#alliwritespuck

Summary: The game in Boston gives you a chance to meet more of Will’s friends and catch up with his family. Though, he didn’t anticipate having to go full PDA mode in the family suite.

Warnings: cursing, jealous but fluffy Will

Requested: Yes! “Can you write a fic about Will Smith just getting absolutely jealous of people flirting with his girl?”

Word count: 1.7k

You knew this night meant a lot to Will. Returning home, playing in Boston, getting to see his family friends again in the place he called home for so long.

You flew in the day before the game, you and Will going to a late lunch after the morning skate.

“You excited for tonight?” you ask as you sip your sweet tea.

“I’m over the moon. This is a chance of a lifetime,” he's beaming. You'd beg to say that his eyes are shining brighter now than they did on your first date. And you'd never hold that against him.

Because long before he had you, he had hockey. He had a dream, and you never wanted or expected him to choose between you and said dream.

“I can't wait to see your family again. It's been a while. I want to catch up and tell them all of the ridiculous things you do when they aren’t watching,” you quipped, taking another bite of your salad before your entree got there.

“Oh yes, because you bossing me around half the time and me being stubborn about it but doing it anyway is just so ridiculous,” he grumbles with a roll of his eyes.

“You like it,” you grin, eyebrow raised at him.

“Whatever,” he concedes, looking around the small cafe, but you can see the smile that reaches his eyes.

You stand in front of the cafe, getting ready to part ways. The way he's looking at you has butterflies fluttering around your chest, your heart jumping in the best of ways.

“I'll see you tonight?” he asks hopefully as his hands reach out to find you.

“Of course. I'll get with your parents and find them later,” you reply, hands slipping into his with ease, like you'd done a million times before.

“I'll see you after the game,” he says, firmly, no question.

“Yes you will,” you reply, and he pulls you in, laying a sweet kiss to your temple. “Have fun and good luck.”

He doesn't say anything back, just turns your face so he can give a quick kiss before you two part ways.

He's only a few yards from you when he looks over his shoulder.

“Be careful, gorgeous,” he teases, but you know that there's a level underneath full of seriousness. You were a woman. In a big city. Alone.

He knows you would be okay, but that doesn't stop him from worrying.

“I'll text you when I get back to the hotel!” you toss over your shoulder as you begin to walk in the other direction.

“Thank you!” he yells, and you just shake your head, grinning at your shoes.

When you finally reach your hotel room, you flop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. You don’t bother taking your coat or shoes off, just keeping your legs dangling so as to not get the sheets dirty at all.

You send a text off to Will, to let him know you made it back alright, and to Colleen, wanting to get a rough idea of what her plans are for the family suite Will has for his family and friends.

As you wait for her response, you finish up a few remote things for work before turning email notifications off. You look at the time, and it’s only 2.

To kill time, you take an everything shower, taking extra time on styling your hair, exfoliating twice. You turn on music and dance around as you grab your outfit for tonight.

As you make your way to the lobby, where Colleen, Bill, and Grace are waiting, your hands tremble. You’ve met his family dozens of times, but tonight is more than his immediate family. It’s his extended family, and friends that he’s known so long that they’re basically family.

Grace embraces you once she sees you step out of the elevator, gushing over how much she’s missed hanging out and talking with you, making a slight blush tint your cheeks.

“Y/N, sweetie, how are you?” Colleen asks, giving you the next hug.

“Good. Excited for tonight.”

“I have a feeling it’ll be a fun game,” she says, and when she steps back, Bill gives you a smile and a nod.

“Hi Bill, good to see you too,” you say, and he replies with a ‘likewise’.

Traffic on the way to The Garden is horrendous. People weaving in and out of lanes, people cutting others off, cars backed up for miles.

It’s a relief when the car is finally in park and you can get out. You stretch your legs, grabbing your bag and following Bill toward the entrance.

The suite is nicer than you expected. And has way more people already standing there than you thought would be here, especially with it being relatively early.

You try mingling with people, but you end up standing awkwardly on the outskirts of the room, holding a glass of water.

“Hi. What’s your name?” you hear from beside you, and you don’t know how to react. You see a guy who looks like he’s about Will’s age.

“H-Hi. I’m Y/N.”

And you figured it would just be the one guy. But then you’re surrounded by a sea of who you assume are former teammates of Will’s.

But there’s one guy that is just giving you the wrong vibe completely. He introduced himself as a friend of one of Will’s friends. You can’t remember, and don’t really care to remember, this guy’s name. He’s persistent. Trying to get you to talk, following you around the suite as you try to get away from him.

When the game starts, you sit by Grace and try to watch the game. But the nagging feeling of the guy watching you is making you shift uncomfortably in your seat. You forget about it briefly when Will scores, and you’re on your feet, celebrating the milestone for Will. But the feeling sinks deeper and settles in your bones, making your stomach drop.

The Sharks lose the game, but Will walks away with third star, so it wasn’t all bad. And when he gets to the suite, hair wet from the shower, smile plastered on his face, all you can think about is Will Will Will.

He hugs his family, says hi to former teammates, and you watch as you hang back, waiting for him to come to you.

But before that can happen, the guy that’s been bugging you all night is right in your line of sight, taking away your view of Will.

“So are you a friend of Grace’s? I think I would’ve met you before. You’re really hot and I think you should give me your number so we can go out.”

This guy is shameless. You’d love nothing more than to shove him to the ground. But he keeps talking. And as you stare at the center of his forehead, spacing out as he rambles on, Will watches the entire scene from where he stood to give Grace a hug.

“What’s going on there?” he asks Grace, trying to catch up on what he seems to have missed.

“No clue. He’s been bothering her all night. She’s not really talked this entire time because he’s being weird.”

“Well that’s about to change,” Will says, tone rough, pissed off. Grace tries to stop him, but it’s no use. No one flirts with his girl, makes her uncomfortable, and definitely doesn’t do all of it in front of him.

“Hey pretty,” Will says with a force in his voice you haven’t heard before. The guy looks confused, and slightly scared, but Will doesn’t care.

He grabs your jaw gently, turning your face, and you don’t fight it. You have no time to question what he’s doing before his lips are planted firmly on yours.

If there was any doubt or question about who you were before, there isn’t now. Because you can feel the pairs of eyes on you two. It feels like practically everyone in the room is staring at you.

“Will,” you try to murmur against his lips, but it’s largely muffled by the intensity and sheer fervor in which his lips move against yours. Eventually, you press your hand to his chest, pushing him back. When his eyes meet yours, they’re glistening with pure love and adoration.

When you look back to where the creepy guy once stood, he’s no longer there, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“Hi,” you whisper as he wraps his arms around you, his cheek pressed against your temple as his head rests against yours. You feel the heat radiating off of his face, feel the remnants of water in his curls from his shower, droplet rolling down your cheek. You don’t move to wipe it off. You feel the thump of his heartbeat trying to regulate after the game. You just close your eyes and take in the weight of him against you.

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry you lost, but you got on the board, got points, got a star. I’m proud of you Will.”

“Thank you gorgeous,” he’s leaning in to give you another kiss, but you’re sure to keep it short.

“Get a little jealous, did we?” you poke fun at his zealousness.

“Of course. With you, of course I am. You’re gorgeous. Way outta my league. Gotta keep a hold on you while I still can.”

His family walks over to the two of you, trying to get Will’s attention, but he’s brushing them off. His focus is dialed in on you. And it wasn’t budging.

“You have me forever, if you want me,” you say seriously, like you’re propositioning him. He falls for it easily. But he’s exactly where he wants to be. It wasn’t an offer with an ulterior motive. It was crystal clear, knowing what he was signing up for.

“I want you in every life I live,” he states. There is no room for argument, for debate, for change. His conviction stands strong, not wavering. You were sure you were lovers in a past life, souls tied to one another for eternity. You knew you would find each other in every life.

You smile up at him, his simple statement being a warm embrace of reassurance you didn’t know you needed, but truly appreciate.

Please do not copy, translate, or repost my work as your own!

Written by: @alliwritespuck (2025)

Photo from: Pinterest

Summary: The aftermath of the Pittsburgh game and Will’s injury.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of Will's injury

Requested: No

Word count: 1.5k

You were about to turn the game off. Pittsburgh was up and there seemed to be no hope for the Sharks to win the game.

You sat on the couch, tracing Will’s form over the TV screen with your eyes. He reaches out for the puck when a Penguins player hits Will against the boards and moves him across the ice a little. His stick goes flying and William is there to lay a hit in retaliation.

Then you see his face. Scared, pained, hissing like he was about to cry. And then you're on your feet, hands running through your hair as you watch him get off the ice and go straight back to the locker room.

Immediately you're texting Will, asking if he's okay, telling him to call you when he can. You know he won't be able to answer now. But you need to know he's okay as soon as possible.

You watch the unbelievable comeback, returning from a 4 point deficit. You don’t know who’s screaming and cheering louder when the OT goal from Klingberg hits the back of the net, you or Randy Hahn.

You turn the game off, and the worry settles back into your chest. An hour passes before your phone buzzes again. Will.

Will: Hey. I’m okay, just shaken up and hurt. I'll know more Monday. Can you talk in a few?

Monday. It seemed like forever away. You didn't know when he was coming home. And once he was home, it was a waiting game until he could get scans and a doctor.

You: Yeah. Call me whenever

The second you turn the screen off and put your phone down, the FaceTime call comes in from him.

“Hi,” you whisper, your lips slightly upturned, happy to see him. “You okay?”

“I will be. Everything just happened so fast.”

“I know. I saw your face and got worried. But that comeback was amazing.”

“I know. And Mack got in his first fight.”

“Yeah, you're the people’s princess Smitty,” you joke, and it's enough to pull laughter from him. And the sound is music to your ears given the current situation.

“Well it's an honor.”

The conversation lulls. You hear the hotel furnace in the background kicking off, faint sounds of sirens and honking from the city.

“Are you leaving tonight?”

“No, in the morning. Everyone is just exhausted right now.”

You continue talking until his exhaustion catches up with him.

“I love you baby,” you say to him, kissing the camera. It was cheesy but you didn't care.

“I love you too, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow.”

You say your goodnights and hang up. You immediately start nesting, just in case he wants to stay over at your apartment.

You run to the store, getting some painkillers and a new ice pack and anything else you thought he might need. Drinks, snacks, you name it, you bought it.

When you got home, you made sure everything was nice and cozy.

You were buzzing with excitement and anxiety the next morning waiting for Will. You knew the time difference would be rough when he finally got back home.

Will texted you a little later that he had landed and was on his way to you. You asked if he needed a ride, but said Mack was already driving him.

“Oh I’m sure,” you chuckle as the text rolls in. Because of course he was.

You decided to clean the dishes from your breakfast, clean the sink out, and wipe down the counters in the meantime, wanting to be able to make him something if he wanted.

When the knock sounds through the apartment, you're quick to open it.

“Hi,” Will says softly as he finally sees you in the flesh for the first time since he left. The five game roadie wasn't fun for either of you.

“Hey.”

He wraps his good arm around you, embracing you in a hug that is still the warmest you've ever felt despite it having one less arm than usual.

“Thank you Mack. For driving him,” you say over Will’s shoulder.

“Anytime.”

“And thanks for fighting for him,” you add, laughing lightly. You feel the vibrations from Will’s laugh against the skin of your neck.

Mack leaves and you urge Will inside so he can get comfortable and rest.

What Will doesn't expect is a day full of you going full mother hen, not letting him lift a finger.

He objects when you make him lunch. Huffs when you cover him in a blanket when you see him shiver. Groans when you race off to grab his phone he left sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Y/N. I’m fine,” he says, going to move his shoulder but winces in pain when he just barely lifts it. He just wanted a glass of water. He wanted to do something for himself.

“Uh huh. Totally fine,” you say, grabbing the cup for him and setting it down on the counter, kissing his cheek before skipping off to another room.

Later that night, he wanted a proper shower. Mack couldn't exactly help him like you can. But he was hesitant to ask. He knew it was a lot for you having to do everything. But he wanted to be able to relax.

“Hey babe?” he asks tentatively, picking at his cuticles and the sides of his nails anxiously.

“Hmm?” you answer, looking up from your book.

“Can you-,” he starts, trailing off and wondering if this was stupid. “I want to take a shower but I need help.”

“Are you just trying to get me naked?”

The tension eases in him at the sight and sound of your teasing joke and laughter.

“Please,” he faux pouts, batting his eyelashes at you. His unfairly long and gorgeous eyelashes.

“Let's go get you clean.”

You take your time washing, and to his dismay, conditioning his hair. Your nails scratch along his scalp and it sends shivers up his spine. It's the first time he's truly relaxed and let go of everything from the night before. You use your fancy eucalyptus and mint body wash, but only after you make him wash his face well.

You full-on pamper him when he gets out and is fully dressed. Moisturizers, serums, lotions. He doesn't know exactly what, but he feels like he's at a spa. You put product in his hair to make his curls look nice the next morning.

He finally leans back against the headboard, and you lean over him. He doesn't process what you're doing until you're done.

“Those lips needed some chapstick or you might cut my lips open.”

He rubs his lips together like he's seen you do a million times and tastes the vanilla lip balm.

“I think you need some too,” he says, smirk playing on his lips as he grabs your chin and gently pulls your face to his, slotting his lips against yours, making sure to share the love.

When you pull back, you rub the balm into your lips and smile at him.

You finish unwinding and slip into bed next to him, cuddling into his left side.

“I hope I don’t miss too much time,” he mumbles against your temple.

“Me either. But if you do, you just train harder during the off season and come back better. Stuff happens, you just gotta roll with the punches sometimes.”

“Thank you. For today. I don’t know how I'd be able to do anything alone.”

“I’m here for you during the highs and the lows. You can get through this. I'll be here the whole way to help you and support you.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“You love me,” you answer quickly. The answer is automatic, you didn't even have to think about it.

The room is quiet for a minute before you speak again.

“You know this is why I call you Bambi.”

“What? Why Bambi?” he asks incredulously.

“You fall a lot, do stupid shit on the ice. Stumble over your feet. And your words. You exude the energy of someone who has been on this earth for no more than ten minutes.”

“That's so mean. I’m so glad my own girlfriend thinks so highly of me.”

“Well you're hurt right now so you're not exactly disproving my point.”

“I was hit! It wasn't my fault!”

“I mean. The hit was clean and you put yourself in that position.”

“You're a traitor!” he exclaims, left hand digging into your side. You wrestle it away before talking more, trying to catch your breath.

“It was more aggressive in my opinion, but I’m biased. And you're still my ray of sunshine, baby.”

“Thank you,” he says, and you two settle back into your positions laying down and cuddling together.

What you say next catches him off guard, but ultimately doesn't surprise him.

“Wotherspoon better watch his fucking back. No one touches my Bambi.”

Please do not copy, translate, or repost my work as your own!

Written by: @alliwritespuck (2025)

Photo from: Pinterest

Got It Handled

Afterglow

Of Wins and Losses

Soft Sunday Morning

Unscheduled Visit

Little Tumbles

Drew Stars Around My Scars

Heated

Experiences of Your Own

Unrequited

Burnout and Spiral

Private, Not Secret

Mister Possessive

Running Just In Case

Mean It

Yes Ma'am

Still Into You

Cassandra Carter AU

The Man He Is

Your Own Biggest Cynic

Feel the Distance Between Us Two

Off-Season Adventures

Ride It, Cowgirl

The Fool

Headlines

Golden Tattoo

Unlike Daughter

Hands to Myself

Secret Moments

Red Cheeks, Red Lips

Compliments

Soul Tied

Two Blue Lines

The Great War

Bambi

Hate You Because I Can't Have You

Midnights

Summary: A team dinner finally gives Will the excuse to finally have you meet the team and show you off. He wasn't expecting it to turn into friendly fire… against him.

Warnings: fluff mostly

Requested: Yes! “will getting teased by teammates (maybe at an event) how blushy and whipped he is when he's around reader, and as they tease him he gets more flustered because she's laughing about it with them (fondly obviously)”

Word count: 1.9k

You never figured you’d find someone as obsessed with you as Will was. And it wasn’t ordinary or typical.

It was the eagerness and willingness to be around you and do things for you. It was the way he stared at you like you were the only person in the room, like you were a goddess that transcended and just by happenstance ended up dating him.

He was always thankful for you, considering himself so lucky to have ended up with you.

But you were a whirlwind. A force to be reckoned with. And he knew that. He knew you were strong-willed, stubborn, unwilling to compromise if you didn't feel like it was the best option for you. He knew you could stand up for yourself, never being a doormat for anyone to walk all over. He knew that you had a promising career of your own.

But the one thing he never did, one thing that you loved that he never did, was dim your light. And he didn't know it yet, but he made that light shine brighter than it ever had before.

And tonight was no exception.

He was eager for you to finally meet his teammates, some of his best and closest friends. He was excited to show off the best part of his life.

It was a simple event, if you could even call it that. It was a team dinner at a fancy steakhouse. A great way to integrate his two favorite parts of his world in a setting that held no pressure for you.

But he knew that under all of the composure, the stoic face, you were freaking out. He knew you too well to not know that.

As much as you didn't hold any weight in the opinions of others, you wanted to be liked because these were people that were important to Will.

“Hey. You okay?” Will asks over your shoulder, right by your ear, voice barely louder than a whisper. It sent a sharp shiver down your spine.

“Yeah, just a little nervous,” you reply, hands smoothing over your dress as you observe your figure in the mirror.

“I know, I understand,” was all he said. Didn't try to convince you that you'd be okay, didn't diminish your feelings. He stayed. He was present, made sure you knew he was right there by your side and would be all night.

You slipped your shoes on, grabbed your purse. You led Will out the door of your apartment. He holds his hand out for your key, but you reach to lock the door yourself.

You open your own door, close it too.

He knew what you were doing. Keeping control on the things you could. Holding tight to things that you could pass off as strength when you didn't really have any left. He let you do it.

Your hands are shaking when you arrive at the restaurant. Will grabs one of them in his, squeezing it firmly. Not strong, not enough to hurt. Enough to make you feel him, enough to keep you grounded in the present instead of in your head.

When you walk through the door, a majority of the team is already there. You see some wives and girlfriends littered through the crowd of players.

Will plants a kiss to your cheek, the physical form of reassurance that you needed to help you get through tonight.

It's when Mack spots the two of you that the chaos begins.

It's a flurry of players surrounding you like a litter of excited puppies all wanting attention. You hear so many things at once.

“I didn't even know Will had a girlfriend.”

“What's your name?”

“Atta boy Smitty, finally getting the balls to ask a girl out.”

And it overwhelms you at first. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. You feel Will’s hands on your shoulders guiding you toward the table and out of the guys crowding around you.

He slides your bag off your shoulder, wrapping it around the back of your chair before guiding you to sit down.

“Calm down guys, she's already regretting being here,” he says, and it pulls a chuckle out of you. You don’t need introductions really. You know who everyone is.

“So Smitty. Who is this?” Tyler asks, Mack standing right next to him.

“I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you all,” you say. Short, clipped. Not rude, just cautious, tone guarded.

“She suits you well man,” Mack chirps, clapping him on the shoulder before going back to his previous conversation.

“So how did you two meet?” Wenny asks from across the table, sitting down with his wife. His facial expression was nice, calm, not trying to overstep.

“We met through a mutual friend. Had him obsessed with me after the first date,” you jest, elbowing Will beside you.

“Oh, sweetheart, you had me obsessed from the first look,” he fires back, and you give him a small smile. The slight blush that adorns his face is cute.

“How long have you been dating?”

“Almost a year, just a couple months out,” Will answers for you, squeezing your thigh under the table.

Conversation carries on like this for a few minutes. Just general questions about you, your relationship. You relax as time goes on, getting more comfortable in the atmosphere that Will lives in every day.

There is a pause for everyone to order, but with this large of a group, the poor waitstaff are just trying to just focus on one person at a time.

The conversation picks back up and you're thrown right back in talking to his teammates.

It doesn't change once the plates arrive, but it's when the fun starts. And it starts with a simple sentence, an ordinary question from you.

“Will, pass me the salt please?”

But the quick, automatic ‘yes ma'am’ that he replies with has questioning looks being directed at you two immediately.

“Smitty man, what the fuck?”

You're not sure who said it, you weren't really paying attention because it was normal for you two.

But based on the lull of conversation, you knew it wasn't normal in general.

“What?” Will asks, voice light. Shy. You catch a quick glimpse of him, blood rushed to his face. It was cute.

“Man you're so whipped.”

“I am not,” he defends weakly, but it doesn't do much.

“If she asked you to carry her bag, would you?”

“Without a second thought,” his answer is quick, not even thinking about it. It was second nature for him.

“And if she asked you to put her shoes on?”

“I'd do it.”

There were several more questions, but you weren't listening to them. You were watching Will. Watching how his cheeks got progressively more red. Watching how his hand rubbed the back of his neck meticulously like it would get him out of this situation. Watching how his eyes dart back and forth, straying to you every few seconds.

And it made you laugh. You were trying to contain your composure, but the longer it all went on, the harder it became.

You didn’t necessarily enjoy him getting grilled, but you did think it was funny.

“Is she the girl in the picture you keep in your cubby?” you hear one of them say, and that catches your attention, pulling you back to the present.

“What?” you ask, turning toward him. If he didn’t look like a tomato before, he definitely does now.

“Yeah. I, I don’t know. I meant to tell you,” he starts, but trails off.

“What picture is it?”

You couldn’t figure out what picture it could possibly be.

“The one of you in the sundress when we went to the beach,” he says quietly, looking at his hands that are now folded in his lap.

“Oh buddy you’re so gone.”

And there is a chorus of laughter, but Will just looks over at you, smile on his face, eyes bright, fully in love.

“Smitty’s in loooooooove,” Mack sing-songs and many of the other guys start laughing and cheering loudly.

“You are,” you say, poking fun at him.

You can’t help but laugh at his teammates’ antics, watching as he helplessly just has to roll with the punches.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he pouts, bottom lip jutting out barely, but enough for you to see. Tyler also sees, and launches another dig at Will.

“Bro you’re pouting!”

And again, another chorus of laughter. You can’t help but laugh a little louder this time.

The rest of dinner goes over well, still poking fun at Will, but it’s died down a little bit.

When it’s time to leave, Mack and Tyler say something to Will, you standing over to the side, looking at your phone and not really paying attention to his conversation.

You feel a tap to your shoulder, and when you turn around, it’s Delly.

“Hi,” you say, trying to be as friendly as you can.

“Hi. You said it was Y/N right?”

“Yes.”

“Well you seem really nice. Will picked a good one,” he says, and you don’t quite know what to make of it.

“Thanks? I guess,” you say, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Sorry. I mean that he’s found someone that matches his personality, someone that complements him well. He’s a good guy, and he can be too open sometimes. I’m just glad he’s found someone who’s genuine.”

“Well, there’s still time for that to change,” you quip almost instantly, pulling a laugh from him. “But I love him a lot. He’s good to me.”

You converse for a minute more before he tries to leave.

“It was nice meeting you,” he says, holding out his hand for you to shake but decides that was a little too formal. “Sorry, force of habit.”

“Hey babe. Ready to go?” Will asks, making you jump slightly. He notices, smiling a little wider.

“Yeah. Just have to grab my bag.”

“Already got it,” Will says, slipping it onto your shoulder for you.”

“Thank you baby.”

“You’re welcome,” he starts before leaning into your ear, whispering. “Ma’am.”

It pulls a smile onto your face. One that reaches your eyes.

“See ya Smitty,” Delly says, pulling him into what you can only describe as a bro hug before walking out.

“After you,” Will gestures to let you lead the way.

It's when you're driving back to your place that you finally speak again.

“You're all cute when you're flustered and blushing,” you say, trying not to laugh because you know he thought he was in the clear.

“I can't get a second of peace, can I?” he asks, playful sigh leaving his parted lips.

“With me? Never.”

You lean over, doing your best to kiss him, just a short peck, nothing too much. But when you pull back, the blush on his face is just as red as it was in the restaurant. And you describe how happy it makes you feel.

“You're cute,” you whisper, watching as his eyes flicker back and forth between you and the road.

“So are you.”

Your night ends with the two of you cuddled up in bed, your head resting on his chest, his heartbeat against your cheek.

“I love you.”

You lean up to kiss his cheek as you say it.

“I love you too. And what you do to me.”

“Well there's a lot more where that came from.”

“Oh trust me, I know,” he says, and the sound of his voice, tired from the day, has you falling asleep with a smile on your face, excited to do everything all over again tomorrow.

Please do not copy, translate, or repost my work as your own!

Written by: @alliwritespuck (2025)

Photo from: Pinterest

Summary: You never liked your birthday. You didn't like the day it was on, you didn't like having a day to celebrate you and you alone. Will knows this. And despite that, Will makes it a point to make you feel special. He also gives you an excellent birthday present.

Warnings: smut, angst too because ???, fluff, older reader, reader’s birthday is on New Year’s Eve, not proofread

Requested: Yes! “Reader x Will, where he plans a birthday surprise she’ll never forget”

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: My birthday is on NYE and I spent most of it writing this fic. I would've had it out sooner, but I got cold feet when I went to post it. Enjoy!

When you woke up, it didn't feel like your birthday. But it was, and that wasn't really anything to celebrate. You just wanted to go about your day like usual.

Will knew you didn't like your birthday. He wasn't about to let you just go about your day like you wanted.

It started with a text from him that morning.

Will: Good morning sweetheart. Happy birthday ❤️

It put a small smile on your face, but ultimately wasn't anything earth-shattering for you.

You called him, talking about the game they had that afternoon. You planned to go to the game after going into work to take advantage of overtime hours.

“So you want me to come over? I can take you out for breakfast?” Will asks as you shuffle around the room, picking out some casual clothes to wear to work.

“No it's okay. Gonna take advantage of OT hours,” you say nonchalantly.

Will shakes his head at this. He never understood why you didn't like people celebrating you, but he never questioned you. He never wanted to pry.

“Okay. Will I see you at the game?” he asks, and you can hear the hint of hope in his tone.

“Yes you will. Cat offered for me to sit in the suite with her,” you say, slipping into the fresh clothes and taming your hair.

“Well I'll see you later babe. Have so much fun at work,” he jokes sarcastically, pulling a laugh from you. A laugh that makes Will beam brightly.

“Thank you babe. I love you.”

“I love you too baby. Happy birthday.”

Work wasn't super eventful when you finally got there, but you decided to straighten up the areas that needed it, helped with inventory, mundane tasks that passed time the fastest.

The vibration of your phone with each incoming text from your friends, Will’s family, his teammates annoyed you a little bit.

You always maintained that telling someone happy birthday was so bare minimum that it felt insincere to you. Yes, hearing it the first few times was nice, but it always became something else too quickly. Something you had to say thank you for with the fakest smile you could muster.

Having a New Year’s Eve birthday was fun. Any bar with a cover charge you got into for free. Drinks from other bar patrons were also offered. It had its perks for sure.

It was also busy. People were drunk and disorderly by late afternoon. And everyone thought that with its close proximity to Christmas, they could just combine your Christmas and birthday presents and it wouldn't be a big deal.

You didn't like your birthday for many reasons, but those are the easiest to explain to anyone who asked.

Growing up, you felt that people celebrating your birthday felt more like an obligation. It felt like they'd rather be doing anything else, like partying and enjoying themselves rather than letting you make decisions about what you wanted to do on what was supposed to be your special day.

You never really told Will. This is your second birthday dating him, and last year you were able to evade the part where you told him you hated your birthday. This year, though, you doubted you could get away with the same thing.

You didn't tell him because Will loved having a reason, a person to celebrate. He loved his birthday, loved Christmas, loved Thanksgiving. He loved going above and beyond, especially for you.

He always made you feel special, which is another reason why you felt like today wasn't a big deal. Will makes you feel like the only girl in the world every other day of the year, today would be no different, so why make it a big deal?

When you finally get home, you find Will laying in your bed.

“Happy birthday,” he says with a beaming smile, arms spread open for a hug.

“You can stop saying that Will. You've said it three times already.”

“Never. I'll stop saying it once that clock hits midnight,” he says, meeting you as you're halfway into the room, wrapping his arms around you. You melt into the hug more than you’d like to admit.

“There is still a little time before I have to leave for the game. Want to do something?”

“I don’t care,” you brush him off.

“Well I have an idea,” he says with a smirk, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him.

He kisses you briefly before moving his lips to your jaw, his teeth sinking into the flesh-covered bone just slightly.

“My girl deserves at least a little special attention on her birthday,” he murmurs against your skin as he moves down to your neck, sucking a hickey into your flesh.

“You think so?”

“Of course. 23 times hotter,” he mumbles into your skin.

His hands wander. Up your spine under your shirt, sending shivers over your entire body as your hair stands. Over the curve of your hips, where his hands squeeze the skin gently, full of love. Over your bra-clad breasts, pinching at your nipples to make you squirm like he knows you will.

“Will…,” you call out his name in a strangled groan.

“What? Tell me.”

“Quit teasing.”

“Alright birthday girl,” he says, moving you back gently to sit at the edge of your bed.

He helps you pull your shirt off before settling down to his knees, looking up at you like a puppy waiting for a command.

“You gonna do something or look at me like that all night?”

His smirk is brighter than any lightbulb in the room as his hands land on the waistband of your pants, undoing the button and pulling them down your legs along with your underwear.

He presses gentle kisses onto your legs as he makes his way toward your pussy, glistening with arousal, but stops right before he gets to where you want him most.

“Will,” you whine. “Please.”

“You’re okay, I’ve got you,” he says, nipping at the inside of your right thigh.

The feeling of his tongue against you causes a gasp to tear from your throat. One hand goes to knead your breast over your bra as the other moves toward your lower stomach, thumb nudging at your clit.

“Fuck Will,” your voice is almost breathless, all light and airy.

His hands move to grab your lower back to move you closer to the edge to get a better angle, tilting your hips toward his mouth. His tongue runs up through your folds like it’s the best meal he’s ever tasted, nose nudging your clit, pulling you closer to the edge.

Your legs settle on his shoulders, heels digging into his back. His brain processes the slight ache against his spine, muscles flexing underneath your feet, but he ignores it.

His tongue moves to wrap around your swollen clit, licking with a gentle pressure that makes your hips buck into him. His fingers run through your wetness before two fingers dip into you, prodding at the spongy spot that makes you see stars, the spot that you can’t reach on your own.

“Will, I’m gonna cum,” you moan. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Cum for me baby,” he says, pulling away from your clit briefly before sucking on it again, sending you over the edge.

You writhe against him, pleasure crashing over you like a wave as your limbs go slack.

And when you finally come to again, he’s hovering over you, and when he moves, you move back too until you’re laying against the bed, head just shy of the pillows.

His hands are venturous, gliding over your skin, making their way to your shoulders.

“Can I?” he asks as he pulls on the strap of your bra.

You nod in response, arching up a little so he can undo the clasp.

His lips wrap around one of your nipples as he throws your last article of clothing to the ground. The sensation has you arching even further, eyes screwed shut as you let the pleasure wash over you.

He kisses his way up to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe gently.

“You want another? Because I think my girl deserves a little birthday sex,” he rasps into your ear, sending another shiver down your spine.

“Please.”

He grabs a condom from your nightstand, tearing it open and rolling it on before coming back to hover over you.

“Ready?”

“Mhmm,” you hum contentedly.

He slowly pushes in, only going halfway to ease into it. Not that you two weren't active, but you haven't been active lately and he knew you needed extra time to adjust.

He draws his hips back, pulling out before slowly pushing back in completely and bottoming out.

The way your ways instinctively clench around him is almost enough to make him lose his cool, almost enough to make him go feral for you.

“God you're so tight Y/N,” he says through a shaky breath.

“Move please,” you're close to begging.

His hips start to move against yours, each thrust driving you more crazy as his cock drags against your walls.

“Oh God you're so tight. Feels so good baby,” he moans above you, deep and guttural.

“Oh Will, fuck fuck fuck,” you say, breathy and light as the coil in your core tightens, pleasure taking over your senses.

“Takin’ me so well baby,” he groans, and as he picks up his pace, your orgasm approaches faster than you expect it.

“God, Will! I'm gonna cum.”

“Cum with me baby.”

The waves of white hot pleasure roll over your body, taking your ability to think straight with it.

You feel Will’s cock twitch inside you as he cums, his eyes tightly screwed shut.

You lay there, coming back down to Earth.

“Shit, I’m gonna be late,” Will exclaims, bringing you back to the present. He rushes over with a wet washcloth to clean you up, making sure that you're tended to before he starts scrambling around to get dressed and ready for the game.

It's truly the fastest you'd ever seen him get ready. His hair is slightly disheveled, shirt a little wonky, but he looks pretty good.

“I'll see you at the game?” he asks as you're still laying there, only covered by the blanket you'd pulled from the basket beside your bed.

“Yes you will.”

“Fully dressed I hope,” he laughs, pulling the blanket from around your shoulders and leaning down to plant a soft kiss to your pulse point.

“Of course.”

It's only about ten minutes after Will leaves that you decide to get up and get ready.

You decide on a simple outfit: black flare jeans, a Sharks crewneck sweater, and some white boots. You style your hair enough to keep it out of your face, do light makeup, and make your way to the arena.

When you get there, it's all a whirlwind of people trying to find food, find their seats, or find the bathroom. You finally duck into the tunnel toward the family suite and see Will outside talking to another one of his teammates.

You come up behind him and wrap your arm over his left shoulder.

“Hey baby,” he whispers to you, turning to kiss your cheek before you move to stand in front of him.

“Hi.”

He pulls you into the suite, Cat spotting you two as Will pushes you to mingle.

“Hey girl! Happy birthday!” she says excitedly, wrapping you in a hug.

“Thanks Cat,” you say quietly, just so she can hear.

“Had a good day so far?” she asks as she pulls you over to where she was previously sitting.

“Not too bad. Worked a little overtime, came home, relaxed with Will.”

“Relaxed huh? Doubt that,” she jokes, nudging your shoulder as you chuckle lightly.

“You're not getting the details Cat,” you say as you eye her, taking a sip of the water Will sat down in front of you.

“Thank you baby,” you say to Will, who stands behind you, hand on your shoulder. You reach a hand up to squeeze his hand as you hear the action on the ice start to settle down, the lights dimming down for the anthem.

When the game starts, Will sits next to you, thighs practically glued together. It was a close game, but the Sharks were ahead going into the third.

When the Wild come back with two unanswered goals, tying the game, you clasp your hands together in hopes the Sharks can get another goal.

But to your dismay, the buzzer sounds at the game is going into OT. And when OT fails to yield a goal for either team, your heart starts to race.

Shootouts always make you nervous, heartbeat filling your ears, hands shaking. You always got a little too worked up during shootouts.

Collin’s shot was gloved quickly, but so was the first shot from the Wild.

Then it was Mack up. And his shot makes it past the goalie and you're on your feet.

The Wild’s second attempt it saved, and your hands are covering your mouth.

Eky’s up last, and when the puck soars into the net, you're cheering and hugging Will and Cat.

The team decides to go out with it being New Year’s Eve.

And that's how you find yourself twirling the stem of your maraschino cherry from your whiskey sour around your finger, sitting with the group, but not really talking.

You sit and observe how everyone laughs, how everyone is drinking and talking and having a good time.

“Hey. You okay?” Will leans in and whispers in your ear. You just give him a bright smile and nod. He eyes you suspiciously, not believing you.

After another half hour, everyone decides to go back to one of the players’ houses. Whose? You're not quite sure but as Will leads you out, he can see on your face that you weren't really in the mood.

“Let's go home baby,” he says, guiding you toward the Bronco.

“But what about-?”

“Let's go home,” he says again, more firmly, cutting you off.

The drive home is quiet but comfortable. He opens your door when you finally get back to his apartment, and when you finally get back inside, you flop on the couch, not even setting your stuff down or taking your shoes off.

You sit like this for a while, hearing Will rustle around in the kitchen.

But when you walk in, Will isn't there. You see a small, tiered cake, white frosting with red accents, a ‘23’ with two candles on top. Next to the cake are a couple of gifts and a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

“Happy birthday Y/N,” you hear from behind you.

You turn around, tears in your eyes as he makes his way to you. “I know you don’t like your birthday, but this isn't just another day I get to celebrate you. It is the day I get to celebrate you most of all, it's the day where you should feel most important and I will try my hardest to make that happen.”

“Will,” your voice shakes through the thickness of tears bleeding into your words. He wraps you in his arms, cheek laying on your forehead as his hands splay across your back, fingers rubbing back and forth.

“Happy birthday sweetheart,” he says as he lays a kiss to your hair.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Okay now blow out your candles. Make a wish,” he says with the cheesiest smile on his face, making him look like it was his birthday instead of yours.

You make your wish. You want forever with Will. You want a future with him.

The smoke faintly lingers from the flames that were once there. Will cuts two small pieces, laying them out on a plate for you two.

“Cake and then I want you to open your gifts.”

“Okay,” you say. You bring the first bite up to your mouth, and as the frosting basically melts in your mouth and the cake density and softness makes your eyes want to roll back.

“This is so good. Where'd you get this from?” you ask.

“I made it,” he says, smiling.

“That's bullshit,” you say.

“Partially. I told them how to decorate it but that's it. And I’m not telling you where I got it from.”

“Tease,” you say, eating another bite.

Once he's done, which takes two and a half bites, he grabs the bouquet and puts them in a vase of water, perching them on the windowsill to get sunlight the next morning.

He pushes the bigger of the two gifts in front of you, and when you open it, you see a RedBull shirt, a coffee mug, and a limited edition copy of a novel you've been searching high and low for with no luck.

“Will. You didn't,” you say, looking at him with your best ‘really?’ look but you're actually shocked he found a copy. Especially one in almost perfect condition.

“I did.”

“Thank you.”

“Any and everything for my pretty girl. And the shirt is for me to wear and you to steal,” he says, before pushing the other gift to you.

When you open the second one, your favorite picture of you and Will is staring back at you, frame brand new and pristine.

“For your nightstand. For when I’m gone.”

“You're going to make me cry.”

“You can cry. It's okay to feel emotions. You deserve to know and feel that you are loved and cared for.”

That is what has a few tears slipping out. Tears that Will quickly wipes from your cheeks.

“I love you. So so so much,” you say, cupping his cheeks and pulling his lips onto yours briefly.

“I love you too Y/N.”

He pulls a third box out of his pocket. Flat, rectangular, a little smaller than your palm.

You carefully undo the ribbon he probably spent half an hour perfecting, taking the lid off and seeing a necklace. It has a W pendant, a small plate with stars, gems making it sparkle, and a number 2 in the middle, and a sparkly shark charm.

“Will it's beautiful,” you gasp, observing the charms carefully.

“For a beautiful girl. Let me put it on you,” he says, taking it out of the book and clasping it around your neck.

“Thank you,” you say, turning around as he wraps his arms around your lower back. “For everything. For earlier, for tonight. For all of it.”

“You're welcome sweetheart. I’m always going to make you feel special.”

You kiss him gently, lips moving in sync slowly, letting raw emotion pour into it.

You pull away when you hear cheering and fireworks going off.

“Happy New Year,” he smiles at you, kissing you again before leading you to the bedroom to finally call it a night.

Written by: @alliwritespuck (2026)

Photo from: Pinterest

Summary: Long distance relationships and finals week don't mix well for you. And Macklin is there for you to fall on.

Warnings: cursing, suggestive but nothing explicit, fluff mostly

Requested: Yes, celly prompt! “can you do ’don’t cry’ + reunion (from the kiss prompts) with celebrini please”

Word count: 1.7k

You remember that day like it was on replay in your mind constantly, every hour of the day, every day of the week.

You remember the white blanket of snow that fell thickly across campus, turning Boston University into a winter wonderland. You remember the chill of the wind against your nose and ears, arms hugging yourself to hold onto any warmth you had remaining. You checked your phone, and the time showed that you were a few minutes behind schedule, and so you picked up the pace.

You were looking at the ground as you slipped your phone into your pocket, and in what was a blur of snow and wind, you were hit in the face with something plastic. A heavy plastic

“Oh shit. Are you okay?” the voice behind you sounded panicked, like he was also late.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said, the pain you felt bleeding into your voice.

A blurry face came into your vision, and as your focus dials in on his face, you were shocked, frozen, not knowing what to say. He was cute, too cute to comprehend as you stood speechless.

“Hi, I’m Macklin,” he said softly, like a human teddy bear. “Sorry my stick ran into you.”

You’re confused, but when you see the hockey bag tucked under his arm, stick pointing in a stray direction, not contained in the slightest.

“It’s alright. I was just going to class,” you replied, and that flips a switch in you and you were panicking all over again. “Listen, I have class in like five minutes. Can I get your number though?”

“Sure, sure.”

He put his number in your phone and you had forgotten about it.

Until you were scrolling trying to find a contact for a class project and you saw his contact sitting there. You took a leap and texted him. The rest was history.

You two became inseparable, hanging out, going to his hockey games, late night drives with deep conversations. It was on one of those drives that Macklin asked you to be his girlfriend.

That night, as you dropped him off at his place, he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. One that had you blushing the entire way home and well into the rest of your evening.

Everything seemed to be going well. And then Mack signed with San Jose. He was going to be 3,000 miles away from you in a few months.

He promised the distance wouldn’t be an issue, but you knew better. It was already hard with his hockey schedule and he was in the same city. Him being on the opposite coast would be a different story.

You were now into your sophomore year, and in early December, right before finals, you were drowning. And Mack wasn’t able to help, though not for a lack of trying.

He called more frequently in his free time, even though he didn’t have much. He sent more encouraging texts, reminding you that he loved you and was proud of you. But everything felt like another thing on your plate when your plate was already too full.

You were pulling yet another all nighter, trying to work through textbook questions and rewrite and summarize notes. You hadn’t eaten since breakfast, if you could even call a few strawberries breakfast. You haven’t showered in a couple of days, haven’t slept more than a couple hours at a time, barely moved from your seat regardless of how bad your limbs and back needed a good stretch.

It was a stupid stats problem. A problem you remembered covering in lecture. And yet, you couldn’t get the right answer despite reworking it multiple times, using different methods, but to no avail.

The tears came before you could stop them. You were stressed, tired, completely ready to just give up and call it a night.

The ring of your phone is a sharp shrill, feeling like needles piercing your eardrums. You look at the screen. Mack.

“Hi,” you mumble, trying to keep your voice steady. You don’t want him to worry. But you knew that he was more observant than that.

“Y/N, baby. What’s wrong?” he asks, concern dripping around every syllable he speaks. And it’s the one thing that breaks your resolve, tears flowing freely, inhaling a gasping breath that alerts Mack. “Y/N. Come on, baby, talk to me.”

“I can’t do this anymore!” is all you say because that’s all you have the strength to say.

“Hey, hey, hey. What? What are you talking about?” Mack is trying so hard to help, but your unintentional crypticness isn’t helping him.

“This! I can’t keep studying until my eyes feel like they’re gonna fall out, I can’t stand not seeing you and having to settle for texts and calls and pretend it’s enough for me. I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper the last sentence, tired of giving effort to anything in general.

“Y/N,” he breathes out, clearly distraught that he can only do so much at the moment. “Baby, tell me what I can do to help you. I’ll do whatever I can, I hate hearing you like this.”

“I need everything to stop. I have a final tomorrow and I still don’t understand everything.”

“Master what you can. I’ll be proud of you regardless,” he tries, but it’s met with your self-criticism.

“You being proud of me doesn’t get me an A in the class,” you grumble.

“I know, but don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re only human baby.”

You talk for a few minutes more before telling him you need to continue studying, to which he gives you a ‘don’t stay up too late’ before ending the call.

You only last another thirty minutes before you can’t keep your eyes open any longer.

The final is at nine the following morning, and you trudge to the building. You walk past the part of campus where you first met Mack, and your heart falls because you want nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and stay there for hours.

You sit in the lecture hall before the final, leg bouncing, picking at the sides of your nails, chewing the inside of your cheek. Your anxiety only intensifies as you watch the proctors pass the exam sheets out.

You walk out of the lecture hall feeling less confident than you’d felt walking in. But at least it was over. It’s not in your control anymore.

Your shoulders slump as you reach your apartment, closing the door more harshly than intended, kicking your shoes off and slinging your bag onto the bench seat by the foyer before walking to your room.

You walk into the room, nose buried in your phone as you text Mack about your final. You’re so preoccupied that you don’t even notice Mack lounging on your bed, waiting for you.

You send the text off, and when you hear the buzz of a phone on the bed, you look up in horror before your body relaxes.

“Thought I’d have to sit here awhile before you noticed,” he says, smile on his face as he jokes with you. Your jaw is on the floor and you’re frozen in place, too surprised to move. The only thing that tells him that you’re still alive is you crying, tears falling down your face steadily.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry,” he rushes out, moving to wrap his arms around you. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

He’s whispering sweet nothings into your hair, hand cradling your face as his thumb rubs soothingly over your cheek.

When you’re a little more calm, he pulls your chin up, making you look at him before pulling your lips to his.

It's a tired, lazy kiss. Like being wrapped in a hug and a warm blanket. It's comfort, security. And right now, it's exactly what you needed. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into you like you wanted your bodies to meld together. And he did the same, hands splayed across your lower back, fingertips digging into your skin to the point where it started to become uncomfortable.

Your hands move to his hair, carding your fingers through it and pulling gently. He hums against your lips before walking you backwards until he’s sitting on the bed. He pulls at the back of your thigh making your knee sit awkwardly on the edge of the bed, center of gravity rapidly moving into him. If he laid back, you’d be falling onto his chest.

He’s pulling at the back of your other thigh, trying to get you on his lap, but you aren’t budging, not wanting to lose balance.

“C’mon, I’ve got you,” he says, against your lips, finger digging into your skin again, and he’s pulling you into him again.

With his help, you situate your leg next to him, followed by your other, effectively straddling him, albeit not very comfortably.

“Good?” he asks, looking up at where your face is hovering over his.

“Yeah,” you say softly. You lean in for another kiss, but instead he wraps his arms around your waist and falls back onto the bed. “Mack!”

“Oh you’re fine,” he teases, kissing your jaw before cradling your head into the crook of his neck. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. This week has been rough.”

“I know. Knew from the minute you said hi when I called you. You okay now though? Need to talk?”

“I’m okay. It’s just been hard to balance everything recently. And missing you didn’t help,” you murmur into his skin.

“Well I have an idea. If you’re down,” he trails off, and when you pull back and see the mischievous glimmer in his eyes, you know exactly what said idea is.

“Let me get relaxed and out of these clothes,” you give in, getting off of him.

“I can help with that,” he remarks, and when you see him get up to chase after you, you know you’re in for a very busy afternoon.

And you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way if you were being honest.

Please do not copy, translate, or repost my work as your own!

Written by: @alliwritespuck (2025)

Photo from: Pinterest

Summary: Luke gets injured on the ice, and you go into full-on panic mode. Luke knows just how to calm you down and bring you back to Earth.

Warnings: cursing, injury (nothing specific), tiny bit suggestive (blink and you'll miss it)

Requested: Yes, celly prompt! ‘“hey… hey… why are you crying?”with Luke Hughes’

Word count: 2.2k

You knew that saying no was probably your best option, but when it was a request from Luke, you had trouble saying no.

In his voice like honey, he asked you to come to the Devils game tonight, stating that it was a declaration for his teammates that you two were serious enough. You agreed quickly, without hesitation.

But as you got ready, there was a deep pit in your stomach, weighing it down. You felt uneasy, felt as if something was going to go wrong. Not a matter of if, but a matter of when.

But nevertheless, you continued getting ready. Hair, a little natural makeup, and Luke’s jersey, the finishing touch.

The drive to the arena isn't uneventful, it's quiet, but the energy that you can feel, how it's palpable even when you aren’t in the arena. Like the city is buzzing, not just the arena.

You wonder what Luke is doing as you find your seat. He's told you brief, basic details of his pregame routine, but it doesn't stop you from wondering if he's thinking about you like you're thinking about him.

The players finally start emerging, the warmups starting in full swing. Your eyes are peeled for Luke, and when you spot him, your eyes stay fixed on him, tuned into his every move. How he moves so fluidly, like you know he's done a million times before now. You watch how he handles the puck with his stick, how clean his movements are, how he weaves in and out and between his teammates, skating toward the net. It makes you appreciate him a little bit more. The sheer passion he has, the amount of hard work and dedication he's put into becoming a great player.

Because you know it's the same thing in the relationship you have with him. Sure, it's early on, but that doesn't mean you can't see it.

And as quickly as warmups had begun, they came to an end. You watched the transition into the national anthem, the introductions, and the puck drop.

The arena’s energy spiked again, buzzing all around you. You heard the sounds of skates on ice, fans cheering, gasping, cursing.

You watch as both teams battle for the puck, stealing, weaving, shouting. Everything is happening so fast you can hardly keep up.

But that's the entertaining part of the game. The fast pace, the fact that the game can change direction in the blink of an eye.

The first period doesn't yield a number on the scoreboard for either team. You grab some food and a drink to tide yourself over until you decide what to do after the game. Luke mentioned maybe grabbing dinner, so you wanted to be prepared for whatever you decided.

The second period starts, and just like the first, most of the time is spent in a back and forth between teams. It's not until about a minute remains in the period that things start getting rowdy.

The other team is getting physical, and not that the team couldn't handle that, but it was excessive. Every battle for the puck ended up with one of the Devil players in the boards, sometimes on the ground.

And then it happens. Luke is battling a forward for the puck, and another player from the opposing team pushes Luke down from behind.

The whistle blows, the play stops, but Luke stays down on the ice by the boards.

He doesn't move, he doesn't look like he's breathing. The team physician is on the ice immediately, and everyone is swarming him, and you're on your feet. You can't sit still, and you don’t know where you're walking until you're there. The tunnel leading back toward the locker rooms and trainer rooms.

You try to get back, but security won't let anyone back. You know it's for good reason, but it's still infuriating to not be able to see that Luke is okay.

You can't ask Jack because he doesn't know you and Luke are dating. Luke wanted to tell his brothers and his parents. You didn't want to. Not yet. Not until you and Luke were a little more steady.

You don't know what to do. So instead of going back to your seat, you go home. Your mind is elsewhere during the drive home, always wandering back to Luke and where he is, how he's doing.

All you do is pace once you get back to your apartment. Your phone was discarded somewhere around the room after throwing it. Receiving no updates on Luke, not from Jack, not from the official Devils social media pages, not from Luke himself, made you worry.

Finally, your body has almost given out when you slump against the couch, head in your hands, tears streaming down your face in a steady flow.

You're there for so long that you don’t know if the game has ended, you don’t know what time it is, you don’t even know how Luke is doing.

You practically jump out of your skin when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Woah, just me. Hey… hey… why are you crying?” Luke asks gently from beside the couch.

“You were, they hit. You were hurt. You didn't get up. And I couldn't get back to the tunnel to see you. I was worried sick.”

“Oh, Y/N. Baby, I’m sorry. I didn't have my phone. I did text you that I was coming over, but given the fact that your phone is on the floor over there, and seeing you sitting here, I can see why you didn't see it.”

“Are you okay? Let me see. Does it hurt? What happened? Any serious inju-,” you start swarming him with questions, standing up and being a mother hen, checking to see what was hurt, but he slides an arm around your shoulders, tracing downward until his hand splays across the middle of your back.

“Y/N. I’m okay. I’m here. No serious injury, just a game time decision. I’m okay.”

“Sore?” you ask, looking at him.

“Very,” he confirms, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Well let's get you in bed and I'll make you something for dinner.”

“Are you trying to sleep with me?” Luke asks, ‘clutching his pearls’ faster than a southern woman.

“In your condition, definitely not. I want to, but I’m sure your PTs wouldn't like that.”

“No they would not. Didn't like me even driving home.”

You lead him to your room, laying him down on the other side of the bed. The side you'd designated for him when he finally decided to stay over.

“You lay here. What do you want to eat? I don’t have much, but I have pasta and stuff. I could make you something like that?”

“‘M not hungry. Just wanna lay with you,” he says, reaching out for you.

“Luke, you need to eat.”

“I'll eat in the morning. Just want you.”

You give in after a few more protests, but when you lay beside him, his arms wrapped around your body, you concede fully, relaxing into him.

“Now that I've got you here, gonna kiss those tear streaks off your face,” he says, planting a gentle kiss right beneath your eye, then your cheek, then your nose, then your chin.

“You're so cheesy.”

“Only for you. Why were you so worried? It wasn't just because I wasn't moving. I've been hurt a couple of times and you've been fine.”

“We haven't been dating that long. And if something were to seriously happen, I feel like it would've messed everything up. I’m new to your world. I don’t know how to help an athlete through an injury. I haven't met your brothers and parents. How do I explain to Jack why I’m always around when he doesn't even know who I am?”

“You're being irrational right now. I don’t blame you, with everything that's happened, you're all out of sorts. But if it makes you feel better, I can arrange for you to meet my parents, just them and the two of us, you can meet Jack, and when we go to Vancouver, you can meet Quinn, and you'll already know my parents and Jack. I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m okay. I’m tough, I can handle it.”

“But-,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I'll be fine. And if I’m not, I have you to help me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He smiles down at you, and leans down to kiss you gently. It's soft and sweet, in-character with how Luke is down to his inner being. It's not sexual, it's not flirty. It's not anything other than just plain sweet.

When he pulls away, he's smiling shyly at you.

“What?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he blurts. You'd assume he'd wanted to do that in a better way, but he got his point across efficiently.

“You want me to be your girlfriend?” you ask. You're bewildered. You didn't think you were all that great. Luke could have anyone, and you were honored he'd chosen you, but why he had was still questioning.

“Yeah. I'd like to introduce you as my girlfriend. Not like ‘hey this is a girl I’m seeing but we haven't made anything official yet’. That sounds tacky.”

“Yeah that wouldn't be a great way to meet your parents for the first time.”

“So will you?” he asks, and his eyes are shining brighter than the stars in the night sky.

You fake ponder, finger tapping your chin.

“Hmmm. I don’t know about that,” you jest, hoping to have him on his toes like he had you on yours earlier.

“You're joking, right?”

“Yes. Yes I am. I would love to be your girlfriend,” you say, kissing him softly. As your lips move with his, one of his hands comes to jab his fingers in your ribs, making you pull away in laughter, trillingly sharp and loud. “Stop! I’m sorry! I was just kidding!”

“You are forgiven. This time,” he says and pulls you into him again.

You fall asleep cuddled into his chest, ear laid right over his heart, the rhythmic thumps of its beating lulling you into sleep.

You wake to a loud alarm blaring right by your ear. You shoot up out of bed, seeing Luke still asleep. You look at the ringing phone, and see it's not an alarm, it's an incessant phone call. From Jack.

“Baby, it's Jack.”

“Tell him to fuck off.”

His phone goes silent, but in another few seconds, it goes right back to ringing.

“I’m answering it.”

“Hello? Luke?” Jack's voice sounds from the other side, and you have to stifle a laugh.

“Luke’s asleep. Wants you to leave a message,” you say through small chuckles.

“Who is this? Luke, this isn't funny!” he shouts, attempting to get Luke to hear.

“This is Y/N, his girlfriend. He's still asleep like he was 10 seconds ago.”

“Okay. Well maybe you can answer this then. Can you put the bags of frozen fruit in the microwave?”

“I would advise against it. Just put the bag in a bowl of hot water and it'll thaw pretty quickly.”

“Thanks. Another question.”

“Sure.”

“When do I get to meet you?”

“Well Luke suggested meeting your parents first, but if you're just so eager, I'll talk to Luke and we can arrange something.”

“Just tell him to bring you back with him to the apartment when he comes home.”

“Okay. Please don’t blow anything up trying to microwave that fruit.”

“How did you know I was going to microwave it?”

“I heard you press the buttons.”

“Damnit. Okay well I look forward to meeting you,” he says, and you agree before hanging up.

“What did he want?”

“Wanted to know if he could microwave a plastic bag full of frozen fruit.”

“He's an idiot.”

“So are you, Luke.”

“You did not just go there.”

“Also said to bring me over tonight so he could meet me.”

“Well I don’t know if that's going to happen. You called me an idiot,” he says as he starts to get up, thinking he's being sneaky and moving toward you slowly, but you know what he's about to do. And you're faster.

“Come and get me then,” you counter, brow raised, looking at him before sprinting down the hallway and into the living room.

“Hey, you have to go easy on me. I’m hurt.”

“Bullshit. You're fine. And you know I’m going to let you ‘win’ anyway.”

“Yeah you're right,” he says, and he finally reaches you, falling over onto the couch with you in his arms.

“Thank you for being worried about me last night. It's a nice feeling. Having someone other than family to worry over me.”

“Luke, you're my boyfriend. Of course I’m going to worry.”

“Boyfriend. I like the sound of it.”

“Me too.”

“Boyfriend.”

“Stop saying it or it won't sound like a word anymore.”

There is silence as everything around settles in. Luke is okay, you're his girlfriend now, and the sun is out, shining brightly.

All is well.

And then you realize.

“Oh my God I’m meeting Jack later.”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“I need to pick out an outfit!” you exclaim as you run toward your room, off to worry about something else.

“What am I gonna do with her?” you miss Luke whisper, but he knows that he wouldn't have you any other way.

Please do not copy, translate, or repost my work as your own!

Written by: @alliwritespuck (2025)

Photo from: Pinterest

Summary: Context is everything, and a picture you see has you questioning a lot of things about your relationship.

Warnings: jealousy, insecurity, hurt/comfort

Requested: Yes, celly prompt! “❛ why me? ❜ [ comfort ] a tender kiss to provide comfort or reassurance [ no-words-needed hug ] a hug given when no more words are needed and they just want to be close to one another hurt/comfort with ekky”

Word count: 1.3k

It came with a poorly timed, out of context picture of William with another girl. It was supposed to be a team dinner, something lowkey. But then as William was leaving, the girl just happened to be walking and ran into him.

William was just trying to be nice. He took a picture, signed a puck that she just so happened to be carrying around. But the friend she had with her snapped another picture of the two mid-interaction. And the angle was unfortunate because it made them look closer than they actually were. It looked like they were an inch from kissing.

But you didn’t have any way of knowing that.

When the text from a friend came in, the picture attached to her message, your heart sank. The girl was pretty. Her hair looked like she’d gotten it done at the salon the same day, her make up was so perfectly natural, her smile effortless.

You continued looking at the picture, comparing yourself to her flawless features. The more you looked, the more your heart twisted and squeezed in your chest. She was everything you weren’t. You couldn’t compare to her.

So why was William with you?

William, the NHL superstar that had women falling at his feet, thirsting over him in the comments on Instagram posts and TikTok edits. William, the man who could have anyone he wanted. And yet, he chose you? You couldn’t imagine why.

And as you turned your phone off and set it down, your thoughts began spinning faster than you could comprehend them. The longer you thought, the more jumbled everything became and so you shut down.

But you decided to just push through everything like it was okay. Even though it wasn’t. Because it was easier to feign ignorance and act like everything was okay than to admit the picture, the thought of it being in the context you originally thought it was, got to you. You didn't want to admit out loud that you needed reassurance. You were afraid of being too clingy, too needy.

When William texted you asking if you wanted to get dinner, you agreed. And that night, you pretended like nothing was wrong.

But as you sat across from him, face mostly neutral, except for the slight scowl William notices.

“You okay?” he questions as he watches you push your food around your plate.

“‘M fine,” you mumble, and he knows it's a lie, clocked it before you even speak, but he decides to let it go until you get home.

“I love how that dress looks on you. It's one of my favorites,” he compliments, and it's almost enough to make your resolve fade away entirely. Almost.

“Thanks.”

You expect for him to drop you off, kiss your cheek goodnight, and leave. To your surprise, he shuts the car off, following you up to your apartment.

“You’re coming up?” you ask. He notes the tone of your voice, less question and more suspicion.

“Yeah. I just figured we could extend the night a little. Didn’t want to leave you just yet. Is that okay?”

You hate the flutter of your heart against your ribcage. The unwillingness to push boundaries. You can tell he’s onto you.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” you say, leading the way to your front door.

It's eerily silent between you two, like two strangers forced into the same room. You not wanting to talk, and William not wanting to ask what was wrong.

“Am I supposed to guess what’s wrong or are you just trying to figure out how to tell me?” William finally speaks. Not accusatory, not forceful. It's gentle.

And that feeling lodges itself in your chest, making it feel tight, sharp, jabbing into your lungs and making it hard to breathe.

“I don’t know,” you admit softly. And you didn't. You weren't sure what exactly you were hoping for. You didn't want to make him guess, make him search for clues as to why you were feeling what you were feeling.

“If you don't want to talk about it right now, that's okay. But I’m not going to leave you alone just for things to get worse.”

Now his voice is firm. No room for argument or persuasion.

And so you sit in relative silence. No talking, just the sounds of you two breathing, the hum of the fridge, the creaks of the apartment settling.

It helps that he isn't looking at you, not feeling the pressure to talk, to just fill the silence instead of thoughtfully articulating your emotions. You talk too much, but don’t say anything worth saying.

“It was the picture,” you creak vaguely, voice small and shaky. William’s brows furrow in question, trying to figure out what you were referring to.

“What picture?” he doesn't recall taking a picture that would make you this upset.

You scroll back to the picture your friend originally sent you, flipping the phone so he could see.

“Y/N, it's not what it looks like,” he defends, but the sense of calm he carries makes that dam your holding up let the emotions come rushing out.

“I know. And I tried to convince myself of that but the longer I looked the more I started to doubt that. She's gorgeous, and she's pretty. She's more than I'll ever be. Why is it that I’m the one you choose? Why me?”

The lone tear that streaks down your face is traitorous. William just sits patiently, waiting for you to either continue or stop. When you just continue to look at your hands clasped together, he stands in front of you as your body continues to cave in on itself, making you smaller, taking up less space.

He hates when you do that. He knows it isn't intentional, it's a force of habit from never being given enough space to be who you are. But he hates it because you deserve to be who you are without fear that someone will hold it against you.

He grabs your hands, forcing them apart, pulling you to stand up with him before embracing you in the warmest hug.

He feels you relax against him, head pushing into his shoulder. You feels the warmth of your breath as you sigh.

“I chose you for so many reasons. No one else knows exactly how I like my coffee in the morning. No one else knows what type of day I've had just by watching me walk through the door. No one could make the random animals you know random facts about seem more interesting than you can. No one knows how to make my favorite dinner like you. Well, other than my mom. I chose you because you're a taste of the future I so desperately want. Yes, she got a little too close, and yes that picture doesn't do anything any justice. But I love you, and I love you enough to respect you and to tell you if I have any issues instead of resorting to cheating. I won't do that to you ever. And I love you too much to let you go.”

There are more tears now, but there's the slightest hint of a smile that makes his lips turn up at the corners.

“I love you too,” you whisper. He brushes your hair out of your face, cradling your face before planting a kiss to your lips. Firm, warm, everything you need it to be to show you just how serious he is.

When he finally pulls back, he keeps you wrapped in his one arm, not letting you go anywhere.

“Please don’t bottle up stuff like this. I always want to know what you're thinking,” he says to you softly, the love in his voice making you smile.

“I won't. Promise.”

Written by: @alliwritespuck (2025)

Photo from: Pinterest