Drafted into the Family
Matthew Knies x Gretzky!son!reader
summary: between being late to dinner, outing himself by accident to his family, and trying to convince Matthew Knies not to panic in front of Wayne Gretzky, y/n’s relationship is already chaotic enough before the internet gets involved. luckily for them, love, timing, and a very patient boyfriend go a long way.
an: before anyone reads, i just want to say that this fic is entirely fictionalized for the plot, the vibes, and the fun of it all. i’m not trying to disrespect any players or imply that the way i wrote any of these people is realistic or reflective of who they are in real life.
warnings: n/a
word count: 1,915
The Gretzky manor in Los Angeles was alive in the way it only ever was when everyone was home.
Music floated through the backyard speakers—Tate McRae’s “Miss Possessive”… at his youngest’s request—while the smell of grilled food hung warm in the air. Wayne Gretzky stood by the grill, flipping burgers with the casual authority of a man who had long since mastered both hockey and backyard hosting. His wife kept things moving, while their children filled the space with laughter, teasing, and the occasional argument over nothing important.
It was perfect.
Until the sliding glass door opened…
Everyone’s heads turned.
Y/n Gretzky had arrived… late, of course.
He stepped into the backyard like he’d just walked off a red carpet—because, in a way, he had. Fresh off the set of his newest music video, he still looked camera-ready: styled hair, glowing skin, and an effortless natural glam that somehow still screamed global pop superstar.
His older brother Tristan didn’t even wait a second.
“Hello, diva!” he called loudly, spreading his arms. “We’re so blessed to be able to make your acquaintance this evening. Please allow us to kiss your ring, your highness.”
Y/n didn’t break stride, rolling his eyes as he dropped his bag onto a chair.
“Shut up! I called Dad beforehand and told him I’d be late. I get a free pass.”
A chorus of groans followed.
“Of course you do,” one of his siblings muttered. “Because you’re such a star.”
Y/n smirked, grabbing a water bottle instead of a plate.
“Glad we’re all on the same page.”
He barely had time to settle before his attention snapped toward the speakers. His eyes widened, and he turned sharply to his sister Emma.
“Oh my God—did you see Jack Hughes is dating Tate?!”
Emma gasped like this was breaking news she personally had been waiting for.
“I knew it! I literally said they would—”
And just like that, they were gone—spiraling into celebrity gossip, theories, timelines, who-liked-what-post, and who-soft-launched-who.
Eventually, Emma narrowed her eyes at him.
“Speaking of… what about Connor Storrie?“
Y/n blinked.
“What about him?”
She leaned in. “Are you still seeing him?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “We were never together. We’re just friends, I promise. He’s seeing someone else—a celebrity trainer, I think. He seems cute, so I’m happy for him.”
Emma studied him, suspicious.
“And you?”
Y/n hesitated.
Then leaned closer.
“I’m actually… kind of dating someone.”
Emma exploded.
“What?! WHO?! Someone I know? Wait—what do they do? Are they famous?!”
“Hey—cut it out—”
Too late.
The entire table had gone quiet.
All eyes on them.
Wayne looked up from his drink. “And who might the lucky guy be?”
Y/n winced slightly, then glanced at his dad.
“Promise you won’t yell if I say he’s part of the hockey world?”
Wayne slowly dropped his head into his hands.
The universal sign of of course this is happening to me.
His wife laughed softly. “Of course not, baby. We’d never yell at you over something like that.” She paused, then added with a smirk, “Unless he plays for Toronto, then we have a problem.”
Y/n’s face dropped.
Silence.
Everyone froze.
Wayne lifted his head, already knowing. “Please at least let it be Auston Matthews. Kid’s got talent… and Olympic gold now, so he gets bonus points.”
Y/n shook his head slightly.
“Matthew is part of his name.”
Wayne’s eyes widened—then softened instantly.
“Oh! Okay.” He nodded, recalibrating in real time. “At least it’s not John Tavares.”
Y/n stared at him.
“Come on. Really? He’s like ten years older than me and married to a woman, Dad.”
Wayne shrugged, unapologetic.
“Well,” he said, pointing a finger, “now that I know you’re dating Matthew Knies… I think it’s time I meet the guy.”
⸻
Later That Week
The car was too quiet.
Matthew Knies sat behind the wheel, parked outside a sleek, high-end restaurant in LA. His knee bounced relentlessly, hands gripping the steering wheel like he was about to take a faceoff in Game 7.
Y/n noticed immediately.
He reached over, placing a steady hand on Matthew’s thigh.
“Hey.”
Matthew exhaled. “I’ve played in packed arenas. I’ve had entire cities watching me… and somehow this is worse.”
Y/n smiled softly. “It’s just dinner.”
“It’s dinner with Wayne Gretzky.”
“…who is also just my dad.”
Matthew looked at him.
“Do you hear yourself?”
Y/n laughed, squeezing his thigh.
“You’re gonna be fine. He already likes you.”
“That doesn’t make this less terrifying.”
Y/n leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough.
“Listen… just make it through dinner without throwing up or running out…”
Matthew glanced at him.
“…and I’ll give you a prize later tonight.”
There was a pause.
Then Matthew’s entire expression shifted.
“…you can’t say things like that right now.”
Y/n grinned, already opening the door.
⸻
Dinner
It took exactly seven minutes.
Seven.
That was how long it took for Matthew and Wayne to fall into full hockey-mode.
“And your edge work there—unbelievable,” Wayne was saying, gesturing animatedly.
Matthew leaned forward. “I’ve been working on that a lot this season—”
Y/n sat back in his chair, sipping his drink.
Five minutes in, he was patient.
Ten minutes in, he was bored.
Thirty minutes in?
He rolled his eyes for what had to be the tenth time.
“Are you two going to talk about hockey the entire night,” he cut in, “or am I allowed to exist at this table too?”
Wayne didn’t even look at him. “We’re bonding.”
Matthew tried not to laugh.
Y/n groaned, dropping his head into his hand.
“This is unbelievable.”
⸻
One Week Later
They sat on Y/n’s couch in Bel Air, the city glowing outside the windows.
The conversation had shifted.
From easy… to serious.
“I love you,” Y/n said quietly, “but you don’t have the same job security as guys like Sidney Crosby or Jack or… my dad.”
Matthew stayed quiet.
“What if we go public,” Y/n continued, “and something happens? What if you get traded? Or worse? What if everything you’ve worked for just… disappears?”
Matthew reached for his hand.
“My team already knows I’m seeing someone.”
Y/n blinked. “What?”
“They don’t know it’s you,” Matthew said. “But they know. And they don’t care.”
He squeezed his hand gently.
“I’m not as alone in this as you think.”
⸻
Months Later — Their 1-Year Anniversary
It happened with two simple Instagram stories.
A photo of them together.
A caption about love, timing, and surviving chaos.
Within minutes the internet exploded.
Fans flooded both of their accounts with support. Athletes, celebrities, and teammates chimed in. The reaction wasn’t just positive—it was overwhelming.
During a broadcast, Paul Bissonnette leaned toward Wayne with a grin.
“So how did Knies get lucky enough to land Y/n Gretzky?”
Across the rink, Matthew threw his arms out like what the hell?!
Wayne burst out laughing on camera.
⸻
That Night
Back at Y/n’s Bel Air home, everything was quiet again.
No cameras. No noise. Just the two of them.
Matthew sat on the couch, pulling Y/n gently into his lap. They stayed there for a while—no rush, no pressure—just existing together.
Y/n rested his forehead against his.
“Crazy day.”
Matthew smiled softly. “Worth it.”
They lingered like that until Y/n finally stood, stretching.
He glanced back over his shoulder as he started toward the stairs.
“Well…” he said casually, a teasing edge in his voice, “I guess now you’re finally allowed to touch me in public…”
He paused.
“…so imagine what you’re allowed to do in private.”
Matthew blinked. Without hesitating, he practically vaulted over the couch.
“Hey—wait—!”
Y/n laughed, already halfway up the stairs.
And for once…
He wasn’t late.