note, i have SOOOOO many olympic fics planned in my brain, so stay tuned everyone tehe!! you all really like my other mic'd up fic with the nylander diaries (check it out here!), so i decided to do another one :) in this fic, max is 6 years old and charlotte is 1. also, this fic is part of "the hughes gang" series. check out this masterlist for more.
pair, quinn hughes x reader
summary, max hughes is mic'd up for the olympic usa vs. sweden game.
warnings, kids/children
word count, 1584 words
(gif not mine)
"I'm Max!" The little boy beamed, waving his hand at the camera, wearing a Team USA jersey that was much too big for him and that he was practically drowning in, "Come with me to my dad's hockey game." He smiled, waving the cameraman along.
The camera followed from behind as Max held your hand, talking your ear off. Just off to the side, your mom was holding Charlotte, who had been asleep since you finished dinner. With the time difference, she had spent most of the trip sleeping.
"Can we get a stuffy, mommy?" Max asked as you waited in line to get into the arena. "I want to get a Tina and Milo stuffy." He told you.
Quickly, you found yourselves in the gift shop and quickly located the stuffy that was perfect for Max's liking, "Now that we have my stuffy, it's time to find our seats." Max told the camera with a nod and a smile.
The footage shifted from outside the arena to Max holding your hand, and holding his grandma's in the other. His new stuffies was safely tucked away in your bag.
"Will we get to see Dad?" Max asked, looking up at you as you waited in line to get to your seats.
"Yeah, I know you're excited." You're heard in the background, smiling. "Are you hungry, Maxy?" The little boy shook his head, but you could tell he was getting a little bored waiting around.
"Who are you most excited to see, Maxy?" Ellen asked, distracting him.
Max thought about it for a second, "Daddy!" He cheered, jumping up.
Max's eyes were glued to the ice the second he could see it. Of course, he was used to seeing ice skating rinks, but everything about the Olympics was elevated.
The guys were already on the ice for warm-ups, so as you made your way down the seats towards the tunnel where the guys were coming out of, you easily spotted Quinn and Jack on the ice.
"Do you see daddy?" You asked, bending down to his level. Ellen and your parents were getting comfortable in their seats while Jim stood with you, Charlotte in his arms, who was now awake and looking around. She had a huge pair of headphones on and looked adorable.
"I see him." Max nodded, closing one eye and following him with his finger.
Warm-ups continued, with you and Jim answering all of Max's questions, and Charlotte continuing to look around, confused but also wide-eyed. The clock began to run out, and slowly, the guys started coming off the ice, high-fiving fans and waving to their families.
Jack was the first to come off the ice and came down the tunnel, giving high-fives and fist-bumps in his own world. He was so in his head, he almost missed Max calling out for him. He walked down the tunnel, but quickly turned around when he heard a familiar voice.
"Hey, what's up, Maxy?" Jack smiled, reaching through the bars of the barricade, giving Max a high-five. "You having fun? Being good for your mom?" He glanced back at you, and you gave him a smile and a nod.
"I'm mic'd up today!" Max proudly showed off the little microphone attached to his shirt.
"Wow, that's so cool, bud." Jack gave him another high-five. They talked for a few more minutes, which was mostly just Max talking and Jack nodding along enthusiastically, before Jack walked off, and Max continued waiting for Quinn to come off.
"Come on, Daddy," Max whispered. Quinn skated around a few more times, shooting the puck once before finally coming off the ice. As the crowd cheered around him, the only thing he was focused on was finding you. "Daddy!" Max shouted.
Quinn's head shot over, and he made his. wayover to where you were all standing, "What's up, bud?" Quinn couldn't help the smile growing on his face.
Jim came down a few steps, holding Charlotte so she could better see her dad, and as soon as Charlotte saw Quinn, she started wiggling in her grandpa's arms, wanting to be held by her dad.
You picked her up and held her so Quinn could give her a high-five, smiling and making faces at her to make her laugh. Quinn turned his attention back to Max, and the two did their little ritual, one that was sacred and something they had come up with just the two of them.
"Score goals, daddy!" Max called after him as he walked down the tunnel.
You made your way back up to your seats, Max sitting in between happily. While you were waiting for Quinn and Jack, your mom and Ellen had gone and picked up some snacks, and more importantly, a pretzel for Max.
Before the puck even dropped, almost half the pretzel was gone. "Did you like the pretzel?" You asked.
"Hmm." He nodded, "Can I have a sucker, please?" He asked.
"Remember, we only have three, so you have to choose." You reminded him, pulling it out of your bag for him. He nodded, and you opened it for him, watching him pop it in his mouth before he turned back to the ice in front of him.
When the game started, Max was locked in. He was calling out plays like he was behind the bench and cheering for his dad the entire time. He was out of his seat when Dylan Larkin scored the first goal of the game for Team USA, and cheered even louder when it was announced that his uncle and dad got the assists.
"Goal!" Max cheered as loud as he could, standing on top of his chair. He gasped when he saw himself on the Jumbotron, turning to you shyly.
"Look, it's you." You laughed, taking his hand and waving at the camera. The camera changed to another fan, and when the camera was off him, he fell back in his seat with a sigh.
"I was on the big TV." Max recounted, "Do you think daddy saw?"
"I think so." Ellen nodded, a smile just as big on her own face.
During intermission, the MCs were trying to find the loudest fan in the arena, so Max stood on your legs, cheering as loud as he could. He was clapping his hands, cheering the very best he could.
For most of the third period, Max was getting antsy, and you could tell he was losing energy. But when Sweden scored, he was quickly paying attention to the game, and he was out of his seat.
And for all of overtime, he was on his feet out of his seat. The goal happened so quickly, you almost didn't register it, but that was how Quinn was. He was fast and efficient.
The goal horn sounded, and you were on your feet with the rest of the arena. Max was jumping around happily and cheering with you. "Did you see that? Daddy scored!" You picked him up so he could have a better view of the celly and what was going on on the ice.
"Daddy scored, daddy scored!" Max kept cheering, doing his little happy dance. You pointed out on the ice where Quinn was. He knew where you were sitting and skated over, blowing kisses in your direction. Max blew a kiss back, cheering as the rest of the arena rode the high of the win.
After the game, you were waiting just outside the arena for Quinn to come out. You probably wouldn't be able to see him for too long, but just seeing him for a little while would make it all worth it. Charlotte had spent most of the game asleep, and you knew Max was about to fall asleep.
"Look, there he is, bud." You pointed as soon as you saw him come out of the building. Max wasted no time, running over and jumping into his dad's arms.
"Daddy." Max melted into his father's arms. "Did you see me on the big TV?"
"I did." Quinn laughed, "I saw you and mommy." He kissed the boy's head and picked him up, walking towards the rest of your group.
"Don't forget to sign off." You whispered, pointing to the camera that had been following you all night.
"Thanks for coming with me to my dad's hockey game. See you next time!" Max waved to the camera.
-
+ bonus
Quinn rolled his neck and closed his eyes as the media teams all got their equipment ready. "So, Quinn..." He turned his attention in the direction from which the voice was coming. "We saw your son on the jumbotron in the second period," Quinn smiled at the mention of Max.
"Yeah." He hummed, taking a sip of water.
"Do you think that helped play a part in that comeback in overtime?"
He nodded, closing his waterbottle, "Uh, yeah, I think it did. My wife and son, they've been with me since before I was even drafted, and they're the reason I'm here today. So, just knowing he was in the crowd cheering me on, it was all the motivation I needed." He explained, a faint smile on his face as he pictured both of you in his head.
"Do you think your son is your good luck charm?"
Quinn couldn't help but laugh, "Yeah, I think both him and my daughter are. Whenever they're here, I think it makes me play better. I have something to prove." He nodded.
summary: getting together made everyone think the flirty glances would stop, it didn’t.
request: "Can I kiss you?" "You know you don't have to ask me that anymore, right?" and 'exchanging flirty looks from across the room' with Luke Hughes??
luke hughes x reader
She laughed at something Jack said, a common occurrence around Jack. She was standing with Jack in one of the corner of the rooms letting Jack yap to her about the game of pool he just played in and was trying to convince her he beat Dawson.
She felt a line of goosebumps form on her arms, something only one person can do and she knew who was starring her.
Her eyes flickered over connecting with her favorite pair of eyes, Luke was leaning against the wall not paying attention to the conversation that he was standing in, more focused on starring at her all night.
She softly bit her lip biting back her flustered smile, Luke could glance at her and she could easily turn into a puddle.
She heard a gag next to her and turned her head seeing Jack looking absolutely disgusted, “I thought you two finally getting together would stop this from happening.” Jack complained, having watched the two stare at each other way to many times.
He wasn’t wrong, she was friends with Luke for years before anything ever happened. The tension and glances were always there between them even when they both denied it and said they were friends.
She gave Jack a teasing smile, “You don’t have to watch anymore.”
Jack furrowed his brows and watched her look at Luke, her eyes flickering up and down Luke before she gave Luke a flirty smirk and turned around patting Jack’s shoulder before walking away.
Jack grimaced, it was like watching his sister flirt.
Luke raised an eyebrow a smile growing on his face as he watched her walk away, his eyes stayed glued on a certain area of hers most of the time.
Luke set his glass on the table near him beside easily crossing the room and heading down the hallway to the bathroom where he knew she was waiting.
He opened the door and was right, she was sitting on the counter looking at him, waiting for him.
Luke chuckled softly to himself locking the door behind him before he crossed the bathroom just as her legs opened letting him stand between her thighs as her legs just easily wrapped around his waist.
“Hello.” Luke mused his hands hitting the counter next to her thighs as his eyes flickered across her face. He still pinches himself daily that he finally got the girl.
“Hello baby.” She cooed as her arms wrapped sound his neck, her acrylic nails running through the bottom of his curls making him almost start purring like a cat, there’s nothing he loves more than he curls being played with or tugged on and they both are well aware of that.
“Can i kiss you?” Luke breathed out his nose softly bumping into hers, his eyes kept flickering between her lips and eyes can’t deciding what he wanted to stare at more.
Her lips turned up looking amused and she softly tugged on one of his curls making Luke melt even more into her giving her pleading eyes, “You know you don't have to ask me that anymore, right?"
Luke didn’t meed any more permission and eagerly kissed her making the happiest noise as he finally got to kiss his girl again, it’s been barely a hour since they last kissed.
Luke whined as she pulled back and at the sound of a loud knock on the door, “Your clothes better all be on in there.” Lazar teasingly called out having watched the two both head towards the bathroom.
Luke threw his head back and groaned as she laughed, her forehead hitting Luke’s shoulder as her shoulders shook with laughter.
Luke could always count on his annoying teammates to get in the way of his time with his girl.
SUMMARY: A blurry paparazzi picture convinces the internet that you and Timo are secretly married. With your reputation still recovering from a damaging rumor, pretending the speculation is true seems like the perfect PR solution.
WARNINGS: fake marriage, friends to lovers, celebrity/public scrutiny, paparazzi, rumors and damaged reputation, PR relationship, suggestive sexual content, implied smut/18+.
Requested: Timo Meier + a marriage rumor starts because of one blurry picture
The picture was terrible, that was probably why it became such a problem.
If it had been clear, if whoever had taken it had managed to get your face properly in frame, maybe your publicist could have killed the story before it became anything. Instead, it was blurry enough for people to fill in the gaps themselves.
You were leaving a restaurant in New York with Timo sometime after midnight, your hand curled around his forearm because the pavement had been wet and your heels were ridiculous. Timo was slightly ahead of you, looking over his shoulder while you laughed at something he had said.
Completely innocent, except for one detail.
There was something shiny on your left hand.
And because the picture had been taken from across the street, zoomed in until everything became grainy and distorted, the thin diamond ring you had been wearing for a movie role suddenly looked suspiciously like a wedding band.
The headline appeared before you even got home.
ACTRESS Y/N Y/L/N SECRETLY MARRIED TO NHL STAR TIMO MEIER
By breakfast, it was everywhere, by lunch, people had found pictures of you and Timo together from the previous year.
Birthday parties, charity events, a Devils family event you had attended with him because he had practically begged you not to make him go alone, a vacation with mutual friends where somebody had caught Timo asleep beside you on a beach chair.
An old video of you fixing his tie at an awards dinner, a photograph of his hand against your lower back, things that had never looked romantic suddenly looked like evidence and under normal circumstances, you would have laughed, Timo definitely would have laughed, unfortunately, your circumstances weren’t normal.
Your public image was already hanging by a thread.
Three months earlier, you had been dragged through an ugly tabloid scandal involving one of your former co-stars. Someone had leaked cropped photographs implying you had been having an affair with him while he was still in a relationship.
It wasn’t true.
There had been explanations, statements, receipts, other people backing you up but none of it mattered because once people decided that you were the villain in the story, the truth became boring.
So when your publicist arrived at your apartment that afternoon with two lawyers and an expression that told you somebody was about to ruin your day, you already knew you weren’t going to like the solution.
Timo was sitting beside you on the couch, mostly because you had called him in a panic also because half the rumor involved him.
Your publicist set her tablet on the coffee table “The response is overwhelmingly positive.”
You stared at her “To me being accidentally married?”
“To you being married to him.”
You looked at Timo an Timo looked at you, neither of you spoke so your publicist continued “The public thinks you’ve been keeping the relationship private. They’re reframing the previous controversy because they think you were already committed to someone else.”
Your stomach dropped “No.”
She hesitated, that hesitation told you everything “Timo’s team has already been contacted.”
You turned toward him “You knew?”
“They called me twenty minutes ago.”
“And?”
Timo rubbed his jaw “They think correcting it immediately might create more attention.”
You blinked “More attention than people thinking we’re married?”
One of the lawyers cleared his throat “We’re not suggesting that you legally claim to be married.”
“Good,” you muttered.
Your publicist gave you a careful look “We’re suggesting that you don’t deny it.”
Silence, your mouth fell open and Timo actually laughed once, mostly from disbelief “So what,” you said, “we just let everyone believe I secretly married him?”
“Temporarily.”
“Timo.”
He was already looking at you, his expression had changed, the amusement was gone “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said quietly.
That somehow made it worse, because Timo had been your friend long before people became interested in whether he touched you.
He was the person you called when premieres went badly, the person who stole food from your refrigerator whenever he visited Los Angeles, the person who sent you pictures from road trips when he found something stupid he knew would make you laugh.
There had never been pressure between you, never expectations, never anything complicated. Until apparently the entire internet decided you were his wife.
Your publicist folded her hands “We let the speculation settle. You two are seen together occasionally. No interviews discussing details. No fabricated wedding story. Just… don’t correct people.”
You stared at the ceiling “This is insane.”
Beside you, Timo murmured “Definitely insane.” You glanced at him, he smiled slightly and somehow, several hours later, you agreed.
The first few days were easy, mostly because neither of you changed anything.
You texted, you called, Timo went back to New Jersey and you continued filming. People interpreted the silence exactly how your teams hoped they would.
Secret wedding, private relationship, overprotective hockey husband with an independent actress wife. Fans somehow constructed an entire love story without either of you saying a single thing.
Then the paparazzi started waiting outside your building and suddenly pretending required participation. The first time Timo came to visit after the rumor broke, there were photographers lined along the sidewalk.
You saw them through the lobby windows and immediately stopped walking “Oh, absolutely not.”
Timo looked outside “That’s a lot.”
“Very observant.” he laughed, you folded your arms “I’m going through the garage.”
Your publicist, standing nearby, shook her head “You can’t.”
Your head snapped toward her “Excuse me?”
“If you suddenly avoid being photographed together, people will assume something is wrong.”
“Something is obviously wrong. We’re not married.”
She gave you the look, the one you had started hating, Timo sighed beside you “What do you want us to do?”
Your publicist looked between you “Walk out normally.”
You narrowed your eyes “Define normally.”
“Like a married couple.” you nearly choked, Timo scratched the back of his neck “Okay.”
You turned toward him “Okay?”
He leaned closer “Would you rather stand here arguing for forty minutes?”
Unfortunately, no, so you walked outside together. The shouting started immediately.
“Timo!”
“Y/N!”
“Over here!”
“Can we see the ring?”
“When did you get married?”
“Where was the wedding?” Your entire body went stiff, then Timo’s hand touched your waist, not dramatically, not possessively, just gently, steadying.
You looked at him.
“You okay?” he murmured.
You nodded “Yeah.”
He kept his arm around you and the pictures went everywhere.
The kissing started because somebody asked for it, you were attending a charity dinner together six weeks later and by then, you had perfected the routine. Timo opened doors, you fixed his jacket, his hand rested against your waist in photographs. You sat close during dinners.
You whispered to one another when cameras were around because apparently married people were constantly whispering.
It was ridiculous, yntil it wasn’t, you were standing outside the venue when a photographer shouted “Kiss her, Timo!”
You froze, Timo did too, someone else repeated it, then another and a few seconds later everybody was screaming for it. You forced a smile, under your breath, you said “We can ignore them.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you moved.
Then you looked at each other and something shifted. Maybe because his face was suddenly much closer than usual, maybe because his hand was already resting on your hip, Maybe because you had been pretending for nearly two months and there were only so many times you could let somebody hold you before your body started remembering the feeling.
Timo searched your face “Okay?”
You swallowed “Okay.”
His mouth touched yours, It was supposed to be quick, one second and maybe two, just a harmless little kiss for the cameras. Instead, Timo’s fingers tightened slightly against your waist and your hand moved automatically to his chest.
His lips were warm, soft, far too familiar for something you had never done before.
When he pulled away, you stared at him, Timo stared back, the cameras exploded around you, neither of you smiled, you simply walked inside and spent the rest of the evening refusing to talk about it.
The problem was that once you’d kissed him once, doing it again became easier. Goodbye kisses became useful when photographers were nearby.
Then they happened when nobody was nearby.
A kiss against your temple while you were cooking, a lazy kiss against his shoulder when you were half asleep, a distracted peck before Timo left for morning skate.
Neither of you addressed those either.
Then your apartment started becoming his apartment and his place in New Jersey started containing your things.
At first, it was practical, if people believed you were married, eventually somebody would notice if Timo stayed in a hotel every time he visited you.
So he stayed with you and when you went to New Jersey you stayed with him, you bought shampoo, he cleared a drawer, uou left three sweaters and he complained that you stole his side of the bed. You told him he didn’t have a side because it was technically your bed.
Except somewhere along the way, sharing a bed stopped being part of the performance, you would wake up with his arm around your waist, sometimes your face was tucked into his chest, sometimes Timo slept almost entirely on top of you because apparently an NHL player could occupy ninety percent of a mattress and still claim you were the one taking up space.
You became domestic without noticing.
Timo started making coffee before you woke up, you learned exactly how he liked his eggs. He knew which scripts you were nervous about and you knew when he was frustrated after games before he even said anything.
And then one night, everything tipped over the edge.
There had been wine, not enough to blame anything on but just enough to make both of you stop pretending you weren’t watching each other’s mouths.
You were standing in his kitchen, Timo was leaning against the counter, you had been arguing about something completely stupid.
Then he said “You know we’re terrible at this.”
You frowned “At what?”
“Pretending.”
Your heart stumbled, you forced a laugh “I think we’re pretty convincing.”
“That’s the problem.” You stared at him, Timo pushed away from the counter, he walked toward you slowly “Tell me to stop.”
You didn’t, his hand came up to your face, you whispered “Timo.”
“Tell me.”
Instead, you kissed him.
His mouth stayed on yours as he backed you gently against the kitchen counter. The kiss was slow at first, careful, like he was still giving you every chance to pull away.
You didn’t. Your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up until he helped you pull it over his head. The second it was gone you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him flush against you so your bodies pressed skin to skin.
Timo made a quiet, rough sound against your lips and reached for your shirt. He peeled it off with the same unhurried care, then unhooked your bra and slid the straps down your arms until nothing was left between your chests.
The contact made you shiver. He was warm and solid and already hard against your hip.
You kissed him deeper, and felt his hands settle at your waist. He tugged your underwear to the side, then shoved his own pants and briefs down just far enough.
One hand stayed on your hip, steadying you, while the other guided himself between your thighs.
Instead of pushing in right away, he paused. You felt the thick, blunt head of his cock drag slowly up and down your pussy, coating himself in how wet you already were.
He rubbed the tip against your entrance in lazy, deliberate strokes, teasing, letting you feel just how thick he was before he even tried to enter. Every pass made you shiver harder.
“Timo…” you moaned against his mouth, the sound soft and needy. He kept going, pressing the head just barely against you, then sliding it away again, over and over, until your hips were trying to chase him.
Only when you were trembling and whispering his name again did he finally line up properly. He pushed into you slowly.
“Timo—” you moaned right against his lips as the thick head stretched you open. He went inch by careful inch, giving you time to adjust to the fullness. Your fingers dug into his shoulders.
He stayed there for a moment once he was halfway in, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard “Okay?” he asked, voice low and strained.
You nodded, arms tightening around him. “Yeah… don’t stop.”
He sank the rest of the way in with one long, controlled thrust until he was buried to the hilt. You moaned into his mouth again, the sound broken and soft, feeling every thick inch of him.
He started moving in long, deep strokes. Each thrust pushed a little farther, stretching you open until he was bottoming out every time.
You moaned into his mouth again, the sounds getting higher “Mmm… Timo—ah—”
His lips stayed on yours most of the time, swallowing every quiet sound you made. Every few thrusts he would break the kiss just long enough to dip his head and take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking slowly, tongue circling the peak, before coming back up to claim your lips again.
The dual sensation made your thighs tremble around his hips.
Then his hand slipped lower, sliding into the back of your underwear so his palm could press firmly against your ass. He used the hold to pull you tighter against him with every thrust, forcing himself even deeper, making sure you felt every thick inch.
The new angle made you gasp into his mouth “That’s it,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough but sweet. “Feel how deep I am? You’re taking me so well… fuck, you feel perfect around me.”
Your hands moved to his back, nails dragging lightly over his skin as you scratched him, moaning louder with every deep stroke.
The sound of your moans mixed with the quiet wet noise of him fucking into you “Ah—Timo… deeper—” you whimpered against his mouth, scratching harder when he rolled his hips and ground against you.
He groaned softly and kept the same steady, thorough pace, hand still gripping your ass through your underwear so he could pull you onto him over and over. “I’ve got you, baby. Just like that… take all of me. You’re so wet for me… so good.”
He fucked you deeper, still controlled, still careful, but with more purpose now. The counter edge pressed into the backs of your thighs with every roll of his hips. One hand stayed on your ass, pressing you closer, while the other slid up your bare back to keep you pressed tight against him.
“Ah—Timo… fuck—” you moaned against his mouth when he angled just right and hit that spot inside you. Your nails scraped harder down his back.
He groaned into the kiss and did it again, slower, deeper, grinding against you at the end of every stroke so you felt every inch. Then his mouth left yours once more to latch onto your other breast, sucking hard enough to make you gasp before he returned to kissing you, like he couldn’t stand being away from your lips for more than a few seconds.
“God, the way you sound when I’m this deep,” he whispered against your mouth between kisses, sweet and filthy at the same time. “Keep moaning for me… I want to hear every little noise.”
You clung to him, hands still scratching at his back, moaning into every kiss, the sounds getting higher and more breathless the deeper he went. His pace never turned rough, just steady, thorough, like he was determined to feel every inch of you around his thick cock while holding you as close as possible.
“Timo… I’m—” you whispered against his mouth, voice shaking.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, kissing you harder as his thrusts stayed deep and relentless, hand still pressing your ass to keep you flush against him. “Let go for me, baby. Come on my cock.”
You came with a long, broken moan of his name, body tightening around him while he held you through it, still moving, still kissing you through every wave.
A few strokes later he followed, pressing as deep as he could and staying there, arms locked around you as he groaned your name into your mouth.
Neither of you moved for a long time after.
Eventually he eased out carefully, still holding you steady against the counter, and pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck, then another to your lips.
You stayed like that, bare chests pressed together, breathing each other in, until your heart rates finally settled.
After that, neither of you could pretend the marriage rumor was the only thing tying you together anymore, the strangest part was that nothing felt awkward the next morning.
That should have terrified you. Instead, you woke up with Timo’s arm wrapped around you and your cheek against his chest.
He was already awake, you lifted your head “Hi.”
His mouth curved “Hi.”
You waited for the awkward conversation but it didn’t come, Timo brushed your hair away from your face then he kissed your forehead like he had done it a thousand times.
You settled against him again and that was that. Except technically, you were still supposed to divorce him.
Your teams had always planned an ending, the fake marriage had bought enough time, your reputation had recovered, the original scandal had disappeared from headlines and people liked you again.
Studios had stopped hesitating, you had three new projects, Timo’s team wanted the attention gone before the following season became too busy.
So your publicist scheduled the meeting.
“The statement can say you’ve decided to separate amicably,” she explained.
You and Timo sat across from her, your knee was touching his beneath the table. Neither of you moved it.
“We’ll say you’ve been dealing with things privately for some time.”
You stared at the draft.
After much consideration, Timo and I have decided to end our marriage…
You hated it, not because it was dishonest, almost everything about the situation had been dishonest. You hated it because somewhere along the way, the word marriage had stopped feeling completely fake.
Your publicist looked at you “Y/N?”
You looked at Timo, he looked miserable and suddenly you knew “No.”
Your publicist blinked “No?”
Timo turned toward you, you slid the paper back across the table “We’re not announcing anything.”
She stared “Timo?”
He looked at you for another second, then something softened across his face “No.”
Your lawyer frowned “You understand that eventually people might start asking questions about records. Marriage licenses. Dates.”
“We’ll handle it,” Timo said.
Your publicist looked between you suspiciously “What exactly happened here?” you reached beneath the table, Timo took your hand, neither of you answered.
You eloped three weeks later, actually eloped, no cameras, no magazine exclusive, no enormous celebrity wedding.
Just you and Timo, two witnesses, and a quiet courthouse several hours away where nobody recognized you until after everything was signed.
You wore a simple white dress you had bought two days earlier, Timo wore a dark suit, he looked nervous and that made you smile.
“You’ve been pretending to be my husband for months,” you whispered while you waited.
“Yeah.”
“And now you’re nervous?”
He glanced at you “This one’s real.”
Your expression softened “Good.”
Timo reached for your hand, his thumb brushed over your engagement ring, a real one this time “You sure?”
You smiled “You’re asking now?”
“I can ask again.”
“I’m sure.”
He kissed your knuckles “Okay.”
When the officiant finally pronounced you married, you laughed before Timo even kissed you, his hands came around your waist and your arms wrapped around his neck, when his mouth met yours, you couldn’t stop smiling against him.
Later, walking back toward the car, Timo pulled you against his side “So.”
You looked up “So?”
“Does this mean our anniversary is today or the fake one?”
You burst out laughing “The real one.”
“Good.”
“And we’re never telling anyone there was a fake one.”
Timo considered it “Probably smart.”
“Probably?”
He grinned “Could be funny in twenty years.”
You shoved his shoulder “Absolutely not.”
He caught you around the waist before you could move away and then kissed you again. Months later, when interviewers casually mentioned your marriage, neither of you corrected the timeline.
When magazines wrote anniversary articles, you smiled.
When fans rediscovered the original blurry photograph and called it the picture that had accidentally exposed your secret marriage, Timo sent it to you with a message.
Technically this picture started our marriage.
You replied immediately.
Technically it started our fake marriage.
His response came seconds later.
Worked out pretty well for me.
You smiled at your phone, then another message appeared.
Love you, wife.
And somehow that ridiculous word, the one strangers had given you before either of you had earned it, had become your favorite thing in the world.
hii this is my first time requesting anything so i hope this makes sense.
can you write something for kirill karpizov? something with tooth rotting fluff? maybe kirill had a difficult game and just needs some reassurance and comfort from the reader?
i love your work so so much
You Are Enough
Pairing: Kirill Kaprizov x Reader
Word Count: 2139
Request open!
24 days of Christmas | Hockey Masterlist | Hockey Masterlist II
The apartment is warm in that soft, lived-in way,lamp on, kettle humming, your socked feet padding across the floor. On the coffee table, you’ve already set out the things that make the world gentler: a folded blanket, his favorite mug, the little jar of honey he pretends he doesn’t care about.
You glance at the clock again. Too late. Later than usual.
Your phone lights up with a single text.
Kirill: On way.
No emoji. No extra word. Your chest tightens anyway.
You answer fast.
You: Door’s open. I’m here.
Three minutes later, you hear the familiar click of his key, the quiet scrape of skates-bag straps being readjusted, the heavy exhale like he’s been holding his breath since puck drop.
Then he’s there in the doorway,Kirill Kaprizov, still half in his coat, hair slightly damp, eyes tired in that particular way that only comes after a game that refused to be kind.
He doesn’t look at you right away.
He looks at the floor.
“Hey,” you say softly, like you’re meeting a frightened animal, like any sudden movement might spook him. “Hi, Kirill.”
His mouth twitches in something that tries to be a smile and fails halfway. “Hi.”
The word comes out rough.
You step closer. “Come here?”
Kirill hesitates like the request is a complicated drill. Like he’s not sure where to put himself.
Then he crosses the space between you in two strides and drops into you, forehead pressing into your shoulder. His arms wrap around your waist, tight enough that you feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s still braced for impact.
You fold around him without thinking. One hand slides up to the back of his head, fingertips grazing his hair. The other settles between his shoulder blades.
“There you are,” you whisper.
He makes a sound that isn’t a word,more like a frustrated breath. “Was bad.”
You rock gently, side to side. “It was a hard game.”
“No.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes a little too bright. “I was bad.”
Your heart tugs. You cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing the tired shadows under his eyes. “Hey,” you say, firmer now. “Look at me.”
He does. Reluctant. Like it hurts.
“You are not bad,” you tell him. “You had a difficult night. Those are different things.”
His jaw tightens. “Missed.”
“I know.”
“Should score.”
“I know.”
“Coach look at me like…” He exhales, then shakes his head as if he can fling the memory away. “Like I,”
“Like you’re human?” you finish softly.
He gives you a look that says don’t be funny right now, but there’s no real heat behind it. Just exhaustion.
You press a kiss to his temple. “Come on,” you murmur. “Shoes off. Coat off. Let me take care of you.”
Kirill huffs, almost a laugh but not quite. “You always say.”
“And you always let me,” you say, tugging gently at his sleeves. “Because you secretly like being babied.”
He snorts. “Not secret.”
“Mm. Progress.”
He lets you peel his coat away, then his gloves, then his hat. He stands there in his hoodie and sweatpants, shoulders still up near his ears like he forgot how to put them down.
You guide him to the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s not a professional athlete with a thousand eyes on him every night. Like he’s just your Kirill,your person,who came home carrying too much.
He sits, elbows on his knees, staring at his hands.
You kneel in front of him.
Immediately his eyes flick to yours. “What you doing.”
“Shh,” you say, and take his hands. They’re cold from the air outside, knuckles a little red. You rub warmth into them, thumb tracing the calluses.
He watches you like he doesn’t understand why you’re doing this.
“Talk to me,” you say quietly. “What’s happening in your head right now?”
Kirill swallows. “I see it.” He taps his temple once with a finger. “Every time. The pass, the shot, the…” He makes a helpless gesture, palm opening. “I know what to do and then I do wrong.”
You keep rubbing his hands. “You didn’t do everything wrong.”
He stares at you, unconvinced.
You lean forward and press your forehead to his. “Kirill.”
He breathes in, slow. Breathes out.
“I watched,” you remind him. “I saw you backcheck. I saw you fight for pucks in the corner when you were already exhausted. I saw you make that play in the second that set up the chance.”
“We didn’t score.”
“Not from that play,” you agree. “But you made it possible. You kept trying. Even when it wasn’t going your way.”
His eyes dart away. “Trying not enough.”
You squeeze his hands. “Okay,” you say, gentle but steady. “Then tell me this: if it was one of your teammates, would you call them ‘bad’ for having one tough game?”
Kirill’s lips press into a line. “No.”
“Would you say they don’t deserve comfort?”
“No.”
“Would you tell them they should go home and sit alone with it?”
He looks back at you, expression softening in spite of himself. “No.”
“Then why are you saying all of that to you?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it again. His throat bobs.
“I don’t know,” he admits, voice smaller than before. “Because… is me.”
You nod like that answer makes perfect sense. “Okay. Then I’m going to borrow your logic for you for a minute.”
Kirill’s eyes narrow slightly. “Borrow?”
“Mm-hm.” You lift his hands, kiss each knuckle one by one, slow and deliberate. “You are allowed to have a bad night and still be lovable. You are allowed to be disappointed and still be safe. You are allowed to come home and be held.”
His fingers curl around yours, tightening. Like he’s afraid you’ll take the words back.
“You sure?” he asks quietly, and it makes something ache in your chest because Kirill Kaprizov shouldn’t sound like he needs permission to be cared for.
You smile, soft and unwavering. “I’m very sure.”
He exhales, shoulders finally dropping a fraction. “Okay.”
“Okay,” you echo. “Now, do you want tea, or do you want hot chocolate?”
He considers it like it’s a serious strategic choice. “Both?”
You laugh, delighted. “That’s illegal.”
He shrugs, a little more alive. “I live dangerous.”
“Oh, do you?” You stand and tap his chin. “Stay. Blanket.”
He doesn’t argue. He pulls the blanket over his lap like a child who’s trying to pretend he isn’t comforted by it.
From the kitchen, you call, “Anything else, Your Highness?”
“Maybe…” His voice carries, tentative. “You sit with me?”
Your heart melts into a puddle immediately. “I was going to.”
You make his tea,sweetened just the way he likes, even if he pretends he doesn’t. You bring it back along with a little plate of cut fruit and the last of the cookies you hid in the back of the pantry for emergencies.
When you set everything down, Kirill’s eyebrows lift. “This is… a lot.”
“It’s called hospitality,” you say, sliding onto the couch beside him. “Also called ‘I love you and I know you forget to eat when you’re upset.’”
He looks at the cookies like they might be a trap. “You hide.”
“You’re welcome.”
He takes a sip of tea. His eyes flutter closed for a second, the tension in his face easing just a little.
You tuck yourself into his side, your head resting against his shoulder.
Kirill immediately shifts to pull you closer. His arm comes around you, hand settling at your waist like it belongs there. Like you’re the only thing that makes sense after a game that didn’t.
For a few minutes, you sit in quiet. The kind that isn’t awkward. The kind that’s healing.
Then Kirill murmurs, “I hate when I disappoint.”
You tilt your head up. “Who did you disappoint?”
He frowns. “Team. Fans. You.”
You blink. “Me?”
Kirill looks a little embarrassed, like admitting it is too vulnerable. “You come. You watch. I want… good for you.”
“Oh,” you whisper, and your chest squeezes.
You sit up, turning fully toward him. “Kirill, sweetheart.”
He makes a face at the pet name,mild protest, no real resistance.
“You don’t owe me a goal to earn my love,” you tell him, slow and clear. “I don’t love you because you’re perfect. I love you because you’re you. Even when you’re frustrated. Even when you’re quiet. Even when you come home and think the whole world is heavy.”
His eyes stay on yours, so serious it almost steals your breath.
“You still like me when I’m… grumpy?” he asks.
“Especially when you’re grumpy,” you say immediately.
Kirill squints. “Why.”
“Because then you do this,” you say, reaching up to pinch the little line between his eyebrows. “And you get all dramatic. Like a sad Russian prince.”
He stares at you for half a second.
Then his mouth tugs upward.
It’s small. It’s tired. But it’s real.
“You are making fun,” he says, but his voice is warmer now.
“I am making you smile,” you correct.
He huffs a laugh, finally, and it’s like the room brightens by a degree. “You succeed.”
“Always,” you say, smug, then soften instantly. “Come here.”
You open your arms.
Kirill moves into them without hesitation this time, folding over you. He tucks his face into your neck and breathes you in, a slow inhale like you’re oxygen.
Your fingers comb through his hair.
“I’m proud of you,” you whisper.
He stiffens slightly. “For what.”
“For showing up,” you say. “For trying even when it wasn’t easy. For caring so much. For coming home to me instead of shutting me out.”
His arms tighten. “I always come.”
“I know.” You kiss the side of his head. “And I’m always here.”
His voice is muffled against your skin. “I feel… stupid.”
“You’re not stupid.”
“I should be better.”
You pull back enough to see his face. “You want to know a secret?”
He nods.
“You can want to be better,” you say, brushing your thumb along his cheek, “and still be kind to yourself tonight.”
Kirill looks at you like the concept is foreign. Like kindness is something he gives away easily but never thinks to keep for himself.
“Try,” you encourage gently. “Just for tonight. Let the game be the game. Let you be you.”
He swallows, eyes searching yours. “And you… still want me?”
You don’t laugh at the question, even though it’s sweet and heartbreaking and you want to wrap it in bubble wrap.
Instead, you answer like it’s the simplest truth on earth.
“I want you on your best nights,” you say. “And I want you on your worst nights. I want you when you score and when you don’t. I want you when you feel like the whole world is loud, and you just need somewhere quiet to land.”
Kirill’s breath catches. His lashes lower.
“You are my quiet,” he murmurs.
Your throat tightens. “Yeah?”
He nods once. “Yeah.”
You kiss him,soft, slow, nothing demanding. Just reassurance pressed into his lips. Just warmth.
When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours again.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“For what?”
“For bringing home… bad mood.”
You smile, kissing his nose. “Kirill, you’re allowed to bring home your whole self. Not just the shiny parts.”
He lets out a shaky breath. “You make it easy.”
“That’s the point,” you whisper. “Home should be easy.”
He sits back, finally taking a cookie from the plate. He bites into it, eyes widening a little.
“Good,” he says, mouth full.
“You deserve good,” you tell him.
He chews thoughtfully, then reaches out and tugs you into his lap without warning. You squeak, startled, and his eyes crinkle with a hint of mischief.
“There,” he declares. “Now is best.”
You laugh, hands bracing on his shoulders. “Oh? Is this your recovery plan?”
“Yes,” he says very seriously. “Doctor Kaprizov prescribe: cuddle.”
“Sounds highly scientific,” you tease.
He nods gravely. “Very.”
You cup his face again, thumb smoothing the last of the worry from his brow. “Do you feel a little better?”
Kirill considers, then leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek. “A little.”
“A little is good,” you say.
He kisses your cheek again. Then your jaw. Then the corner of your mouth.
“More?” you ask, smiling.
“More,” he agrees, and his voice is softer now,no sharp edges, no self-criticism. Just him, here, with you.
You settle against him, listening to his heartbeat under your ear. Steady. Real.
Outside, the world keeps spinning,headlines, highlights, numbers and noise.
But in here, under this blanket, with his arms around you, Kirill is just a man who had a hard day and came home to someone who will always, always remind him:
(its been like 5 years since i actually sat down and wrote something but this gif gave me motivation ok bye. plz be nice to me <3)
It was past midnight when you heard the front door open and close. You stayed up waiting for him to finish team meetings and stuff.
He’d told you he’d come over after.
“Hey”
He walks around the couch and drops down beside you taking off his suit jacket.
That's when you notice what he’s wearing, white button up shirt. The top buttons of his shirt undone, chains catching the soft light of the lamp. A bit of his chest showing.
“Hi sweetheart. you waited up for me?”
His voice is tired and rough.
You turn to face him, but you just stare for a second taking him in. You admire him a little too obviously.
He notices and glances at you
“What?”
You snap out of it.
“Nothing”
He lets out a quiet laugh, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees as he rubs a hand over his face.
You watch him again for a second then your eyes start drifting again.
The undone buttons. His gold chains. The way his sleeves are pushed up just enough to see his tattoos peaking out.
Before you can catch yourself
“You look really good”
The words slip out casually.
Slowly he turns his head to look at you
“I look good?” He repeats, a small smirk appearing on his face.
You shrug
“Yeah”
His tired eyes narrow at you just a little, he’s amused now.
“In a suit I’ve been in almost all day?”
“Mhm”
There's a beat.
Then he leans back into the couch, stretching his arm along the back behind you, turning his body slightly toward yours.
“Are you just gonna sit there staring at me all night?” he asks his voice lower now.
You glance at him, pretending not to care.
“Maybe,” you say,, letting your eyes flick down just a little before meeting his again.
He smirks, while moving a little closer to you
“Maybe huh?” his voice low and teasing.
You shrug, sliding a little closer until your shoulder brushes his. Slowly, almost deliberately, you nuzzle into his side, Your fingers find their way into his messy hair, running through it absentmindedly, tugging just enough to make him notice.
He lets out a low hum, clearly enjoying it, and leans slightly closer to you.
.“Could get used to this,” he mumbles.
You tilt your head, fingers still tangled in his hair, gently scratching at his scalp just to see his reaction.
“Yeah? Didn’t think you were the clingy type.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, eyes half-lidded now.
“I’m not.”
You tug lightly at his hair.
“Mhm.”
He lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head a little, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans into your hand more and nuzzles his head more into you.
“Keep that up and I might actually fall asleep right here,” he says
For a moment, it’s quiet. Just you playing with his hair, him relaxing more and more against you, his arm loosely wrapped around your waist.
“I love you.”
It’s casual, almost like he didn’t even think before saying it.
Your fingers pause for a second before you smile, looking at him.
“I love you too.”
He glances at you, something warm and steady in his expression, the teasing fading into something softer.
“C’mon,” he says after a moment, nudging you gently.
You smile, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward your room.
You both move around quietly, the apartment dim and calm as you get ready for bed, brushing your teeth, changing, everything easy and familiar.
When you finally crawl into bed, he doesn’t hesitate. He immediately pulls you closer, arm wrapping around you, pulling you into his chest.
“C’mere,” he mumbles.
You laugh softly but settle into him, your hand finding its way back into his hair without even thinking.
He hums quietly, relaxing almost instantly.
“Goodnight,” you whisper.
“Night sweetheart,” he mumbles, holding you just a little tighter.
within minutes, his breathing evens out, finally asleep, still tucked close to you.
(sorry this is kinda short and boring but whatever)
boyfriend!gabe who … has a very high libido. like it’s almost concerning.
Car sex with Gabe after a good game just because he can’t wait would actually go crazy
or him fucking you quietly late at night in his dorm while Will sleeps bc he can’t wait 😖
NSFW BELOW MDNI not proofread & bad sorry
the bed’s creaking like crazy with every one of gabe’s deep thrusts. he’s hitting that spot—that’s so deep inside of you— that makes you go insane. but you can’t. you have to hold back every single moan, groan and whimper and slap your hand over your mouth before anything can slip out.
why? because will’s right fucking there. he’s just across the room sleeping like normal— for gods sake he doesn’t even know you’re there in the first place.
if you thought your moans and whimpers were bad you should hear gabe. his breath is shaky with every movement in and out of you. he has to bite his lip to draw back his moans. you know he’s trying hard because any other time every person on the dorm floor would’ve heard his cries.
at some point he’d buried his face in your neck because that’s the only way he wouldn’t have woken will up with feel of the clench of your pussy.
“‘m sorry. just needed you— so fuckin’ bad.” he whispers lowly into your ear. it sounds like he’s on the verge of a whimper, on the verge of crying out and signaling out to everyone on that dorm floor what you’re doing at 2:47 AM straight after getting back from a party, gabe unable to wait like always.
“gabe— quiet— will.” trepidation laces your voice, trying your best to whisper it out and not alert the blond no more than 6 feet away from you.
gabe digs in you. his head reaching parts inside you you didn’t know existed. god, he felt ethereal in you, divine. your parts link together like pieces of a puzzle. you can barley even think with his cock stuffing your walls to the brim. he feels too big for you, too much. how you’re not wallowing out in pleasure is beyond you.
gabe traces his teeth across your neck shallowly. you squeal. so loud gabe has to cover your mouth halfway through. if he didn’t will would’ve surely arisen.
gabe can’t even hold back soft little whimpers into your neck as he’s drawn closer to his peak. every twitch, shiver and clench of your pussy making him move closer and closer to it.
you get a very short notice on your orgasm. barley able to prepare or cover your mouth or bite your lip. it’s suddenly just there. apparent. crashing onto you with no mercy. you expect to let out a loud moan, you’re frozen in place and wouldn’t have been able to do anything anyways, but nothing comes out. you’re eyes are rolled back so far you’re not even shocked or confused. everything just feels amazing, heavenly, holy.
you come undone. both at the same time. intensely. passionately. right under wills nose. you slowly come down from your highs, gabe’s cum dribbling out along your sensitive folds.
summary: there is only so much of bratty you that Quinn can take before he teaches you a lesson.
request: yes/no
warnings: mature themes, p in v, swearing, cock riding?
word count: 0.95k
authors note: hello and welcome to the first part of the one shot wonder event! this was so much fun to write, I am not someone who usually writes blurbs let alone smut ones so I really do hope that this is enjoyed by you guys. the idea for this one stuck in my brain for a while so it was about time I got it written out!
This was a sight Quinn swore would have been in his dreams.
Your whimpers echoed off of the walls of your bedroom “fuck baby you could have had such a good night.” Quinn sighed keeping his hands on your hips, making sure that you couldn’t stop your movements.
You sat in nothing more than your Canucks scarf tears stained your cheeks with your lipstick practically gone now. The folds of your pussy wrapped around his cock “please Quinny.” You begged cutting yourself off as he brought his hand up to tug at your scarf “don’t make me out to be the bad guy doll.”Quinn shook his head.
The captain raised his free hand up to smack your ass “ahh.” You whimpered feeling him massage the area of your skin that he had hit.
You had pushed him over the edge that night after particularly rough game. It toppled over the tower of close interactions you had with Cole McWard over the last week. Quinn swore that he was close to killing his younger teammate if you laughed at another stupid thing that came from his lips. But now it was you that felt the brunt of Quinn’s anger.
That’s how you ended up on his cock because after a long ride home where you were dangerously close to pulling his cock out in the car, when your hand edged dangerously close to his upper thigh. Quinn refused to believe that you deserved to be properly fucked, that’s why you weren’t sat with his cock inside of you. You had fucked yourself on his thigh before, in fact it was one of your favourite things when you craved his attention.
But now Quinn sat watching how your folds swallowed his cock, desperately rubbing your clit against his length. It was selfish, even you knew that but god were you loving how the hunger in your stomach felt.
Your eyes screwed shut feeling his cock throb against your clit “shouldn’t even fucking let you cum.” Quinn scoffed as he wrapped his arms around your throat slowly the blood flow to your brain “no!” You yelled shaking your head.
The boy cocked his head “you think that’s the right attitude to get what you want?” He asked squeezing his hand “please Quinny.” You begged almost wondering how coherent words came from your lips.
Quinn smiled, you were on the right track, “please what?” He pushed your buttons now feeling his strength wavering “wanna cum so bad.” You pleaded with a soft sniffle.
Your body jolted feeling the head of his cock brush against your let, his precum spreading against your sensitive bud. His hand forced your hips back down, you weren’t allowed to get off that fast “even after you were such a brat all week?” The captain taunted you, using the hand that stayed around your throat to keep you upright.
You tried everything to rest your head against his shoulder “sorry.” Was all that escaped from your lips “for what?” Quinn chewed at his lip seeing how your slick coated his cock.
It shone like it screamed to actually be fucked, to be given the chance to feel the walls of your cunt stretch to allow his cock in “just wanted your attention.” It was no secret that the Canucks weren’t doing their best, but Quinn was on edge because of it.
Quinn frowned at your words “and you thought that this was the best way to get it?” He shook his head watching you drive your hips with even more desperation now.
You nodded gnawing at the inside of your cheek “please Q.” You begged refusing to let yourself cum into he said you could.
The boy felt his eyes flutter “you promise you’re gonna behave?” The question stuck to your skin like sweat.
You were never going to listen to that, like Quinn shouldn’t have been surprised if he was hoisting your ass over his knee next week “promise.” You nodded watching Quinn bring your face closer to his.
His lips pursed together “open that mouth f’me love.” This was the first time that night he said something with love.
So naturally you clung to it, your jaw went slack as your tongue rolled out. But what you didn’t expect was that Quinn would let a glob of saliva go from his lips. It landed in your tongue and he swore he saw stars watching you pull your tongue into your mouth as you swallowed what he had deposited into your mouth.
A grunt escaped from his lips “make a mess sweet girl.” He cooed sending you a nod. That was all it took for you to drive your hips harder, feeling how the very inch of his cock felt against your clit. You were desperate to fuck him but this was all he said you deserved.
Your eyes screwed shut when your mouth fell open “right there baby.” Quinn grunted taking over as he began to feel his own high coming fast at him.
It was almost pornographic how your moans mixed into each other as they painted the walls. Quinn didn’t know who exactly came first as his cock shot warm sticky ropes against his stomach. Your legs shook as your cunt gushed against his dick, not letting your thrusts stop because it was unclear if it was you or him controlling your pace.
You had barely come down from your high as you kissed at his shoulder “shit!” You groaned feeling his cock thrust into your cunt.
Quinn laughed pressing a kiss against your head “you really thought that you’d get away with all that this easy?” The captain asked, flipping you both over so he could remind you who was really in control.
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
First: Trips in a Minivan
Sloan had been the one to suggest the plan. The 6 of them had been on FaceTime, reviewing the Four Nations schedule and talking about Seth being called up. “It would be so insane if Canada made it to the final,” Leah said, scrolling the Team Sweden roster absentmindedly.
“We should go if they do,” Sloan laughed and everyone slowly went quiet.
“No way,” Lucas said. “We couldn’t.”
“Well, we could,” Noah laughed. “We could steal my parents minivan.”
And that’s how, two weeks later, Leah and 6 idiotic men showed up in Boston after 30 hours in a car to support Seth Jarvis in the Four Nations Championship. They were all exhausted, but nothing could stop them from shrugging on their jerseys, grabbing some drinks and making the trek into the stands to watch Seth and Team Canada in an electrifying final.
“Thanks for coming with us,” Bryan wrapped his arm around Leah’s shoulder. “I know Jarv will be glad you’re here.”
“Shut up,” Leah laughed, shoving his face. “Hell be happy to see all of us.”
“Nah, we know we’ll be chopped liver once he sees you,” Sloan laughed. “You’re the one hold out who almost couldn’t make it.”
“So sorry my finals were inconvenient for your plan,” Leah laughed, all of them locking in as the lights dimmed and the teams made it onto the ice.
90 minutes later, Leah’s voice was raspy, her body was sore, and she was covered in beer as she made her way to the glass with the boys and the rest of the Teams family and supporters. “Absolutely wild,” Lucas laughed as the made it to the glass and watched the trophy make its way around the team.
“I’m so proud,” Leah said, her phone out and snapping pictures like a stage mom. Shortly after, team staff started directing the families to the tunnels in order to greet the players. Leah’s heart was full as she watched the players get wrapped up by wives, parents, children, and in Seth’s case, 6 oversized hyperactive friends.
“So insane dude,” Tremblay said as he rubbed Seth’s head, Bryan patting his shoulders. “You killed it.”
“I can’t believe you guys are here,” Seth laughed, his eyes meeting hers. His smile got softer as he noted the tears in your eyes, nonchalantly shrugging off Lucas’ arms and stepping forward to wrap her in a tight hug. “Thank you.”
“We’re so proud of you,” she whispered into his chest, pulling back to cup his cheeks with a big grin. “Everyone is so happy for you. We called your mom.”
“You’re just-“ he cut himself off, rubbing a hand through his hair and looking around and seeing all the bodies. “You’re amazing. I couldn’t do this without you.” He hesitated for a second, and Leah almost asked him what was the matter before he suddenly leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead before turning and taking the beer Matt was holding.
Second: Olympic Run
Things had blown up after Four Nations. News teams had picked up the story of the hometown friends who drove 30 hours to watch their friend win the Four Nations, and their lives had gotten funny after that as well. Leah had had to make her Instagram private, and the boys had started a funny Instagram to feed into the buzz around them. Seth loved it: he loved that the people who meant so much to him were being recognized for being so supportive and helping keep him sane.
Seth had been totally prepared to get some sun and rest over the Olympic break. He had plans to pop home for a couple days before flying to Cancun, check in with everyone and then get his well deserved vacation on.
And then he got the call: Point was out and Seth was in.
So Seth changed his plan, cancelled his tickets, and called Leah on his way to the airport. “I mean this is obviously a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Seth said as he stared out of the car window, gazing at the landscape passing by.
“But you’re bummed you’re not going to get to reset like you hoped,” Leah said sympathetically from her bed in another country with her macroeconomics textbook laid out in front of her.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “And I’m bummed I won’t get to catch up with you guys too. This season has felt long.” And it had been long: the Canes were performing well which came with more scrunity, and Leah could tell Seth was tired.
“You deserve that rest,” Leah said softly. “But now you get to take your naps in Italy instead of Cancun.”
Six days later, the news outlets were running with the fans outrage that the Jarvis support team wasn’t in Milan yet. Almost the same day, Sloan texted everyone.
Sloan: Air Canada offered to fly us to Italy
Lucas: I’m sorry ?
And somehow, that text ended up with the seven of them rearranging their schedules and taking a last minute flight to Milan to support Team Canada.
“I can’t believe you guys are here,” Seth said as the group of them took advantage of his free time and explored the city.
“We can’t either,” Leah laughed, leaning into his side and linking her arm with his. “Pretty romantic city for me to be in with 7 men.”
“I’m yournumber one though, right?” Seth asked cheekily.
“Don’t worry Jarv we all kno you’re her number one,” Noah shoved the brunette as he walked by them, the group entering a piazza with vendors. Seth noticed immediately when Leah slowed down for a specific art stall, hovering over her shoulder as she conversed with the couple working the stall.
“A piece of art to remember this trip by,” Leah smiled at him sweetly when she turned around with a bag on her arm.
“I don’t need art,” Seth said absentmindedly, watching as the Italian breeze whipped her hair around and she snuggled deeper into her jacket. “There’s no one else I’d rather be here with. I-“
Whatever he was about to say was cut off by Sloan yelling for them. Leah stared at him, clearly waiting for him to finish his sentence, but he just shook his head and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, leading her away.
Three: Sick in Raleigh
Seth thought he was safe. A bunch of guys on the team had picked up a bug that was running through the schools, and Seth had stayed far away. He hated being sick. More than that, he hated being sick when he wasn’t near someone to coddle him. But when he almost keeled over at practice because of the pounding in his sinuses, Brind’Amour had practically shoved him out of the locker room.
“Go home, dose up, and try to be better by the time we leave for the roadie,” the man advised, shaking his head as Seth immediately began whining.
Since his coach wouldn’t sympathize, he called his mom on the way home.
“Seth, you’re old enough to take care of yourself,” she laughed exasperatedly, clearly out and about. “Take some Sudafed or call the team doctor and get a prescription.”
“But I want soup,” he whined.
“You know how Uber Eats works,” she clearly rolled her eyes. “I’ve got to go honey, I’ll call and check on you later.”
Seth sent one word to the group chat. Sick.
Cruel people, all of his friends, because no one responded by the time he set up his sick nest and climbed into bed. He watched two episodes of Abbott Elementary, taking notes so he could discuss his thoughts with Leah who had reccomended it, before there was a knock at his door.
He climbed out of bed slowly, shuffling to the door and huffing in annoyance when he didn’t see anyone through the peep hole. He opened the door and looked down, shocked to see two bags: one from CVS and one from Panera.
He felt like a kid as he unloaded supplies like NyQuil and the nice tissues that wouldn’t hurt his nice, and most importantly: a large tub of Chicken and Wild Rice soup with a side of bread.
Stop whining came the text on his phone, and he immediately FaceTimed the culprit.
“Don’t pout,” Leah said as she answered, propping him up on her desk at home. “I know you. You would’ve stayed sick just to prove a point that you can’t take care of yourself.”
“I would not!” He gasped, getting out his spoon. “Thank you though, seriously.”
“I don’t want you getting on the back foot like you usually do when you get sick during the season,” she looked at him pointedly. “You complain for weeks when that happens.”
“I don’t,” he defended, then looked at his soup. “Ok maybe I do. But I appreciate you taking care of me even from a country away.”
“Of course bub,” Leah looked at him softly through the camera. “Need you healthy to finish the season.”
“I wish you were here. I miss you,” it slipped out before he even realized. “Sorry that was the meds talking I-“
“I wish I was there too,” she cut him off. “I hate thinking about you being alone and if you needed something.”
“Don’t worry, Svech is on call,” he joked. “Can’t compare to you.”
Four: Eastern Conference final
I’m really sorry the text from Leah had read before Seth got to the rink. She was supposed to have been able to fly in for Conference Game 5, which could send the Hurricanes to the Stanley Cup Final. But her boss had an emergency, and all of a sudden Leah was expected to lead a major client presentation in Winnipeg the same day.
Seth knew he was being unreasonably upset. She lived in another country. There was no guarantee this game would be won, there could be two more games. But Seth was more himself when she was in the building. She reminded him that at the end of the day, he was still just Seth to the people he loved, no matter the score.
“You ok?” Sebastian Aho asked as Seth began to get rid of his game day clothes for his gear.
“Leah can’t make it,” Seth said gruffly. Most of the guys knew her, had met her and felt the impact she had on Seth. And most of them knew without words that he was in love with his best friend.
“That sucks,” Sebastian frowned. “I’m sure she wishes she could be here.”
“I know she does,” he shrugged. “Not her fault. Just a bummer.” Seth carried a bit of that chip on his shoulder the whole game. Even as they realized they were about to win, Seth’s smile was dimmed by the fact she couldn’t be here to witness it.
But as he watched his teammates and their families, he still felt some of the love. He had told his parents to stay in for this game, because of the uncertainty. But now he wished he’d told them to come. Even without them, he still basked in the moment, accepting hugs from his teammates and partners and family members.
“Jarvy!” He heard Svech yell while he took a picture for the Staals. “I have delivery for you.”
He turned around and embarrassingly his skate caught an edge as soon as he saw the form next to the smiling Russian.
“Hey,” Leah beamed. She stood there in work clothes, her carry on sitting in the family suite after she barely made it in time for puck drop. “This seems like a big deal.”
“You little shit,” Seth laughed as he quickly shuffled forward and wrapped her up in his arms. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she breathed into his chest. Then she tilted her chin up on his chest to stare at him. “You’re going to the final.”
“You’ll come right?” He asked immediately. “I’ll buy flights, I’ll do whatever. I need you there.”
“I’ll be there,” she smiled softly.
“God you know I’m in l-“
“JARVY!” Jacob Slavin came barreling into them. “Leah! Cmon, beer in the locker room. Let’s go.”
“What were you saying?” Leah asked quietly as Seth helped her across the ice.
“Nothing important.”
+1
“How are you feeling?” Leah asked in a hotel room in Vegas, watching as Seth fiddled with his tie.
“Nervous,” he admitted. “Ready. I don’t know.”
“You’ve played so hard this season,” she came up behind him. “Tonight is just another game. Against a team you know you can beat. You’ve got this.”
“Just another game,” he nodded with a big sigh. “I’m trying hard to beleive that.”
“No matter what, the game doesn’t chance anything,” Leah said, pulling on his arm so he faced her and she could adjust his tie. “You’re still Seth. Still an amazing teammate and leader. A great friend and brother. None of that changes.”
“Just the shiny cup,” he smiled slightly.
“Just the shiny cup,” she agreed, smoothing her hands over his shoulders. “I’m so proud of you Seth.”
“I don’t think I’d be here without you,” he said gruffly. “And the boys too, but you just-“ he cut himself off. “You make me want to be better. To play better.”
“You don’t need to be better,” she said softly. “You just need to be you.”
He smiled, checking his watch and realized the bus was about to leave. “I’ve got to head out. I’ll see you after?”
“No matter what,” Leah nodded as he gathered his bag. He wrapped her in a hug, kissed her head, and headed out of the door. Leah had turned around as the lock clicked, gathering her own bag to go to her room, when the door buzzed open again. “Hey- what’d you forget?”
“You know I’m in love with you?” Seth blurted, halfway through the door. “Like fully in love.”
“Seth what-“ she stared at him wide eyed. “You’re just-“
“If I don’t say it now I never will,” he interrupted her. “I don’t want to keep being a coward. Not today.”
“Seth-“
“I just had to say it,” he stood up straight. “I’ll see you later.” And he walked back out.
“Are you fucking joking?!”
3 hours later, Leah had tears streaming down her face. The boys were squishing her between them, screaming and crying tears of their own as they watched the dog pile on the ice.
“He did it!” Noah cheered as he wrapped his arms around Leah’s shoulders, the group looking for Seth’s parents as they made their way down from the suite. Then there was another round of shouting as they all hugged and his mom wrapped Leah in her arms.
“You’re so much of the reason he’s here,” Tracey said tearfully. “You’ve always been so good for him. I can’t thank you enough.”
“He’s my best friend,” Leah said thickly as she pulled back and wiped her eyes with a smile. “I love him.”
The group made their way to the ice with the rest of the families, and they were quickly surrounded by the large men on skates shouting as the were united with their biggest fans.
“There he is,” Kaden said, watching as his parents beelined to Seth, quickly following and joining their embrace. Leah followed slowly, trying not to fall as the boys surged around her, screaming and piling on Seth. Leah stood back, taking pictures with tears streaming down her cheeks as she saw the emotion on Seth’s face.
After a moment he caught sight of her over Sloans shoulder, pulling back to his full height and skating to her with a nervous smile. “I’m mad at you,” she said through her smile and tears.
“You usually are,” he smirked but Leah could see the nerves in his eyes. “I’m sorry-“
“Shut up,” she cut him off this time. He opened his mouth again but before he could speak, she moved until her sneakers met his skates and wrapped her hand in the front of his jersey and yanked him down until his lips met hers.
Around them, families cried and team mates celebrated the ultimate achievement. But Seth’s family and friends were just happy he had finally gotten the girl.
