#sjs71

prompt: You only wanted to survive the charity skate without falling over—getting checked into the boards was definitely not part of the plan.

pairing: macklin celebrini x girlfriend!reader

content: injury, throwing up, concussion, fluff, protective Macklin, cursing, use of y/n, established relationship

wc: 2.3k

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for days because I'm not entirely sure I like it, so let me know what you think!

You were not good at hockey. In fact, you’d never once claimed to be. But that didn’t seem to matter, because there you were on the ice, wearing leggings and one of Mack’s jerseys. Macklin had tied your laces tight, and you felt the skates squeezing around your ankles. 

You held your stick with two hands, like Macklin had shown you just before the game, and tried your best to just stay out of the way.

It was a charity skate, something that the Anaheim Ducks and San Jose Sharks were putting on together. Apparently, not enough players had signed up so they began reaching out to the players' partners and family members instead. Which was exactly how you came to be in your current position. 

Now you were in the SAP Center, the arena roaring around you–though it wasn’t nearly as full as it would have been during a normal game. 

You weren’t the only “normal” person on the ice either. Tyler Toffoli’s wife, Cat, was there, as well as some of the Duck’s significant others. The only reason you had agreed to play was that it was supposed to be no contact–no hitting, checking, any of it. Otherwise, you would have happily sat in the stands to watch. 

You scanned the ice, finding Macklin down by the Duck’s goal, handling the puck expertly. He shot, the puck zinging into the net and you cheered, throwing your hands and stick into the air. He circled around the rink, coming back to stand next to you, a smile on your face. 

“You haven’t touched the puck yet,” he said, grinning. 

“Haha,” you laughed sarcastically. “I’m just here to be another body, not to actually play.” 

“How about we make a deal,” he began. You groaned. “I’ll get the puck after the faceoff, and you position yourself next to the goal. I’ll pass it to you and you can shoot it in.” 

“Mack, I don’t need to score, I’m just here because you asked me to be.” 

“But it’ll be fun!” He begged, giving you those damn puppy dog eyes. At that moment, Will Smith, Mack’s best friend, skated up beside the two of you.

“Are we gonna flirt or are we gonna play?” He teased.

“You two can flirt all you want,” you told him, smirking. “I’m playing.”

Both boys ignored your statement. 

“Does that mean I can pass the puck to you?” Mack asked. 

You nodded, finally giving in. Mack pumped his fist in the air, then moved to take the faceoff position. Smitty took his position as well, and you did your best to skate (more like a hobble) into your place. 

Then, the play was live, and you began moving down the ice once Macklin won the faceoff, moving around one of the Ducks flawlessly with the puck. You did your best to keep your eye on him while also looking at your surroundings to ensure you weren’t going to run into anything or fall over. 

Will was to your left, on the other side of the goal, ready to rebound your shot if you missed or if the Ducks’ goalie intercepted it. 

“Ready?” Mack called, and you nodded. Before you knew it, the puck was racing towards you across the ice. It met your stick with a thump.

You were so focused on the puck and taking aim that you didn’t even see the Ducks player racing towards you. 

Someone shouted–maybe Will, maybe Macklin–but it was too late. 

A force rammed into your side, sending you flying backwards and into the boards. Your head cracked against the glass, the air punching out of your lungs.  

For a moment, you were crushed between the boards and the player, pain reverberating up your spine. Then he moved away, and you slid down onto the ice. 

It all happened so fast that you barely even knew what was happening. Suddenly, you had been hit hard, and now you were on the ice, vision swimming before you.

The arena was dead silent.

No one moved. No one cheered. 

For a split second, Macklin didn’t move. But then he saw you crumple to the ice. A range of emotions flew over his face, surprise, fear, panic, anger. 

His gloves hit the ice before the whistle was even blown. He was like a storm, flying across the ice towards the opponent with rage coloring his face. 

“What the hell was that?” He asked sharply, and then his fists were flying. Will and Tyler were suddenly in the middle, trying to pull the two apart. 

“Are you okay?” A voice cut in, and you looked up slowly to see Cat skating over to you, worry all over her face. 

“I think so,” you managed, beginning to push yourself to your feet. You weren’t used to having to stand on ice with skates, and your legs went out from under you. You landed back on the ice with an “oomph” escaping your lips. 

Cat smiled gently and held her hands out for support. Gratefully, you took them and she helped you to your feet. As you stood, your vision spun around you, causing you to lean on the shorter woman and grab the boards for support. 

“I’m just kinda dizzy,” you explained, blinking a couple times to refocus. 

“Let’s get you off the ice,” Cat said, trying to lead you towards the exit. But a sharp yell came from the side, causing you to pause. 

Your eyes moved back to Mack, who was fighting against Toffoli’s hold on him.

“She’s not wearing any padding you fucking idiot!” He yelled, red staining his cheeks. 

“I was in the moment and forgot!” The other player tried to reason, throwing his hands in the air. 

Toff leaned in to Mack, saying something low that you couldn’t make out. Whatever it was, it caused Mack’s head to turn towards you, his eyes searching all over your body. You watched as the anger was replaced with something else. Panic, fear, you weren’t entirely sure. 

Toffoli dropped his arms, releasing Mack and letting him skate over to you. Immediately, Mack grabbed your shoulders gently, pulling you into his chest with a certain intensity, like he needed to make sure that you were there and standing. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, voice low and severe. You nodded into him, relishing in his warmth, in the security of his body. And then it was like a wave of exhaustion hit you, and you wobbled on your feet, blinking. Mack’s arms hardened around you, offering more support as he pulled away to look you in the face. 

“What is it?” He asked, his voice quieter now. His eyes were searching, looking for what could be wrong. You couldn’t focus on his face, and kept blinking rapidly. Everything felt like it was spinning around you. “Hey– hey, look at me,” he said urgently, hands cupping your cheeks. 

“I just need to sit down, I think,” you told him, gripping his forearms tightly. He nodded, and the two of you began moving towards the bench, where a trainer was already waiting. Your steps were choppy, as if you’d forgotten how to skate, but Mack didn’t comment. His jaw only tightened, as if he was clenching his teeth so hard that they might begin cracking in his mouth. 

Once you reached the bench, Macklin lowered you gently, and then the trainer was there, asking questions and shining a flashlight in your eyes. You winced at the onslaught, the light feeling too bright. It sent nausea spiraling in your stomach. 

“Wait-” you warned, but then you were leaning forward, throwing up onto the trainer’s shoes. Mack was immediately at your side, rubbing your back gently as his eyes moved from you, to the trainer, back to you. 

“I’m sorry,” you managed to say weakly to the trainer, but he just shook his head, giving you a smile. 

“Happens all the time,” he reassured, though you knew that was a lie. “Why don’t we get you into the locker room? You definitely have a concussion, but it will be easier to check you out further in a quiet space.” 

You nodded, and Macklin helped you stand. The three of you filed down the hallway and into the locker room, where you sat back down on a bench as soon as possible. 

The trainer resumed his testing, asking questions, telling you to follow his finger with your eyes, the usual. 

The door opened and Cat walked in, lips pursed. 

“I’ll stay with her if you want to get back out there,” she said to Macklin quietly, who was watching from the side, stoic as ever. His arms were crossed over his chest. 

“I don’t want to leave if she might need me,” he whispered back, eyes never leaving you. 

Two hours later, you were laying on the couch in the apartment you shared with Mack. The trainer had told him to take you to the ER to get properly looked at, and after even more doctors flashing lights in your eyes and asking you questions, all you’d wanted to do was go home.

Macklin was finishing something in the kitchen, and once he was done, he sat next to you before pulling you into his lap. He buried his face in your hair, breathing deeply as you rested your head on his shoulder, eyes drifting shut. 

“I’m sorry for ruining the charity game,” you mumbled softly. 

Mack shook his head. “No, you didn’t. That asshole did.” 

You pulled away slightly to look your boyfriend in the eye. “It was an accident.” That was the truth of it. It had been an accident, a slipup. What was supposed to be an easy, contact-free game had been mistakenly turned into something larger. Something scarier. 

“He should have been smarter than that,” Mack pointed out, eyes searching your face. And then, “I was so scared when I saw you hit the ice, y/n.” He shook his head. “You hit the boards and didn’t get up. I thought–” he bit his lip and turned away, jaw clenching. 

Oh.

Oh.

Macklin had always been sweet, loving, protective. He loved hockey, it was his life. But he had never once hesitated before putting you first. 

“I’m okay,” you reassured him. 

“You have a concussion,” he pointed out, smoothing a hand over your hair. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes briefly at the feeling of comfort. 

“A small one,” you reminded him. The doctor had said it wasn’t anything huge, you shouldn’t have any serious and concerning brain damage. You’d be fine within the next week. 

“You should get some rest.” 

You nodded, laying your head on his shoulder as he held you. 

“Can I sleep here?” The question was moot–your eyes were already drifting shut. 

“Always,” he said softly, kissing the top of your head. 

That's how you stayed for the rest of the day, drifting in and out of sleep in Macklin’s arms. 

Later that evening, your eyes opened sleepily. Your head felt heavy, resting against something hard and warm. You pulled back slightly to see Mack already looking down at you, eyes worried. 

“How’s the head?” He asked, as if trying to hide the emotion in his gaze.

“Still attached,” you joked softly, though it felt as if your brain was pulsing behind your eyes. “So far so good.” 

A small smile flitted across his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. They were still clouded with the same worry that had been there all afternoon.

“I’m okay,” you reminded him. He nodded, quick. You didn’t believe it for a second. “Really, I am.” 

For a moment he just looked at you before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

When he pulled away, you frowned. 

“That’s it?” You asked, pouting. 

His brows lifted. “You have a concussion.

“So?” You asked, trying to lean forward and capture his lips with yours. 

He grinned slightly, pulling away before you could reach him. “So,” he continued patiently. “You have a concussion. I’m not exactly trying to make it worse.” 

You rolled your eyes, a behavior you had taken part in for every day of your life, but this time it sent pain spiking down your neck. You wobbled in his lap, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. Immediately, Mack’s hands were on your waist, gently squeezing for support. 

“Easy,” he murmured. 

You smiled softly once you opened your eyes. “You’re hovering,” you teased. 

Macklin puffed his chest out slightly, causing a little laugh to escape you. “I’m protecting,” he insisted. You shook your head, a smile playing on your lips. 

His gaze softened, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. Tentatively, he leaned forward, brushing your lips with his, testing the waters, making sure he wouldn’t hurt you. 

It didn’t.

You softened against him, letting one hand move to tangle into his hair. When you leaned closer, tugging eagerly, he pulled away, laughing softly as he rested his forehead against yours. 

“Careful,” he reminded. 

“You started it,” you breathed. 

He grinned, rubbing slow circles into the small of your back. 

“You’re impossible.” 

You smiled cheekily. “Yet you’re still holding me.” 

Mack’s arms tightened, pulling you against his chest. 

“Yeah.” He said softly. “I am.” 

Not long after that, you drifted back to sleep, head on Macklin’s chest. 

Every time you shifted, his arms tightened instinctively around you.

Mack didn’t let go once. 

Not after the hit.

Not at the hospital.

And not for the rest of the night.