’ve tried to keep them out of the mud.” The woman says, though she’s calmed down a bit.
Staring Guy’s deep voice and large stature seem to have calmed her down a bit. If you’re being honest, he’s calmed you, too. He’d make a good mediator, you think. He’s soothing.
“It’s a dog park, not a doggy day care,” he says, voice a little bit more tense. “You’re responsible for your own dog. Says so on the sign.”
The woman huffs and looks between the two of you. She seems to realize she’s getting nowhere, and she marches off, leash in hand, headed for poor Bessie, who’s likely in for the bath of a lifetime. You and Staring Guy watch her go, staring as she stomps across the park, to the gate, and all the way out to her shiny car. She steps in a puddle on the way out and splatters mud up her jeans. You hunch over and start to giggle.
Staring Guy lets out a laugh, too. “That was fucking ridiculous,” he says.
You nod, unable to speak as the laughter takes over. Moose sits down on the grass and stares up at you. Bernie sits down next to him and does the same. They both look incredibly concerned. You wipe tears of laughter from your eyes and stand up.
“I mean, she’s probably right, Moose is definitely a bad influence,” you say, cooing down at your dog. “I mean, look at him.”
Staring Guy laughs and tilts his head. “His name’s Moose?”
“Basic, I know,” you shrug. “They were calling him that at the shelter. I felt bad changing it, so here we are.”
Staring Guy shakes his head. “No, I like it. It’s a good name. This is Bernie,” he says, nudging his dog with his knee. “And I’m Nico.”
He sticks out his hand to shake. You do so, and introduce yourself, too. He repeats your name back to you with a soft smile. Bernie seems to take this as a sign, and she walks up to you, sniffing the air, tail wagging wildly. You crouch down to pet her, running your hands through her thick, sandy fur. She pants happily.
“She’s adorable,” you say, looking up at Nico. “Golden retriever?”
He shrugs. “Mostly, I think. She’s a rescue. I thought about doing one of those dog DNA things, but…”
“It never feels important enough,” you fill in. He’s scratching Moose’s head, and he nods, grinning. “Moose is a rescue, too.”
“They’re the best kind of dogs,” he says, finding the spot behind Moose’s ear that makes his left leg thump against the ground. Nico laughs. “No Schnoodles or Whoodles for me.”
You laugh and stand up, wiping your hands on your jeans. Moose looks between you and Nico, tail wagging happily. Not for the first time, you wonder what he’s thinking. You wish you could read his mind.
“Well, we’ve got to go,” Nico says, toying with the dog leash. “But it was nice to meet you.”
“It was nice to meet you both,” you say, giving Bernie one last head pat. “Thanks for your help.”
He shrugs. “Not a problem.”
…..
Weeks slip by, and Nico stays a constant in them. Wednesdays and Fridays, you find him at the dog park in the mid afternoon, Bernie waiting eagerly for you to let moose off his leash. The two of you chat and watch your dogs play and then bid each other farewell to go back to your own lives. It’s nice. He’s nice.
“Are you busy?” Nico asks one afternoon, shoulder nearly touching yours.
Moose and Bernie are playing in a pile of leaves, a week post Bessie-mud incident. You watch as the wind picks one up, and Moose chases after it. Bernie chases after him. You turn to look at Nico, feeling slightly confused.
“Like, now?” You ask.
He nods. “Now, and for a little while? There’s this dog friendly coffee shop down the street. I was going to take Bernie there. Though maybe you’d want to come with me.”
Your heart jumps. He wants you to come with? He wants to see you outside of this dog park, outside of the primary meeting spot. He wants to see you.
You nod. “Yeah, sure, that sounds sweet. You’re not gonna murder me, right?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “No, I’m not. Has anyone ever said yes to that?”
“Nope,” you say. “And I’m still alive, so it’s working.”
The two of you gather up the dogs and head for the coffee shop. They walk together happily on their leashes- matching ones from the same brand. You and Nico chat about the leashes, and dog supplies in general, and your favorite pet stores. By the time you make it to the coffee shop, you’ve run out of dog topics and moved on to other ones. You talk about coffee and New Jersey and home- which is Switzerland, for Nico, which explains the accent. You order coffee and pastries and take a seat at one of the outdoor tables. The early afternoon sun is shining down. There’s an autumn chill in the air, but the sun takes the edge off.
Nico gets dodgy when you start talking about work. At first, you wonder if he’s some sort of politician- he has the face for it- or a business guy. He doesn’t seem like the type to work in the tall buildings in the city, crunching numbers and barking orders. You’re not sure what else would’ve brought him to the US from Switzerland, though.
“D’you watch hockey?” He asks, and you blink.
“Not really,” you shrug. “It was never my thing. A few of my friends are big fans, though.”
“Of the Devils?” He asks, nodding his head down the street, where, if you walked far enough, you’d find the Prudential Center, home of New Jersey hockey.
You nod and swallow a sip of your coffee. “Mhm. S’that what you do for work? You work for the Devils?”
He shrugs, then nods. “Basically.”
You let it go, then. Maybe he’s just trying to be careful- after all, he barely knows you. You’d done the same, been careful about not telling him where you work. He seems trustworthy enough, but you can never be too careful. The two of you move on to more important topics- which donuts are best, and what the best restaurants in town are. The afternoon slips away quickly and quietly, and you only realize you’re late when your friend calls you.
“Shit,” you mutter, standing up. “I know I said I wasn’t busy but- I have to meet my friends for drinks, and I’m probably going to be late-“
“It’s okay,” Nico says, softly. “I’ve gotta go too. But this was really nice.”
You smile softly. “It was. We should do it again sometime.”
You both wave goodbye and take off down the street in different directions- you, back towards your apartment to drop off Moose, and him towards his, you assume. You can’t wipe the smile off your face the whole way, and it’s still stuck there by the time you slip into the booth at the restaurant a half hour later.
“I’m so sorry,” you gush, as your friend Alyssa sends you a glare. “I was out at the dog park with Moose, and then I lost track of time, and-“
Your other friend Nora laughs. “Were you too busy staring at Dog Park Guy?”
Your face grows hot. “His name’s Nico.”
Both of them blink at you. “Did you actually talk to him?”
You let out a long sigh and launch into the story- Bessie and her bitchy owner, Nico’s rescue, the increased interactions, and the cafe today. Their eyes grow impossibly wider.
“Sounds like a meet cute,” Nora squeals.
“If he’s cute,” Alyssa adds.
You roll your eyes and ignore the looks they’re giving you. “We’re just friends. Because our dogs are friends.”
“Like I said,” Nora says. “Cute.”
Eventually they drop the subject. You have your drinks and catch up, and make plans to hang out again the next night. Alyssa wants to watch the hockey game. She’s the biggest Devils fan you know, could name every player and all of their stats. You and Nora agree to watch, as long as she provides the alcohol.
You show up just after the game starts the next afternoon, Moose in tow. You snag a plate and grab some snacks and join Alyssa on the couch.
“Can you grab me a beer?” You call out to Nora, who’s in the kitchen.
She returns with a bottle in hand, passing it off to you. You thank her and curl up further on the couch, turning to look at the TV. You wonder if Nico’s working, if he has to be at the games or if he does more of the behind the scenes stuff. Maybe he runs the charity branch. That would fit him. You take a sip of your beer, and then nearly spit it right back out.
You turn to Alyssa, who has the remote, and make a frantic gesture. “Rewind it.”
“What?” She asks, not looking away from the TV. “It’s a power play, I’m not gonna-“
“Rewind it,” you say again, reaching for the remote. “Lyss, just-“
“What’s wrong?” Nora asks, frowning at you. “You don’t care about hockey.”
“No, I know, I just- I thought I saw someone,” you say, staring at the screen.
“In the crowd?” Nora asks. You don’t answer, so she says your name. “Babe, what is going on?”
Before you can answer, Alyssa throws her hands up in the air and cheers. Goal. The puck is in the back of the net, and the camera zooms in on the player who scored- number 86, the name Hughes emblazoned on his back. One of his teammates comes skating towards him, nearly shoving him into the wall, and-
You gasp when the camera settles on his face. Number 13, Hischier. Nico Hischier, you would assume, unless Dog Park Nico has a doppleganger hanging around Newark. A doppleganger who also works for the Devils. You work for the Devils? Basically. Oh. Nora doesn’t seem to notice anything, but Alyssa turns to you slowly, eyes wide.
“Wait,” she says. “You wanted me to rewind it, to where?”
“It’s fine,” you mutter.
She’s staring at you, while you stare at the TV screen. “You said Dog Park Guy’s name was Nico,” she says, brows furrowed. “What’s his last name?”
You shrug. “Haven’t asked him yet.”
She blinks once, then twice, and when you see Nico on the screen again, you must react, because she leans over and grabs your face. She pulls you to look at her, then at the screen. She grabs the remote and pauses it, and Nico’s face fills up the whole picture. He’s grinning wide.
“What’s happening right now?” Nora asks. “Somebody fill me in.”
Alyssa points at the screen. “That man, right there, is the team captain. Hischier,” she says, pausing for dramatic effect. “Nico Hischier.”
Nora gasps. You shrink down into yourself. You can’t exactly tear your eyes from the screen. It’s definitely him. You’d know that face anywhere. You can see the smile, can picture it in the dog park as he pets your dog.
“Is that Dog Park Guy?” Nora asks. You nod, figuring there’s no point in lying now. “Oh my god, you didn’t mention he was hot.”
Alyssa groans. “I’ve never been more jealous of you in my life.”
“You’re engaged,” Nora reminds her.
“I know,” Alyssa sighs. “But god, he’s dreamy.”
Nora nods. You curl further in on yourself and reach for the remote to hit play. The game starts back up again, and you try to pretend you’re not watching for his number. Nora and Alyssa don’t let it go for the rest of the night. You have a feeling they won’t be letting it go for a while.
When you see him next Wednesday at the dog park, you greet him with, “Hiya, Cap.”
You’ve walked up to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. Bernie and Moose are rolling around in fallen leaves. Nico smiles at you at first, and then, as if he’s realized what you said, he jolts. His brows furrow, and you grin.
“You work for the Devils, huh?” You tease, grinning widely.
His cheeks go red, and he laughs. “You said you didn’t care about hockey.”
“I don’t,” you admit. “But my friend Alyssa does, and she had the game on when I was at her place the other day, and imagine my surprise when I looked up at the screen and saw you on the ice.”
He smiles sheepishly and shakes his head. “Honestly, I didn’t tell you because I thought it’d come off as bragging.”
Moose barks, and you both turn to look, but he’s just playing with Bernie. The two of them have found a stick in the leaves, and they’re pulling back and forth. Bernie has a leaf stuck to her nose, and it makes you smile even more.
“It’s pretty cool, though, isn’t it?” You ask. “Lyss said you’re like. A rockstar. Team captain, first round draft pick-“
“Oh, she went way back,” he teases.
“She’s a Jersey girl,” you say with a shrug. “You’re lucky she’s already engaged or she’d be here, too.”
He laughs louder at that, and his shoulder bumps against yours. Across the grass, your dogs roll around on the ground, happy as can be. It makes you smile wider, makes your heart warm.
…..
Early fall turns into late fall, a change that brings with it colder weather, something you’re already regretting not noticing. Nico frowns when he sees you in the park. He makes his way over as Bernie runs to greet Moose, and he has his brows furrowed. He’s wearing a beanie and a thick hoodie, and you envy him.
“Almost didn’t recognize you,” he says, tugging at the hood of your thin sweatshirt, which you have pulled tightly over your head. “Where’s your coat? And a beanie, maybe?”
You shrug and bury your hands deeper in your pockets- you don’t want him to see you’re not wearing gloves either. “I live on the third floor. It looked warm out, and by the time I got outside, there was no way I was dragging him back upstairs.”
You shrink slightly under the disapproving look he gives you. He sighs heavily, and you smile at him, like that’ll make it better. You want nothing more than to bury your face in his chest, press yourself into his body and soak up some of the heat. You’re sure he’s warm. He just looks like he runs warm.
You don’t stay long at the park, because your hands are freezing and so is your face. Nico bids you farewell with a little wave, and you rush home to your warm apartment.
Two days later, when you show up to the dog park, Nico’s already there. Bernie’s running circles around him, barking happily. She skids to a stop when she spots Moose, and you let him off the leash to join her. Nico waves, a big grin on his face as the two dogs take off together.
“Still no beanie?” He teases, shaking his head.
“I thought the cold day was a fluke,” you mutter grumpily, hands shoved in your pockets. “I worked from home today. I didn’t know it was this cold.”
Nico continues to shake his head. His next move is so unexpected you don’t quite realize what he’s doing until it’s over- he pulls a beanie from his pocket and pulls it onto your head for you, adjusting it carefully with narrowed eyes. You can’t help the laugh that slips past your lips. Then he slips his jacket off his shoulders.
“Nico-“ you protest as he wraps it around you.
“I wore layers, and I’m warm,” he says, holding the jacket around your shoulders and waiting until you slip your arms through the sleeves reluctantly. “Better?”
His jacket is warm and cozy, and you smile and nod. “Much better.”
He grins back, eyes crinkling at the edges. His cheeks are flushed, and it makes your face feel warm, too. You shove your hands in your pockets- his pockets- and turn back to watch the dogs, standing almost shoulder to shoulder with him. The very first flakes of snow of the year begin to fall. Moose and Bernie don’t seem to notice. If Nico notices the way you lean close to him, trying to shelter yourself from the cold, he doesn’t say anything.
…..
The next time you see Nico, he’s stressed. He’s got his beanie off, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. Bernie, as if she senses his distress, is sitting at his feet patiently, even though her leash is off. You let Moose run over. He sniffs at Bernie, then at Nico’s knee, and whines.
“You’re really bringing down the mood,” you call out.
Nico’s head whips up, bottom lip still tugged between his teeth. Something twists in your chest. You don’t like to see him upset like this, you realize. You’re growing far too attached. And yet. Here you are.
You cock your head questioningly. “You okay?”
He sighs. “Sorry. Yeah. Just- my usual dog sitter apparently moved and didn’t tell me until this morning, and I have to be out of town starting tomorrow, and so now I’m trying to find someone to watch her or somewhere to board her and-“
“I can take her,” you blurt out.
His rambling comes to a screeching halt, and he blinks at you. “I don’t want to inconvenience you, or…”
“Don’t be silly,” you say, shaking your head and smiling. “Her and Moose get along great, and I already know half of her routine. And I think she likes me alright, too. It wouldn’t be a hassle.”
Nico puffs out his cheeks, glancing up at the sky. “That would be… are you sure? Because. I mean-“
“Nico,” you say, softly. His gaze flickers back to yours. “I’d love to watch her. How long are you gonna be gone?”
He bites his lip again. “Friday through Sunday.”
You nod. “Easy peasy.”
You should probably be expecting it, just because it seems like something he would do, but you yelp a little when he hauls you against his chest. You hug him back, though, and laugh into his shoulder, and the dogs both bark at your feet. Then Bernie takes off running, as if she knows everything is fine now. Moose follows happily.
“Thank you,” he says, chest rumbling against you, and your breath catches.
“Anytime,” you respond. You mean it.
He drops Bernie off the next morning before you start work for the day. He texts you from the lobby of your apartment building to let you know they’re headed up, which is sweet. You hear Bernie before he knocks on the door, and when you open it, Moose perks up from his dog bed. He’s up within seconds, tail wagging, searching through his pile of toys for one to bring Bernie.
“Look at them,” you coo, watching the two dogs greet each other happily. “We’re gonna have such a fun weekend, aren’t we, Bernie?”
Nico’s smiling, too, when you look up and meet his gaze. He has a dog bed tucked under one arm, and a bag of other supplies in the other. You let the dogs play while he unpacks the stuff on your kitchen counter and tells you what little you don’t know about Bernie’s routine. When she eats, what toys are her favorites, and so on.
“Normally I tell people about the dog park,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “But you already know that.”
You nod eagerly. In the living room, Bernie is sniffing Moose’s dog bed.
“Oh, um. Sometimes for the first bit she won’t want to eat,” he says. “I got her when she was young, and it was during the lockdown, so. She wasn’t used to being away from me. She’s gotten better about it, but… if she goes too long, you can put a little cheese on her food and that usually helps.”
You nod in understanding. “Moose was the same the first time I left him. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of her.”
Nico laughs. “I think this is actually the least worried I’ve been about leaving her, ever.”
You set up Bernie’s dog bed in the living room, a little ways away from Moose’s to give them each their space. Nico lays out her favorite toys for her, and a threadbare red hoodie that you’d bet used to be his. He wavers in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, watching as Bernie inspects her stuff. It makes your chest ache a little bit. He seems reluctant to leave.
“D’you have time to sit for a little bit?” You ask. “I have plenty of coffee.”
He turns over his shoulder and grins. “Coffee would be great.”
It should probably feel strange, to have Dog Park Guy sitting at your kitchen table, sipping coffee out of a big mug that looks small in his hands, but it doesn’t. It feels almost natural. Like this was always how this was going to go. He tells you about the away game he’s going to play, about their odds and the other team and how he’s stuck sharing a hotel room with Jack, who he loves but who also talks in his sleep loudly and denies it. You laugh and commiserate & complain to him about your work day, which is full of meetings. By the time the coffee is gone, he doesn’t really seem to want to leave, but he tells you he has to finish packing and get to the rink, and you’ve got a meeting anyways, so. You walk him to the door. He crouches down to pet Bernie one more time, and lets out a big sigh.
“I’ll see you all soon,” he says, smiling. “Have a good weekend.”
Bernie sits down and stares at him. You see his smile waver, so you step forward and pat the top of her head gently, then scratch behind her ears the way you’ve seen Nico do so often.
“Be safe,” you tell him. “We’ll be here waiting.”
Bernie does get a little sad just after he leaves. You feel for her, because you’re strangely sad about him being gone, too. You take most of your work meetings from the couch so she can curl up with her head on your lap. Moose keeps bringing over his favorite toys and dropping them off for her, but she doesn’t take much interest. Nico texts around lunchtime, just before he’s getting on a plane, and asks how it’s going. You send back a picture of her head in your lap, your work meeting in the background.
she seems very interested in Carol’s progress report.
Nico sends back a little laughing emoji, and then She looks cozy. Thank you again!
After work, you leash up both dogs and walk down to the dog park. You want to keep Bernie’s routine as consistent as possible. The two of them do so well together, walking happily, never tugging on the leashes. You snap a pic of them, and send that to Nico, too. He probably won’t see it for a while.
Once you’re at the dog park, you let them off leash to run around. They take off together, barking happily, kicking up piles of dead leaves like the always do. You sit on a bench and fight the urge to text Nico.
It’s just that in the couple of months since you finally spoke to him, you’ve found yourself really looking forward to your dog park chats. Venting about your days or catching up or telling fun stories about your dogs. It’s not the first time he’s been gone, but it’s the first time it’s hit you like this. It’s odd.
You take them both home eventually, calling them over and clipping on the leashes. Back in your apartment, it’s dinnertime- you heat up leftovers for yourself and give the dogs their food. You try not to watch Bernie like a hawk. Nico had said she might not want to eat at first. But when you do sneak a peek, they’re both eating happily. You breathe a sigh of relief- she must feel comfortable enough.
They wander off into the living room before you do, and what you find makes you stop in your tracks. Bernie’s got her dog bed in her mouth, dragging it over next to Moose’s. He sits on his bed happily, wagging his tail at you. Bernie drops the bed and immediately curls up on it, letting out one of her signature big sighs, the ones that Nico always copies. You let out a matching sigh, and she wags her tail.
You snap a picture of the two of them curled up next to each other and send it off to Nico.
He replies just before you roll over to go to sleep. Did she move her bed??
Yup, you answer. Ate all her dinner, too
He takes a while to type his response.
Adorable. Thank you. Again.
…..
You’re not a hockey fan. You know this about yourself. You’ve watched games enough times to know this. But when Saturday rolls around, you turn on the game anyway. Bernie should watch the game, after all. She should watch her dad play.
You cuddle up on the couch with both dogs, who are definitely paying less attention to the screen than you are. They both fall asleep halfway through the first period, and you roll your eyes. You could turn it off, but you find that you don’t want to. It’s suddenly different when you have a reason to be invested. Nico’s on the ice, at least for some of the time.
When he scores, you cheer so loudly you startle both dogs awake. They look around, bewildered. You snap a pic of the two of them with the tv in the background and send it to him.
Bernie & Moose say good job!!
He doesn’t answer until you’re in bed for the night, again. Time differences and media responsibilities and all that. He heart reacts to the photo, and then you watch him type for a couple moments, the little dots bouncing at the bottom of the screen.
How’d you like the game? He asks.
You waffle a bit on what to say back. You wonder if he’s paying enough attention to notice you’re taking a while to answer, or if he’s moved on.
You settle for sending back, it’s a lot more fun to watch when i’m cheering for you
He’s typing back nearly immediately. My good luck charm!
You laugh and lock the phone, setting it down on the nightstand. Bernie and Moose are curled up in bed with you, snoring away. You’re not sure why you feel so happy, but you hope it brings you good dreams.
Nico gets back into town late Sunday afternoon.
There’s a knock on your apartment door. From the couch, you call out “Come in!”
You hear him kick off his shoes in the entryway as he calls out a greeting. He pads towards the living room, and you lean up slightly to see him as he walks in.
“You should really lock your door, you know,” he says. “I could’ve been anyone.”
“But you’re you,” you lilt as he rounds the corner of the couch. “Besides, I’ve got my guard dogs.”
He eyes you skeptically. The dogs are in their same spots as the picture you sent him yesterday. Moose is curled against your chest, while Bernie is laid out over your legs. You’re tucked under a blanket, smiling up at him. Neither of the dogs have moved a muscle, from the knock on the door until now.
“Great guard dogs,” Nico teases.
“Well, they know you. Bernie, look who’s here,” you say. His dog lifts her head, wagging her tail slightly. You shrug. “Guess she likes me more.”
“Can’t blame her,” Nico says, stretching his arms above his head. “You guys look cozy.”
“And you look tired.”
You’re not trying to be mean, but he does. There are purple shadows beneath his eyes, his hair is a mess. The scrubs along his jaw looks to be at least a day old, by your guess.
He snorts. “Thanks. I am.”
You pout. “You could join us, if you want.”
You shift your feet slightly to open up a space for him on the other end of the couch. He eyes the spot with a tired gaze, scrubbing his hand against his jaw. You’re trying to ask casually, to pretend like it won’t make a difference to you one way or the other if he stays or not, but you really do hope he sits down. You’ve missed him- it’s almost embarrassing how much you’ve missed him.
“If I do that I’m definitely gonna pass out,” he warns, voice quieter. “Probably for an extended period of time.”
You nod. “I’d expect nothing less.”
He huffs and drops his car keys on the coffee table. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
You laugh when he climbs his way onto the couch. He sits down at the opposite end, his legs side by side with yours. The dogs move to accommodate him, though not without their own grumbling about it. Bernie finally gives in and gets excited to see him, fumbling her way onto his lap. He wraps his arms around his dog and snuggles in, all while you watch, unable to pull your gaze away, heart pounding in your chest. He’s here, in your apartment, on your couch. He looks so soft.
When he falls asleep in no more than ten minutes, it makes you feel even warmer. He trusts you enough to fall asleep here. Bernie is curled against his chest, also falling asleep, reunited at last. You find yourself dozing off, too, brought on by how comfortable it all feels.
You wake up to Bernie pacing back and forth on the living room floor, and Moose standing on the couch, his nose in Nico’s face. You scramble to push the dog away with muffled words and limited success. Nico sniffles and raises his head, scrunching his eyes shut in the face of the sun coming in through your window.
“Sorry,” you whisper, fighting the urge to brush strands of his hair from his eyes. “They're getting antsy.”
He’s adorable when he’s just woken up, eyes barely open, cheeks flushed. He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand and pets Moose with the other. You get up and start to gather the dogs’ things while he continues to wake up. By the time you’ve got them both leashed up, he’s sitting up on the couch, brighter eyes than before.
“Best nap of my life,” he says.
You think of how much you wanted to cuddle up on his chest, and you wonder if that would take the winning spot.
Nico puts on his jacket at the door, taps his foot impatiently until you roll your eyes and pull on a jacket of your own, and then the two of you head out, dogs in tow. You keep your hands shoved in your pockets, but when you get to the dog park he hands you a pair of gloves, glaring playfully at you. You put them on, feeling warm and fuzzy, and not just from the fabric around your hands. You let the dogs off the leashes in the fenced in area, and you watch them run off through the light snow.
You bump your elbow against his. “You okay? You’re quiet.”
He nods, leans towards you until you’re shoulder to shoulder. “Yeah. M’good. Just tired.”
You nod in understanding. “C’mon, let’s sit.”
You head over to a nearby bench and sink down. He follows suit. And. It’s cold, so really, that’s probably why he sits so close, his thigh against yours, his side pressed to your side. But then he shifts slightly, and his arm falls to the top of the bench behind you. You try not to hold your breath. Across the park, Bernie and Moose bark happily. You lean your head against Nico’s shoulder, and he sighs happily, resting his head against yours.
He sighs. “Wake me up when they’ve worn themselves out.”
He’s joking- he doesn’t fall asleep, you’d be able to tell. You can feel his breaths, can feel him shift every so often, and he laughs when the dogs tackle each other in the snow. But he stays right there, curled against you, warmer than any jacket or pair of gloves could ever be.
…..
When people say it takes a village, you’re pretty sure it could be said about having dogs, too. You’re amazed at how much easier things are when you have Nico to help out. He’s insistent that he owes you one for watching Bernie, but it really turns into the two of you just trading dog duties.
You get held over at the office on one of the rare days you have to be in person, and he picks up Moose and takes him along to the park with Bernie. Nico gets stuck in traffic on the way home from a game in New York City, and you do the same, leaving a container of leftovers in the fridge for him, too. The dog park meetups and coffee shop hangouts keep happening, much to your benefit. You like spending time with him. Probably a bit more than is healthy, really, but you can’t exactly help it. He’s sweet, and funny, and handsome, too, to top it all off.
When you call him early on a Tuesday evening, you know he’ll pick up, because he’s done with practice for the day. He probably assumes you’re checking what time he’s going to be at the dog park, or letting him know you and Moose won’t be there. He gets nervous, now, if you don’t show up. Texts to make sure you’re alright. It’s endearing.
“Hello,” he says. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break Bernie’s heart and miss out on the dog park tonight.”
“Hi, no- my… my power’s out,” you say, sounding as frantic as you feel. “And like. It’s fine, I’ll survive, but it’s already cold in here, and Moose is giving me evil eyes. But I can’t find any dog friendly hotels, so I was wondering if maybe you could take him for the night-“
Nico laughs on the other end. “Come stay with us. Both of you.”
You pause your digging through the cupboards. “Oh, you don’t have to- that’s okay, Nico-“
“I mean it,” he says, firmly. “I’ve got a spare bedroom. And I just ordered way too much pizza, actually. Come over, bring Moose. Bernie’s bored, anyways.”
“I don’t want to be a burden,” you tell him.
“You could never,” he says. “If you’re not here within a half hour, I’m driving over there to pick you up.”
He hangs up before you can protest again, and you turn to Moose with a sigh. Then you start packing for both of you. 20 minutes later, you’re in the elevator up to Nico’s place, trying not to freak out about all of it.
He lets you in before you even have a chance to knock. Maybe it’s just the fact that your place was cold, but when he ushers you inside, it feels like he’s cranked the heat up a few degrees. Bernie comes racing to the entryway, whining excitedly at the sight of Moose, and you grin down at the two dogs. Then you look up at Nico and find him smiling, too.
“I’ll show you to the guest room,” he offers, nodding his head towards the rest of the apartment. “Pizza should be here any minute.”
It all feels oddly domestic, staying with him. You eat dinner together and watch the news- a habit he picked up from a roommate back in his days playing hockey in Canada, he tells you. Moose and Bernie cuddle up in the middle between the two of you, which you sort of hate. You want an excuse to lean into his side.
You get one when you get up to go to the bathroom. You come back, and both dogs have moved into your spot. Nico smiles up at you and shrugs, patting the spot right next to him. You take a seat without protesting, settling into the soft sofa. He moves the blanket he’s been using so it falls over your lap and rests his arm on the back of the couch behind your head. It probably means nothing, but being so close to him feels nice. Comforting.
When you start to doze off, he nudges you awake and towards the guest room. You fight the urge to lean up and kiss his cheek when he says goodnight. Moose follows you into the room, and you shut the door behind you.
You want to kiss Nico. This is becoming a problem.
It’s just. He’s nice. He’s sweet. He’s a good friend, he helps you take care of your dog, he’s letting you stay with him. But he’s an athlete, and they usually date other famous people, not their dog park friends. You’ve got no chance, probably.
You would roll over and scream into the pillow, but you’re afraid he’d hear it anyways.
…..
You’re standing in his kitchen early the next morning when the front door creaks open. You freeze in surprise- you’d assumed from the fan running in Nico’s bedroom, and the quiet of the apartment, that he’d still been asleep. Maybe he’d gone out for a run already, or had gone to take Bernie for a walk. Footsteps echo in the entryway, and you hear someone trip over a pair of shoes. The muttered swear word is definitely not said in Nico’s voice, and panic bites at your chest. You reach for one of the knives on the counter and hold it at your side. Moose, seeming to sense your anxiety, steps in front of your legs. Your phone sits too far away on the counter, and you swallow. You could yell for Nico, but then whoever is in his apartment would hear you, too.
The footsteps fall closer. The man appears in the doorway to the kitchen, and he jumps nearly a foot in the air at the sight of you, hand pressed to his chest. He looks familiar, with his almost shoulder length hair tucked behind his ears- one of Nico’s teammates. There’s a photo of the two of them hanging on the wall in the living room. You drop the knife on the counter discreetly when he isn’t looking.
“You’re not Nico,” he says, leaning on the counter.
“Neither are you,” you state, heart still racing.
He laughs at that and eyes the dog in front of you. “And that’s not Bernie, huh?”
He leans towards the dog, and Moose presses against your legs and growls. You gasp. Apparently, he hasn’t quite gotten the memo that whoever this guy is, he isn’t a threat. You reach for his collar.
“Moose,” you say in a scolding tone.
“Oh,” the man says, drawing out the noise, a look of understanding washing over his face. “Cool wolf. Is he gonna bite me? I have hockey practice later.”
There’s a flurry of noise before you can respond, and Bernie comes loping into the kitchen. She beelines for the guy, and at that, Moose lets his guard down, his tail wagging happily again. You roll your eyes. A great guard dog until his friend likes the guy, then all bets are off. Nico appears in the kitchen, scratching his head, and his eyes go wide when he spots his teammate.
“Jack,” he says, and the man turns to look at him. “What are you doing here?”
The man rubs his face sheepishly. Your dog scurries over to Nico, sniffing at his ankles excitedly. Your gaze bounces back and forth between the two men.
“You’re Jack,” you say, looking at the early morning intruder.
He nods.
You laugh. “I hear you talk in your sleep.”
Nico sighs while Jack tries desperately to deny it.
Ten minutes later, once Nico’s explained the whole situation, they head off on a run. They take Bernie and Moose with them, on Nico’s suggestion, because both dogs could use a bit of exercise, and, in his words, Jack could use a bit of motivation. While they’re out, you take a moment to tidy up your stuff, and you do the dishes from the night before. Nico had insisted you were welcome to any of the food in the house, so you whip up a light breakfast of cut fruit and yogurt, making sure to save some for him.
He returns a while later, both dogs in tow, minus Jack. He gives you a sheepish smile, sweaty locks of hair falling over his forehead. His t-shirt is clinging to his skin, damp with sweat despite the chill outside. You chew on a piece of strawberry and try not to stare at him.
“Sorry about him,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “I forgot he was coming over. He called, but I had my phone turned down and I slept through it.”
You shrug. “Nico, it’s fine, it’s your apartment,” you say. “Though I did have a knife ready, so he’s lucky he didn’t get stabbed.”
Nico laughs and takes a couple steps into the kitchen, leaning on his hands on the counter. “The Devils hockey organization thanks you for your hesitation.”
You laugh and nod. “I have breakfast, if you want some.”
When he squeezes your shoulder as he walks by, you try not to let it show how nice it feels.
“Thanks, schatz,” he says.
You don’t know much German, but you’re pretty sure that doesn’t mean friend.
…..
Nico goes to practice a bit later and then comes back. The power at your place stays out for the rest of the day. You keep checking, trying to make sure. Realistically, now, you could call Alyssa or Nora and ask to stay with them, instead, but when you offer, Nico looks offended at the suggestion.
He’s laying on the floor with Bernie and Moose both sprawled over him. “I mean. If you want to go, you can, obviously.”
“I just don’t want to overstay my welcome,” you tell him.
He shakes his head and lets it drop back to the floor. Moose shoves his nose under Nico’s chin. “You’re not.”
That’s pretty much the end of the discussion. The two of you take the dogs out to a nearby cafe for a late lunch, a place Nico tells you is dog friendly. He makes sure you’re both bundled up adequately for the chilly walk there and back. In the afternoon, you get some work done on your laptop, Bernie’s head on your lap, while Nico scrolls aimlessly on his phone and plays tug of war with Moose. The routine feels scarily easy to settle into. You make dinner together, pasta and chicken and broccoli. You move around one another with ease, like moons in each other’s orbits. The dogs wait patiently in the living room while you cook. Nico gives them pieces of chicken for their good behavior, and then you dish out dog food while he refills their water bowls. It’s nice. It’s so nice. You’re trying desperately not to get attached to this, to him.
You wake up the next morning to Moose and Bernie in your bed, a text from Nico saying he took them on their morning walk before he left for morning skate, and an alert from your apartment complex that the power is back on. You sigh, kiss the top of Bernie’s head, and roll back over in bed.
He’s gone for most of the day, today, between practices and media requirements and meetings with the team that he’d complained about to you the night before. You could pack up and leave before he gets back, but then you’d be leaving Bernie alone, and it feels weird to not say goodbye to Nico after he let you stay here. So you spend the day how you were planning to, and gather up your things bit by bit.
Nico comes home in the afternoon when you’re halfway packed, and he stands in the doorway of the guest room, seemingly hesitant. He’s frowning. Your heart lurches.
“My power’s back on,” you say quietly.
“Oh,” he responds. “Right. That’s, uh, that’s good.”
You nod. “Just realized I’ll probably have to clean out my fridge, and get new groceries, but yeah. I’ll be out of your hair.”
He frowns, nose wrinkling. “You weren’t in my hair.”
You blink at him. “I just meant… you can have your own space back. You must be sick of us by now.”
Nico wavers, shifting back and forth on his feet. You’re holding one of your t-shirts, and you pull it close to your chest. There’s something hanging in the air.
“I don’t think I’d ever get sick of you,” he says. A spark runs down your spine. “I liked having you here.”
You blink, unsure what to do with yourself suddenly. “I, uh, liked being here. You’re a great host, you know.”
He shrugs, then nods. He opens his mouth, closes it, repeats the motion. Then he releases his grip on the doorframe and takes a couple steps into the room. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, and you try to keep your breathing steady as he walks towards you.
“You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” He asks, looking hopeful.
You blink up at him, the corner of your lips tugging upwards. “Guess it depends on what we’re having.”
You’re trying to be brave about this. Trying to go with the flow, be casual. Maybe he’s just got a meal planned for two, maybe he needs your help to make it. You don’t want to read into it, even as he comes so close that you could reach out and touch him, that you can smell his shampoo and cologne. One of the dogs barks in the living room. You both ignore it, unable to tear your eyes away from each other. The air feels electric.
His hand comes up to touch your cheek, fingertips featherlight. You swallow. Your heart is pounding in your chest. He’s grinning, like he knows it. So sure of whatever he’s about to say.
“I thought maybe we could go out,” he says, casually. “Just me and you, somewhere nice. Let the dogs hang out here and keep each other company.”
You blink, take a breath, nod. “Okay. I can stay for dinner.”
“Cool,” he says, trying to be nonchalant about it. His wide grin gives him away. “Then it’s a date.”
Your breath catches in your chest, but you nod. “It’s a date.”
When he leans down and kisses your cheek, you swear the world stops spinning. When he pulls away it spins faster than it ever has before. You watch him walk away, dumbfounded, heart racing, skin burning.
All that worrying about it all, and it was that easy?
…..
At dinner, you both come to terms with the fact that you can’t really call this your first date. The two of you are too comfortable already, too at ease with each other. Nico claims the real first date was the coffee shop, months ago. You claim it was the day he came to pick up Bernie and took a nap on your couch.
“So I was asleep for half of our first date?” He says, nose wrinkled. “No thank you.”
“Well if it was the coffee shop, then I didn’t get your number for weeks after,” you retort. “So that would be weird.”
Eventually the two of you decide to agree to disagree. Maybe it happened somewhere in the middle without you even realizing. But now it feels official and real, over seafood and wine and warm bread. Nico’s face is lit by the candles on the table, and he holds your hand half the night.
Hours later, you stumble out of the restaurant, wine tipsy and giggling as you lean against his arm. He’s laughing, too, until he’s not, until he’s holding you by your hips on an empty sidewalk, waiting for a cab to roll by. You stare up at him, the dark night sky and city lights behind his head.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks, quietly.
“Thought you’d never ask,” you reply.
Nico kisses exactly the way you’d imagined- soft and sweet, at first, in a way that makes you feel everything. And then his tongue slips past your lips and his grip on your hips tightens and you wrap your arms around his neck and hold on for dear life. It’s a bit all consuming, threatens to leave you breathless, sends shocks across your skin.
He gets you into a cab and gives his address, and then he leans against you, his lips against your temple, his hand intertwined with yours. He speaks quietly against your skin.
“I’ll follow your lead here,” he says, quietly. “If you wanna take Moose and head home, I completely understand.”
You smile and lean into his touch. “Okay,” you say, deciding to leave him hanging. He laughs against your skin like he knows what you’re doing.
When the car pulls up in front of Nico’s apartment building, you step outside while he pays the fare. He grabs your hand again to lead you inside, through the lobby, and towards the elevator. He’s watching your every move, you can feel it- he’s trying to read you. You think he probably sees right through your little game, but that’s okay.
When the elevator doors slide closed, you turn to him, threading your hand through his hair at the nape of his neck.
“You should ask me to stay over,” you whisper, leaning up to brush your lips against his ear.
He groans softly, his hand falling to rest on your hip. “Yeah?”
You nod.
He swallows. “You want to stay over?” He asks, voice breathy. His stubble scrapes against your cheek as he brushes a kiss there.
You lean in to kiss him again. You think that’s answer enough.
The two of you tumble into his apartment a few minutes later, hands wrapped tightly in each other’s. You muffle your giggles with your other hand, and Nico does the same with his own. The dogs are curled up on their dog beds in the living room, snoring away. You take off your shoes carefully, and the two of you tiptoe through the apartment. If you wake Moose, he’ll be needy, begging for attention. Bernie will be the same with Nico.
You make it to the bedroom, and within seconds, Nico’s on you, pressed up against the closed bedroom door. He latches his lips onto your neck, and you sigh happily. His hands are already roaming everywhere, and your whole body is on fire.
“You’re sure about this?” He asks, between kisses, and you melt.
“Positive,” you say, already gasping for air. “Please, Nico.”
He groans into your skin, and you both start to fall apart.
Later, you lay in bed, your cheek against his bare chest. His hand sweeps up and down your back smoothly. You can hear his heart beating, feel the soft rise and fall of his breaths. There’s a lot of things you want to say, but they all feel far too intimate for a first time on a maybe third date, so you keep your mouth shut. You settle for drawing shapes on his skin until he shivers and laughs.
Seconds later, there’s a dog scratching at the door. Moose whines. Then, so does Bernie. You groan into Nico’s chest.
“They’re so needy,” you grumble.
“Sounds like someone else I know,” he responds.
He pulls away before you can retaliate, reaching for his t-shirt and tossing it to you. You pull it on as he tugs on a pair of shorts. Then he opens the door. Two fur covered, heat seeking missiles come shooting onto the bed, barreling into you, making themselves comfortable atop the covers. Nico crawls back into bed before he loses his spot, nudging Bernie out of the way so he can pull you back into his arms.
Moose rests his head against your side. You rub behind his ears as Nico does the same with Bernie. Something about this moment just feels right. The way the four of you all curl up together, around each other, held tight and warm and safe.
Nico kisses your forehead. “Goodnight.”
You kiss his shoulder. “G’night, Nico.”
In the dark, Bernie whines.
“And goodnight to you too, Berns,” you laugh, reaching over to pat her head.
…..
Nico stops in the parking lot, his arm around the back of your seat. You continue staring out the windshield. In the backseat, Bernie and Moose wag their tails happily. You hope he can’t see where you’re holding onto the seat tightly with your right hand.
“Hey,” he says. His hand brushes against your shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“What if they all hate me?” You ask.
Nico scoffs. “Then they’re all stupid.”
“Nico…”
“Baby,” he murmurs, leaning over, pressing his lips to your temple. “You met Jack, scared the shit out of him, and he still asks about you all the time. And you’ll have the dogs. That’ll win them over immediately.”
You sigh and wipe your sweaty hands on your pants. “You’re their captain. What if I don’t live up to the… I don’t know, Nico-“
He cups your face in his hand and turns your head towards his. There’s a soft, kind smile on his face. You bite your lip.
“You don’t need to live up to anything,” he says, firmly. “I want you there, that’s enough. And if you want to leave, you just tell me. We’ve got the dogs as an excuse.”
You nod. He pinches your cheek lightly, and you laugh. When he climbs out of the car, you follow suit. Moose and Bernie are itching to get out of the backseat- you each unbuckle one dog and get them ready to go inside.
In the stadium, he stops and helps you get the dogs ready- winter coats for them to wear, little shoes to protect their feet that you’ve been getting them used to for months now. Moose still glares at you a bit when you first put them on, but he gets over it quickly.
Nico laces up his own skates and helps you, too, and then it’s out onto the rink, under the lights, staring up at the big empty stadium. The dogs stay close at first, getting used to the slippery surface.
Everyone is here- his teammates, their families, their friends. When he’d invited you, you’d nearly broken down into tears- you know how much it means to him, how much he loves this team and this sport. You’re honored he wants to share it with you. You were the one who suggested bringing the dogs, too. Now, out on the ice, you’re thrilled it all ended up like this.
“Cool wolf,” Jack says, as he skates by. “Hey, Luke- you know what his name is?”
Luke shakes his head.
“Moose,” Jack says, and Luke sighs. “Which one of you is the cuter one, huh?”
“Definitely the dog,” Nico says, squeezing your hand.
“You all suck,” Luke says. He turns to you and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. Not you. You seem great.”
Nico hooks his elbow in yours and nudges you gently. “Wanna do a lap?”
You smile and nod, and he starts to pull you around on the ice. The dogs follow happily, having found their footing. Across the ice, some of the kids point at them excitedly. You think back to the dog park, so long ago, now, and the lady and her dog Bessie. If she’d never gotten angry with you, would you and Nico have ever spoken? Or would you have just stared at each other from across the park forever? You’re not sure you want to know. You’re just happy it ended up the way it did.
“I love you,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss his cheek.
He blushes and grins, dimple popping up on his face. “I love you too, schatz.”
He kisses you on the lips, then, a quick peck that still somehow makes your heart skip a beat. At your feet, Moose whines, and Bernie follows suit. You and Nico sigh.
“And we love you two, too,” you say, shaking your head at the dogs.
“So needy,” Nico says.
“Sounds like someone else I know,” you tease, elbowing him.
He grins impossibly wider. You feel warm enough to melt the ice beneath your feet. He tends to have that affect on you, and you don’t think it’ll ever grow old.