CUTE TANTRUMá”á” MCâ·Âč
â° Synopsis Youâve always called Macklin cute, thinking itâs sweet and harmless, but it drives him crazy because he thinks you donât want him in the way he wants you.
tags/contains Macklin Celebrini x fem!bsf!reader. Fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, mutual pining, kind of slow burn, shy Macklin, count how many time the word cute is mentioned, use of y/n, 1.9k words, requested.
âș from Sera, to youđš. The pic Iâm talking about in the fic is the one from Olympics because genuinely thatâs the cutest picture Iâve ever seen, so yes in this fic they make up during the Olympics.
masterlist ᄫᥠplease reblog this fic if you enjoyed it!
If there was one thing in the world that Macklin hated, it was the way you always called him cute.
Well, hate was a strong word.
Macklin didnât absolutely hate it when you called him cute. There were times it felt nice, like when youâd scroll through old baby photos his mom had texted you, and youâd coo, âLook at baby Mack, so cute!â Heâd duck his head, cheeks burning, but the shyness came with warmth because it was harmless.
Back then, he was still figuring out how to fill out his frame, still the kid everyone babied a little. But now it kind of felt annoying.
He was 19, standing 6â0, carrying 190 pounds of solid muscle that came from endless hours in the weight room and on the ice. Heâd bulked up noticeably since his rookie year; broader shoulders, thicker legs, the kind of build that let him drive the net without getting shoved off.
In the 25-26 season, he was already at 29 goals and 54 assists, a Sharks team that finally looked like it had a future because of him. Alternate captain some nights.
He wasnât a puppy anymore. He was a man who could bench his own bodyweight, who absorbed hits from guys twice his age and still finished checks. He wanted you to see that, and to treat him like the big guy he actually was.
But instead, you kept saying cute.
And the worst part? You said it about everything small and sweet. A puppy trotting by on the sidewalk during your daily walks together? âAww, so cute!â A kid in a tiny Sharks hat waving at him after a game? âLook how cute that little guy is!â It wasnât jealousy exactly, he wasnât competing with dogs or toddlers but it lumped him in with them.
Another worst thing was that you werenât even dating. If you had been boyfriend, girlfriend, something with labels and night kisses and mornings tangled in sheets; maybe the âcuteâ thing wouldnât have landed like a slap every time.
Maybe he couldâve laughed it off, tugged you closer by the waist, murmured something cocky like, âYeah? Wait âtil you see what else I can do thatâs cute,â before proving exactly how not-cute he could be. In that version of things, âcuteâ wouldâve been foreplay, a tease, a private joke between two people who already knew the heat underneath.
But you werenât dating. You were just you and him: best friends, the girl whoâd been there since forever. The one he could show up to unannounced, bruised and moody, and youâd still open the door without hesitation. The one he thought about way too much when the lights were off and the condo was quiet.
Macklin didnât remember exactly when the feelings had started. Maybe theyâd been there all along. Maybe theyâd crept in slow when you laughed too hard at his dumb jokes, every time you patched him up after a fight. Either way, heâd been too stupid to name it until it was too loud to ignore.
In your perspective, it was totally harmless. Calling Macklin cute had always felt like the most natural thing in the world, the same as breathing. You never once thought it could hurt him. Youâd noticed the way he sometimes turned his face away when the word slipped out, cheeks going pink, jaw tightening just a bit.
But youâd chalked it up to shyness. Macklin was shy in the sweetest ways, when you complimented his new haircut, when you hugged him too long after games, when you caught him staring at you across the room like heâd forgotten how words worked. That flush, that quick duck of his head made your chest ache in the best way. You loved seeing him like that.
You really did think he was cute. Not in a diminutive way, not like you were patting him on the head and calling it a day. Cute in the way his whole face lit up when he scored and heâd do that little fist pump shrug combo like he was surprised heâd done it again. Cute in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, cute in the way heâd sprawl on your couch looking exhausted and impossibly beautiful all at once.
Anytime a new picture of him popped up, youâd stop scrolling and zoom in. His smile, all teeth and triumph, cheeks flushed from adrenaline. Every single one made you melt a little more. There wasnât a person on the planet who could unravel you like he did. Not with grand gestures, just by being Macklin, by existing in the same space as you, close enough to touch, far enough that you ached with it.
To no oneâs surprise, you traveled to Italy with Macklin for the Olympics. Heâd known Italy was one of the countries youâd always wanted to visit since high school.
When he made the Team Canada roster, he didnât hesitate. âCome with us,â heâd said casually. âMy familyâs going. You can crash in the hotel, I want you there.â His parents had loved the idea; his mom had already booked your room before you could protest.
Tonight was one of those casual evenings. Canada had practice earlier for tomorrowâs quarterfinal; his family had retreated to their rooms after dinner. It was around 7pm, the city lights twinkling outside your window.
You and Macklin were side by side on your hotel bed, backs against the headboard, legs stretched out. He was in gray sweats, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. You had yours open to Pinterest, hunting for new nail inspo for when you got home.
The feed loaded slowly on hotel wifi. Then a photo popped up on your home page: Macklin during warmups, red jersey hugging his shoulders, helmet tilted just so, stick gripped tight. The angle caught the focused set of his jaw, the faint flush on his cheeks from the cold rink, eyes sharp under the visor but with that tiny smile tugging at his mouth.
You gasped out loud. Macklinâs head snapped toward you. âWhat? Show me.â
âOh my gosh,â you breathed, already zooming in. âThis is the cutest pic Iâve ever seen.â
He leaned over, expecting maybe a photo of kittens or one of those viral baby animal reels you sent him constantly. âLemme see-â
You turned the screen toward him fully. His eyes landed on the photo of himself, in full Olympic gear, looking every bit the focused sniper whoâd been tearing up the tournament. He stared at the screen, then immediately looked back down at his own phone, jaw clenching.
You didnât notice anything at first. âMack, thatâs such an adorable face expression. Look at your little smile. Like youâre plotting to score the next one.â
He didnât respond right away, he kept scrolling, thumb moving too fast. âNo, itâs not. Itâs just another random picture they took of me..â
You nudged his shoulder lightly. âNooo, itâs my new favorite picture. Iâm putting it on one of my home screen widgets.â
âY/n.â His voice came out low, he didnât snap; heâd never snap at you but he was annoyed. âCan you just stop?â
You blinked, lowering the phone. âStop what?â
âCalling it cute. Calling me cute.â He set his phone face down on the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. âItâs not adorable. Itâs just me doing my job.â
âBut it is adorable,â you insisted, softer now, confused. âThe way your cheeks are pink from the cold, that tiny grin, you look happy. I love it.â
He exhaled sharply through his nose, shoulders tense. âThatâs the problem. You love the happy, focused puppy version. Not..â He gestured vaguely at himself. âNot anything else.â
âMack,â you started gently, âI didnât mean-â
âI know you didnât.â He cut you off. âBut itâs every time like Iâm still the kid you met years ago.â He finally looked at you. âIâm not and I donât want to be that to you.â
Macklin didnât know what he expected when he said that out loud but heâd carried the words around for so long, that saying them now felt inevitable. He wanted you and maybe this hotel room in Milan, was finally the right time.
You stared at him, eyes wide. âOkay.â
He exhaled, shoulders dropping. You paused, shifting so your knee brushed his. âThen what do you want to be?â
Macklin shrugged, gaze dropping to the space between you. He couldnât look at you right now. âI donât know.â
âTell me, Mack.â Your voice was gentle, coaxing. You reached out, fingers brushing along his jaw lightly.
He shook his head once, catching your wrist in his hand to pull it away before the touch unraveled him completely. His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist. âThis is gonna sound stupid, but.. I just want you to think Iâm good looking. Not just cute.â He swallowed. âIt makes me think you donât want me the way I want you. And yeah, maybe Iâm being an idiot right now, confessing like this in the middle of the freaking Olympics, but-â
âMack!â
He stopped rambling, eyes snapping up to yours. âDo you really think I donât find you attractive?â
He shrugged again. âI donât know. You never say it like that.â
You let out a soft laugh. âJust because I havenât exactly said the words doesnât mean I donât think it.â You moved closer, turning so you were facing each other fully on the bed. You lifted your free hand, fingers gentle under his chin, tilting his face up until he had no choice but to meet your eyes. âIf anything, youâre the most handsome guy Iâve ever seen.â
The compliment landed softly, his cheeks flushed deeper, pink creeping up from his neck but this time it wasnât embarrassment.
You smiled and started to lean in.
He met you halfway and your mouths brushed together. He deepened the kiss as his hand found the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair; yours slid to his shoulder, gripping the soft fabric of his long sleeve. You sucked lightly on his bottom lip, and he made a quiet sound in the back of his throat that sent heat curling through you both.
When you pulled back, both of you were smiling, stupid and breathless and a little dazed.
Macklinâs voice came out rough. âThat.. that was nice to hear from you.â He swallowed, thumb brushing your cheek. âI think the same about you.â
You laughed softly, the sound muffled against his skin as you pressed another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. âTook you long enough to say it.â
âMe?â He huffed, but there was no bite in it. âYouâre the one who kept calling me something like it was a personality trait.â
âMaybe it is,â you teased, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. âBut handsome fits better.â
Macklin leaned back against the headboard, pulling you with him so your shoulders pressed together. You both settled in, he took your right hand in his, lacing your fingers without thinking, thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles.
You reached for your phone with your free hand, still open to that photo of him, âYou know,â you said, tilting the screen toward him again, âI really might make this my Instagram profile picture.â
He huffed a laugh, glancing at it, then at you. âYeah, sure. Maybe once we make it official to the public.â
You raised an eyebrow, smirking. âOh?â You say as you leaned your head on his shoulder.
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