hudson williams saying closeted pro hockey players and other athletes are reaching out to them and rachel reid, that they're playing in the highest leagues and they have to reach out and this is their story makes me incredibly heartsick like there is one (1) out professional hockey player in all of north america there are none in the nhl this sport took one step forward and was wrenched two steps back and there are boys watching this show and seeing themselves and they want to tell someone so badly even if they can't put their names on it it makes me it's heartbreaking. these boys deserve better. these boys deserve sunshine.
Years of loving you
SUMMARY: During Quinn and Y/N’s wedding reception, her maid of honor surprises everyone with a video made from years of forgotten clips, old rants, private vlogs, and quiet confessions Y/N never thought Quinn would see. What starts as a hilarious collection of embarrassing moments slowly becomes an emotional timeline of her falling in love with Quinn—until the final clip reveals something that leaves the entire room speechless.
WC: 10k
WARNINGS: Wedding fluff, emotional pregnancy reveal, happy tears, teasing, Hughes family softness, Jack and Luke being chaotic brothers, Quinn being overwhelmed in the sweetest way.
AN: This is a request of the form but thanks to the fact that I still can't access my email (because my phone company still can't give me my new sim) I didn't put the photo of the request
will smith x reader where she needs him after an argument and he doesn’t answer and she thinks he doesn’t love her anymore?
𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭
pairing: will x reader
wc: 2k
note: i wrote this super late at night so i barely had time to edit it so please let me know if i have any typos !
it’s been five days since the argument between you and will had taken place and all you’ve gotten from his end is radio silence. it wasn’t that you didn’t try because god, you really did.
you tried so hard.
CUTE TANTRUMᵎᵎ MC⁷¹
╰ Synopsis You’ve always called Macklin cute, thinking it’s sweet and harmless, but it drives him crazy because he thinks you don’t 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.
➺ from Sera, to you📨. The pic I’m talking about in the fic is the one from Olympics because genuinely that’s the cutest picture I’ve ever seen, so yes in this fic they make up during the Olympics.
I <3 MY WIFE
Pairing: Garrett Graham x Wife!Reader
Summary: Garrett Graham loves two things: hockey and his wife.
The arena lights still hummed in your ears as you stepped out of the locker room tunnel, Garrett’s large hand firm on the small of your back. His palm was warm through the thin fabric of your dress, possessive in that way he never tried to hide. Not even here, where cameras flashed and reporters called his name.
“Graham! Garrett! One question—”
He didn’t slow down. Instead, he pulled you closer, his fingers spreading wide across your hip as he turned just enough to flash that cocky, post-win grin the press loved.
“Sorry, guys. Gotta get my wife home.”
The word wife rolled off his tongue like it always did, deliberate, proud, a little smug. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but you leaned into him anyway, letting him guide you through the crowd. His teammates whistled behind you.
“Whipped, Graham!”
“Tell us something we don’t know,” he shot back without missing a beat, voice carrying. “I married the hottest woman on the planet. Of course I’m showing her off.”
You laughed softly, elbowing his side. “You’re impossible.”
“Only for you, baby.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, right there in front of everyone, before steering you toward the private exit where his truck waited.
The drive back to your off-campus house was quiet at first. Garrett’s hand never left your thigh, thumb tracing slow circles over the bare skin where your dress had ridden up. The championship win still buzzed through him, you could feel it in the way his grip tightened every time he glanced over at you.
“You looked so fucking good tonight,” he murmured, voice low. “Sitting in that box wearing my jersey. Everyone staring. Knowing you’re mine.”
“I’m always yours,” you reminded him, threading your fingers through his.
“Yeah. But they need the reminder.” He lifted your hand to his mouth and kissed your wedding ring. “Mrs. Garrett Graham. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
It did. It always did.
The house was dark when you pulled up. Garrett killed the engine but didn’t move to get out right away. Instead, he turned toward you, eyes dark in the low light from the streetlamp.
“Come here.”
You didn’t hesitate. You climbed across the console into his lap, dress bunching around your hips as his hands slid up your thighs. His mouth found yours immediately—hungry, victorious, tasting like the Gatorade he’d chugged after the game. He groaned into the kiss when your fingers tangled in his damp hair.
“Been thinking about this since the second period,” he admitted against your lips. “You in this dress. My ring on your finger. Want everyone to know exactly who you belong to.”
“They know,” you whispered, rolling your hips against him. He was already hard beneath you. “You made sure of it.”
“Damn right I did.” His hands squeezed your ass, pulling you tighter against him. “Gonna show you off even more tomorrow night at the victory party. Wear something tight. Something that shows off what’s mine.”
You shivered at the promise in his voice. Garrett had always been proud. Proud of his game, proud of his team, but nothing compared to how he acted about you. From the moment he’d slid that ring on your finger six months ago in a small private ceremony, he’d made it his mission to tell the world.
The next evening, the party at the hockey house was in full swing. Music thumped through the walls. Red Solo cups littered every surface. Teammates and their friends packed the living room and backyard, celebrating the championship win.
Garrett kept you glued to his side the entire night.
His arm stayed draped around your waist as he introduced you to people you’d already met a dozen times.
“This is my wife,” he said to a group of younger players who’d come to celebrate. His chest puffed out a little. “Best decision I ever made. Look at her. How the hell did I get so lucky?”
You rolled your eyes fondly, but you couldn’t stop smiling. His hand drifted lower, resting just above the curve of your ass in the tight black dress you’d chosen. The one that hugged every inch and ended high on your thighs.
“Garrett,” you murmured in warning when his fingers started tracing patterns dangerously close to inappropriate.
“What?” He grinned down at you, all innocent charm and devilish intent. “Can’t help it. You’re stunning. And you’re my wife. Gotta make sure these rookies remember that.”
One of the rookies laughed. “We know, man. You only say it every five minutes.”
“Damn right,” Garrett shot back without shame. He leaned down and kissed you deeply, right there in the middle of the crowded room. When he pulled back, his eyes sparkled. “See? Mine.”
The night continued like that. Every conversation, every introduction, every toast—Garrett found a way to work in that you were his wife. He pulled you onto his lap when he sat on the couch. He fed you bites of food from his plate. He danced with you in the backyard under string lights, hands roaming, mouth at your ear telling you how perfect you looked and how he couldn’t wait to get you home.
By the time you made it back to the quiet of your shared bedroom, you were aching for him.
Garrett kicked the door shut behind you and immediately pressed you against it. His mouth crashed into yours, hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts through the dress.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “Been hard for you all night. Watching you smile. Watching every guy in that house wish you were theirs. But you’re not. You’re my wife.”
“Yours,” you agreed breathlessly, tugging at his shirt.
He helped you pull it off, then made quick work of your dress, leaving it pooled on the floor. His eyes darkened as they raked over your body, lingering on the thin lace panties and the way your breasts rose with each breath.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, dropping to his knees. “My beautiful wife.”
He hooked your leg over his shoulder and pressed his mouth to you through the lace first, teasing, before shoving the fabric aside. His tongue was relentless, licking and sucking until your knees shook and you had to grip his hair to stay upright. He didn’t stop until you came hard against his mouth, moaning his name.
Then he stood, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the bed. He laid you down gently despite the hunger in his eyes, crawling over you.
“Look at you,” he whispered, pushing inside you slowly, savoring every inch. “So wet for me. So perfect.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Garrett… please.”
He started moving, deep and steady at first, then faster as need took over. His mouth stayed at your ear the whole time, praising you and reminding you.
“My wife. My girl. Gonna fill you up. Love showing you off but love this more, having you all to myself after.”
You came again with his name on your lips, and he followed right after, burying himself deep and groaning against your neck.
Afterward, he didn’t pull out right away. He stayed on top of you, kissing your face, your neck, your collarbone, hands gently stroking your sides.
“Love you,” he said softly. “Love being able to call you my wife in front of everyone. Love knowing you chose me.”
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “I’ll always choose you.”
He smiled, that soft, genuine smile he saved only for you—and rolled to the side, pulling you against his chest.
The next few weeks blurred together in the best way. Garrett’s NHL draft prospects were heating up, and with that came more events, more media, more chances for him to show you off.
At a fancy team dinner with alumni and scouts, he kept his hand on your knee under the table the entire time. When one of the older alumni asked about his personal life, Garrett didn’t hesitate.
“Married the love of my life right after the season started,” he said proudly, lifting your hand to show off the ring. “Couldn’t wait another second. She’s the reason I play better. My wife keeps me grounded.”
You blushed as eyes turned to you, but Garrett only grinned wider.
Later that night in your hotel room, he took his time undressing you, kissing every inch of skin he revealed.
“Proud of you,” you told him as he settled between your legs.
“Proud of us,” he corrected, sliding into you with a slow thrust. “Best team I’ve ever been on. You and me.”
He made love to you slowly that night, savoring every sound you made, every arch of your back. When you both finished, he pulled you close and whispered against your hair, “Can’t wait to do this forever. Show the whole damn world you’re Mrs. Graham.”
Summer came, and with it a trip back to your hometown for a family visit. Garrett charmed every relative, every neighbor, every old friend who stopped by.
“Have you met my wife?” he’d say, arm around your shoulders. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Your mom pulled you aside at one point, smiling. “He really loves showing you off, doesn’t he?”
You laughed. “You have no idea.”
That night in your childhood bedroom (now updated with a bigger bed Garrett had insisted on buying), he was particularly vocal.
“Quiet, baby,” you reminded him, giggling as he thrust into you. “My parents are downstairs.”
“Can’t help it,” he groaned, hips snapping harder. “Love fucking my wife. Love knowing this ring means you’re stuck with me.”
You came biting his shoulder to stay quiet, and he followed with a muffled curse against your neck.
Back on campus for one final semester before everything changed with the draft, Garrett’s showing-off reached new levels. He’d walk you to your classes even when it made him late to practice. He’d kiss you goodbye in the middle of the quad, hand on your waist, loudly calling you “my wife” so nearby students smiled or rolled their eyes.
One afternoon, after you’d aced a tough exam, he surprised you with flowers outside the building.
“For my brilliant wife,” he announced, loud enough for the crowd of students leaving class to hear. Then he picked you up and spun you around, kissing you deeply.
“You’re ridiculous,” you said when he set you down, but your smile gave you away.
“Ridiculously in love,” he corrected, lacing your fingers together. “And I want everyone to know it.”
The victory party at the end of the year was the biggest yet. The whole house was decorated, music louder than ever. Garrett wore a button-down that showed off his broad shoulders, but he spent most of the night focused on you.
He danced with you in the center of the living room, hands roaming your curves in the short emerald dress he’d picked out.
“Look at my wife,” he said to anyone who passed by. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”
When a tipsy teammate joked about how whipped he was, Garrett just laughed and pulled you closer.
“Whipped? Nah. Lucky. I get to go home with her every night. I get to wake up next to my wife. Best feeling in the world.”
Later, in the upstairs bathroom away from the chaos, he locked the door and lifted you onto the counter.
“Need you,” he growled, pushing your dress up. “Been dying to be inside my wife all night.”
You gasped as he entered you in one smooth thrust, legs wrapped around him. He fucked you hard and fast, hand over your mouth to muffle your moans, eyes locked on yours.
“Mine,” he panted between thrusts. “My wife. Forever.”
You came together, clinging to each other, hearts racing.
As the party wound down and you lay in bed hours later, Garrett traced lazy patterns on your bare back.
“Ready for the next chapter?” he asked quietly. “NHL, new city, all of it?”
“As long as I’m with you,” you answered.
He kissed the top of your head. “Always. I’m never gonna stop showing you off. Never gonna stop telling people you’re my wife. Best thing I’ll ever do is love you.”
You fell asleep in his arms, safe, loved, and completely his—just the way Garrett Graham liked it.
