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masterlist

yall idk how to make these but with the amount of f1 stories I have in my drafts I felt i should try.. this doesnt have any of my stuff from before the end of 2021 so sorry about that

Requests are open! especially for f1 :)

updated 3/18/2023

#masterlist #f1 imagine #nhl imagine

Got the Girl

4 times Seth Jarvis isn’t able to speak his feelings + 1 time when he does

AN: wow, my first foray back in a while is for the Stanley cup champs… if it couldn’t be my Avs it had to be my favorite Danish Goalie and the canes

#seth jarvis #nhl fluff #nhl blurb #nhl blurbs #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #seth jarvis imagine #hockey fluff #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #carolina hurricanes blurbs #carolina hurricanes fic #carolina hurricanes imagine

sometimesvickywrites

What Happens In Vegas.. Doesn't Stay In Vegas

seth jarvis x fem!reader || friends to lovers; long read; swearing and mentioning of alcohol and smoking

description: Contrary to the famous saying "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas," not everything actually stays in Vegas. For instance, it turns out that your freshly printed marriage certificate is perfectly legally binding in all 50 states, not just Nevada.

Based on the amazing request by @solros-world: "So we all know that after a team wins a cup they go out and party. So imagine Jarvy and reader get married while drunk in Vegas, chaos ensues, and they end up staying together."

I absolutely loved this idea and may have gotten a little carried away with it. I hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoyed writing it. <3

You got ripped out of sleep by the sharp, relentless sound of a notification. Apparently somebody's phone was blowing up.

Fuck.

You opened your eyes and instantly regretted it. The room tilted. A wave of dizziness rolled through your stomach, slow and awful, and suddenly you became very aware of every drink you'd had the night before.

Shit. You definitely needed more sleep.

Unfortunately, the phone wouldn't stop buzzing and there was absolutely no chance of falling back asleep through that noise. With a groan, you pushed yourself upright and looked around - Seth's hotel room, closed curtains, stale air. The faint smell of alcohol, perfume and whatever poor life choices had happened after midnight.

You were still wearing yesterday's clothes - a white denim skirt and Seth's jersey. One boot remained on your foot, the other was lying near the door.

Jesus. You must've been absolutely wasted. Normally, no matter how drunk you'd been, you always showered before bed, always changed into pajamas, always removed your makeup. Apparently last night had been an exception.

On the other side of the bed, Seth was snoring face-down on the mattress, fully dressed as well. Still completely unconscious, which honestly felt impressive considering the amount of notifications currently detonating somewhere in the room.

You reached into your skirt pocket and immediately let out a relieved breath. Wallet was still there. Good. Losing it in Vegas would've been catastrophic. Bank cards, driver's license, health insurance card - half your adult identity lived inside that thing. So really, things could've been worse - your wallet was still on you, your phone was obviously somewhere nearby, Seth was breathing and you were mostly alive. As far as Stanley Cup celebration hangovers went, that definitely qualified as a success.

The notification sound pierced the room again and you physically flinched.

Jesus Christ. You seriously needed to change that ringtone.

Half-asleep, you reached toward the phone lying between you and Seth's leg. The screen stayed black. And more importantly - it was Seth's phone. That made sense. His phone had been ringing almost nonstop since the Hurricanes won the Stanley Cup - distant family, friends, former teammates, reporters and probably half of Winnipeg. At some point the poor thing had clearly given up.

Another notification sliced through the silence. Not Seth's phone. Yours. Right. You dropped his phone back onto the mattress. Shit, now you actually had to get up and find yours. The room still spun slightly when you stood, but after a few steps it settled into something manageable. The headache remained and you stomach felt like somebody had replaced all your organs with loose bowling balls. But hey, you could function. Eventually you spotted your phone on the floor beside your missing boot. You grabbed it and immediately switched it to Do Not Disturb. Silence. Beautiful silence. You checked the time.

5:23 a.m. Oh, you've got to be kidding me. There was no point going back to bed now. Your flight back to Raleigh left around ten and, unlike Seth, you actually required more than sixty minutes to become a presentable member of society. You glanced through the lock screen notifications.

Instagram. Instagram. Instagram.

That checked out. You'd posted a few photos and videos the night before - The Cup on the ice and the champagne showers in the locker room. At one point the NHL account had even reposted one of your stories, which apparently meant the entire hockey world had found you overnight. Not exactly the attention you'd been looking for.

But honestly? You couldn't regret it. You'd spent years watching your best friend chase this thing, years of playoff heartbreaks, near misses and "maybe next season." Watching Seth finally lift the Cup had felt too important not to document.

You locked your phone and sighed. Okay. This wasn't your first hangover, you knew the drill: hot shower, fresh clothes, brush your teeth, strong coffee, greasy breakfast, Ibuprofen, survive. As simple as that. The only problem was that the rest of the day would still suck, since there were very few places worse to be hungover than an airplane. Especially an airplane full of hockey players. ⸻ The first part of the recovery plan actually worked better than expected. You didn't throw up and the shower helped. The hot water loosened the stiffness in your shoulders and washed away the lingering smell of cigarettes, alcohol and last night's Vegas. By the time you'd brushed your teeth and changed into an oversized T-shirt and shorts, you almost felt human again.

You grabbed your phone and charger, cracked the window open to let some fresh air into the room, then slipped out as quietly as possible. Seth didn't even move. Unbelievable.

By 6:40 a.m. you were already riding the elevator down toward the hotel restaurant. The digital floor numbers glowed above the doors while soft jazz played through the speakers and you regretted not taking your sunglasses with you.

First things first you pulled out your phone and set an alarm for 8:30, the time you'd have to wake up Seth at. There. Done. The one responsible, functional thing you absolutely had to do as the group's designated Type-A friend. Now you could focus entirely on saving your own life through caffeine and carbs. ⸻ The restaurant was surprisingly full for not even being seven in the morning. Clusters of people sat around half-empty coffee cups and room-service trays, speaking quietly beneath the soft music drifting through the speakers. Luckily, you managed to grab a small table in the corner near a wall outlet. Perfect.

You plugged your phone into the charger and sank into the chair with a relieved sigh. A quick glance around confirmed there were no players, no wags, no parents, no familiar faces at all around you. Thank God. You weren't emotionally or physically prepared for social interaction yet.

Ten minutes later the waitress arrived carrying enough food to resurrect the dead. A bowl of steaming unsweetened porridge landed in front of you first, followed by three thick slices of toast, butter, lemon curd, a double espresso and a large glass of water.

Immediately after that, she placed a wrapped grilled chicken sandwich and two bottles of water on the opposite side of the table. That would be Seth's breakfast. Or rather Seth's hangover survival kit. The sandwich would eventually make its way back to the room so he could eat it on the drive to the airport. Again, Type-A-Friend type of shit.

Finally, she carefully set down a single ibuprofen tablet on a napkin. You'd specifically requested it, just as Seth's breakfast.

The woman nodded knowingly.

"Looks like somebody had a fun night."

You laughed weakly, the entire hotel knew the Stanley Cup champions were staying there, so nobody needed detective skills to figure out what had happened after the game.

Then she placed something else on the table.

You frowned.

A full glass of cold, bubbly champagne.

Absolutely terrifying. The last thing you needed now.

"Oh, I didn't order that."

The waitress smiled.

"It's complimentary. Congratulations."

You blinked.

"On...?"

"The special occasion."

The special occasion? You stared at her. What a weird way to call The Stanley Cup Finals. You're definitely telling all about it Seth on a plane. Oh, he's going to have a good laugh.

Then she smiled even wider.

"The hotel hopes you enjoyed your stay."

You nodded slowly.

"That's very nice, but honestly, it wasn't necessary. The boys did all the hard work. I was just there to support them."

For some reason the waitress gave you the strangest look, like you'd just spoken a completely different language.

"Well. Congratulations anyway."

"Thank you?"

The confusion somehow managed to exist on both sides of the conversation. Eventually she walked away.

You looked down at the champagne, the smell alone nearly killed you.

Nope. Absolutely not. Your alcohol-free era officially started right now.

You pushed the glass as far away as possible and focused on the food instead. The porridge was warm, rich and exactly what your body needed. After a few spoonfuls you assembled your toast. Butter melted instantly into the hot bread. The lemon curd added just enough sourness to cut through the heaviness of the butter.

Honestly? Life was improving.

A few bites later you washed everything down with two sips of espresso and finally took the ibuprofen. Within minutes the headache started slowly retreating. Still, you didn't want to eat too quickly and risk upsetting your stomach, so after another bite of toast you unlocked your phone. Time to deal with the Instagram situation.

As expected, the amount of notifications was ridiculous - new followers, likes, comments, messages. The usual post-Stanley-Cup madness. You've scrolled through the notifications and most comments looked exactly how you'd expected.

CONGRATS!!!

FINALLY!!!

WHAT A NIGHT.

SO HAPPY FOR YOU GUYS.

KNEW IT WOULD HAPPEN ONE DAY.

The normal stuff.

Then one comment caught your attention, mostly because it had an absurd amount of likes.

BUT DID YOU TAKE HIS NAME ????

You frowned. What? That made absolutely no sense. None. You hadn't posted anything remotely related to it. Sure, people occasionally joked about you and Seth. That happened. But even by internet standards this felt like a massive leap. You clicked the comment and took another sip of espresso, then immediately forgot how to swallow. The toast crumb went down the wrong pipe and you started coughing.

No.

No, no, no. That was definitely not your post.

You distinctly remembered posting exactly three things before going out - two photos from the ice and one video from the locker room celebration. That was it. And yet somehow you were staring at a collaboration post between your account and Seth's.

Your stomach dropped.

The photo showed both of you standing in front of a Vegas chapel - you held a tiny bouquet, Seth held a piece of paper. The words visible at the top read:

MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE

The caption underneath simply said:

Best night of my life. Got the Cup and the girl of my dreams.

Your entire body went cold. The likes were insane - NHL had liked it, half the team had liked it. Mary had commented three crying emojis. The comments numbered in the thousands. Nothing about this made sense. Nothing.

You immediately took a screenshot, closed Instagram and opened it again. Nope, still there. The very first post on your profile.

Maybe the ibuprofen had finally kicked in, maybe the shock had. Either way, the hangover disappeared instantly.

The waitress, the congratulations, the champagne, the weird look..

Oh no. No. No, no, no.

There had to be a logical drunk explanation. That's all.

You and Seth had probably gotten caught up in some stupid dare.

Think. Think. Think.

The last thing you clearly remembered was Svech buying everyone Mai Tais. Several of them. That had happened way before midnight. Everything after that looked like somebody had taken your memory, put it through a blender and then set the blender on fire.

Shit.

You opened your camera roll and started scrolling - tequila shots, more tequila shots, a blurry video of Chatty singing, a close-up picture of a tattoo with some text below it.

You squinted.

The text read:

don't freak out but that's my butt now. Show it to Jarvy

Honestly? That somehow wasn't even in the top three most concerning things you'd seen this morning. You squinted at the screen and took another sip of water.

Wait.

Suddenly something clicked - a memory, small at first. Then another. And another.

You and Seth sitting on a curb outside the club. The neon lights reflecting off the pavement. Music thumping faintly through the walls. A cigarette between your fingers. The two of you laughing so hard you could barely hold the phone while FaceTiming the Winnipeg guys. Right. After Svech's round of Mai Tais you'd announced that a cigarette was personally calling your name and that you absolutely had to go outside. Seth had immediately volunteered to come with you. At the time you'd thought it was because he didn't want you wandering around Vegas alone. Now, looking back, he probably needed a break from the chaos just as much as you did. The Stanley Cup celebrations had basically turned into a non-stop sensory overload. On the way outside your phone had buzzed. A message from Sloan. You'd handed both your phone and your half-finished rum and coke to Seth while digging through your purse for a lighter. Then you'd heard Seth say: "Why is Sloan sending you a picture of his ass and why do you have to show it to me?" The memory became clearer. You remembered grabbing the phone and looking at the photo, then immediately laughing so hard you nearly dropped your cigarette. A few minutes later both of you had been FaceTiming the Winnipeg guys only to discover that Sloan and another friend had apparently commemorated the Stanley Cup by getting matching tattoos on their butts. You remembered sitting on the curb beside Seth, smoking and wheezing with laughter. "That's genuinely the stupidest tattoo I've ever seen," Seth had said. "Oh, come on," you'd argued. "I have plenty of stupid tattoos." You'd pointed at a few small ones on your ankle and arm. Seth had immediately shaken his head. "No. This is different." "How?" "This is Top Five Worst Decisions territory." You remembered laughing. "No chance." "One hundred percent." You'd taken another drag from your cigarette and pointed at him. "Fine. Tell me your Top Five." The rest was fuzzy, very fuzzy. You couldn't remember most of Seth's list but one thing suddenly resurfaced. Drunk marriage. Somehow that had ended up on your list, not his. You remembered passionately arguing about it, because you couldn't understand how getting married drunk wasn't automatically worse than getting a tattoo drunk. You had dozens of tats, you knew what you were talking about. Then Seth had said: "Well, it depends who you're marrying." You remembered rolling your eyes. "It absolutely doesn't." "It does." Then he'd looked at you, completely serious despite being very obviously not sober and said: "I'd never call marrying you a mistake. Even if we were drunk."

At the time you'd assumed he was just trying to win the argument. There was absolutely no way the two of you had used that conversation as a springboard to actually get married.

...Right?

Your stomach dropped and you scrolled further - a photo of Seth sitting at a desk, with his Canadian passport in one hand and a pen in the other, filling out some paperwork.

No.

Another swipe. A blurry photo of your ID.

No.

Another swipe.

A three-minute video. You pressed play.

The video opened with your face filling the entire screen. Apparently you were trying to prop the phone up somewhere, the angle was awful. „Our grandkids are gonna appreciate this someday." You heard Seth laughing in the background.

Your stomach performed a full somersault.

No no no no no.

You wanted to close the video immediately but you couldn’t, because there was still a tiny chance this was a joke. A prank. A dare. Anything.

The video continued.

Eventually you seemed satisfied with the camera angle, which had apparently taken forever. You stepped back and now both of you were visible. Seth handed you a ridiculously tiny bouquet of flowers. Then an Elvis impersonator stepped into frame. The ceremony lasted maybe two minutes. Neither of you seemed remotely sober but alarmingly enthusiastic.

Finally Elvis said:

"I now pronounce you husband and wife, you can kiss your wife.“

Which Seth immediately did. And judging by the video, his wife appeared very happy about that development.

The video ended.

You sat frozen. After that came blurry selfies. One with the marriage certificate. One with Seth holding the certificate over his head like he'd just won a second Stanley Cup.

Then finally the exact photo from Instagram. The end of your life as you knew it.

You lowered the phone then gently rested your forehead against it.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuck.

No, this couldn't be real. People that drunk weren't allowed to get married. That had to be a rule. There had to be a breathalyzer, a sobriety test, a multiple-choice exam. Literally anything… Also it was Vegas. Vegas marriages barely count, right? Immediately your brain replayed that episode of Friends. You swore out loud and then opened Google. Two minutes later you learned two things.

Number one: Vegas marriages were very real.

Number two: You were very, very married.

FUCK.

You checked the time. 7:50 a.m. At this point nothing mattered anymore, so you shoveled the last spoonful of porridge into your mouth (somehow you managed to eat all of your breakfast), then grabbed the champagne and drank the entire thing in one go.

Honestly? What was one more terrible decision at this point?

Then you unplugged your phone, grabbed Seth's sandwich, the two bottles of water and headed for the elevators because there was only one thing left to do.

Wake up your husband.

⸻

The room smelled slightly better by now thanks to the open window, but not by much. Stale alcohol, some hotel soap, and the lingering remnants of last night's celebration still hung in the air. Seth was still asleep.

You stepped carefully toward the nightstand with the two bottles of water and the sandwich in your hands, intending to leave them there for later. Then you froze. There it was.

The marriage certificate.

Lying right there in plain sight. Not a hallucination brought on by tequila and three hours of sleep. An actual marriage certificate.

The curtains flew open so violently that one of the hooks popped loose from the rail. Bright Nevada sunlight flooded the room like a personal attack.

"JARVIS, WAKE THE FUCK UP. RIGHT NOW."

One of the water bottles flew across the room and hit him square in the chest.

Not hard enough to really hurt but definitely hard enough to wake him. Seth jerked upright immediately, years of NHL survival instincts kicking in before consciousness had fully caught up.

"What the.."

He squinted into the sunlight and immediately regretted it.

"Oh my God." His voice sounded rough. "What time is it?"

"TIME DOESN'T MATTER."

Seth blinked. You were standing at the end of the bed looking like a mess. One hand gripped your phone and the other was clutching the marriage certificate. His eyes landed on the paper.

„Jarvis, I need you to explain yourself."

"Why are you yelling?"

"WHY ARE YOU MARRIED TO ME?"

A distant air conditioner hummed somewhere in the room.

Seth stared.

"What?"

"YOU HEARD ME."

Another blink, then he rubbed both hands over his face and groaned.

"You're gonna have to give me more information than that."

You marched forward and practically threw the certificate onto his lap.

"We got married last night."

Seth looked down.

"...we did?"

"YES."

"You sure?"

You unlocked your phone and shoved it at him.

"Oh, I'm very sure. Everyone is sure.“

Seth frowned and hit play. The video started.

"This is for the grandkids," you announced proudly, behind the camera Seth laughed. You were wearing his jersey, he had an arm wrapped around your shoulders. Then came the part. The part. Video-you pointed dramatically at the name across the back of the jersey. JARVIS. "See?" you announced proudly. "It already has my future last name on it." Video-Seth looked at you for a second before a grin spread across his face. "It does sound kinda nice." Then he kissed you and the video ended.

Silence settled over the room, Seth stared at the screen and a short laugh escaped him. Disbelieving and almost impressed?

"We actually did it."

"THIS ISN'T FUNNY."

That got through to him immediately. His amusement vanished as he finally took in the fact that you were genuinely spiraling.

"Hey..“

You started pacing. The panic had been building for over an hour now. Ever since the horrifying realisation that this wasn't some drunk joke. This was legally binding in all of the 50 states and actually all around the fucking globe. Your throat tightened.

"I don't know how we're supposed to fix this."

"We'll figure it out."

"How?"

You threw both hands into the air.

"Even if we get divorced..“ The word felt awful and you hated it instantly. „..then you're my ex-husband." You pointed accusingly at him. "I don't want an ex-husband before thirty."

Of all the things he expected you to say, that wasn't one of them.

"What?"

"I said I DON'T WANT AN EX-HUSBAND BEFORE THIRTY."

His mouth twitched despite himself.

"That's your biggest concern?"

"NO ...maybe. That's not the point!"

The room fell quiet again. Outside, somebody rolled a suitcase down the hallway, a door slammed somewhere nearby. Vegas carried on as usual while your entire life actively collapsed.

You sat heavily on the edge of the desk and rubbed your temples. The hangover was making a hard comeback.

"I wanted the whole thing." This time your voice came out smaller. "I wanted to get married because I was in love."

Seth's eyes lifted and you kept going.

"I wanted the proposal." You laughed bitterly. "The stupid romantic speech, the love part..“

Something shifted across Seth's face and gone almost immediately. So quickly you couldn't identify it. Instead he looked down at the certificate again. For a second it genuinely looked like he was about to say something important. Something big. Something that had apparently been sitting behind his teeth for a while. Instead he exhaled slowly.

"Maybe we should have this conversation when we're both less hungover."

You laughed once. Totally humorless.

"Yeah."

You grabbed your bag from the chair. Immediately Seth looked up.

"Where are you going?"

"I need air."

"Hey.."

You shook your head. "I can't do this right now." You gestured vaguely between the two of you. "The flight leaves in two hours." You picked up your phone. "You should get ready. I just want to be alone for a bit."

That one landed. You saw it the brief disappointment, the way his shoulders shifted before he nodded. Not arguing or stopping you. Just accepting it.

"Okay."

You headed for the door, your hand was already on the handle as you heard Seth quietly speak again.

"Hey."

You looked back, he was still sitting on the bed - marriage certificate in his hands, hair a complete disaster, looking almost as lost as you felt.

"We'll figure it out."

For the first time all morning, he didn't sound calm. He sounded worried. You swallowed, nodded once and left before he could see how much that almost made you cry.

⸻

By the time boarding started, your headache had already fully returned. A dull, relentless pressure sitting somewhere behind your eyes, steadily reminding you that champagne, twelve tequila shots, Mai Tais, rum cokes and an accidental marriage were not a combination the human body was designed to survive.

The second you stepped onto the plane, you knew - everybody knew.

Every single person wore the exact same expression - the one people got when they were absolutely dying to ask a question but were desperately trying to be polite about it. A few heads turned. A few people glanced away suspiciously fast.

Before anybody could open their mouth, you lifted a finger.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Immediate silence. Good. Good. Because if one more person said congratulations, you were genuinely considering opening the emergency exit and throwing yourself onto the tarmac.

The worst part came a few minutes later when you had to find Brandon.

"Hey, Brandon?"

He looked up and you could practically see the curiosity behind his eyes.

"Can we switch seats?"

His eyebrows lifted.

"With you?“

"Please."

Then, thankfully, he nodded.

"Sure."

A minute later you were safely settled into the seat beside Mary, hoodie pulled over your head and headphones ready. Far away from Seth. Far away from conversations. Far away from whatever the hell your life had become in the last twelve hours.

Perfect. Or at least it would've been perfect, if Seth hadn't boarded the plane five minutes later.

You noticed him immediately. Of course you did. The entire cabin could've burst into flames and you probably still would've noticed him. He looked exhausted, still slightly hungover. Seth glanced toward the row where the two of you had originally been assigned seats and realised you weren't there.

Your stomach tightened instantly.

His eyes moved through the cabin searching until they found you. For one brief moment your gazes locked. And there it was. Not anger. Not frustration. Something worse. Disappointment. The kind that looked like he'd already known this would happen but had still hoped he was wrong. Your chest squeezed painfully and you cowardly looked away. Anything was easier than looking at him right now.

The flight felt like eternity mostly because your phone was useless. Your entire digital existence had apparently become one giant reminder that you were somebody's wife now. Mrs. Jarvis. Technically. You shoved your phone face-down onto the tray table.

The cabin hummed softly around you and your headache pulsed behind your eyes. Across the aisle you could occasionally hear the guys laughing. As usual. Everything felt completely normal for everyone else, which somehow made it worse.

Halfway through the flight, Mary sighed dramatically. You didn't even have to look at her.

"Mary. Stop it."

She smiled innocently.

"I haven't said anything."

"I know what you're thinking."

"Oh really?"

You groaned and rubbed your forehead.

"It's not like that. You don't get it."

Mary folded her hands in her lap. The picture of innocence.

"Then explain it to me."

You stared out the window. Nothing but clouds. Endless clouds.

"I wanted..." Your voice came out quieter than expected.

Mary didn't interrupt.

"I wanted to get married because I was in love."

The words felt embarrassingly vulnerable the second they left your mouth.

"I wanted the whole thing - the wedding. The family. Actually remembering it."

Mary stayed quiet.

"I wanted a proper proposal. A real ceremony."

Your laugh sounded hollow.

"Instead I apparently got married in Vegas after a shit ton of alcohol and barely remember half of it."

For a moment Mary said nothing and then:

„So if I heard right, the part that bothers you the most is not the actual-marrying-Seth-part but not-getting-the-wedding-you-wanted one?“

Your throat tightened instantly and you hated that. Because you didn't have an answer. Or maybe you did. And maybe that was exactly the problem.

Mary watched you for several seconds. Far too observant. Far too smug.

"I'm sure you will both figure it out."

Then, before you could argue, she put the AirPods in and effectively ended the conversation.

⸻

The moment the plane landed, you escaped. Cowardly. The second the seatbelt sign switched off, you were already grabbing your bag. You ignored the conversations and the laughter. All you wanted was home and not running into Seth. Nobody really tried to stop you and for some reason that hurt, too.

Your apartment felt too quiet, you threw your bag near the door, kicked off your shoes and dropped face-first onto the bed. The hangover and the absurdity of the day got back to you and eventually you passed out.

When you finally woke up, the apartment was completely silent and dark. For a second you thought it was morning, then you checked the clock. 3:07 a.m. Great. Your mouth felt dry, your head still slightly hurt. And despite every good decision you'd made earlier, your hand reached for the phone anyway. Just one look. Just checking. Nothing more.

No texts. At least not from Seth. Not even one.

You stared at the screen. A weird feeling settled in your stomach.

Relief. Probably relief. That was what this was. Right?

You'd literally told him you wanted space. You'd avoided him for an entire day. You'd switched seats. You'd left the airport without saying goodbye. Of course he hadn't texted. That was normal. Reasonable. Respectful, actually. So why did it feel awful?

Your thumb moved before your brain could stop it. Instagram. Huuuge mistake.

The first video appeared immediately. Chatty singing terribly in a Raleigh bar. The second one showed half the team dancing.

The third..

Your stomach dropped.

Seth. Laughing. A beer in one hand. Svech hanging off his shoulders. A lot of girls and guys around them. Girls.

He looked happy. Really happy. As if he wasn’t thinking about complicated things. Like marriage certificates.

Or you.

You stared at the video longer than necessary. Then another one appeared. And another. Each one somehow hurt more. Which made absolutely no sense. Because this was exactly what you wanted.

Space. Distance. Time.

So why did it suddenly feel like somebody had quietly removed all the air from the room?

You locked the phone and set it face down on the mattress, then immediately rolled over and buried your face in a pillow.

Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.

You'd spent the entire day running away from Seth Jarvis. And now, at three in the morning, the thing making your chest ache was the possibility that maybe he had finally stopped running after you.

⸻

You spent the next morning doing things that should've tipped somebody off that you were having a crisis. Instead of your usual espresso, you drank herbal tea and spent the next twenty minutes doing yoga from a Spotify podcast with a woman whose voice sounded suspiciously like she lived in a forest.

"Release what no longer serves you."

You almost threw your phone across the room. If only it was that easy. Release.

The rest of the morning wasn't much better. You cleaned, then cleaned things that were already clean, ran the dishwasher and started laundry. Then folded laundry and unfolded laundry because apparently you didn't like the way you'd folded it the first time.

Your brain refused to shut up. Every thought eventually circled back to Vegas. To Seth. To the fact that somehow you had accidentally become his wife. To the fact you haven’t heard from your husband for the last 24 hours or so. To the fact the last time you’d seen him was on some video and he was enjoying his life.

Around 2 p.m. you finally gave up and went for a run. That actually helped a little. The rhythm of your feet hitting pavement pushed the noise in your brain away for almost forty minutes. For the first time since waking up, your chest loosened and you felt like you could breathe again.

You stopped by your favourite café on the way home, ordered a matcha and bought two cinnamon rolls. One for now and one as a late night treat.

By the time you stepped out of the elevator and turned toward your apartment, you were almost feeling human again. Then your keys nearly slipped from your hand because the current Stanley Cup Champion Seth Jarvis was sitting right outside your door. Apparently waiting with what appeared to be your marriage certificate in his hands. He looked up and stood up immediately. You froze and neither of you spoke for a second.

God.

He looked exhausted, so was his voice.

„Hey, we need to talk."

Your stomach dropped.

"Yeah."

You unlocked the door, neither of you spoke while walking inside. You dropped your keys onto the counter and placed the paper bag between you, then silently slid one cinnamon roll across the table.

Seth looked down. "Thanks."

You shrugged.

The cinnamon roll immediately became your coping mechanism. You sat down and took a giant bite, then another. Seth watched.

"You always do that."

"What?"

"Stress eat." Seth took a breath then and continued. "I get it."

You stopped chewing.

"I get why you're upset." His fingers traced the edge of the paper bag. "You wanted something different."

The apartment felt strangely quiet and his voice softened a notch.

"You wanted the whole thing."

You looked down, the cinnamon roll suddenly became very interesting. Was there a hint of vanilla or was this macadamia?

"The proposal, the wedding, the dress."

Your throat tightened.

Silence settled and for a moment neither of you moved. Then Seth laughed quietly. Not because anything was funny. More because he couldn't believe he was finally saying this.

"You know what's stupid?"

You looked up.

"What?"

His eyes met yours.

"I've imagined it, too."

You frowned.

"Imagined what?"

A small nervous, almost embarrassed smile appeared on his face. Which was quite unsettling because Seth Jarvis was rarely embarrassed. Actually never.

"I've imagined marrying you."

The cinnamon roll stopped halfway to your mouth.

"What?"

Seth exhaled. Slowly. Like he'd been holding that breath for years.

"I imagined telling you how I felt."

Your heart skipped.

"I imagined our first real date."

You stared.

"I imagined introducing you to everyone as my girlfriend."

The room suddenly felt too small and way too warm to be inside.

"I imagined proposing." His eyes never left yours. "Somewhere romantic." A laugh escaped him. "Definitely not in Vegas."

You blinked. Once. Twice.

"What?"

Seth smiled softly.

"I imagined all of it." The smile faded. "But not marrying you?" His head shook. "That never occurred to me."

Everything stopped. The refrigerator hummed quietly somewhere behind you, traffic moved outside. And yet somehow the entire world narrowed to the space between you.

"Seth..."

His voice became quieter.

"Do you know why I wasn't freaking out?"

You couldn't answer.

"Because the part that scared me wasn't the marriage."

Your chest tightened.

"It was watching you leave."

The words hit harder than they should have.

"I thought maybe you'd decide this ruined everything."

His eyes dropped briefly.

"Maybe you'd decide I ruined everything."

You swallowed.

"Seth..."

"I know it happened wrong." He shook his head. "I know this isn't how anybody pictures it." A pause. "But is it really that bad?"

The question lingered between you and you looked up.

There he was - Seth, who always answered your calls, Seth, who somehow magically appeared whenever things went wrong, the person who'd been your favourite part of almost every room for years.

Your throat tightened and you finally spoke.

"When I imagined my future partner..."

Seth immediately looked terrified, which was honestly a tiny bit adorable. You laughed softly.

"I always imagined somebody kind."

His shoulders loosened.

"Somebody patient."

A little more.

"Somebody who always makes me laugh."

Now he looked hopeful.

"Somebody who feels like home."

The room fell silent.

"So maybe the wedding happened completely wrong."

His breath caught.

"But the husband part?"

A pause.

"I think I got lucky."

For a second Seth simply looked at you, like he wasn't entirely sure he'd heard correctly. Then he stood so fast the chair nearly tipped over.

"Oh my God."

You started laughing.

"Seth- "

He crossed the kitchen in two steps and then kissed you. The kind of kiss that felt years overdue, even though you technically kissed just a day ago back at the chapel.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. Neither of you able to stop smiling.

"You know," Seth said.

"What?"

His grin widened.

"You did get my name."

You frowned.

"What?"

He pointed toward the marriage certificate sitting on the counter.

"The signature."

You followed his gaze and then groaned.

"Oh my God."

Because there it was. Your new legal name, printed clearly on the certificate.

The same name stitched across the back of every jersey you'd ever worn to his games.

Jarvis.

wintersberry

STANLEY CUP CHAMPION FREDERIK ANDERSEN Hurricanes vs. Golden Knights - SCF, Game 6 | 6.14.2026

callsign-denmark

MY MAN IS A STANLEY UP CHAMPION 🏆

mitchmrner

FREDERIK ANDERSEN IS A STANLEY CUP CHAMPION.

ilyasorokinn

FREDDIE ANDERSEN, STANLEY CUP CHAMPION!!!

kniesonice

No Thing Defines A Man Like Love That Makes Him Soft ╰┈➤ NM29

summary: everyone knows that nathan mackinnon is a hard ass. monotonous. grumpy. maybe even a little boring to the outside perspective. then there’s you, who’s the complete opposite—giggly, bubbly, loud and cries anytime the titanic soundtrack plays. he should hate you—you’re all that plus cale’s little sister—but he just can’t. so nathan just pretends. but it’s not easy when his teammates start seeing through the facade.

[word count] 14.8k

pairing: nathan mackinnon x makar!reader

authors note: if you don’t like nate you’re just lying to yourself! kidding, kidding. but in all seriousness, I love writing for him so much and what better way than to do a little brothers teammate/ sunshine x grumpy trope :) title from strawberry wine by noah kahan.

lace dividers from @cursed-carmine

🎶 strawberry wine by noah kahan, bells & whistles by megan moroney and kacey musgraves, fool for you by zayn, wishful dreaming by 5 seconds of summer, staying by lizzy mcalpine, the longest goodbye by role model + kiss it better by rihanna

PART ONE: superman's citrus kryptonite

nathan mackinnon knows you've arrived landy's annual avs pre season afternoon barbecue once he hears your all too familiar laugh echo throughout his perfectly groomed backyard.

in nathan’s defense, it's a very distinctive laugh. loud, bright, and completely unrestrained. and you also usually snort, like a pug, which he would never admit he finds endearing, but he definitely does.

sunrizef1

bloodonmyhands

Pairing: Sidney Crosby x Hollander!Reader, Quinn Hughes x Ex!Reader

Warnings: Trump mention, US men’s national team, cursing

Summary: I was so prepared to fight a war on your side

Authors Note: anything to distract me from the bigger picture (my 30k word Sidney Crosby Olympic fic)

——

ynhollander

liked by quinnhughes ilyarozanov81 and 6,877,155 others

ynhollander my olympic bestie 💋

load comments…

user1 “bestie” girl, you kiss that man on the lips

user2 like she’s seen more of that man than god has, that is not just her best friend

user3 so proud of Quinn

user4 so excited to get to see the Hughes brothers in the Olympics!!!

user5 idk why I giggle everytime Yn posts Quinn as if they haven’t been dating for like six years

user6 it’s the fact that we all know Shane and Ilya are in her DMs telling her to dump him

user7 girl get that man out the way I wanna see u

hockeyshmockey

I love any and all HR x NHL crossover esp when it craps on some of the team USA weirdos 💃

pucksandpower

heavy is the spotlight (heavy is the head series)

Oscar Piastri x Princess of Monaco!Reader

Summary: in which Oscar becomes an inadvertent getaway driver for literal royalty

Warnings: revenge porn (from an ex)

Series Masterlist

The sunlight hits the water just right, turning the Mediterranean into something that looks like it belongs in a painting rather than real life. You’re sitting at your favorite cafe, the one tucked away on the waterfront where the tourists don’t usually venture, where the owner knows your name and doesn’t make a fuss about who your family is. It’s late morning, that perfect lazy stretch of Sunday when brunch blurs into early afternoon and no one’s in any hurry to be anywhere else.

“So I told him,” your friend Lilou is saying, gesturing with her mimosa in a way that makes the liquid slosh dangerously close to the rim, “if you can’t handle me at my worst financial quarter, you don’t deserve me at my best ROI.”

You laugh, really laugh, the kind that comes from your stomach. “You did not say that to a venture capitalist.”

“I absolutely did.” Lilou grins. “His face went purple. It was magnificent.”

hockeyshmockey

I’m sooooo sat (we’re going to ruin sachas life right?)

sunrizef1

bloodonmyhands

Pairing: Sidney Crosby x Hollander!Reader, Quinn Hughes x Ex!Reader

Warnings: Trump mention, US men’s national team, cursing

Summary: I was so prepared to fight a war on your side

Authors Note: anything to distract me from the bigger picture (my 30k word Sidney Crosby Olympic fic)

——

ynhollander

liked by quinnhughes ilyarozanov81 and 6,877,155 others

ynhollander my olympic bestie 💋

load comments…

user1 “bestie” girl, you kiss that man on the lips

user2 like she’s seen more of that man than god has, that is not just her best friend

user3 so proud of Quinn

user4 so excited to get to see the Hughes brothers in the Olympics!!!

user5 idk why I giggle everytime Yn posts Quinn as if they haven’t been dating for like six years

user6 it’s the fact that we all know Shane and Ilya are in her DMs telling her to dump him

user7 girl get that man out the way I wanna see u

pucksandpower

Line Change

Sidney Crosby x Quinn Hughes’ Ex!Reader

Summary: you don’t realize how much you’ve been shrinking yourself to fit into someone else’s life until you’re forced to look at the pieces. It starts with an Olympic gold medal and a boyfriend who laughs when your entire sport is treated like a political punchline. But it shifts with Sidney Crosby in the Milan cold, pointing out the devastating difference between a boy you have to make excuses for and a man who actually respects you. Sometimes, moving on isn’t just a breakup … it’s an absolute upgrade

✰ Part One

✰ Part Two

✰ Part Three

✰ Part Four

✰ Part Five

hockeyshmockey

Yea and if I cried so what

remytherat1

can't help falling in love | smau!masterlist

pairing: will smith x popstar!reader

author’s note: yes reader is basically just sabrina carpenter…

synopsis 𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆｡𖦹°‧

for a while, will smith was just another verified name in your notifications. an nhl star who liked one of your posts at 2:17 a.m., then another the next night, then accidentally replied to your story after a sharks win. you weren’t supposed to answer. but you did. what starts as harmless pregame texting turns into watching each other from different cities — you from soundchecks and sold-out arenas, him from locker rooms and charter flights. somewhere between time zones and missed calls, the lines blur. and suddenly, the only rule that matters is this: don’t let anyone find out.

smau main chapters ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

espresso (smau)

manchild (smau)

please please please (smau)

taste (smau) coming soon

house tour (smau) coming soon

go go juice (smau) coming soon

extras, headcanons, & blurbs ⋆˚꩜｡

popstar!reader headcannons

popstar!reader profile

pucksandpower

At the end of the day, I truly just feel horrible for the USA women’s hockey team, who were reduced to a joke by the president of the very country they won a gold medal for and whose anthem they sang proudly with American flags draped around their shoulders. Who were laughed at by their fellow Olympians and hockey players. Who have worked just as hard (if not harder) than the men to get to the point, because after the last Winter Olympics, many of them didn’t even know if they would be able to continue playing professional hockey on account of being women!

But I am so fucking proud of them and I refuse to let their win be overshadowed by this absolute garbage. They are gold medalists and always will be!

pucksandpower

The Family Business

Jack Hughes x mafia princess!Reader

Summary: you meet Jack Hughes at your family’s club. He's sweet, nervous, genuinely falling for you. You’re falling too. But there are things he doesn’t know yet … like who your father is, what your last name means in North Jersey, and exactly how far your family will go to protect what’s theirs. Some love stories involve meeting the parents over dinner. Yours involves reinforced doors, expensive apology whiskey, and a very specific kind of family loyalty. He should probably run. He won’t.

Warnings: (off-screen) murder of a minor character

The bass thumps a rhythm that works its way through the soles of your shoes, up your legs, and settles deep in your chest. It’s a familiar heartbeat. The pulsing, strobing lights catch the glitter on your friend Gia’s eyelids as she laughs, her head thrown back, a curtain of dark hair shimmering down her back. The air is thick with the smell of expensive perfume, spilled liquor, and something electric — the kinetic energy of a hundred bodies packed together, all seeking a specific kind of oblivion for a few hours on a Saturday night.

This place, Aura, is a cathedral of your family’s making. Every velvet rope, every gleaming brass rail, every bottle of top-shelf vodka behind the bar is a testament to your father’s particular genius. From the outside, it’s the hottest club in North Jersey. A place for athletes and real housewives and kids with trust funds to see and be seen. In the back, behind a door that looks like any other but is reinforced with steel and requires your uncle’s thumbprint to open, it’s something else entirely. It’s the office. But tonight, you’re not thinking about the office. Tonight, you’re just dancing.

You move with an easy, fluid grace, a subtle sway of your hips that feels like a secret you’re telling the music. You’re aware of the eyes on you. You always are. It’s part of the inheritance. But you filter them out, compartmentalize them into the background noise of your life. Most of them are unimportant.

Until one isn’t.

hockeyshmockey

I love introducing organized crime whenever possible I’m sat

pucksandpower

What, Like It’s Hard?

Quinn Hughes x Reader

Summary: you run into Quinn with a clothing rack on move-in day — all pink everything and chaos and plans. He looks terrified of life itself. You decide he’s your new project. (Turns out falling in love with Quinn Hughes is the one thing you can’t color-code or schedule. Turns out he’s been yours since that first collision. Turns out the boy who seemed horrified by everything isn’t scared of loving you.)

Based on this request

Quinn stands in front of East Quad with a box of hockey equipment digging into his forearms, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to drop it directly onto his foot. His mom is fussing with something in the car. His dad is already halfway to the building with another load. Jack and Luke are arguing about whether the dining hall will have chicken tenders.

“It’s a college,” Jack says, supremely confident for someone who’s still in high school. “They definitely have chicken tenders.”

“That’s not a guarantee,” Luke argues back.

Quinn adjusts his grip on the box and tries not to think about the fact that he’s here, really here, at the University of Michigan, and NHL scouts are going to be watching his every move and-

“Oh my GOD, I’m so sorry!”

hockeyshmockey

I think this is one of my fave fics I’ve ever read dead ass

hamilando

ੈ✩ lead for how long (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : oscar piastri x norris! reader

tw : fluff, chaos, angst, rivalry, family differences, cracks in relationship, hate comments

fc : morgan riddle

a/n : coming up with a series after soo long !!! let me know if you guys like it and wanna be tagged <3 this is part 1. ngl, in the next part, i might just drop the biggest plot twist ever, what if...they neevr weere dating and it was all a dream ? ( joking, maybe )

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, alexnadrasaintmieux and 487,578 others

ynorris feels like home again

view comments

user1 OUR FAVOURITE INFLUNCER IS BACCKKKKKKK

user2 the tea this year is gonna be top-tier tea

user3 british tea we be getting !!

landonorris aren't you like my sister ?

landonorris where am i ?

ynorris grow up

landonorris i will tell mom

ynorris she loves oscar more than you

user4 lando has zac 💀

user5 YOU DID NOT -

user6 i can sleep when i am dead cuz this season be lit

liked by oscarpiastri, maguicoeciro, landonorris and 479,426 othrers

ynorris LANDO WE CAN BE WORLD CHAMPIONS I SAID !!! so happy bro for winning aussie gp <3

view comments

user1 i can smell the rumours from miles

user2 this is so disrespectful of her !

user3 australia is literally her partner's home race !

user4 can't believe she would boast about lando when oscar literally crashed on his home race

user5 magui there just makes it more problematic !!

user6 she is not a norris if she is not causing trouble !

oscarpiastri i love you

ynorris i love me too <3

oscarpiastri say it back.

ynorris i love you too :(

user7 oscar being the one with reins-

user8 oscar please take reins from mclaren as well !

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, charlesleclerc and 673,578 others

ynorris Nihao 中国

view comments

user1 DID EVERYONE SEE THAT!??

user2 heck i hate the norris siblings

user3 oscar you deserve so much better !!

user4 she didn't even post oscar of winning and when the hate got real edited a picture of him, LMAO

user5 her brother gets a winning post and her partner doesn't ?

user6 she literally added his picture on the last slide-

oscarpiastri 🧡

user7 BLINK IF YOU NEED HELP

user8 oscar being held at a gunpoint to put the heart

user9 tjust tired atp

user10 literally mclaren treats oscar better than her

liked by norizz, oscpastry, lecsenior, hamsandwich and 64 others

theothernorris chat, i still love him <3

view comments

norizz ofc you do

oscpastry you don't need to prove it to anyone!

norizz you should literally adopt a max

max why did i get spawned

max but yes, don't care, won't care, didn't care

theothernorris pretty sure you messed up the sequence but yeah, i get the point

alexandra you will get throught it dw !

theothernoriss girls night ?

alexlily yes .

flavybavy yes .

carmenvroom yes .

rebsainz yes .

oscpastry i think you should spend time with your bf hm ?

alexandra stay away piastri

norizz am i invited ?

magui last time i checked, i was dating a guy, if you other plans, do let me know !

theothernorris please dump him

magui i might, don't worry

norizz magui, get out of the bed

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4 and 274,678 others

f1gossip Trouble in paradise ? YN Norris, partner of F1 driver Oscar Piastri and sister of F1 driver Lando Norris has been in the news lately, with speculations of mistreatment and a breaking relationship.

view comments

user1 atp, it's just hanging by a thread

user2 god, what is this trope

user3 oscar, baby you deserve better

user4 oscar please run over the car on the norris siblings

user5 probably using oscar for fame

user6 let's write to fia

user7 as if they care about anything but cursing

user8 #protectoscar

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4 and 653,834 others

f1gossip THE PUZZLE FALLS TOGTHER ! YN Norris was seen out with a mystery man who is definitely not her partner!

view comments

user1 expected.

user2 poor oscar

user3 used him like a tyre

user4 #protectoscar

user5 this is so low

user6 should have never dated

ynorris that's literally my friend !

the comment has been deleted

user7 Friend, my foot

user8 we all saw that right ?

osc baby <3

hey love, let's break up

let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tg !

series taglist: @strawberrylov-er @ilocuras24 @buckybarnessweetheart @raysmayhem-72 @lovedbyorchids @originaldaughterofagun @maylovesreading @louisthetommotomlinson @mrsbrxkkxr @sheslikeacurse @dukeofjjune @kodeelynn @literallegend81 @piastripastry81 @marywantsttobattle @hadjarist @itsadr1ta @justaf1girl @idk1027

permanent tg: @isotopemylove @chair-things @justaf1girl @bibblemiluvr @blushmimi @nikfigueiredo @amz824 @ivegotparticulartaste @raizelchrysanderoctavius @freyathehuntress @piastri-fvx @sadiemack9 @ilivbullyingjeongin @cherry-piee @luvleylisen @sweate-r-weathe-r @jxnellat @loveofmylife12 @budgetcupid @lilaissa @scorpiodiosa @wondergirl101ks @nichmeddar @hoeforlifee @urfavnoirette @lily-ann-b @okcurran @miniboast @teti-menchon0604 @motorsportloverf1 @formula1-motogpfan @capricornito @star73807-blog @isagrace22 @unstablefemme @lovestruck-sky @abmilanooo @thatssoemilia @lexy9716 @gatorguy777 @liz140569 @kaorisakamotofan @hopingfortwistedfriends @thisdoesntexsist-cherry @rosie-0108 @aka99ob

hockeyshmockey

Pt 2 is a need

cheftsunoda

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 — f1 grid

platonic f1 grid x !fem schumacher reader

you’ve lived your whole life under a name that echoes. schumacher.

it follows you through paddocks and press rooms, through whispered expectations and too heavy praise. some days it feels like armor. other days it feels like grief stitched into your skin.

you are michael schumacher’s daughter. mick’s twin. max verstappen’s oldest friend. sebastian vettel’s godchild. and somehow, impossibly, you are still your own person.

when the season begins, everyone expects you to break. the breakup, the pressure, the legacy — it’s all too much, they say. they’re wrong.

you don’t fall apart. you get faster. you win that championship and the grid could not be happier for you.

fc : annie.shr on ig

a/n : obvs i do not know michael's real condition- i wrote this based off my medical knowledge and based off what mick has said. i am very happy the family has been able to maintain privacy. all the love for the entire schumacher fam<3 also there are slight hints of romance between max and reader I COULD NOT HELP MYSELF SHUSH

⋆˚𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ ⋆˚𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ ⋆˚𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

ynschumacher

liked by maxverstappen1, mickschumacher, gina_schumacher and 2,457,000 others.

ynschumacher : he broke, i’m up‼️ let’s get the season started😇

tagged : mercedesamgf1

—

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hockeyshmockey

CRYINT silently in the back of the car

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