ask | fiaâs masterlist | other | read fiaâs work | about nsfw ask!
hello to all of my lovelies reader!!
sadly, this account (@fiakive) has been shadowbanned again. iâll still be posting will fics, but they might not show up on your fyp or in tags. so please check my blog directly if you want to read them! iâll continue updating fics here, answering all your asks, and of course still accepting requests. according to what iâve read, the best thing to do during a tumblr shadowban is to keep posting regularly, so thatâs what iâll do.
i also might start using this account as my main now, since i canât log into @mattrempeswife anymore. iâll still update the masterlist over there when i can, but iâll also be creating a brand new masterlist and a wip list here soon.
fiaâs hollywood studio is still accepting auditions | audition submitted by: anon | script idea: film genre: documentary ; industry trope: tabloid explosion ; spotlight: backstage glow ; leading man: jack hughes. can i request if you're able to write this with dad player x mom!actress/famous!reader? i love this famous/actress reader theme you decided to focus on for the requests hehe. [req sended on dec 6th]
a social media au! for âprotecting this version of lifeâ
pair: jack hughes x f!reader ; dad!jack hughes x mom!actress!reader.
warnings: mild illness (child with cough and fever), rumors about relationship troubles, light emotional tension from gossip, no explicit content.
summary: after attending the premiere of your latest movie in paris without your husband jack hughes and son jax due to jax's sudden illness, a simple instagram post sparks unfounded rumors about your marriage. returning home to new jersey, you reunite with your family in a series of quiet, tender domestic moments that reaffirm the strength of your bond. amidst the chaos of public scrutiny, jack proves once again why he's the best husband and father, whoâs protective, loving, and utterly devoted turning a potential crisis into an opportunity for even deeper connection in your private, everyday life.
fiaâs note: just a reminder! this one is quite long and also includes a smau too, to make it a bit more⊠idk, interesting i guess đ but still, enjoy!! iâd really appreciate it if you leave a few comments because i genuinely want to know how you feel after reading my first ever jack hughes x actress!reader đ«¶
tagging team fia ! â @dancerbailey3 @hopefulsuitcasemoneyzonk @kell9rs @alwaysclassyeagle @nokiaholland @macka @smiley-roos @silvenyy @bd147ms @voidvannie @ruinix @when-im-with-you @puckinghughes @definitelynotdomanique @fallinallincurls @quinnintheabyss @alltypesofanimallover @waitingatthegreenlight @chuppachuus @celiaisacaterpillar @wherethezoes-at @jensonbuttonglazer10 @tamarxox132 @ilocuras24 @chiblackhawks @liiiiahsstuff | (please let me know if you donât want to be tagged in this x famous!reader universe)
The Paris night was electric, red carpet stretched like a river of crimson under the floodlights outside the historic Grand Rex theater, paparazzi flashes popping in relentless waves. You stood poised in a custom midnight-blue gown that hugged your figure before cascading into a subtle train, elegant, understated, yet undeniably striking. Your hair was swept into a loose chignon, diamonds glinting at your ears and throat. This was your moment, the world premiere of âElenaâ, a deeply personal drama you'd poured your soul into.
The film followed Elena, a woman in her thirties navigating the aftermath of profound loss, her mother's death, a fractured marriage, the quiet unraveling of the life she'd built. Your performance had already generated Oscar buzz in early screenings; critics called it âraw,â âtransformative,â âthe role of a lifetime.â Elena wasn't just a character to you, she mirrored the fragility and resilience you'd felt in your own life, balancing fame with the fierce protectiveness of motherhood and marriage.
Reporters clamored as you made your way down the carpet, microphones thrust forward call out your name.
"Over here! Congratulations on the film!"
You turned with that signature warm smile, the one that made fans feel seen even through a screen.
"Thank you so much. It's been an incredible journey."
A young journalist from Variety stepped up first, eyes bright with excitement.
"So âElenaâ is already being hailed as your best work yet. What drew you to Elena's story?"
You paused, choosing your words carefully, the way you always did, honest but layered.
"Elena's journey is about reclaiming agency in a world that tries to define you from the outside. She's lost so much, but she learns that strength isn't loud, it's in the quiet choices, the everyday acts of holding on to what matters. As an actress, I connected to that deeply. And personally... well, becoming a mother myself changed everything for me. It made me understand protection in a whole new way, protecting your peace, your family, the life you've built."
The reporter nodded enthusiastically.
"Elena's relationship with her husband is so nuanced⊠there's love there, but also distance, miscommunication. How did you approach those intimate scenes?"
"It was all about vulnerability," you replied.
"Those moments where love feels fragile, but it's still the anchor. We rehearsed for weeks to make it feel real, lived-in. I wanted audiences to see that marriages aren't perfect, but the real ones endure because of the work you put in when no one's watching."
Another interviewer, this one from a French entertainment outlet, jumped in with a grin.
"Speaking of enduring love, everyone's noticing Jack Hughes isn't here tonight. He's been at every single one of your premieres since you two got married. And little Jax too! Where are your boys? We were hoping for the full Hughes family glamour."
The question hung in the air, innocent on the surface but loaded with the curiosity that came with your public life. You felt a flicker of annoyance, maybe protectiveness but you kept your expression serene. This was the game that one wrong word, and the rumor mill churned.
You laughed lightly, tilting your head.
"Jack and Jax are holding down the fort back home. Family comes first, always. Jack knows how important this night is for the film, and he's been my biggest supporter from afar. They're cheering me on from New Jersey."
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either. Three days ago, Jax had woken up with a persistent cough and a low-grade fever that refused to break. You'd been packed and ready to fly out together the three of you, like always. Jack had missed exactly zero of your red carpets since you changed your name to Hughes. He loved them, always dressing sharp, holding your hand, whispering jokes while posing for photos, then sneaking Jax into the theater for the screening (even if the little guy fell asleep halfway through).
But when Jax spiked that fever the night before departure, everything shifted.
"We're not risking it," Jack had said firmly, pressing a cold cloth to Jax's forehead.
"He needs rest, and planes are germ factories. You go, babe. Shine for all of us."
You'd cried in the shower that morning, torn. Canceling wasn't an option, the studio, the fans, the months of planning. And you weren't the person who bailed last-minute. But leaving them felt wrong. Jack had kissed away your tears.
"We'll FaceTime from the carpet. Jax'll be blowing kisses."
So here you were, alone under the Paris lights, smiling through the ache.
A final reporter, from E! News, leaned in.
"One more, any message for Jack and Jax watching at home?"
You softened genuinely this time.
"Just that I love them more than anything. And I can't wait to get home."
The interviews wrapped, and you posed for a few more photos before slipping inside for the screening. The film played to thunderous applause, and during the Q&A, you spoke passionately about Elena's arc, the director praising your âfearless emotional depth.â But your mind kept drifting to New Jersey to Jax's stuffy nose, Jack's tired eyes as he rocked Jax to sleep.
As soon as the after-party wound down, barely an hour of polite mingling you were in a car to Charles de Gaulle Airport. No overnight in Paris this time. You needed home.
On the plane, settled into your seat as the city lights faded below, you pulled out your phone one last time before takeoff. Scrolling through photos soothed you of you and Jax at the lake house last summer, Jax's latest finger-painting masterpiece taped to the fridge. You curated a small dump, four photos, nothing flashy.
The caption came simply, from the heart âprotecting this version of life.â
You hit post, turned off notifications, and finally let sleep take you for the eight-hour flight home. The hum of the airplane engines had been your constant companion for the past eight hours. You were seated in first class, as always when traveling alone, but the luxury felt hollow without Jack's hand in yours or Jax's little head resting on your lap.
By the time the plane touched down in Newark, still early in the morning. You grabbed your carry-on, minimalist as always, just a designer bag with essentials and headed to the waiting car. The drive to your apartment in Hoboken was peaceful, you'd bought the place five years ago, right after Jax was born, trading Hollywood glamour for something more grounded. It was a spacious three-bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, but what you loved most were the personal touches of Jax's handprints framed in the hallway, Jack's hockey memorabilia scattered tastefully, and the kitchen where family dinners turned into laughter-filled.
Pulling up to the building, you thanked the driver and slipped inside, the doorman nodding with a familiar smile.
The elevator ride up, but when you finally keyed into the apartment, a wave of relief washed over you. The air smelled like home, thereâs faint traces of Jack's cologne, Jax's baby shampoo, and the lingering scent of the chicken you'd marinated before leaving. You dropped your bag by the door, kicked off your heels, and padded quietly to the master bedroom.
There they were, on the king-sized bed that had seen countless lazy mornings and whispered late-night conversations. Jack lay shirtless on his side, his toned athlete's body relaxed in sleep, sweatpants slung low on his hips. His dark hair was tousled, one arm draped protectively over Jax, who was curled up on your side of the bed in his red Devils pajamas. Jax's own room was just down the hall, decked out with hockey posters and stuffed animals, but when he was sick, he always ended up here. The sight melted you, your strong, NHL star husband turned soft daddy, guarding their little boy through the night.
You didn't wake them. Instead, you headed to the bathroom, stripping off the travel-worn clothes and stepping into a hot shower. The water cascaded over you, washing away the remnants of Paris glamour. You lathered up with your favorite vanilla-scented body wash, the one Jack always said made you smell like home. Steam filled the room, you let your mind wander to the premiere. The interviewers had been relentless, but you'd handled it with grace.
Drying off, you slipped into comfy leggings and one of Jack's old Devils hoodies. Hunger hit you then; the plane food had been abysmal. You tiptoed to the kitchen, the open-concept space bathed in morning light from the windows. Rifling through the fridge, you found the smashed potatoes you'd prepped for Jack before leaving, leftovers, perfect. You scooped some onto a plate, added a couple of eggs to boil, and pulled out the marinated chicken. The pan sizzled quietly as you fried the chicken, keeping the heat low to avoid noise. Broccoli from the crisper, blanched quickly in cold water for a fresh crunch. You assembled it all on the counter, perching on a stool with your plate.
Netflix flickered on your iPad, a documentary series about ocean conservation, something mindless to unwind to. Notifications were off; you didn't want the post-premiere buzz intruding yet. At 7:30 AM, the apartment was still silent save for the soft whir of the microwave reheating the potatoes. You savored each bite, the simple meal grounding you after days of catered elegance.
Halfway through your plate, footsteps padded down the hall. Jack emerged, hair a glorious mess, eyes heavy with sleep. His voice was that deep, rough morning timbre that always sent a shiver through you.
"Babe?"
The moment his gaze landed on you, his face lit up. He crossed the kitchen in three strides, pulling you into his arms. His lips found yours in a kiss that spoke volumes, âI missed you, I'm glad you're home, you mean everything.â It was soft at first, then deeper, his hands cupping your face.
"God, I missed you," he murmured against your lips, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead on yours.
"How was the flight? You look exhausted but still so damn beautiful. I saw the red carpet pics, you were glowing. Everyone's talking about how you owned that dress."
You laughed softly, wrapping your arms around his waist.
"Flight was fine, just long. Missed you too. How's Jax? Fever down?"
"Yeah, he's better. Still a bit coughy, but no fever since yesterday. Slept like a log last night, though he kept asking for you." Jack's eyes softened, his thumb brushing your cheek.
"You hungry? I can make breakfast."
"I'm already eating," you gestured to your plate, "but I can whip something up for you and Jax."
He shook his head, kissing your forehead.
"No way. You just got home. Sit. I'll make your favorite smoothie."
You protested lightly, but Jack was already moving, grabbing bananas, berries, yogurt, and spinach from the fridge. The blender whirred to life as he chatted.
"So, tell me about the premiere. Any funny stories? Did that co-star of yours try to flirt again?"
You rolled your eyes, smirking.
"He's harmless. The interviews were intense, though. Everyone asked about you and Jax. I kept it vague like we talked about."
"Good call. Our life's our business."
He poured the smoothie into a glass, adding a straw with a flourish.
"Here, babe. Extra protein."
You took a sip, perfect, as always.
"You're the best."
Just then, a small cry from the bedroom.
"Mommy? Daddy?"
Jax. You set down the glass and hurried down the hall, Jack right behind. Jax was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes, his little face scrunched in discomfort. The cough had left his throat sore, and mornings were rough.
"Hey, J," you cooed, scooping him up.
He latched onto you like a koala, tiny arms around your neck, burying his face in your shoulder.
"Mommy's home. I missed you so much."
"Mommy," he whimpered, voice muffled. "Throat hurts."
"I know, sweet boy. Let's get you some warm water."
You rocked him gently, pressing kisses to his messy hair. Jack appeared with a warm water bottle, wrapping it in a soft towel.
"Here, Jax. This'll help." He placed it against Jax's chest, and the boy sighed in relief.
Back in the kitchen, you settled Jax on your lap at the dining table while Jack bustled around.
"Sourdough toast with butter and jam for the little man,"
For himself, he grilled chicken breast, steamed more broccoli, and boiled eggs.
"Gotta keep it healthy, right? Season's ramping up."
You nodded, stroking Jax's back.
"You two manage okay without me?"
Jack slid plates in front of everyone, sitting across from you with a grin.
"We survived. Watched your movie trailer like ten times. Jax kept saying, 'That's Mommy!' But yeah, it was quiet. Too quiet."
Jax perked up at the toast, nibbling slowly. "Mommy, you pretty on TV."
"Aw, thanks, baby."
You helped him with a bite, your attention fully on him. Jack watched you both, his expression pure adoration, but then he pulled out his phone to check messages.
"Luke texted, practice reminder," he muttered, scrolling.
Then his brow furrowed. He opened Instagram, and his eyes widened.
"Whoa. Babe, you see this?"
"See what?" You sipped your smoothie, oblivious.
"Your post. It's blowing up. And... there's rumors."
He turned the screen to you. Tags flooded in from gossip accounts like 'offtherecords' headlines screaming âTrouble in Paradise? Actress Y/N Hughes Attends Premiere SoloâCryptic Post Hints at Marital Strife!â Comments speculated wildly, âShe posts more about the kid than Jack. Divorce incoming?â âJack's never missed a premiere before. Something's up.â
Your stomach dropped. "What? It was just a random caption! I missed Jax, that's all."
Jack chuckled, but there was an edge to it.
"People are idiots. 'Protecting this version of life' they think it means we're splitting or something. Like, oh my gosh, they're saying our marriage is broken."
You grabbed his phone, scrolling through the frenzy. Paparazzi shots from the premiere, side-by-side with old photos of you and Jack. Theories about affairs, stress from his career, even wild claims about custody battles over Jax. It was ridiculous, but the sheer volume stung.
"This is insane. I didn't even think about how it looked."
Jack set his fork down, reaching across the table to take your hand.
"Hey, don't let it get to you. They don't know us. Remember when we first got together? Rumors every week. 'Jack's too young for her,' 'She's using him for fame.' We laughed it off then."
"But Jax..." You glanced at your son, who was happily smearing jam on his toast, oblivious.
"I don't want this touching him."
"It won't." Jack's voice turned firm, protective.
"I'm calling my agent. We'll shut this down. Maybe post something together."
You squeezed his hand. "No rush. Let's just enjoy breakfast."
He nodded, but you could see the fire in his eyes the same intensity he brought to the ice. Jack didn't care what people said about him; trash talk from opponents rolled off his back. But mess with his family? That was a line you didn't cross.
After breakfast, Jax felt well enough for some playtime. You cleared the table while Jack scooped him up.
"C'mon, bud. Let's build that Lego rink Mommy got you."
The living room became a construction zone, Legos scattered across the rug. You joined them, cross-legged on the floor, helping Jax snap pieces together.
"See? This is our life. Not whatever crap they're spinning online."
As the morning wore on, Jax's energy flagged, the cough returning. You tucked him in for a nap in his room, singing softly until his eyes fluttered shut. Back in the living room, Jack was on the phone with his brother Luke.
"Yeah, it's bullshit," he said, pacing.
"No, we're fine. Better than fine. But if they drag my wife or Jax into it... yeah, thanks, man. Talk later."
He hung up, sinking onto the couch beside you.
"Team's got my back. Media guy's drafting a statement."
You leaned into him. "What'll it say?"
"Something simple. 'Family's everything. Jax was under the weather, so I stayed home. Proud of my wife killing it in Paris.'" He kissed your temple.
"And maybe I'll post a pic of us. Show 'em we're solid."
The day unfolded in quiet domesticity. You unpacked, sharing stories from the premiere while Jack folded laundry, his self-assigned chore.
"Did the director really say you'd win an Oscar?"
You blushed. "He was exaggerating. But the role was intense. Reminded me of us, actually fighting for what's real amid the noise."
Lunch was simple just salads with grilled chicken, Jax's portion pureed since his throat was still sore. He ate on your lap, chattering about preschool friends.
"Tommy has a dog. Can we get a dog, Daddy?"
Jack ruffled his hair. "Maybe when you're bigger, bud. Dogs are a lot of work."
Afternoon brought a walk in the building's private garden, fresh air without paparazzi risk. Jax held both your hands, swinging between you.
"One, two, threeâup!"
You lifted him, laughing as his giggles filled the air. Jack snapped a photo on his phone.
"This one's for us. Not the 'gram."
Back inside, while Jax colored, you and Jack cuddled on the couch.
"Remember our first date?" he murmured, fingers tracing patterns on your arm.
"The one where you spilled coffee on your jersey?"
He groaned. "Yeah. Thought I'd blown it. But you just laughed and said, 'Athletes are clumsy off the ice.'"
"And look at us now." You kissed him softly.
"Married, a kid, surviving rumors."
His expression turned serious.
"I mean it, babe. If there's a higher stage of marriage, we're there. I love you more everyday. The way you handle all this your career, as a mom, a wife. You're incredible."
Tears pricked your eyes. "Stop, you'll make me cry."
"Good tears." He wiped them away. "Now, about that post..."
Together, you crafted it: a photo from that morningâyou, Jack, and Jax at breakfast with so much joy. Caption âHome has never really been about a place to me, itâs about whoâs there and who needs you when everything else gets loud. I missed the premiere because our little guy needed me, and there was never a second where that felt like a sacrifice. Watching from home, holding him, knowing my wife was out there doing what she loves and shining the way she always does, made me prouder than any red carpet ever could. We donât always show up the same way or at the same time, but we always show up for each other, and thatâs what matters. Family comes first, every time, and I wouldnât trade this life for anything. â€ïž #HughesLifeâ
He hit post, then silenced his phone. "Let them talk. We've got this."
The evening baths Jax splashing happily, you and Jack tag-teaming storytime.
"Once upon a time, there was a brave hockey player and a magical actress..."
Jax yawned. "And they lived happily ever after."
"Yes, they did," Jack whispered, tucking him in.
In bed later, Jack held you close. "Rumors come and go. This? Us? Forever."
You drifted off to his heartbeat, the world outside forgotten.
summary: you've been luke' closest friend for years, nursing a secret crush that's grown impossible to ignore. when you open up about wanting a serious relationship and starting a family someday, he surprises you by setting you up on a date with his older brother, quinn. the date is pleasant but platonic, leaving you frustrated. over lunch with luke, buried feelings erupt into a heated confrontation, forcing both of you to face the truth about your bond and what you've both been too scared to admit.
fiaâs note: just thought this might be a really good angsty piece, all of this would take place before lucy joy hughes. i also really want to explore lucyâs reaction after hearing this story later on, whether itâs from the reader or from her dad, luke. i feel like her perspective would add so much emotion and depth to it and kind of fun (?). do you all want to read something like this too? please let me know!! also⊠i am so ready for all the dad!quinn / dad!jack / dad!luke / dad!matt / dad!will yap / dad!auston matthew⊠honestly, any player, any dad universe, iâm here for it. and now that iâm thinking about it⊠should i also make a dad!jack series too? đ let me know your thoughts because iâm very easily influenced.
You've known Luke Hughes since his rookie days with the Devils, back when he was all lanky limbs and yea, nervous energy on the ice. It all innocently enough, a mutual friend introduced you at a team event, and before you knew it, you were trading texts about everything from his latest game highlights to your shared obsession with bad '90s movies. Over time, that friendship turned⊠into something more for you. You love the way Luke's easy smile, how he talked about hockey, the quiet way he listened when you vented about your day it all chipped away at your resolve until you were hopelessly, irrevocably crushing on him. But Luke? He seemed oblivious. Or maybe he just didn't feel the same. You'd dropped hints over the months by a few lingering touches during movie nights, compliments that bordered on flirtatious, even inviting him to events where it felt suspiciously like a date. Nothing. He treated you like his best friend, which was both a blessing and a freaking curse. You cherished the closeness, but it sad to want more and get nothing in return.
It all came to a head a few weeks ago during one of your late-night hangouts at his place. You'd been sprawled on his couch, half-watching a rerun of some old sitcom while he scrolled through his phone. The conversation had turned serious, as it sometimes did after a few beers.
"I'm done with the casual stuff," you'd said, staring at the ceiling.
"You know? The playing-around era is over for me. I want something real. Someone I can trust, and build a life with. Date seriously, maybe even think about a⊠family, someday. Kids, the whole thing. I'm not joking anymore."
Luke had looked up from his phone, his expression thoughtful.
"Yeah? That's big. You deserve that."
You'd searched his face for any sign that he might see himself in that picture, but he just nodded and changed the subject to the upcoming game against the Rangers. It stung, but you pushed it down. Maybe he needed time. Or maybe you were reading too much into nothing.
A couple of days later, he texted you out of the blue. âLukey: Hey, got something for you. Quinn's in town for a bit. Thought you two should grab dinner. He's a good guy, and you said you're looking for serious. Trust me on this.â
Your heart sank. Quinn Hughes, Luke's older brother, the guy every girl in the hockey world swooned over. You'd met him a handful of times at family gatherings or when the brothers linked up during the off-season. He was kind, handsome in that clean-cut way, with a quiet intensity that made him seem like the perfect catch. But to you? He was just Quinn. Luke's big brother. The one who teased you like an older sibling and always made sure you had a ride home after parties.
Still, how could you say no? Luke had set it up, and turning it down would raise questions you weren't ready to answer. Plus, Quinn was sweet, he didn't deserve to be stood up. So you agreed, telling yourself it was just one date. Maybe it would even make Luke jealous, though you doubted it.
The night of the date arrived faster than you'd anticipated. Quinn picked you up in his sleek black SUV, dressed casually in a button-down and jeans that somehow looked effortlessly put-together. He smiled warmly as you slid into the passenger seat, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
"You look great," he said, starting the engine.
"Luke didn't tell me much, just that you're one of his favorite people. High praise from him."
You forced a laugh, fiddling with your seatbelt.
"Yeah, well, he's one of mine too. This is... nice of you to do."
He glanced over as he pulled onto the road.
"Nice? Nah, I'm the one who should be thanking you. It's been a while since I've been on a real date. Hockey keeps me busy."
The restaurant was a cozy Italian spot downtown, a kind of place that screamed âfirst dateâ. Quinn held the door for you, pulled out your chair, and ordered a bottle of red wine without making it feel over-the-top. Conversation flowed easily at first. You talked about his season with the Minnesota Wild, and he asked about your job, genuinely interested in the details.
"So, Luke says you're killing it at work," he said, twirling pasta on his fork.
"What's the best part of what you do?"
You shrugged, sipping your wine. "The people, mostly. And the flexibility. But honestly, it's the off-time that I love hanging out with friends, catching games when I can."
He nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips.
"Friends like Luke?"
There it was the elephant in the room. You felt your cheeks heat up.
"Yeah, like Luke. He's... great."
Quinn leaned back, his expression softening.
"He is. Kid's got a good heart. But between you and me, he's a bit of a mess sometimes. Forgets to text back, leaves his gear everywhere."
You chuckled, the tension easing a little.
"Tell me about it. I've tripped over his skates more times than I can count."
The evening continued like that. You shared stories about family holidays with the Hughes clan, how Ellen always made the best pies, and how Jack's trash-talking during board games was legendary. Quinn opened up a bit about the relief now heâs in Minnesota Wild, also the weight of expectations, and you found yourself empathizing. He was easy to talk to, respectful, and attentive. Any other girl would have been swooning.
But as the conversation flows into the night, it became clear to both of you that this was just... nice. Not sparks-flying, heart-racing chemistry. It felt like catching up with an old friend, or maybe a protective older brother just checking in. When dessert arrived, a shared tiramisu Quinn set down his spoon and met your eyes.
"This has been fun," he said sincerely.
"But I get the feeling we're both here because of Luke."
You nearly choked on your bite. "What do you mean?"
He smiled gently. "Come on. I've seen the way you look at him. And the way he talks about you? It's not just friendly. But hey, if I'm wrong, tell me."
Your stomach twisted. âWas it that obvious?â
"Quinn, I... I don't know. He's my best friend. I didn't want to hurt your feelings by saying no to this."
He waved it off. "No hurt feelings here. I'm glad we did this. Clears the air. And who knows? Maybe it'll light a fire under his ass."
You drove home in comfortable silence after that, Quinn dropping you off with a hug and a promise to grab coffee sometime, as friends. As you watched his taillights disappear, a mix of relief and frustration washed over you. The date had been fine, but it wasn't what you wanted. Who you wanted.
The next day, Luke texted âLunch tomorrow? My treat. Wanna hear about your date.â
Of course you said yes. How could you not? Lunch with your crush was a no-brainer, even if it meant dodging questions about his brother.
"Good. Starving, though." You scanned the menu, avoiding his eyes.
You ordered, a turkey club for him, a veggie wrap for you and chatted about safe topics at first. His latest game, how the Devils were pushing for playoffs, your upcoming work project. It felt normal, comfortable. But you could sense him steering the conversation back.
"So," he said finally, midway through his sandwich,
"How was the date with Quinn? He text me this morning, said it was nice."
You took a long sip of your iced tea, stalling.
"It was fine. He's great, as always."
Luke raised an eyebrow. "Fine? That's all I get? Come on, details."
"Why do you care so much?" you teased, trying to deflect.
"Let's talk about hockey instead. That goal you scored last week, insane wrist shot."
He laughed, but didn't let it go. "Nah, seriously. Quinn's the best. Did you guys hit it off?"
You shrugged, poking at your wrap.
"We talked. It was casual."
The lunch wrapped up soon after, with Luke paying the bill despite your protests. As you walked to his car he'd insisted on driving you home, the questions persisted.
"Quinn didn't say much," he pressed as he started the engine.
"You sure it was just 'fine'?"
"It's not a big deal, Luke." You stared out the window, watching the city blur by.
He glanced over at a red light.
"Okay, changing subjects. I've got a date this Friday. Met her on Tinder, seems cool. Dinner at that new steak place."
Your stomach dropped like a stone. Tinder? A new girl? You forced a neutral expression, but inside, jealousy burned hot.
"Oh⊠Cool⊠Hope it goes well."
The car fell silent. Luke drummed his fingers on the wheel.
"You're quiet all of a sudden. Everything okay?"
You swallowed hard, keeping your voice steady. "Yeah. Just... tired."
He didn't buy it. "Come on, what's up? You were fine at lunch."
The words bubbled up before you could stop them.
"Luke, all I wanted was you. Not a date with your brother."
He froze, his hands tightening on the wheel. The car swerved slightly before he corrected it.
"What?"
You repeated it, softer. "I want you. Not Quinn."
He pulled over to the side of the road, the engine idling as he turned to face you. His expression was a mix of shock and confusion.
"But... Quinn's the best guy you'd ever date. I mean, he'd be so lucky if you gave him a chance. You know, to let him know you... I trust him."
You stared at him, incredulous. "Luke, you really don't know? Or are you just acting like it?"
"Know? Know what?" His voice cracked, genuine bewilderment in his eyes.
You couldn't believe it. After all the hints, the conversations, the time spent together he still didn't get it? Frustration boiled over. Without another word, you unbuckled your seatbelt and opened the door, stepping out into the crisp afternoon air. Your apartment was just a few blocks away; you could walk.
"Hey, wait!"
Luke called, scrambling out after you. He caught up halfway down the sidewalk, grabbing your hand gently to stop you.
"Why are you so angry? What did I do?"
You spun to face him, your heart pounding. You had that rule, no crying in front of people who didn't deserve it. And right now, Luke was teetering on the edge.
"I ask you one last time, and you have to tell the truth. Do you really know how I feel, or are you just trying to set me up with your brother?"
His face was a mask of confusion, brows furrowed, mouth slightly open.
"I really don't know..."
"IâI thought you'd be better with Quinn since you said you're ready for something serious. He's the best candidate."
That did it. Anger surged through you, hot and unfiltered.
"No, Luke! No!"
You were almost screaming now, your voice echoing off the nearby buildings.
"Look at me. Do I look like I want your brother? I want you! You are the one I was talking about in that conversation... not your brother."
You stepped closer, jabbing a finger at his chest.
"I want you! Not your brother!"
Luke staggered back a step, his eyes wide. The words hung heavy and irreversible on the air. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Passersby glanced curiously, but you didn't care. This was it⊠the breaking point.
Then, something shifted in his expression. The confusion melted into realization, then regret. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily.
"Oh God... I... I'm such an idiot."
"Yeah, you are," you snapped, but your voice wavered. The anger was fading, replaced by hurt.
He took a tentative step forward, his hand still holding yours.
"I didn't know. Or... maybe I did, deep down, but I was too scared to admit it. Setting you up with Quinn... it wasn't just because he's great. It was because if it worked out, you'd still be around. In the family. I wouldn't lose you completely to some random guy I don't trust."
You blinked, processing his words. "What?"
Luke's cheeks flushed, his gaze dropping to the ground.
"I've liked you for a long time. More than liked. But you're my best friend. What if I screwed it up? What if I wasn't good enough? Quinn... he's steady, reliable. The kind of guy who could give you that serious life you talked about. Family, kids⊠all of it. I thought, if you two hit it off, at least I'd know you're safe. Happy. And I'd still see you at holidays, games... whatever. It hurt to think about, but it was better than losing you to someone else."
Your heart ached at his confession. All this time, he'd been pushing you away out of fear?
"Luke... you are good enough. More than enough. Why didn't you just tell me?"
He looked up, his eyes searching yours.
"Because risking our friendship terrified me. And yeah, the Tinder thing? That was me trying to distract myself. Convince myself I could move on if you and Quinn worked out. But it was bullshit. I canceled it the second I texted you about lunch."
A laugh bubbled out of you, half-relieved, half-incredulous.
"You fucking idiot."
He grinned sheepishly, pulling you closer. "Your idiot?"
The tension dissolved as you stepped into his arms, burying your face in his chest. He held you tight, like he was afraid you'd slip away. When you finally pulled back, he cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek.
"So... does this mean I get a real date? No brothers involved?"
You smiled, the weight lifting from your chest.
"Only if you promise no more setups."
"Deal."
He leaned in, his lips meeting yours, years of pent-up feelings pouring out.
As you walked the rest of the way home hand-in-hand, the future felt brighter. No more hiding. Just you and Luke, finally on the same page.
Part 3 of the Tag Directory đ, specifically for Canucks content.
(How do you filter tags? Here's a guide).
Canucks Hockey Tags
#huggy bear
#ruinix van clips - Vancouver Canucks game clips
#late canucks clips - for games I've watched after the live
#ruinix van gifs - Vancouver Canucks game GIFs
#canucks gifs
#canucks lb - when i join in to lb about canucks
#Canucks Media Day
#41st Annual Jake Milford Charity Invitational
#Wallpaper Wednesday
#Dice & Ice
#Training Camp 2025
#Canucks Home Opener | #Canucks Mission Home
#Canucks and the Pups
#Canucks Signing Event
a film set just for your fics, now pick your script, choose your genre, add tropes as âcinematic effects,â and iâll write the scene. everything revolves around you being an actress / musician / model / famous!reader⊠and your hockey boyfriend.
fiaâs note: hello, fiastomatocheek aka fiakive (also mattrempeswife) here⊠to celebrate almost 800 followers, i decided to open this new kind of request *i honestly donât even know what to call it*. iâve been wanting to do something like this for a while, but only now i finally feel like i can bring it to life. since a lot of the recent requests didnât really spark ideas for me *sorry đą*, i figured it was the perfect time to open requests again, but this time itâs specifically for nhl player x actress/famous!reader. idk, i just think this concept sounds really fun and feels like something new to play around with.
*your time to shine!!* read everything? perfect. to submit your audition tape â â HERE â
open for casting until jan 13, 2026!
fiaâs masterlist | join fiaâs taglist
â PART 01 â CHOOSE YOUR GENRE (main plot) â
OSCAR DRAMA â angsty, emotional, breakdowns & confessions
ROM-COM PREMIER â fun, cute, tooth-rotting fluff
INDIE FILM â soft, aesthetic, intimate vibes
ACTION MOVIE â jealousy, protectiveness, public fights, paparazzi chaos
FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY â public attention, cameras, fame pressure
BACKSTAGE GLOW â private, quiet, domestic love
PREMIERE NIGHT â glamorous, confident, show-stopping
â PART 04 â CHOOSE YOUR LEADING MAN â
QUINN HUGHES â 43 | Vancouver Canucks
JACK HUGHES â 86 | New Jersey Devils
LUKE HUGHES â 43 | New Jersey Devils
MATT REMPE â 73 | New York Rangers
WILLIAM EKLUND â 72 | San Jose Sharks
WILL SMITH â 2 | San Jose Sharks
MACKLIN CELEBRINI â 71 | San Jose Sharks
CONNOR BEDARD â 98 | Chicago Blackhawks
đź EXAMPLE REQUEST USING THIS FORMAT *no pressure!*
film genre: oscar drama
industry trope: co-star curse
spotlight: flash photography
leading man: quinn hughes
â quinn gets jealous after tabloids publish photos of the reader and her flirty co-star at a movie premiere, leading to a raw emotional confrontation.
đ A FEW QUESTION THAT YOU MIGHT ASK
â do fiastomatocheek writes for other players too? yes! mostly i prefer the players i listed, but you can request any player youâre currently obsessed with.
â is there any player fiastomatocheek does not write for? yes, crosby *nothing personal, i donât hate him guys!!*
â any trope you donât write? yes. here are all the tropes / rules i donât write.
â does fiastomatocheek accept all requests? sadly, no. i only write requests that spark an idea in me. *helpful tip: the more detailed your request is, the easier it is for me to write!*
â can i choose more than 1 genre / industry trope? yes, maximum is 2.
â do you write dad!player x mom!actress/famous!reader? yesssss! if you want this dynamic, please note it clearly in your request.
â what kind of request will you not accept? example: âmack x reader, super angsty piece that ends with a happy endingâ. i usually donât take these short request (?) because itâs hard for me to plan the whole scenario from start to finish in a way that feels natural.
requested: yes | req: i love your angst! i was wondering if you could do maybe like a bad argument between them with lucy around? maybe like they didnât realize they were starting to yell and she wakes up all scared. i feel like lukeâs definitely the type to be overly friendly with an ex/fwb because heâs just a friendly guy. or maybe heâs gone out with his friends and reader caught him a bit too cuddled up with another girl. food for thought if you want to use itâșïž
pair: dad!luke hughes x mom!reader.
genre: heavy angst, hurt, comfort, family drama, happy ending.
warnings: intense marital argument, brief yelling in the house while child is present (unintentional), emotional distress, insecurities, mention of online hate toward reader, fear of separation/divorce, crying child, alcohol is not central but mentioned, very raw emotions.
summary: you and luke swore that once lucy was born you would never fight in front of her. for four years you kept that promise. until the day a blurry instagram story showed luke at a âboysâ lunchâ sitting thigh-to-thigh with his ex-girlfriend, arm draped behind her chair like nothing had changed since college. when you confront him, the conversation turns into the worst fight youâve ever had, a loud, ugly, and unfortunately loud enough to wake your daughter from her nap. you walk out. luke stays. and lucy, your brilliant, heartbreakingly perceptive four-year-old, starts asking the question no parent ever wants to hear âdid you stop loving mommy?â.
fiaâs note: sorry to anyone actually named lauren, i didnât mean anything by using that name, but it just fit the story. i hope everyone enjoys this little angsty piece for dad!luke. i really appreciate every single comment, truly. and if you ever want to yap, iâm always open and absolutely loving that too!! I MISS YAPPING!!! also thank you for 600 followers!! love you all very much đ«¶đ«¶
tagging team fia ! â @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @hopefulsuitcasemoneyzonk @kell9rs @alwaysclassyeagle @nokiaholland @macka @silvenyy @voidvannie @itsonlyaddi @ruinix @when-im-with-you
You used to love the way Luke was kind to everyone.
It was the first thing that made you fall for him, especially how he never let an awkward silence linger when someone felt left out. That kindness was the reason you felt safe building a life with him. Safe enough to marry him at twenty-three, safe enough to have Lucy at twenty-four when half the internet called you a âpuck bunny who trapped him.â
Today that same kindness feels like a blade between your ribs.
Luke kissed you both goodbye at 11:17 a.m., told you he was grabbing lunch with âthe boysâ after morning skate. You waved from the doorway, Lucy on your hip waving her little stuffed moose, shouting,
âBye Snoopy! Bring me french fries!â
He came home at 3:42 p.m., Lucy was down for her nap. You were curled on your side of the bed scrolling absent-mindedly while Luke stretched out beside you, thumb rubbing slow circles on your ankle like nothing was wrong.
Then you opened Instagram.
A mutual friend, someone who went to Michigan with them had posted a story from the restaurant. The video was shaky, music loud, but the camera panned across the table and there he was.
Your husband.
Wedged onto a banquet seat between Nico and Luke ex-girlfriend Lauren.
His left arm was stretched along the back of the booth behind her shoulders. Her head was tilted toward him, laughing at something heâd just said. His right hand held a beer, but the way his fingers curled loosely near her collarbone made your stomach drop.
You replayed it four times just to be sure your eyes werenât lying.
Luke noticed youâd gone still.
âBabe?â
You turned the phone toward him without a word.
He blinked, sat up slowly. âItâs just lunch.â
âYou said it was the boys.â
âIt was mostly the boys. Lauren was there with Sarah and them.â
âYou sat next to her.â
âThat was the only seat left when I got there.â
âYour armâŠâ
âItâs a booth, babe. Thereâs no room.â
You stared at him. âYou lied to me.â
âI didnât lie. I just⊠didnât mention sheâd be there because I knew youâd get upset.â
âSo you admit you knew Iâd be upset and you still went. And still sat like that.â
Luke exhaled through his nose. âThis again.â
âYes, Luke. This again. Because nothing ever changes.â
He rubbed a hand over his face.
âSheâs in the friend group. Sheâs been in the friend group since we were nineteen. Iâm not gonna be the dick who tells her she canât come to brunch.â
âIâm not asking you to ban her from earth, Luke. Iâm asking why you let her sit that close, why your arm was around her, why you didnât tell me the truth.â
âBecause there the second I say her name you turn into this.â He gestured vaguely at you.
Your voice shook a little. âDo you even hear yourself? You think I like feeling crazy?â
âI think you look for reasons to be mad about her.â
Silence. Cold and sharp.
You sat up fully, knees pulled to your chest.
âLuke. Do you know she still wants you?â
He hesitated. That half-second was all you needed.
âYou do know,â you whispered. âYou know and you let her think she still has a shot.â
âI have zero intention of doing anything with her. Zero. You know that.â
âI do know that. But she doesnât. And the longer you keep hugging her goodbye, keep letting her touch your arm, keep sitting like youâre still single, the longer she thinks maybe one day youâll wake up and remember how easy it was with her before the wife and the kid and the hate comments.â
Lukeâs jaw flexed. âSheâs not like that. She wouldnât try toââ
âSheâs a woman who watches you on TV everynight and still texts you memes at 1 a.m. She knows exactly what the fuck sheâs doing.â
âYouâre making her into some mastermind. Sheâs just⊠Lauren.â
âExactly. Just Lauren. Who you keep giving hope to because youâre too kind to hurt her feelings.â
âNo, Iâm notâ
âLuke, youâre married. You have a daughter asleep twenty feet away. There is a line.â
He stood up, pacing to the window.
âSo whatâs the rule? Iâm not allowed to talk to any woman Iâve ever dated? Should I burn every bridge so my wife doesnât have to feel threatened?â
âStop twisting this. Iâm not threatened by her. Iâm tired of watching my husband act single in front of a girl who wants him back.â
âI donât act single!â
âYou sat with your arm around her!â
âBecause itâs a fucking booth!â
âStop yelling,â you hissed.
âIâm notââ He caught himself, lowered his voice. âIâm not yelling.â
But you were. Both of you were breathing too hard.
You stood up too, grabbing your keys from the dresser.
âYou know what? Do whatever you want. Stay friends. Sit wherever. Let her think whatever she wants. Iâm done being the nagging wife who ruins brunch.â
âBabeââ
âNo. Iâm done. Luke, Iâm done.â
You were halfway down the hall when you heard the soft creak of Lucyâs bedroom door.
You froze in place.
Luke did too.
Tiny feet padded across hardwood. Lucy appeared in the doorway of your bedroom rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her unicorn pajamas, curls a wild halo.
âMommy?â Her voice was small. âWhy you yelling?â
Your heart cracked clean in half.
Luke moved first, crouching down. âHey, Luce. Mommy and Snoopy were just talking too loud. We didnât mean to wake you.â
Lucy looked from him to you, then back again.
âSnoopy made Mommy cry.â
You hadnât even realized tears were on your cheeks.
You wiped them fast, forced a smile.
âIâm okay, baby. Mommyâs just gonna go for a little drive. Snoopyâs here, okayâ
You couldnât look at Luke when you said it.
You kissed Lucyâs forehead, grabbed your coat, and left.
The door shut with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than any slam.
Luke stood in the hallway staring at the closed door like he could will you back through it.
Then Lucy tugged on his hoodie string.
âSnoopy? Where Mommy going?â
He swallowed. âMommy needs some air, Luce. Sheâll be back soon.â
Lucyâs bottom lip wobbled. âYou made her sad.â
The guilt hit him so hard he had to sit on the floor right there in the hallway.
âI know, baby. I messed up.â
Lucy crawled into his lap, small hands framing his face the way you do when youâre trying to make him listen.
âSnoopy. You gotta say sorry.â
âI will, princess. I promise.â
She nodded solemnly, then brighter, âCan we go see Nana and Papa? I wanna show Papa my new moose backpack.â
Luke latched onto the lifeline like a drowning man.
âYeah⊠Yeah, letâs do that.â
The drive to his parentsâ house in Michigan was forty-five minutes of Luke replaying every word youâd said on loop while Lucy sang along to the Frozen soundtrack in her car seat.
Halfway there she went quiet.
âSnoopy?â
âYeah, Luce?â
âDid you stop loving Mommy?â
He almost swerved off the road.
âNo, baby. God no. Snoopy loves Mommy more than anything.â
Lucy picked at the strap of her backpack.
âThen why Mommy leave?â
Luke had no answer that a four-year-old could understand.
When they pulled into Jim and Ellenâs driveway, Jackâs Jeep and Quinnâs Range Rover were already there. Apparently the whole family had decided to descend on their parents this weekend.
Great.
Lucy bolted out of the car the second her car seat was unbuckled, running straight into Jackâs arms the moment he opened the door and straight into Lukeâs parents house.
âUncle Rowdy!!!â
âThereâs my favorite, Lucy Luce!â Jack swung her up.
âWhereâs your mom, Luce?â
Lucy went very serious. âI think Snoopy made Mommy sad.â
The entire room went still.
Ellenâs eyes snapped to Luke.
Jim set his coffee down slowly.
Quinn just raised an eyebrow that somehow said more than words ever could.
Jack, sensing the tension, scooped Lucy higher.
âHey Luce, wanna go show me that new Lego castle Uncle Quinn got you? Itâs in the basement.â
Lucy nodded and let Jack carry her away.
The second they were gone Ellen spoke.
âLukey. What did you do?â
Luke rubbed the back of his neck. âCan we not do this with an audience?â
Quinn leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
âPretty sure the audience is already involved, considering your four-year-old just announced it to the room.â
Jim just pointed at the couch. âSit.â
Luke sat.
He told them everything. The lunch. The photo. The fight. The way Lucy woke up. The way you walked out.
When he finished, the silence was deafening.
Ellen spoke first, voice soft but steel underneath.
âLuke⊠I love you. But you screwed this up royally.â
âI know.â
âDo you?â Quinn asked.
âBecause this isnât the first time sheâs brought this up. Itâs the fifth. Maybe sixth.â
Luke opened his mouth. Closed it.
Quinn kept going. âYouâre the luckiest idiot on planet earth, you know that? She gave up everything to be with you. California, her friends, her anonymity. She gets death threats in her DMs just because she has our last name. And everytime she says âhey, you know what, this makes me uncomfortable,â you act like sheâs asking you to set the girl on fire.â
âIâm not trying toâŠâ
âYou are,â Jim cut in. âSon, listen to me. Kindness without boundaries is just people-pleasing. And right now youâre pleasing everyone except the one person who actually matters.â
Lukeâs voice cracked. âShe said sheâs done.â
Ellenâs eyes filled. âThen youâd better make sure she knows thatâs not an option. Because if you lose her over this, if you let your need to be the nice guy cost you your family. I will never forgive you.â
Luke dropped his head into his hands.
Quinn moved to sit beside him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
âYou know we love you. But Momâs right. Fix it. Today.â
Upstairs, Jack was reading Lucy her fourth book when she looked up at him with those huge hazel eyes.
âUncle Rowdy?â
âYeah, Luce?â
âIs Mommy gonna come get me?â
Jackâs chest ached. âOf course she is, kiddo. Moms always come back.â
Lucy nodded slowly. âI hope she brings Snoopy with her when she does.â
You drove for two hours.
You cried for the first thirty minutes, screamed for the next ten, then just⊠drove. Past the arena, past the little park where Luke taught Lucy to skate last winter, past the grocery store where the cashier still calls you âMrs. Hughesâ with a smile.
Your phone buzzed nonstop.
Luke
baby please come home
iâm so sorry
i took luce to mom and dadâs
please just tell me youâre safe
You didnât answer.
At 6:47 p.m. you pulled into Jim and Ellenâs driveway because you couldnât stand the idea of Lucy thinking youâd left her too.
You were barely out of the car when the front door flew open and Lucy launched herself at your legs.
âMommy!â
You dropped to your knees, hugging her so tight she squeaked.
âHi, baby. Mommy missed you.â
Lucy pulled back, hands on your cheeks. âSnoopy said sorry a lot. He cried a little. But donât tell him I told you.â
Your eyes flicked up.
Luke was standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes red and swollen.
Ellen appeared behind him, touching his shoulder gently.
âWhy donât you two take the porch? Weâve got Lucy.â
You stood slowly, Lucy clinging to your hand.
Luke stepped aside so you could come in, but you stayed on the porch. For a long minute neither of you spoke.
Then Luke broke.
âIâm sorry.â His voice was hoarse.
âIâm so fucking sorry.â
You looked at him, arms wrapped around yourself.
âI told Lauren everything,â he said quickly.
âTold her I was wrong to let things blur, that I have a wife and a daughter and I wonât risk them for anything. Told her if she canât respect boundaries then sheâs not welcome around me anymore. She cried. I left.â
âI blocked her,â he continued.
âDeleted every old message. Iâm not trying to be the nice guy anymore. Iâm trying to be your husband.â
Your eyes filled again.
âI donât want to be kind if it hurts you,â he whispered.
âI donât want to be anything if itâs not with you.â
You looked away, toward the Christmas lights blinking on the neighborsâ houses.
Lucyâs voice came from inside, loud and clear.
âNana, can Snoopy and Mommy kiss and make up now? I helped!â
Ellenâs muffled âLuce!â followed.
You laughed once, wet and broken.
Luke stepped closer. âI love you more than hockey. More than being liked. More than anything. Please come home.â
You looked at him then, really looked. The boy you married was still there, but older now. Tired. Scared.
You reached for his hand.
He grabbed it like it was the only thing keeping him afloat.
âI love you too,â you said quietly. âBut if this ever happens againââ
âNo, It wonât. I swear on everything. On Lucy. On us.â
You nodded slowly.
He pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. You felt his tears on your neck.
âIâm sorry I made you feel alone in this,â he whispered. âNever again.â
Behind you, the door creaked open. Lucy peeked out, grinning huge.
âAre we a family again?â
Luke laughed through his tears.
âYeah, baby. Weâre always a family.â
Lucy ran out in her socks, throwing her arms around both your legs.
You bent down, scooping her up between you.
She looked at Luke very seriously.
âSnoopy, you gotta say sorry to Mommy with flowers. And ice cream. And maybe a pony.â
Luke kissed her cheek. âHow about flowers and ice cream and a new moose?â
Lucy considered this. âDeal.â
That night you drove home together, Lucy asleep in her car seat, clutching the new stuffed moose Quinn had apparently bought âjust in case.â
Luke held your hand the whole way.
When you got home he carried Lucy to bed, tucked her in, then came to find you in the kitchen.
He wrapped his arms around you from behind, chin on your shoulder.
âIâm gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you never have to wonder again,â he murmured.
You turned in his arms, pressing your forehead to his.
âGood,â you whispered.
âBecause Iâm planning on keeping you forever.â
He kissed you slow and deep, the way he did the night he proposed, the night Lucy was born, the night you said yes to everything.
Later in bed, he pulled you close, fingers tracing the ring on your left hand.
pair: dad!will smith x mom!reader ; will smith x f!reader
genre: fluff, family, domestic comedy, established relationship
warnings: excessive cuteness, very mild language from nine-year-olds
summary: the boys, charles and theo have recently discovered the art of roasting their dad, and theyâre terrifyingly good at it. tonight the whole smith clan is gathering at the smithâs house for salmon, smashed potatoes, the usual chit chat here and there. between travel plans to Italy, hockey fights on the playground, and theoâs very loud opinions about his fatherâs equipment bag, one thing is clear that will might be a pro on the ice, but at home heâs happily outnumbered and lovingly destroyed by the three people he loves most.
fiaâs note: i just had this random thought that will would be absolutely hilarious getting roasted by his own kids. heâs always so soft with them, not in the âtreating them like little princesâ way, but in the âthese are my tiny best buddiesâ way so of course the boys adore him. but sometimes they just need to mess with their dad for fun. idk, watching his interviews just gives me that vibe⊠the ultimate soft dad energy. anyway, thatâs it. hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. also, i kinda miss those yapping sessions with my moots!!
tagging team fia ! â @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @kell9rs @nokiaholland @macka @smiley-roos @silvenyy @bd147ms @voidvannie @itsonlyaddi @puckinghughes @astrotrilogy @definitelynotdomanique
Charles said from the backseat the second Will pulled the Tahoe away from the elementary school curb.
Will glanced in the rear-view mirror. âWhat thing?â
âItâs running away,â
Theo supplied helpfully, kicking his feet against Charlesâs seat. âLike itâs scared of your forehead.â
You snorted so hard you nearly dropped your phone. Willâs hand found your thigh and squeezed in fake betrayal.
âThanks, bud,â he said dryly.
âLove the support from my own blood.â
âTechnically weâre only half your blood,â
Charles corrected, pushing his glasses up his nose exactly the way Will does when heâs pretending to be serious.
âThe other half is Momâs, and her hair is perfect.â
âFacts,â you said, twisting around to offer both boys a fist bump. They lunged forward to meet it, seatbelts straining.
Will sighed the long-suffering sigh of a man who knows heâs about to be tag-teamed for the next twenty minutes.
âYou two been saving these up all day or what?â
âSince Monday,â Theo said proudly.
âCoach made us run laps âcause Charles told Aiden his slapshot looked like a dying pigeon.â
âIt did look like a dying pigeon,â Charles muttered.
Willâs parents only lived half an hour from school, but the twins treated every car ride like open-mic night when their dad was the only target. You settled back in your seat, phone forgotten, because to be honest this was so much better than any podcast.
âAlso,â
Theo continued, leaning forward as far as the seatbelt allowed, âyour gear bag is trying to kill us. It smells like sad onions, Dad.â
âSad onions,â you repeated under your breath, wheezing.
âI febreezed it!â Will protested.
âDad. Febreeze ran away screaming,â Charles said.
âWe saw it. It jumped out the garage window.â
Will looked at you for rescue. You just patted his arm sympathetically.
âTheyâre not wrong, babe. That bag needs to be burned with fire.â
âThere they are! My favorite little comedians!â
âGrandma!â both boys yelled, launching themselves at her like missiles.
Willâs dad, Bill, appeared behind her holding a dish towel, grinning.
âHeard the material on the baby monitor youâve got in the car, Will. Solid stuff. Nine out of ten.â
âThanks, Dad. Really feeling the love tonight.â
Grace, Willâs older sister, leaned in the doorway sipping wine.
âI give it a ten. The sad-onions line killed me.â
You hugged everyone hello while the boys raced inside to claim their spots at the kidsâ end of the big dining table that Colleen only broke out for family nights. The house smelled like lemon, rosemary, and the Atlantic salmon Bill had been perfecting on the grill for the last hour.
Willâs hand stayed at the small of your back as you moved into the kitchen, a habit heâd had since the day you started dating. Somethings never changed, even when your lives had added two loud, hockey-obsessed boys and one very stinky equipment bag.
Colleen handed you a glass of Sauvignon Blanc the second you crossed the threshold.
âYou survive the ride over?â
âBarely,â you laughed. âTheyâve entered their roast era. Itâs brutal.â
âGood,â she said, eyes twinkling.
âKeeps him humble.â
Dinner was loud⊠well in the best way. Bill carried in the cedar-plank salmon like it was the Stanley Cup. Smashed red potatoes with too much butter. Roasted sprouts that the boys actually ate because Grandpa bribed them with extra dessert. Grace sat across from you telling everyone about the two-week girlsâ trip to the Amalfi Coast sheâd finally booked.
âIâm calling it the Divorce Diet Tour,â she announced, raising her glass.
âExcept Iâm not divorced, just exhausted by my siblingsâ children.â
âHey,â Will and the twins said in unison.
You nearly choked on a sprout.
Will and his dad fell into their usual easy hockey talk about how the Sharks power play was looking, whether Mario Ferraroâs beard was entering playoff form early, if Willâs recent hip twinge was anything to worry about. You half-listened while Colleen topped off your wine and asked about summer plans.
âWeâre trying to pick between Maui and Italy,â you told her quietly.
âWillâs got that long break in July after development camp. I want the boys to see the world a little, you know? Not just hockey rinks.â
Colleen smiled the soft way she did whenever she remembered her son had somehow turned into this steady, ridiculous family man.
âTake them to Italy. Theyâll eat gelato for breakfast and never shut up about it. Youâll love it.â
At the other end of the table, the twins were retelling the dayâs playground drama.
âSo Aiden says my wrist shotâs weak,â
Charles said around a mouthful of potatoes, âand I said âat least I donât skate like a shopping cart with one bad wheel.ââ
âLanguage,â you and Will said automatically.
âThen he pushed me,â Charles continued, undeterred, âso I was gonna drop gloves-â
âCharles,â you warned.
â⊠but Theo came in like bam!â Charles slammed his fork down for emphasis.
âTold Aiden if he touched me again heâd regret it, then he stole the puck and scored. Top cheese.â
âTop cheese,â Theo confirmed, nodding solemnly.
Bill was laughing so hard his shoulders shook. âThatâs my boys. Protect eachother.â
Will looked unfairly proud. You kicked him lightly under the table.
Later, when the plates were mostly empty and the boys were arguing over who got the corner piece of salmon skin *both claimed it was the crispiest*, Will leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair the way he did when he was tired.
âI swear the hairlineâs moving faster now,â he said, mostly to his dad.
âToo young to start planning my future as a bald guy.â
Theoâs head snapped up. He saw an opening and took it like a breakaway.
Grace wheezed. Colleen had to put her wine down. Even Bill looked like he might need medical attention.
Theoâs head snapped up. He saw an opening and took it like a breakaway.
âThatâs because all your power went into your beard, Dad,â he said.
âYour headâs like, âwe canât compete with that, weâre out.ââ
Will pointed a finger at Theo. âYouâre grounded until youâre thirty.â
âYou canât ground me, youâre going bald,â
Theo shot back, then turned to his grandfather with the most betrayed expression a nine-year-old could produce.
âGrandpa, why does Dadâs gear bag smell like a dead whale? I opened it yesterday and the smell slapped me. I saw stars.â
Charles nodded vigorously. âWe think itâs gaining sentience.â
Bill lost it.
You felt Willâs hand find yours under the table again, his thumb tracing your ring while he tried to look stern and failed spectacularly.
Theo wasnât done. He looked straight at you, eyes wide and deadly serious.
âMom. Real question. Why did you marry him? The bag is a war crime.â
The entire table went silent for half a second, waiting for your answer.
You set your fork down, leaned forward, and looked right at your little chaos goblin.
âBecause,â you said, letting your voice go soft and sweet.
âEvery single time your dad laces up those stinky skates, heâs doing it so he can give you two the world. And because when I was terrified, he held my hand in a hospital room and promised heâd never leave. And because everynight, no matter how many bruises heâs got or how many overtime periods heâs played, he still crawls into bed and kisses me like itâs the first time. And because he sings off-key to Taylor Swift in the car with you monsters and thinks I donât notice him tearing up at âNever Grow Up.â Thatâs why I married him, Theo. The bagâs gross, but the man carrying it? Heâs the best person I know.â
You finished and realized the entire table had gone quiet. Grace pretended to wipe a tear. Colleen definitely wasnât pretending. Bill reached over and squeezed Willâs shoulder.
Will just stared at you, in that way that still made your chest tight after all these years.
Theo considered your answer very seriously, then shrugged.
âOkay. But weâre still burning the bag.â
Charles nodded. âCeremonial fire. Viking funeral.â
Will laughed, and pulled you halfway into his lap right there at the dinner table because personal space was never a thing in the Smith family. He kissed your temple, then turned to the boys.
âTell you what. You two help me clean the bag tomorrow, I mean proper clean, no whining and Iâll take us all to the rink after. Full ice, just us. You can roast me in person while I let you score fifty goals.â
âDeal!â they shouted, already planning trash-talk strategies.
Later, when the dishes were done and the boys were sprawled on the living room carpet playing NHL 25 on the PlayStation with their grandpa who insisted on being the Sharks everytime because âfamily loyaltyâ, Will found you on the back patio breathing in the cool December air.
He wrapped his arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder.
âYou didnât have to say all that stuff in there,â he murmured.
âYeah, I did,â you said, leaning back into him.
âSomeone has to remind those little gremlins their dadâs a superhero. Even if his gear bag is a biohazard.â
He laughed quietly. âI love you.â
âI know,â you said, turning in his arms so you could kiss him properly.
âStinky bag and all.â
From inside, you heard Charles yell,
âTheo, look! Theyâre kissing again!â
Theo fake gagged loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
My response: https://www.tumblr.com/fiakive/790652530313101312/fiaaaaaaa-i-need-to-rant-its-set-to-anon-bc
Stop it people. Y'all are really getting annoying with this
I hate saying it but I understand why some hockey fans dislike the girls who only like hockey cause a player is hot. Y'all go and do shit like this.
Yes I think Smitty is gorg but I also love hockey because it's very similar to volleyball imo and I played volleyball so I enjoy it (and it's fast paced and I can keep up with it without it being boring)
TLDR: stop being annoying
- Alli đ
i totally get the crashing out, same brainrot different day fr. iâve seen the willmack stuff floating around too and yeah⊠not my vibe either. just to be super clear though, i donât support or write willmack (and never will tbh), but itâs not from a place of homophobia or anything like that. itâs just not something iâm comfortable with, especially when it involves real people being shipped like fictional characters. also i think thisâll be the last time i post anything about this topic, just so it doesnât start affecting other writers or blogs on here (i donât want that to happen to anyone on here). everyoneâs here to enjoy things in their own way, and i wanna keep my space safe + chill for everyone.
but i get the rage LMAO weâre gonna be okay đ«¶
warnings: emotional conflict, jealousy, strong language, discussion of past relationships.
summary: dating luke means growing used to spotlight, pressure, and the occasional jealousy but you never expected to feel second to someone who was supposed to be in his past. when lukeâs ex begins showing up at games and lingering in places she no longer belongs, you try to brush it off⊠until one night, you see too much.
fiaâs note: so⊠long time no angst, right? this fanfic takes us back to a time before luke and reader had lucy, kind of like a glimpse into their lives during the âpre-lucy hughes eraâ. itâs a little window into what things were like before they became parents. you can read this as a âbefore luceâ moment, or just enjoy it as a standalone piece. either way, itâs got that emotional weight weâve all been missing.
You werenât jealous. You were territorial. And honey, there was a difference.
Jealousy was for girls who didnât know their worth, who clung to their boyfriends like life rafts in a storm. Territorial? That was for women who knew exactly what they had, what theyâd built, and who wasnât about to let some knockoff Chanel-toting opportunist waltz in and act like she owned the place.
You never told Luke who he could talk to. Never made him choose sides. You gave him space, freedom, trust, all the things you swore youâd give the guy who earned your heart. Because you werenât just some lovesick puppy trailing after a hockey star. You were his partner. His equal. His âIâll cut you with my words but melt when you smile at meâ girlfriend.
And Luke? Oh, Luke had earned your heart in spades.
He earned it the first time he called you âsweetheartâ in front of his teammates, not even flinching when they razzed him for it.
So yeah, you trusted him. Completely. Implicitly. With every piece of your heart that wasnât busy sassing him into next week.
But her?
You wouldnât trust her as far as you could throw her tacky designer knockoff bag. And you didnât have the arm strength for that.
Sheâd been showing up to games for weeks now, always perched one row behind the WAGs, close enough to make her presence known but never daring to cross the invisible line into your territory. She didnât speak to you, great, smart move, because youâd have sliced through her with a single raised eyebrow. But she was always there, a persistent little shadow in a too-tight jersey, batting her lashes at anyone whoâd give her the time of day.
You didnât know how she was getting rinkside seats until one of the other girlfriends let it slip, she was cozying up to a rookie, some fresh-faced kid who probably thought her attention was a badge of honor. Of course she was. Classic playbook latch onto the new guy, get access, and then aim for the real prize.
You didnât say a word. Not when she started wearing Lukeâs jersey an old one from his rookie season, because apparently nostalgia was her brand of manipulation. Not when she laughed a little too loudly at his post-game interviews, like she had some claim to his spotlight. You kept your cool, because you werenât about to let her think sheâd gotten under your skin.
But tonight? Tonight crossed every line youâd drawn in the sand.
You were waiting by the tunnel after the game, like always, looking like the kind of girlfriend who could make a hockey player forget his own name. A swipe of lip gloss, a subtle reminder that you were that girl. Luke had played a hell of a game, an assist, two blocked shots, and enough grit to make the crowd roar. You were proud, and you couldnât wait to tell him that.
He saw you as he came out of the locker room, smile light up. He waved and started toward you, and for a moment, everything was perfect.
Until she called his name.
It was like watching a slow-motion car crash. Her voice, syrupy and deliberate, cut through the post-game loud buzz.
âLuuuuke!â
She singsonged, and you swear you felt your blood pressure spike. You turned just in time to see her decked out in that damn rookie jersey, her hair tossed like sheâd spent an hour perfecting the âeffortlessâ look reaching for his hand.
Her fingers brushed his. Lingered. And then she laughed, a sound that wrapped around his name like a velvet noose. It wasnât just a greeting. It was a performance. A calculated, âlook at meâ moment designed to make you feel invisible.
And Luke? Your Luke, who could read a play on the ice before it even happened? He didnât shut it down.
He didnât pull his hand away. Didnât step back. Didnât redirect her to the rookie she was supposedly there for. He just stood there, letting her talk, letting her take up space that was supposed to be yours.
You werenât mad that she was trying. Girls like her were a dime a dozen in the hockey world. You were mad that Luke, your Luke was giving her an audience.
So you did what any self-respecting, fire-in-her-veins woman would do. You didnât make a scene. Didnât stomp your foot or throw a tantrum. You just turned on your heel, you walked straight out of there.
No words. No glances back. Just a single text, sent as you slid into an Uber.
âCome find me when youâre done talking to your ex.â
Delivered. Read. No reply.
He called at 11:08 p.m. Then again at 11:21. By the time the third call came just before midnight, you were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a silk robe, your mascara smudged from a âpost-shower cryâ youâd never admit to. Not because you were heartbroken⊠okay, maybe a little but because you were pissed. Pissed at her for existing, pissed at Luke for not seeing it, and pissed at yourself for letting it get to you.
You didnât pick up. Not because you wanted to be dramatic, but because you werenât sure what would come out of your mouth if you did. A scream? A sob? Or some unholy combination of the two? You werenât about to give her the satisfaction of knowing sheâd rattled you.
When you heard his key in the lock, part of you wanted to run to him, to bury your face in his chest and let him fix it with those big, warm hands of his. The other part, the part that was winning wanted to make him sweat.
Luke walked in, his duffel bag hitting the floor with a thud sound. His eyes found you immediately, and you could see the storm brewing in them.
âSeriously?â he said, his voice tight.
âYou leave without a word and now youâre ignoring my calls?â
You didnât even look up from the couch, your arms crossed like a shield.
âOh, you looked busy.â
âAre you kidding me?â
He stepped closer, his hands on his hips, his broad frame filling the room.
âYouâre pissed because I talked to her?â
You stood up then, your robe slipping slightly off one shoulder as you faced him.
âDonât play dumb, Luke. It doesnât suit you.â
âIâm notââ
âOh, please.â
Your laugh was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.
âI watched her try to hold your hand. Watched her bat her lashes and giggle like she was auditioning for your attention. And you? You just stood there, letting her.â
âShe didnâtââ he started, but you cut him off, your voice rising.
âShe did. Donât gaslight me, Luke. Her fingers were all over you, like I wasnât even there. Like I didnât exist. And you didnât do a damn thing to stop it.â
He blinked, his jaw clenching.
âSheâs not a threat to us.â
âOh, babe, I know sheâs not a threat,â you said, stepping closer.
âSheâs not even in my league. But sheâs annoying. Sheâs rude. And sheâs calculated. She knows exactly how to push my buttons, and youâre letting her push yours too.â
Lukeâs eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of guilt in them.
âI was just trying to be polite.â
âPolite?â you laughed again, this time colder.
âGo be polite and date Miss Touchy-Feely then! Because Iâm not gonna sit here looking cute while she uses your âpolitenessâ as an excuse to disrespect me.â
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
âSheâs nothing to me, okay? Nothing.â
Your voice cracked, just a fraction, and you hated how vulnerable it made you sound.
âIf sheâs nothing, Luke⊠why do you keep giving her something?â
Words in the air, heavy, raw and the fire in your chest starting to melt into something softer, something that hurt more than you wanted to admit.
âIâve never asked you to cut her off,â
You said, quieter now, your arms wrapping tighter around yourself.
âIâve never told you who you can talk to. I donât need you to baby me or hold my hand through this. But every time she texts, you answer. Everytime she shows up, you give her time. And every time she gets bolder, itâs because you never tell her no.â
Lukeâs face softened, his shoulders slumping as he took a step toward you.
âI didnât realize it looked like that.â
You shrugged, your eyes stinging. âI didnât want to be the insecure girlfriend. I didnât want to be that girl.â
âYouâre not,â he said instantly, his voice firm.
âYouâve never been that. Youâre⊠youâre everything.â
You wanted to believe him but the image of her made it hard to let go.
âThen why does it feel like Iâm competing for you?â
He closed the distance between you, his hands hovering over your arms like he wasnât sure if youâd let him touch you.
âYouâre not competing. Thereâs no contest. Sheâs just⊠sheâs the past. Youâre my present. My future. My everything.â
You looked away, blinking back the tears you refused to let fall.
âI donât need grand declarations, Luke. I just need you to see her for what she is. Sheâs not here to catch up or be friends. Sheâs here to remind you she exists. And everytime you let her, it feels like youâre choosing her over me.â
He reached for your hand then, and this time you didnât pull away. His fingers laced through yours, grounding you despite the storm in your chest.
âIâm sorry,â he said. âI didnât see it like that. I didnât realize I was making you feel like you werenât enough. You are. Youâve always been enough.â
You looked up at him, your eyes searching his.
âThen act like it.â
He nodded, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
âI will. Iâll shut it down. No more games, no more politeness. Sheâs not my person. You are.â
You let out a shaky breath, the tension in your body easing just a fraction.
âGood. Because Iâm not sharing you, Hughes. Not with her, not with anyone.â
A small smile tugged at his lips. âNoted, sweetheart.â
You rolled your eyes, but the sass was half-hearted now, softened by the way he was looking at you.
âDonât think youâre off the hook just because youâre cute.â
He chuckled, pulling you closer until your forehead rested against his chest.
âIâll make it up to you. Promise.â
You let yourself sink into him, arms wrapping around his waist as his hands slid up your back. For a moment, you just stood there, breathing him in, this was your safe place, the one youâd fought to protect.
âLuke?â you murmured, your voice muffled against his.
âYeah?â
âIf she fuckinâ touches you again, Iâm not responsible for what happens.â
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest.
âDuly noted. But you donât have to worry. Iâm yours. All in.â
You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze.
âBetter be. Because I donât play nice when it comes to you.â
His grin widened, and he leaned down, brushing his lips against yours.
âWouldnât have it any other way.â
At the next game you were there, as always, in your usual spot with the other WAGs, wearing Lukeâs jersey with his number proudly displayed on your back. Youâd gone all out tonight, your hair done, makeup flawless that made you feel like you could take on the world. Or at least one particularly annoying ex.
You hadnât talked about her since that night, but Luke had been true to his word. He hadnât mentioned her, hadnât given you any reason to doubt him. Still, you couldnât help the way your eyes scanned the stands as you took your seat, searching for that familiar flash of blonde hair and bad vibes.
âSheâs not here,â
One of the other girlfriends, Mia, said, leaning over with a knowing look.
âHeard she tried to get tickets through the rookie again, but he shut it down. Said Luke told him to.â
You raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool even as your heart did a little victory dance.
âOh?â
Mia grinned. âYup. Apparently, your boy made it crystal clear sheâs not welcome anymore.â
You didnât say anything, but a smirk was answer enough. Good. Let her find another rink to haunt.
After the game, you waited by the tunnel again, when Luke emerged, he made a beeline for you, ignoring the usual post-game chaos. He pulled you into his arms, right there in front of everyone, and kissed you like he didnât care who was watching.
âMissed you,â his hands warm on your waist.
âYou saw me this morning,â
You teased, but your voice was soft, your fingers curling into his jacket.
âToo long,â he said, grinning.
âYou look good in my number, by the way.â
You rolled your eyes, but the flush in your cheeks betrayed you.
âYeah, well, donât get used to me being all sweet and supportive. Iâve got a reputation to uphold.â
He laughed, pulling you closer.
âWouldnât dream of it, sweetheart.â
And just like that, the last of your doubts melted away. She was gone. He was yours. And you? You were the girl whoâd fight for what was hers and win every damn time.
warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, mild teasing (from the twins!), excessive use of ketchup, will being the most lovable, clueless hockey dad ever.
summary: will is a fun-loving dad to your seven-year-old twins, charles and theo, two boys who love hockey almost as much as they love messing with their dad. on this particular âfamily skate dayâ on sunday, the boys decide to switch identities to see how long itâll take will to figure it out. the catch? you already knows.
fiaâs note: you guys have been asking for more dad!will content, so here it is! iâve honestly been wanting to dive into a dad!will yap for a while now, kind of like the ones i used to do with dad!luke. i mean, our will absolutely deserves his own little spotlight too, duh. thereâs just something so fun about imagining him being a soft, overly proud dad like fully in his âmy kids are my entire personalityâ era. so if youâre down for some wholesome, sassy, protective, emotionally unhinged dad!will energy, then buckle up, because iâm definitely cooking more of that soon!
tagging team fia ! â @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @kell9rs @nokiaholland @macka @smiley-roos @silvenyy @bd147ms @voidvannie @itsonlyaddi @puckinghughes @astrotrilogy @definitelynotdomanique
Sunday mornings in the Smith house were a glorious mess. Not the kind of mess where youâre sipping coffee in peace or sleeping past 7, those days were long gone. Sundays were sacred because they were âFamily Skate Dayâ, a tradition carved in stone since the twins, Charles and Theo, first wobbled on skates at age three. You, Will, and your two mini tornadoes would pile into the car, hockey sticks clattering, and hit the ice like it was the Stanley Cup finals.
This morning, you woke to the usual symphony, thumping footsteps, the sound of electric toothbrushes, and the twinsâ voices and giggles. They were deep in a heated debate about which puck was âobviously fasterâ the red one or the black one. By the time you shuffled downstairs, Charles and Theo were waiting in the kitchen, decked out in identical blue jerseys, gray sweatpants, and suspiciously matching grins.
âMorning, Mom!â
You stopped dead, hands on hips.
âMorning, Theo,â you said, pointing at the twin on the left.
His mouth fell open.
âWhat?! Mom, we swapped clothes! Even our socks! Howâd you know?â
You smirked, leaning against the counter.
âCharles, Iâm your mom. I carried you gremlins for nine months. You think a jersey swapâs gonna throw me off? I know your sneaky faces.â
You dropped your voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
âYouâre pranking Dad again, arenât you?â
They burst into giggles, high-fiving eachother like theyâd just scored the game-winning goal. Charles, the real one, leaned in.
âWeâve been planning this all week, Mom. Donât tell Dad!â
You winked. âMy lips are sealed. But you better sell it, or heâs gonna catch on.â
Will bounded downstairs a few minutes later, rocking his faded team hoodie and humming to Taylor Swift song, his all time favorite âWildest Dreamâ. He was tying his sneakers, oblivious to the twin conspiracy brewing.
âAlright, team Smith, letâs hit the road!â
He called, tossing the car keys in the air and catching them with a flourish. The twins were already dragging their hockey bags to the garage, arguing over who could carry more sticks without dropping them.
âCareful, Theo, youâre gonna break my favorite stick!â Charles yelled.
âYour stickâs lame anyway!â Theo shot back, sticking out his tongue.
You and Will exchanged a look as you climbed into the minivan.
âTheyâre gonna be the death of us,â he said, grinning.
âWorth it,â you replied, buckling in.
âBut if they break another stick, youâre paying for it.â
The drive to breakfast was peak Smith family chaos. Charles launched into a passionate defense of black beans, claiming they were âthe king of beansâ because they were âsmoky and cool.â
And, Theo, not to be outdone, argued that chickpeas were âthe GOATâ because they âcrunched better.â Yes, beans. For reasons no one could fully explain, the twins were obsessed with them, refried, baked, kidney, you name it. If it was a bean, theyâd fight to the death over it.
So, naturally, breakfast was at The Bean Barn, a greasy diner with killer toast, eggs, and a side of beans that kept the boys happy. You and Will werenât exactly fans, the coffee was weak, and the booths were sticky but parenting meant sacrifices. Beans were a small price to pay for two smiling kids.
âWhy canât they be obsessed with, like, pizza?â
Will muttered, pulling into the dinerâs parking lot.
You laughed. âBecause pizzaâs too easy. Our kids gotta be weird.â
He smirked, reaching over to squeeze your hand.
âJust like their mom.â
âWatch it, Smith,â you teased, nudging his arm.
âYouâre the one who taught them to love beans.â
At the rink, the twinsâ prank kicked into overdrive. Charles (or was it Theo?) plopped down on the bench and whined,
âMooom, my skates are too loose!â
A perfect imitation of Theoâs usual complaint. The real Theo, not missing a beat, chimed in,
âMom, mine too! Theyâre all wobbly! can you please help me?â
You crouched down, tying two sets of laces, while Will stood nearby, scratching his chin and squinting like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
âSomethingâs weird with my boys today,â he said, half to himself.
âYâall are acting⊠extra.â
You flashed him an innocent smile, tightening the last knot.
âNothingâs up, babe. Just lace up and letâs skate.â
The session was a whirlwind of pucks, laughter, and the twins zipping around like mini pros. Both lefties, they played almost identically, which made their swap harder to spot.
But every so often, Will tilted his head, watching âCharlesâ pull a slick spin that was pure Theo, or âTheoâ nail Charlesâ signature backward glide with a little too much swagger.
âNice one, Charles!â Will called after a particularly smooth move.
Theo (as Charles) grinned, puffing out his chest.
âThanks, Dad! Stole it from Theo!â
Will nodded slowly, eyes narrowing.
âUh-huh. Sure you did.â
You bit your lip to keep from laughing, pretending to adjust your skates. The boys were good, too good. But Will was starting to catch on, even if he didnât say it yet.
After an hour of skating, Charles (the real Theo) skated over, panting.
âMom, can we get extra ice time? Pleeease?â
âYeah, weâre crushing it!â the other twin added, skidding to a stop.
You glanced at Will, who was wiping sweat from his brow.
âWhat do you think, coach? Theyâve got energy to burn.â
Will groaned dramatically.
âYâall are gonna kill me. But fine, ten more minutes. Then weâre outta here.â
The twins whooped, fist-bumping each other before zooming off. You leaned against the boards, watching them weave through cones.
âTheyâre getting so fast,â you said.
Will slid closer, his arm brushing yours.
âJust like their dad.â
You snorted. âOh, please. You still trip over your own stick.â
He gasped, clutching his chest.
âRude! Iâm a legend on this ice.â
âSure, legend,â you teased, bumping his shoulder.
âLetâs see if you can keep up with the gremlins today.â
Post-skate hunger hit like a freight train, and the golden arches of McDonaldâs glowed like a beacon of hope. The twins sprinted to the counter, shoving eachother like it was game seven.
âCan I have a Big Mac, double cheese and extra fries please!â
They shouted in unison, not even glancing at the menu.
You and Will ordered your usual chicken burgers, exchanging a tired but happy look.
âTheyâre like little robots,â Will said, shaking his head.
âSame order every time.â
âCreatures of habit,â
You replied, stealing one of his fries before he could protest.
âBeans for breakfast, burgers for lunch. Weâre raising predictable chaos gremlins.â
You slid into a corner booth, trays loaded with greasy goodness. The twins tore into their burgers, and thatâs when their eating quirks gave them away. Theo drowned his Big Mac in ketchup until it looked like a modern art project. Charles, meanwhile, was surgically scraping off every trace of ketchup, muttering,
âSoggy buns are the worst.â
Will froze mid-bite, his chicken burger hovering over his tray. His eyes locked on âCharles,â who was squeezing a ketchup packet with chaotic glee.
âHold up,â he said, pointing a fry at the ketchup fiend.
âYouâre not⊠Charles.â
The boy didnât flinch.
âYeah, I am, Dad,â he said, flashing a grin so innocent it was suspicious.
Willâs eyes narrowed. âNah. Charles hates ketchup. You cried over a soggy bun last month, said it âruined the vibe.ââ
âItâs a good bun today,â the boy said, shrugging like heâd rehearsed it in front of a mirror.
Will whipped his head to the other twin, who was delicately wiping ketchup off his bun with a napkin.
âOkay, then youâre Theo.â
âNope,â the boy said, all wide-eyed innocence.
âIâm Charles.â
Will dropped his burger and threw his hands up.
âAm I in the Twilight Zone? Did I hit my head on the ice? Yâall are pranking me, arenât you? This is some⊠some Twinsception!â
You snorted into your soda, nearly choking. âWill, breathe, babe, breath.â
He turned to you, eyes wide like youâd just betrayed him.
âYou knew?!â
You grinned, popping another fry in your mouth.
âOf course. Clocked it the second I walked downstairs seeing them in their little matching outfits.â
âAnd you didnât tell me?â
He said, clutching his heart like youâd personally offended him.
âWanted to see how long itâd take you,â you teased, nudging his leg under the table.
âI thought youâd catch on when Theo made me tie his skates second. You know Charles always goes first.â
âI thought he was being polite!â Will groaned, rubbing his face.
âIâm out here coaching, sweating, thinking my kids are just extra talented today, and yâall are playing me like a fiddle!â
The twins lost it, cackling like tiny supervillains. Theo pointed a ketchup-covered finger at his dad.
âYou said my crossovers looked like Charlesâ!â
âBecause they did!â
Will said, throwing his hands up again. âI was confused for two hours on that ice!â
Charles leaned in, smirking.
âYou were confused all day, Dad.â
âOkay, thatâs it,â
Will said, leaning back with a mock-serious glare.
âIâm done. I need a dad decoder ring or a lie detector or something. You all are too good at this.â
You reached over, squeezing his hand.
âBabe, youâre outnumbered by chaos gremlins. Just wave the white flag.â
The twins high-fived, chanting, âChaos gremlins! Chaos gremlins!â like it was their new team name.
Will shook his head, but his grin was wide, all warmth and love.
âOne day, Iâm gonna prank you two back. Just wait. Iâll swap your hockey sticks or⊠oh! put peas in your beans.â
âPeas?!â Theo yelped, horrified. âDad, thatâs evil!â
Charles gasped, clutching his burger like a shield.
âYou wouldnât dare.â
âOh, I dare,â Will said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint.
âKids, you think youâre slick? I invented slick. Iâm coming for you, you little gremlins.â
You laughed, leaning against Willâs shoulder.
âGood luck, coach. Youâre playing a losing game.â
He winked, that flirty spark in his eyes still as strong as the day you met.
âMaybe, but I got the best teammate in the game,â he said, nudging you back.
You raised your soda cup.
âCheers to that, captain.â
The rest of lunch was full of laughter, and the twins negotiating over the last of the food. Charles tried to trade a pickle slice for Theoâs extra fries, which sparked a full-on debate about whether pickles were âgross currencyâ (Theoâs words) or âa delicacyâ (Charlesâ argument).
âTheyâre getting too smart,â
Will whispered, his arm draped around your shoulders.
âTheyâre seven,â you whispered back, smirking.
âYou gotta keep up, babe.â
He chuckled, kissing your temple. âYouâre the boss, mama.â
âDamn right,â you said, stealing one of his fries.
âAlways.â
On the drive home, the twins were still buzzing from their successful prank, reenacting Willâs confused faces from the rink. You decided to throw in a little fun of your own.
âHey, boys,â you said, turning in your seat.
âWhat if I told you Iâm swapping your bedtime stories tonight? Charles gets Theoâs favorite, and Theo gets Charlesâ.â
They gasped, horrified. âNo way!â Theo said. âI need my pirate book, Mom!â
âAnd I need my dinosaur book!â Charles added, crossing his arms.
Will laughed, glancing at you.
âOh, sheâs good. You two better watch out, Momâs joining the prank game.â
You grinned. âGotta keep you all on your toes.â
When you got home, the twins raced inside, already planning their next prank. Will pulled you close as you stepped out of the car, his hands on your waist.
âYouâre trouble, you know that?â
âTakes one to know one,â you teased, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him.
