Summary: Getting cheated on is terrible by itself, getting cheated on publicly is worse. Only 1 week after the 1 year mark of dating, Quinn Hughes is spotted at a dinner with another woman. The whole world finds out you're being cheated on the same time you do.
The break-up album went platinum, maybe in a certain Russian hockey player's playlist too. A simple reply to your story can bloom into a lot more when you're heartbroken.
Content warnings: swearing, cheating, angst, eventual smut + more
A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you had a great New Year's Eve and that the year is treating you well so far. New year, new header. I hope you guys like it :)
Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x reader
Words: 1k
Warning(s): mention of violence, yearning
The bass hums through the floor like a second heartbeat, vibrating up your legs, into your chest. The club smells like citrus cleaner, and sweat and something sweet you can’t place. It’s messy and loud and perfect for not thinking too hard.
You’re dancing. Actually dancing—laughing, off-beat, hair sticking to your lip gloss—and Andrei is right there with you, towering and grinning, moving with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you’re bad at something and doing it anyway. You’re dancing with Andrei because it’s easy. Because he showed up when you texted come out with us and didn’t ask questions. Because he never makes things weird.
Your friends are nearby, a loose circle of bodies and laughter, watching you with knowing looks that make your skin prickle.
“Stop,” you mouth at them, laughing, when you catch one of them raising their eyebrows exaggeratedly.
Andrei leans down. “What?”
“They think you’re in love with me,” you say, rolling your eyes.
He almost misses a step.
“This is not true,” he says a little too fast.
“Exactly,” you grin. “I keep telling them that.”
Across the circle, your friend mouths liar at Andrei when she thinks you’re not looking. He pretends not to see it, ears pink under the lights.
“See?” you shout over the music. “You’re not terrible.”
He leans down so you can hear him, warm breath at your ear. “This is a lie you tell because you are kind.”
You spin, almost trip, and he catches you automatically, hands steady at your waist. For a second it’s just the two of you, your laugh stuck in your throat, his eyes dropping a fraction too long. Friends, you remind yourself. Always friends.
You turn back to the music, feeling light. Safe. Then something shifts. The air feels colder somehow, sharper. The laughter behind you fades into background noise as you spot him near the bar. Your ex. Leaning like he belongs there, eyes already locked on you. Your stomach drops.
“Oh no,” you mutter.
Andrei follows your line of sight. His body goes rigid, like a switch flipped.
“Are you sure I cannot punch him in the face?” he asks, voice low and serious.
You bark out a surprised laugh. “Yes.”
He watches your ex take a step closer. “What if I just break his nose a little?”
You grab his arm, half-amused, half-alarmed. “Andrei, what has gotten into you?!”
“He is staring,” Andrei says, jaw tight. “I do not like this.”
Your ex pushes onto the dance floor, smug and familiar in a way that makes your skin crawl. “Hey,” he says, eyes sliding over you like he’s allowed to do that. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Before you can respond, Andrei steps slightly in front of you. Not blocking—just… there.
“We are busy,” he says flatly.
Your ex laughs. “Right. And you are…?”
Her friend,” Andrei says. The word is careful. Deliberate.
Your ex smirks. “Relax, man. I’m just saying hi.”
“No,” Andrei replies. “You are making her uncomfortable.”
Your heart stutters. You hadn’t said that. He just knew.
Your friends have gone very quiet behind you.
“I can speak for myself,” you say, though your voice wobbles. “And I don’t want to talk.”
Your ex scoffs, mutters something under his breath, and backs off, disappearing into the crowd. The music rushes back in all at once.
You exhale. “Okay. Thank you. But also—wow.”
Andrei turns to you, hands still clenched. “I am sorry if that was too much.”
“It wasn’t,” you say quickly. “I just didn’t know you had… that in you.”
He shrugs, awkward now that the threat is gone. “I do not like when people think they can treat you badly.”
Your friends reappear like a storm.
“ANDREI,” one of them hisses, eyes wide. “That was so hot.”
Another grins at you. “You still think he doesn’t like you?”
You laugh, flustered. “Guys, stop.”
Andrei looks like he might actually melt into the floor.
“We should—uh—dance somewhere else,” you say, grabbing his hand before you can overthink it. He follows instantly. The song shifts to something slower, heavier. The lights dim. You sway together, closer now, your hands settling on his shoulders like they belong there. His hands hover for a second before resting at your waist, careful, reverent.
“You really don’t have to protect me,” you say softly.
He looks down at you, expression open in a way you’re not used to seeing. “I know. But I want to.”
Your chest tightens. You think about the way he always waits for you after practice. The way he texts to make sure you got home. The way your friends have been insufferably sure about this for years.
“You know,” you murmur, “everyone keeps telling me you have feelings for me.”
His breath catches. Just barely. “And what do you tell them?”
“That they’re wrong,” you admit.
He nods, a small, resigned motion. “Okay.”
Something about that—about how easily he accepts it—makes your heart ache.
You look at him properly now. Really look. The way his thumb moves absentmindedly against your side. The way he watches your face like it’s his anchor. Maybe this wasn’t sudden. Maybe you just weren’t ready to see it before.
You lean in, resting your forehead against his chest. “I don’t think they’re wrong,” you whisper.
He stills completely.
“Are you sure?” he asks, voice barely audible over the music.
You smile, slow and certain. “Yeah. I think tonight kind of gave you away.”
His arms tighten just a little, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. For the first time, being held by him doesn’t feel like something familiar and safe. It feels like something new, and you don’t pull away.
svech + i won’t bite. unless you’re into that sort of thing
friend sent me this tweet the other day and i've been feral ever since.
"i won't bite, unless you're into that sort of thing"
andrei svechnikov x reader, rated t. drinking/being tipsy, flirting in a bar. would love to expand this lowkey…
you're three drinks in at some fancy bar in raleigh, dragged out by your friends after an afternoon canes game. you don't know much about hockey, much less the team, but your old college roommate isabelle is a huge fan. she'd sworn the players would come to this bar after a win, and she was right.
isabelle, along with your other friends hannah and imani, is over with a group of well dressed men, ones you can only assume are on the hurricanes roster. but you? you've been staring at the tall, dirty blond angel sitting to your left.
the bartender approaches you with a refill, the same maple whiskey cocktail you've been sipping on all night. "oh! thank you, but i was going to close out my tab, actually," you explain awkwardly, not yet taking the drink.
"drink's paid for," the bartender says simply, nodding to the man on your left.
you turn to him, surprise painted on your features, and the man smiles. "figured this would get you talking." he says. he has a soft accent, it curls around his syllables and falls fuzzy on your ears as he continues, "i won't bite. unless you're into that sort of thing."
you're shocked by how forward he is, giggling as you sip the cocktail he so graciously provided. "sorry i'm just. nervous, i guess? you're like. like really handsome," you say, giggling and covering your mouth, shocked at your own words.
"i'm andrei," he introduces himself, standing from his stool to slide into the empty one directly next to you. "and, thank you. i think that you are—" he pauses, eyes drifting over your outfit, resting momentarily on your lips, "—very pretty yourself."
you smile and shake his hand, introducing yourself in turn. he asks about your day, you explain you're visiting your college town as an ncsu alum. he asks about your major, what you do for work. you ask about his family, and where his accent is from.
it's not until after, when you're in the hotel and texting him that you made it home safe, that you realize. you never asked what he did for work.
"i wonder what he does," you ask aloud, to no one in particular. isabelle is in the bathroom wiping off her makeup, while your other friends hannah and imani lounge in one of the large hotel beds. hannah looks up, interested, and you continue. "he said he's from russia. wonder what he’s doing in north carolina?”
imani quirks an eyebrow. “what was his name?”
“andrei,” you respond simply, followed by a thud from the bathroom.
isabelle shrieks your name, “no. there’s no way.”
“what?” you ask, still clueless, sitting up now.
"oh my god. you—ohmygod—you've got to lock this down. that's—" she runs a hand through her hair, face painted in disbelief. "do you know who that is?"
your eyes dart to hannah, then imani, looking for a hint. but they’re no help, and you shake your head.
“go ahead and google andrei svechnikov for me,” isabelle tells you, taking a seat beside you on the mattress. “that him?”
your jaw drops, reading his stats and info. “oh my god.” you swipe through the pictures, a small smile tugging at your lips as you remember his face.
isabelle sighs dramatically. “this is like it for you. you have to marry him.”
seconds later your phone pings with a message.
andrei: I’d love to see you again. Does dinner on Friday work for you?
you like the message, already mentally clearing the day as you tell isabelle, “well, i’ll let you know how the first date goes.”
summary: after months of flirting, a serendipitous encounter under the mistletoe forces you and andrei to confront the undeniable feelings you've been carefully avoiding.
warnings: mentions of alcohol, appearances/mentions of canes players (staal, jarvis, kk, burnzie)
wc: 1.75k
notes: 5th work of 12 days of xmas! lil bit of smooches with svechy :3
The Hurricanes’ annual Christmas party buzzed with electric energy, the sharp tang of mulled wine mingling with the faint whiff of fresh pine from the enormous tree dominating the corner of the room. Twinkling lights reflected off the polished floor like scattered stars, and the sound of laughter spilled through the Staal’s home which was graciously hosting the party.
You had been surprised by the invitation — after all, you were the team's physical trainer, not a player or coach, and the invisible boundaries of professionalism always seemed rigid in your world. But when Andrei casually mentioned he hoped you’d come, his lips quirking into that familiar, teasing grin, you found yourself saying yes before logic could intervene.
You had been dancing around Andrei for months, a silent game of stolen glances and quipped comments. His presence seemed to fill the room before he even entered it — broad shoulders framed by sharp suits off the ice, the way his laughter curled warmly around your name. You were supposed to be focused, impartial, and professional. And yet, the air between you two always crackled, a tension you couldn’t ignore but refused to name. Not when it could cost both of you your places in the team you’d come to think of as a second family.
The party was in full swing, a kaleidoscope of festive cheer, but your attention drifted as you stood near the kitchen, swirling the untouched mulled wine in your hand. Andrei stood across the room, his light blue dress shirt fitting snugly against his sculpted chest and shoulders. He neglected to style his hair, allowing loose strands to fall over his forehead.
Jesperi and Seth stood next to you, their chatter filling the space between your half-hearted nods and small smiles. They were quick to catch on to your stolen attention, following your gaze across the room to their teammate.
“So…” Jesperi started, his tone deliberately casual. “You gonna make a move tonight?”
Your head snapped to his, heat rushing to your cheeks. “What? Make a move? On who?” you said, feigning ignorance with a laugh that sounded far too nervous.
Seth furrowed his brows. “You are terrible at playing dumb. We’re talking about Svechy.”
“I don’t—” You began, but Jesperi cut you off with a pointed look.
“Don’t even try to deny it. It’s so obvious,” he said, his smirk deepening. “You light up every time he’s around.”
“And it’s mutual,” Seth added with a knowing nod. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? The guy’s a goner.”
You rolled your eyes, desperate to deflect. “You two are imagining things. Andrei and I are just… friends.”
Jesperi scoffed, shaking his head. “Friends? Right. Friends don’t look at each other like that.”
“Or find excuses to be around each other all the time,” Seth chimed in. “Oh Andrei, I think we should work on legs today. Y/n, let's plan my workouts for this week, what do you think about my muscles, are they too big?” Seth said, pitching his voice up to imitate you, then pitching it down and putting on a horrible Russian accent to imitate Andrei.
“Okay, fine!” you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one overheard. “Maybe I like him. A little.”
Jesperi grinned triumphantly. “Finally, some honesty.”
“But it doesn’t matter,” you continued quickly. “Even if I did, it’s not like I can just—”
“Why not?” Seth interrupted. “He’s into you, you’re into him. Stop overthinking it and go talk to him. Let it happen naturally.”
Before you could argue, they nudged you forward, sending you stumbling toward the drink station where Andrei stood. His back was to you, his tall frame silhouetted against the warm glow of the lights. When he turned and saw you, his face lit up with that boyish grin that always made your heart race.
“Hey,” he said, his accent curling softly around the word. “Enjoying the party?”
You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you tried to steady your nerves. “It’s great. The Staals really know how to host. How about you? Having fun?”
Andrei shrugged, his grin softening into something more genuine. “It’s nice to see everyone relaxed. No talk about hockey for once.” He leaned against the counter, gesturing to the collection of bottles and mixers in front of him. “You want something better than that?” He nodded toward the mulled wine in your hand.
You looked down at the glass, realizing it was still nearly full. “Not a fan of mulled wine?”
He chuckled. “It’s… okay. But I make good drinks. Let me prove it?”
You raised a brow, intrigued by the sudden shift in your conversation. “Alright, Svechnikov. Impress me.”
His grin widened as he rolled up his sleeves exposing his toned forearms that had your pulse skipping. He started pulling ingredients together, his movements precise but unhurried. As he worked, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm of small talk.
“So,” he began, pouring a splash of something clear into a shaker. “How did they convince you to come? You never come to team events when we invite you.”
You laughed softly, leaning against the counter beside him. “I was reluctant. But someone…” you glanced at him meaningfully, “mentioned it might be fun.”
He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, the faintest blush rising to his cheeks. “Smart guy.”
“Debatable,” you teased, earning a low chuckle from him.
He handed you the finished drink, a deep red liquid garnished with a large ice cube and curl of citrus peel. “Try this.”
You took a sip, the vibrant flavours sitting nicely on your tongue. “Wow. Okay, I’m impressed. Maybe you missed your calling as a bartender.”
“Only for you,” he replied lightly, his eyes lingering on yours a beat longer than necessary.
The warmth of his gaze made your cheeks flush, and you turned away, motioning toward the doorway. “Come on, let’s get out of everyone’s way.”
You stepped into the archway, leaning casually against the frame. The party hummed around you, the soft murmur of voices and distant music blending into the background. Andrei joined you, close enough that the faint scent of his cologne mingled with the fresh pine in the air.
It was comfortable, standing there with him, but your bubble of quiet abruptly popped when Jesperi’s voice rang out.
“Oh, look who’s under the mistletoe!”
You blinked, looking up in alarm to find the infamous sprig dangling above your heads. Your stomach flipped as the realization dawned.
The room erupted in playful catcalls and whistles, and you could feel the heat rushing to your face. “I didn’t even—”
Andrei cleared his throat, his usual confidence visibly shaken as he glanced between you and the crowd. His ears were tinged red, but he didn’t move away.
Seth grinned like the both of you had fallen directly into his trap. “You know the rule, guys!”
“Y/n,” he said, his voice quieter now, barely audible over the noise. “Can I kiss you?”
Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, his question hanging in the air between you like a fragile thread. You could only nod, your breath catching as you whispered, “You don’t even have to ask.”
Andrei didn’t hesitate. His hand came up to cup your face, his touch gentle but sure. When his lips met yours, the noise of the room faded away entirely. The kiss was soft, sweet, and tinged with the faintest hint of the drink he’d made you.
Cheers erupted around you, breaking the spell, but neither of you pulled away immediately. When you finally broke apart, your eyes locked with Andrei’s, and his smile—soft and tinged with wonder—was enough to send your heart racing all over again. A loud whoop from who you think was Brent snapped you both back to reality, the crowd of teammates and their partners still clapping and whistling like an audience at a grand performance.
“Okay, okay, show’s over!” Andrei called, his voice carrying over the din. He raised a hand, waving off the group with an exaggerated flourish. “Go back to your drinks! Nothing more to see!”
The crowd groaned good-naturedly, scattering back to their conversations and games, though not without a few lingering smirks and winks. Seth gave you a double thumbs-up before Jesperi dragged him back to the snack table, likely to avoid further trouble.
Andrei turned back to you, his expression shifting from playful to something quieter, deeper. His brows knit together for a moment as if he was gathering his thoughts. Then, he let out a soft, self-conscious laugh, running a hand through his hair.
“I wasn’t planning to do that tonight,” he admitted, his voice low and warm. “But I’m happy I did.”
Your chest tightened, the honesty in his tone wrapping around you like a warm embrace. “Me too,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
He took a small step closer, the air between you growing heavier with unspoken words. “I have to tell you something,” he began, his accent thickening slightly with the weight of his emotions. “I’ve liked you for a long time, y/n. Longer than I probably should. Every time I see you, I want to be close to you. Make you laugh. Find excuses to keep talking to you. I tried to ignore it, but I can’t anymore. Not tonight.”
Relief washed over his face like a sunrise, his broad shoulders visibly relaxing. He let out a laugh, the sound rich and light. “I was so afraid you didn’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I almost didn’t come to this party because I thought you wouldn’t talk to me.”
You laughed, your hand brushing his lightly. “And here I thought I was the one avoiding you.”
He reached for your hand, his fingers threading through yours with surprising ease. “So, no more avoiding?” he asked, his grin returning in full force. “No more pretending?”
“No more pretending,” you agreed, squeezing his hand.
The rest of the party seemed to fade away as you stood there together, his thumb brushing idly against your skin. From across the room, Jesperi and Seth exchanged a victorious high five, clearly proud of their matchmaking efforts. But you barely noticed, your world narrowing to the warmth of Andrei’s presence.
summary: You walked away from Andrei Svechnikov, but somehow, he’s still everywhere. Every glance, every memory, every almost-conversation lingers—leaving you to wonder if you’d ever be able to forget him.
warnings: just angst, that’s it…
author’s note: I wanted this to be a bit longer but honestly I think if I made it longer it would be pointless so I’ll just leave it here 🫶🏻
word count: 1,170
You don’t remember the beginning of the argument, only how it ended.
Andrei stood in the doorway of your apartment, his body rigid, his hands curled into fists at his sides like he was holding something back.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” he had said, voice tight, accent thick.
Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. “I just want you to be here.”
“I am here.”
“No, you’re not.” Your voice cracked, and you hated it—hated the way it made you sound weak. “You’re always somewhere else, Andrei. Physically, emotionally. I don’t even know where we stand anymore.”
He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s hockey season. You knew what this was.”
Your stomach twisted. You had never resented his career. Never wanted to be the thing that pulled him away from it. But lately, it felt like you were always the one left waiting, always the one making excuses for why he hadn’t called, why he didn’t come home until hours after a game, why he barely even looked at you when he did.
“Just tell me the truth,” you said quietly. “If this isn’t working anymore, if you don’t—” Your voice caught. You swallowed. “If you don’t feel the same, just say it.”
Andrei stared at you for a long time, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
And then he looked away.
“I don’t know,” he murmured.
It was such a small sentence. Just three words. But they shattered you.
Silence hung between you, thick and suffocating.
Andrei shifted his weight like he was waiting for you to say something, but you couldn’t. You just nodded, blinking fast as you turned away, because if you looked at him too long, you’d break completely.
When the door clicked shut behind him, the apartment had never felt so empty.
———
The thing about breaking up with someone like Andrei is that you don’t just lose him—you lose everything that came with him.
The quiet mornings wrapped in his hoodie, drinking coffee while he pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder. The way he’d pull you into his arms after a bad game, burying his face in your neck like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. The laughter, the teasing, the soft murmurs of “I miss you” when he was on the road.
Now, all of it is gone. And what’s left is the empty side of your bed, the silence of your phone, the way your body still tenses whenever you hear his name in passing.
And you hear it a lot.
It’s in post-game interviews, on the backs of jerseys in the grocery store, in the casual conversations of strangers who have no idea that his absence has carved a hollow space in your chest.
He’s everywhere. And yet, he’s nowhere at all.
You don’t plan to go to the game.
You haven’t been to PNC Arena since the breakup. Haven’t been able to stomach the thought of watching him on the ice, pretending like nothing has changed when everything has.
But your best friend insists, dragging you out of your apartment with the promise of a distraction.
And for a while, it works.
You sip beer. You cheer when the team scores. You pretend that you don’t feel like an intruder in a life you no longer belong to.
And then the camera pans to the bench.
Andrei is sitting there, jaw clenched, gaze locked on the ice. His hair is damp with sweat, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. He looks just as he always has—strong, steady, unwavering.
But then, as if he can sense you, he lifts his head.
And looks directly at you.
Your breath catches.
It’s only a second, maybe two. But in that brief moment, something flickers across his face—shock, maybe. Or something softer. Something you don’t let yourself name.
Then the game resumes, and he turns away.
You exhale, gripping the edge of your seat, willing your heart to stop racing.
———
You manage to avoid him for a while after that. Or maybe he avoids you.
But Raleigh isn’t that big, and eventually, it happens.
It’s a coffee shop—one you used to go to together after morning skates.
You’re waiting for your order when you hear it.
His voice.
Low. Familiar. Too close.
You freeze. Your fingers tighten around the sleeve of your cup. For a split second, you think about leaving before he sees you. Pretending you never heard him at all.
But it’s too late.
He steps forward, and suddenly, he’s right there.
Andrei’s eyes widen slightly, like he wasn’t expecting this either. He looks… different. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his jaw is tense like he hasn’t been sleeping much.
He hesitates. “Hey.”
You swallow hard. “Hey.”
Silence stretches between you, thick and heavy.
“How have you been?” he asks.
You almost laugh. It’s such a simple question, but the answer is anything but.
You’ve been surviving. You’ve been waking up every morning and forcing yourself to get out of bed. You’ve been carrying the weight of missing him in everything you do.
But you won’t say that.
So you force a smile and lie. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t believe you. You can tell by the way his brows furrow, by the way he shifts on his feet like he wants to say something else but doesn’t know how.
You should walk away. You should.
But then his voice drops, softer now. “I miss you.”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut.
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Because how do you respond to that? How do you stand here, face to face with the person who let you go, and admit that you still wake up reaching for him?
You can’t.
So instead, you whisper, “I should go.”
Andrei’s expression falters. “Wait—”
But you don’t.
You grab your coffee and turn away, ignoring the way your hands tremble as you push the door open and step outside.
———
You tell yourself that’s the last time you’ll let him affect you.
But late at night, when the city is quiet and your apartment feels too empty, you let yourself remember.
You remember the way he used to hold you after games, pressing silent apologies into your skin whenever he felt like he let you down. You remember the way he’d grin when he was teasing you, the way he’d pull you into his arms just because he could.
You remember him.
And it hurts.
God, it hurts.
But there’s nothing left to say.
So you sit in the dark, hands curled around the sleeve of an old hoodie that still smells like him, and let the memories wash over you.
Maybe one day, the ache will fade. Maybe one day, you’ll stop searching for him in every crowded room.
Maybe one day, you’ll learn how to live without him.
