You flinch a little from where you’re sitting on the living room floor, surrounded by blocks, plush animals, and a very determined toddler who’s trying to stack three pieces that absolutely do not want to cooperate.
“Careful, baby,” you murmur. “Daddy’s home.”
Heavy footsteps move through the hallway. Quinn doesn’t say anything. No usual Hey or I’m home. Just the sound of keys hitting the counter a little too forcefully, followed by a sharp exhale.
Your son looks up immediately.
“Da?” he says, blinking wide eyes in the direction of the hallway.
“Yes,” you say softly. “Dada’s home.”
The little boy pushes himself up onto wobbly legs, blocks forgotten. He toddles forward with that unsteady confidence toddlers have, arms slightly out for balance.
“Da-da!” he calls louder.
Quinn appears in the doorway, jacket still on, shoulders tense, jaw clenched so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t hurt him.
“Hey, buddy,” he says, voice low.
Your son beams like Quinn hung the moon.
“Da-da!” he repeats, launching himself forward.
Quinn barely has time to react before small hands grab onto his pant leg. He freezes for half a second, then sighs and crouches down.
“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. “Hi.”
Your son reaches up with both hands, grabbing Quinn’s face the way toddlers do,completely ungraceful, thumbs dangerously close to eyeballs.
“Careful,” you warn gently.
Quinn doesn’t stop him.
The boy squishes Quinn’s cheeks between his palms, studying his face with serious concentration.
“Dada,” he says slowly.
Quinn swallows. “Yeah, buddy?”
“Smile.”
The word comes out more like smi’, but it lands like a punch to the chest.
Quinn’s eyes sting immediately. He laughs once, breathless and broken.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
The toddler frowns, clearly unhappy with the lack of smile. He presses his palms harder into Quinn’s cheeks.
“Smile,” he insists again.
You watch as Quinn’s face crumbles just a little.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”
He forces a smile,not perfect, not convincing, but real enough. The toddler lights up.
“Yay!” he cheers, clapping once before immediately losing balance.
Quinn catches him instinctively, pulling him into his chest.
“There we go,” Quinn murmurs, holding him tight. “Got you.”
You stand slowly, arms crossing over your chest, heart aching in that familiar way it does when you see how much they love each other.
Quinn presses his face into the top of your son’s head.
“I had a bad day,” he says quietly, like he’s confessing to a priest.
Your son pats his cheek again, gentle now.
“Bad?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Quinn admits. “Really bad.”
The toddler thinks about this.
“Snack?” he offers.
You laugh softly. “He means you should eat.”
Quinn huffs out a breath. “He’s smarter than me.”
You move closer. “Want to sit?”
Quinn nods and lowers himself onto the couch, settling your son on his lap. The little boy immediately gets comfortable, leaning back against Quinn’s chest like that’s exactly where he belongs.
Quinn stares ahead for a moment, arms wrapped tight around him.
“They made it official today,” he says. “Press conference. Jerseys. Smiles. All that bullshit.”
You sit beside him. “How was it?”
He snorts. “How do you think?”
“They talked about Minnesota like it’s some dream destination,” he continues bitterly. “‘A great opportunity.’ ‘A fresh start.’”
Your son pokes Quinn’s chin.
“Beard,” he announces proudly.
Quinn chuckles despite himself. “Yeah. Beard.”
“I didn’t even get to say goodbye properly,” Quinn says. “To the guys. To the staff. To the city.”
You place a hand on his knee. “I know.”
“They took something from me,” he says. “Something I built.”
Your son wiggles, turning to face Quinn fully. He grabs Quinn’s nose this time.
“Dada sad,” he says matter-of-factly.
Quinn blinks. “Am I that obvious?”
“Sad,” the toddler repeats, nodding.
Quinn exhales, forehead pressing gently against his son’s.
“Yeah,” he admits. “I am.”
The little boy considers this deeply.
Then he leans forward and presses a sloppy kiss to Quinn’s cheek.
It’s wet. It’s messy. It’s perfect.
“There,” the toddler says proudly.
You watch Quinn’s eyes finally spill over.
“Oh,” he breathes, voice breaking. “Okay. That did it.”
He pulls his son into a tight hug, face buried in his hair.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers.
Your son wraps his arms around Quinn’s neck as best as he can.
“Mine,” he says.
Quinn laughs through his tears. “Yeah. Yours.”
You rub Quinn’s back. “We’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”
Quinn looks up at you. “I was so angry on the drive home.”
“I could tell.”
“I wanted to scream,” he admits. “I wanted to punch something.”
Your son pats his chest.
“No punch,” he says seriously.
Quinn smiles. “No punch. Promise.”
You stand and reach for the toddler. “Come on, baby. Let dada breathe for a second.”
Your son protests immediately.
“No! Dada!”
Quinn chuckles and kisses his temple. “I’m okay, buddy.”
He lets you take him, though the toddler keeps one hand stretched toward Quinn like he’s worried he might disappear.
You settle the little boy on your hip.
“Dinner?” you ask Quinn.
“Yeah,” he nods. “I think I need that.”
As you move into the kitchen, your son keeps talking over your shoulder.
“Dada smile,” he says again.
“I’m trying,” Quinn replies, following you. “You’re helping.”
You plate dinner while Quinn leans against the counter, watching you and your son.
“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” he murmurs.
“With us?” you ask.
“With him,” he corrects, smiling softly at your son. “With you.”
You glance at him. “You’re allowed to be angry, you know.”
“I know,” he says. “But then he looks at me like that, and it feels smaller.”
After dinner, Quinn carries your son to bed.
“Story,” the toddler demands.
“Of course,” Quinn says. “What story?”
“Dada.”
Quinn laughs. “That’s not a story.”
“Dada hero,” the toddler insists.
Quinn freezes for half a second, then nods.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Dada hero.”
He tucks your son in, voice gentle as he starts talking about a hero who travels far but always comes home.
When Quinn comes back out, he looks tired,but calmer.
“Thank you,” he says to you.
“For what?”
“For reminding me what matters.”
You step into his arms.
“Anytime,” you say.
From the bedroom, a small voice calls out:
“Dada?”
Quinn answers immediately. “Yeah, buddy?”
“Smile,” the voice says, sleepy now.
Quinn closes his eyes, smiling for real this time.
requested: yes | req: reader and quinn have an older boy (maybe 6 or 7) and a daughter who’s like 3 or 4, and they’re all mic’d up for the playoffs last season when the canucks made it. quinn makes a little penalty box for the kids.
pair: dad!quinn hughes x mom!reader ; quinn hughes x f!reader
genre: pure fluff, family feels, humor
warnings: dangerous levels of adorableness, toddler speech that will destroy you, quinn hughes being the softest husband/dad alive
summary: it’s game 3 of the second round, canucks vs. oilers, and the team decides to mic’d up quinn for a playoff feature. then someone has the brilliant (or insane) idea to wire the kids too. so now you, your seven-year-old hockey genius finn, and your three-year-old hype-girl fiora are live for the entire arena and internet to hear. there’s a homemade penalty box in the family suite made of office chairs and painter’s tape, nonstop commentary from two tiny super-fans who think their dad is basically a superhero, and quinn trying to play elite playoff hockey while melting everytime his babies yell ‘daddy zoom!’ or ‘that’s my dad!.’
fia’s note: this request was originally from my banned user @mattrempeswife. it was already halfway done, so i just copied and pasted it here to post for you guys to read. i hope you enjoy it, truly and of course if anyone wants to yap about hockey, the hughes brothers, will smith, or literally anything at all, you are very much welcome. i mean it, come scream, ramble, cry, laugh, whatever. tbh i’ll talk about anything. oh and, if you guys ever want another part maybe something where quinn finds out you’re pregnant again and this time it’s a girl, just say the word. 🫶
You still can’t believe you let the Canucks social team talk you into this.
“Mic Quinn and the kids,” they said.
“It’ll be the cutest thing we’ve ever posted.”
Quinn had looked at you over breakfast, waiting for you to shut it down. Instead you’d grinned, stolen a piece of his bacon, and said,
“Do it. We’ll need the footage when they’re teenagers and hate us.”
So now here you are, at suite 217, Rogers Arena, Game 3 against Edmonton, and your entire family is live on the jumbotron and the internet forever.
Quinn built the penalty box himself this morning while you were wrangling the kids into their jerseys. He took two rolling chairs, duct-taped a piece of plywood between them, and wrapped the whole thing in blue painter’s tape until it looked almost official. Then he wrote in giant Sharpie ‘HUGHES FAMILY PENALTY BOX – 2 MINUTES FOR BEING TOO CUTE.’
Finn and Fiora are obsessed with it. They’ve been taking turns sitting in it all day like it’s a throne.
Finn is seven going on seventeen, drowning in Quinn’s old road jersey, Fiora is three and a half, wearing a custom jersey that says ‘DADDY 43’ in glitter letters across the back and a blue tutu because ‘I skate pretty, Mama.’ Both of them have little mic packs clipped to their waistbands and tiny earpieces.
The crew tested them during warm-ups and almost cried when Fiora looked dead into the camera and announced, “Hi evwybody! My daddy fast like wocket!”
Now the puck is about to drop and your children are losing their minds.
Finn is bouncing so hard his sneakers squeak on the carpet.
“Mom, when Dad wins the draw I’m yelling so loud the whole country hears me!”
“Whole country?” you laugh, fixing Fiora’s ponytail bow.
Fiora tugs your sleeve. “Mama, I cheer too! I say ‘Go Daddy go!’ and ‘You the best!’ and ‘Skate fast like… like… zoom car!’”
Her little voice is crystal clear on the broadcast feed playing in the corner. Somewhere in the truck, a producer is already sobbing.
Down on the ice, Quinn skates past the glass during warm-ups and taps it twice (your family’s signal). Finn slams both palms against it.
“DAD! WE HAVE MICS! NO BAD WORDS!”
Quinn’s laugh is immediate. He points up at the suite, mouthing ‘Hi babies,’ then taps his own ear to let them know he can hear every word.
The lights drop. Anthem. Finn stands like a soldier, hand over heart. Fiora copies him, but her hand lands on her belly because the jersey is too big. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing on camera.
Puck drops.
First period – 0-0, five minutes in
Quinn steals the puck at his own blue line and takes off. Finn absolutely detonates.
“GO GO GO! LOOK AT DAD’S EDGES! HE’S SO FAST! THAT’S MY DAD!”
You watch Quinn fly, dish it to Petey, park himself for the one-timer. Shot misses, but the crowd loses it anyway.
Fiora claps so hard she topples sideways into the penalty box chair.
“Daddy zoom! Zoom like fast-fast car! Vroom vroom!”
Quinn, circling back to the bench, glances up and does the littlest finger-wave.
You see his mouth move, “Hi baby.”
He leans over to Garland. “Bread, my kids are mic’d up. Everything I say is permanent now.”
Garland howls. “So we’re PG tonight, Huggy?”
“Looks like it,” Quinn laughs, then louder, toward the glass, “Love you guys!”
Finn screams back, “WE LOVE YOU MORE, DAD!”
8:42 left. Vancouver penalty
The ref’s arm goes up. Tripping on Quinn. Finn’s jaw hits the floor.
“NO! That was clean, Mom! That was a clean poke!”
“Super clean,” you agree, scooping Fiora up as Quinn skates to the box.
The door opens. Quinn steps in, then immediately looks straight up at your suite and points at the homemade penalty box.
He mouths, “You too.”
Fiora gasps like she’s been chosen for the Olympics.
“Daddy say me go penalty box!”
She wriggles down, runs the three steps to the taped-together chairs, and climbs in like it’s the most serious job in the world. Finn follows because solidarity.
Split-screen on the jumbotron were Quinn in the real box trying not to laugh, your two kids sitting perfectly straight in office chairs wrapped in painter’s tape.
Fiora folds her hands exactly like Quinn does when he’s annoyed.
“I bad girl,” she said to twenty thousand people.
“Two minutes for… for hug too much.”
Finn snorts so hard he almost falls out.
Quinn drops his head, shoulders shaking. When the camera zooms on him, he points up at them and makes a heart with his gloves.
Penalty killed. Quinn hops out, taps his ear, and you hear him clear as day.
“Thanks for serving my time, team. Daddy owes you ice cream.”
Fiora shrieks, “CHOCOLATE WIT SPINKLES!”
Second period. Canucks up 2-1
The kids are back at the glass. Finn has his little whiteboard and is drawing X’s and O’s like he’s Tocchet. Everytime Quinn hops the boards, Finn holds up a new diagram.
Quinn glances up during a whistle and sees the latest, a stick figure labeled DAD with arrows everywhere and SCORE GOAL in giant letters.
Quinn gives him the biggest thumbs-up known to man.
Petey skates over during TV timeout.
“Your son’s coaching better than Toc already.”
“Don’t let him hear that,” Quinn laughs.
Intermission – suite cam
The host’s voice booms, “We’re here with the Hughes family!”
Finn waves like he was born on camera.
“Hi! My dad’s the best defenseman in the whole world and he’s gonna win the Norris again and he makes the best chocolate-chip pancakes with the little smiley faces!”
The host melts. “And who’s this little princess?”
Fiora steps forward, suddenly shy, clutching her stuffed orca. Then she remembers she’s famous and straightens up.
“Hi. My name Fiora Rose Hughes and I free and a half and my daddy my bestest friend forever and he skate so pretty and I love him big much.”
She spreads her arms as wide as they’ll go. The arena collectively ‘awww’s so loud you feel it in your chest.
Third period – 3-3, four minutes left
The building now is screaming. Finn has both palms and his forehead pressed to the glass. Fiora has given up words and is just chanting ‘Daddy daddy daddy!’ while jumping.
Quinn picks off a pass, head-mans it to Miller, joins the rush, takes the return pass, walks the line, and roofs it top shelf.
GOAL.
The horn, the towels, everything
Finn drops to his knees. “THAT’S MY DAD! THAT’S MY DAD!”
Fiora whips around to you, eyes huge. “Mama! Daddy score! He put the puck in the net! He the best hockey boy ever!”
Quinn skates past the bench, gets the celly hugs, then looks straight up at your suite and taps his heart three times *your family’s silent I love you*.
Final minute – up 4-3, empty net
Quinn blocks a shot with his leg, limps, clears it down ice. Clock hits zero.
The bench empties. Quinn looks up one last time.
Finn is crying happy tears into your shoulder. Fiora cups her hands around her mouth and yells with everything she has:
“DADDY YOU WINNED! I SO PROUD OF YOU! I LOVE YOU TO THE MOON AND ALL THE STARS AND BACK!”
Quinn hears it. You know he does, because he presses his glove over his heart and doesn’t move until his teammates drag him into the pile.
Post-game
Twenty minutes later the suite door opens and there he is hair wet, suit on, limping slightly but smiling so big it hurts your cheeks to look at him.
The kids launch. You’ve never seen two small humans move that fast before.
Quinn drops to one knee, grunts when his leg protests, and catches them both. Fiora’s arms go around his neck so tight he has to gently peel her off.
“Easy, baby girl, Daddy’s leg is ouchie.”
Fiora switches to tiny pats and kisses his knee through the suit pants.
“I kiss it better.”
Finn is talking a mile a minute. “Dad, did you hear me when you scored? I said ‘that’s my dad’ and everyone heard it and your goal was so sick and—”
Quinn just pulls him in, kisses the top of his head.
“I heard every single word, bud. You guys were louder than the horn.”
He looks up at you over their heads, eyes glassy.
“Hi, wife.”
“Hi, hero,” you whisper, crouching down to kiss him.
“Nice snipe.”
“Couldn’t have done it without my loudest fans,” he says, voice rough.
Fiora tugs his tie. “Daddy. Penalty box now? For cewabrate?”
Quinn doesn’t even hesitate. He scoops one kid under each arm and marches them to the ridiculous taped-together chairs.
“Family penalty, two minutes for being the best kids on the planet.”
They climb in like it’s the Cup presentation. Quinn kneels in front of them, holding both tiny hands.
“Thank you for cheering so hard. I felt it every second I was out there.”
Fiora leans forward and kisses his nose.
“I love you, Daddy. You my hero forever and ever.”
Quinn’s eyes go full water. He clears his throat.
“Love you more than anything in the universe. You know that, right?”
Fiora nods solemnly. “To moon and all stars and back.”
“Yeah,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to hers.
“To the moon and all the stars and back.”
You’re crying now too, phone recording because you never want to forget this moment.
Later, when the clip drops, it breaks the internet in twelve minutes flat. The thumbnail is Quinn in the real penalty box pointing at your kids in their fake one. Caption said ‘Best two minutes I ever served.’
You set it as your lock screen, Quinn on his knees in the suite, suit rumpled, both kids in his arms, pure happiness on all three faces.
Some nights when the playoffs get brutal and he comes home quiet and bruised, you play it on the TV.
And every single time, Fiora crawls into his lap and whispers,
“Daddy, we put you penalty box for be too good?”
Quinn kisses her curls and answers, voice thick,
“Yeah, baby. Two minutes for being the luckiest dad in the world.”
summary: yn 'le bastion' yln was an amazing goalie but all good things must come to an end, sometimes sooner than we wish. how's she doing now? we shall see.
reader is canadian but it's mentioned once
a/n: terribly translated french (unfortunately a language i cannot speak). halfway through i may have forgotten that this should be about nate too. whoopsie daisy. grammar errors probably are here. other than that im pretty proud of it - enjoy <3
a/n: pls don't mind the fucked up dates at the start and that it's not really realistic i couldn't be bothered
yn92
yn92 don't you worry pongo and his yn are doing alright
comments
minimackinnon SHE REMEMBERED HER PASSWORD GUYS
cici29 pongo is so big already, he was just a puppy
victoiremont_ the best day ever mother gave a sign of life
goalie4life i thought that was the 2022 gold medal game day
victoiremont_ shush you you will scare her
bastion92 tbh i've always thought yn is like the chaotic cousin who still sits at the kids table
6erikjohnson6 Such a poser
yn92 don't you have a spray tanning session to go to ?
laurastacey7 miss that little sweetie
yn92 thxxx i miss you too
yn92
yn92 auntie yn was left in charge for one day (everyone made it)
comments
goalie4life auntie yn sounds so cute
landeskog.92 what is that on my floor in my house in my kitchen
yn92 that's like... one of your kids ?
cici29 if i were gabe i would be very suspicious of everythingg in the house #captainclutchweremember
yn92 innocent till proven guilty
pou29 you literally put the evidence all over my car
yn92 #false
bastion92 idk who i want to be more
calemakar_ who babysat who
yn92 if i remember correctly (and we both know i do) during one memorable summer evening...
calemakar_ look at that my comment is gone !
yn92
yn92 almost died
comments
cici29 thirst trapping on main yn go get'em
minimackinnon screw nate, yn pick me choose me love me
laurastacey7 everybody knows you missed training with us
yn92 yeah i missed third wheeling so so bad
emmamaltais17 jaw on the flooor
yn92 ;)
victoiremont_ wait wait wait she's training ??? pls tell me you're thinking what i'm thinking
victoire_lphf
victoire_lphf les gardes du bastion
comments
yn92 a blast WITH the past <3
addie YN WE MISS YOU
cici29 oh we are so winning it today with her in the building
goalie4life im SCREAMINGG
victoire_lphf
victoire_lphf Pou is us all after seeing Le Bastion masterclass tonight
comments
pwhl_lover THAT WAS CRAZYYY
cici29 YOU DON'T GET IT GUYS - THE YN YLN ON ICE AGAIN
goalie4life i- how am i- omg
pou29 a pleasure to play with her
yn92 guys it's no biggie - emergency goalie was needed so emergency goalie did her best
minimackinnon "no biggie" IS YOU INSANE
joshmanson42 I am scared of her
calemakar_ knew she was faking it
yn92 shhh don't blow my cover
nsuzuki_37 Craaaaazy
4doby4 👌👌👌
_slafkovsky_ LET'S GOOO
yn92 YEPPPPP
mackinnon29 proud
yn92 a smile would be nice
mackinnon29 ;)
coloradoavalanche
coloradoavalanche first time was so nice he had to do it twice thrice
comments
landeskog.92 bark bark
cici29 BIG DAY FOR ANNOYING PEOPLE
minimackinnon couples who silence the haters tg stay tg
bastion92 give it a rest she won't even comment
yn92 that's what the dogg does
bastion92 oh
minimackinnon yeah "oh" eat shit
yn92
yn92 walk him like a dog
comments
cici29 pause
6erikjohnson6 Just fell to my knees in a tanning salon
minimackinnon no no no
minimackinnon nate is married, yn has a boyf what about my ynnate agenda
minimackinon dont do this to me
hayleyscamurra someone's feeling a lil bold today
yn92 what can i say...
victoire_lphf and yn92
victoire_lphf and yn92 Le Bastion peut désormais se reposer. Le Bastion can rest now.
Yn Yln will be deeply missed from the sport, we will miss her skills, her way of handling the puck and her ability to always be unapologetically herself. Yn joined hockey in the 2016/2017 season and represented Canada on the 2018 and 2022 Olympics. We could always count on her at the World Championships with her last appearance in 2024.
Merci for everything Yn, Montréal will always welcome you with open arms.
comments
yn92 we had a deal admin, no crying
victoire_lphf it is your fault
nhl legend
cp0031 Always fun to watch
canadiensmtl Yn you will be missed
kletang_58 little terror
pou29 will never forget the scared kid who did a cartwheel on her first day
nursey16 finally i will be able to sleep in peace
yn92 we'll see...
calemakar_ calling dibs on yn
4doby4 you can't do that
mackinnon29 the coolest ever
yn92 shhh sid will hear you
mackinnon29 let him
yn92 oh
6erikjohnson6 Welcome in the retired club !
yn92 i am not THAT old
minimackinnon there's a lot to unpack in this comment section
cici29 choose your fighter - i want to be yn on a bike but i'm defo yn "if i can't see you, you can't see me"
yn92
yn92 #retirement #lifeisgood
comments
cici29 she's something else
joshmanson42 tell him to unblock me pls
yn92 he said he now lives a peaceful life
hayleyscamurra what retirement does with people
yn92 someone has to have the legend title, i gladly sacrificed myself for that
mackinnon29 what is the 2nd pic
yn92 you should ask him himself
minimackinnon stop stop stop - it is for sure a nhl player, defo one of the avs as josh and nate do know him
minimackinnon NO WAY ITS CALE HE'S BEEN SUSPICIOUSLY QUIET
bastion92 girl pls seek help
minimackinnon for all this time i've been shipping the wrong people ?????
mackinnon29
mackinnon29 Wifey
comments
yn92 i will kill you
landeskog.92 finally i can fully chirp you
joshmanson42 he unblocked me just for this
minimackinnon FUCK OFF I LOVE MY LIFE I'VE KNEW IT I LOVE IT I AM NOT CRAZY
bastion92 he said everything BUT my wife being shipped with cale
yn92
yn92 the dogg is very very very much cuffed
comments
calemakar_ am i safe now?
mackinnon29 mhm no
yn92 nate we need a godfather
mackinnon92 do we
yn92 cale i have your back don't worry
cici92 A KID? I-
minimackinnon even i didn't think-
yn92 we love you
minimackinnon alr i died
laurastacey7 that was the best secret ever
laurastacey7 will we now have our biggest supporter in person with us?
yn92 the little jerseys are comming in handy now
minimackinnon29 not so little anymore
landeskog.92 my kids demand another playdate
yn92 ask my agent to arrange somethin
mackinnon29 please stop refering to me like that
Hiii, i love your writing first and foremost, and if you don’t mind I’d like to request a Quinn angst to fluff , they have been fighting for a few days and reader does her everything shower so she takes her ring off but then forgets to put it on while she’s for the day , Quinn is in shambles and thinks of the worst , sorry if it’s too long , hope you have a good day :))
What's with you guys and apologising??? NEVER APOLOGISE TO ME!!! I love all the long requests I love the short requests I love all of them!
My first Quinny request! I’m manifesting a goddamn re-signing to the Wild. QUINNESOTA BABY, but for now we have this hehehehehehehe please enjoy this and anon I hope its what you wanted. I couldn’t help but include Bug (aka healthcare! reader) in this, I felt like Quinn would totally want advice from his little sister ya know! You don’t have to read the healthcare! Series to understand this tho.
Word Count: 8194
Warnings: Use of Y/N, AFAB Reader, Angst, Emotional arguments, Relationship conflict, Miscommunication, Feelings of emotional neglect, Hurtful dialogue, Crying, Panic and anxiety, Fear of abandonment, Emotional breakdown, Comfort after conflict
Summary: After days of escalating arguments over Quinn prioritizing hockey and failing to make Y/N feel seen, their relationship reaches a breaking point. Brock, Jack, Luke, and Bug help Quinn realize that Y/N wasn't asking for less hockey, she was asking for more of him. When Quinn mistakenly believes Y/N has left him after finding her engagement ring on the bathroom counter, he breaks down, only to discover she'd simply forgotten to put it back on after her shower.
------------
The front door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the pictures on the wall. Quinn barely had a chance to drop his hockey bag before Y/N was standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed so tightly they almost looked painful.
"Nice of you to finally show up."
His shoulders sank. "...I'm late."
"Three hours."
"I know."
"You said six."
"I got held after practice."
"You couldn't text me?"
"My phone was in the locker room."
She let out a laugh that held absolutely no humor. "Seriously?"
"What?"
"You expect me to believe not one person in that entire building had a phone?"
Quinn sighed. "I wasn't thinking."
"No. You weren't."
"I said I'm sorry."
"You've said that a lot lately."
He frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means every plan we make ends with an apology."
"I can't control practice."
"I'm not asking you to."
"Then what are you asking?"
She pointed toward the dining room where dinner still sat untouched on the table. "I spent two hours making your favorite meal, I lit candles, I bought your favorite dessert, and I sat here like an idiot waiting for you because I actually believed you'd be home this time."
His patience snapped a little. "I told you practice ran long."
"No, Quinn. You told me three hours after you were supposed to be here."
"I was busy!"
"And I wasn't?"
He stared at her. "You think I was out having fun?"
"I think I wasn't important enough to get thirty seconds of your time."
His jaw clenched. "You know that's not true."
"Do I? Because lately it feels like hockey gets every piece of you that's worth having."
His eyes narrowed. "Of course."
"What does that mean?"
"You always do this."
"I do what exactly?"
"You make me feel guilty for playing hockey."
"I have never asked you to stop playing."
"You don't have to."
She stared at him in disbelief. "Are you even listening to me?"
"I hear you."
"No, you're hearing whatever lets you be the victim."
His eyebrows shot up. "The victim?"
"You disappear for hours without a word, and somehow I'm the bad guy because I tell you it hurts."
"I work my ass off every single day!"
"And I support you every single day!"
"You have no clue what the pressure is like!"
"And you have no clue what it's like loving someone who makes you feel like you're always waiting!"
"I don't make you wait!"
"You left me sitting at that table for THREE HOURS!"
"I DIDN'T HAVE A CHOICE!"
"You always have a choice!"
"I CAN'T JUST WALK OUT OF PRACTICE!"
"I'm talking about ONE TEXT!"
"I SAID I WAS SORRY!"
"Sorry doesn't fix everything, Quinn!"
"It should count for something!"
"It doesn't when it's every single week!"
The apartment fell silent for half a second. Quinn's chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. "So what?" he said bitterly. "You want a boyfriend with a nine-to-five?"
She blinked. "What?"
"Someone who's home every night at five? Someone who never travels? Go find one."
Her face crumpled. "You really think that's what this is about?"
"I don't know anymore!"
"No." She shook her head slowly. "You don't."
He laughed, but it sounded broken. "I've given everything I have to get where I am."
"And I've never asked you not to!"
"Then stop acting like hockey is ruining your life!"
She stared at him. "I didn't say hockey ruined my life."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying..." Her voice cracked. "...I'm starting to wonder if there's even room for me in yours."
The words landed like a punch. Quinn looked genuinely hurt. "That's bullshit."
Tears filled her eyes. "...Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"I've built my entire life around supporting you."
"I never asked you to."
Her expression changed. Not angry anymore. Devastated. "You... never asked me to?"
"I mean–"
"No." She took a step back. "No, don't."
"I didn't mean it like–"
"You didn't ask me to move here?"
"Y/N–"
"You didn't ask me to leave my family?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't ask me to plan every holiday around your schedule?"
"Stop twisting my words."
"I'm twisting them?" She laughed through her tears. "I've spent years making sure your dreams came true because I love you."
"I know that."
"And the first time I tell you I miss you..." She swallowed hard. "...you make me feel like I'm some burden you dragged along."
"That's not what I said."
"It's exactly what you said."
He raked both hands through his hair. "I can't do this."
"No." She nodded. "I don't think you can." She turned and started toward the stairs.
"Where are you going?"
"Away from this conversation."
"Y/N."
She didn't stop.
"Y/N!"
She spun around halfway up the staircase. "What?!"
"I am trying!"
"So am I!"
"I'M DOING THE BEST I CAN!"
"So am I!"
"I CAN'T SPLIT MYSELF IN HALF!"
"I'M NOT ASKING YOU TO!"
"THEN WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"
She looked at him for several seconds. When she finally answered, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to feel like you'd miss me as much as I miss you."
Quinn's face fell.
She wiped at her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, his that she stole. "I'm done talking."
She turned and hurried upstairs. A second later the bedroom door slammed hard enough to shake the hallway walls.
Quinn stood frozen in the living room. His breathing slowed. The adrenaline faded, and all that was left was the sickening realization of everything he'd just said.
He stared at the staircase. "...I didn't mean that."
Upstairs, Y/N slid down the bedroom door onto the floor, burying her face in her knees as sobs finally overtook her, and for the first time she wondered if love was enough when two people were hurting each other this badly.
----
The next afternoon wasn't supposed to become another fight. It started with a phone call. Y/N had just gotten home from running errands when Quinn walked into the living room with his phone pressed to his ear.
"...Yeah, that's fine." He listened for a moment. "No, I'll make it work." Another pause. "Tomorrow morning? Yeah." He hung up.
Y/N looked up from the couch. "What's tomorrow morning?"
Quinn dropped his keys on the table. "The team moved our charity event."
"The one we were supposed to go to together?"
"Yeah."
She smiled a little. "Okay. What time?"
He hesitated. "...You don't have to come."
The smile disappeared. "What?"
"It's just... with everything going on..."
"What does that mean?"
"I just figured maybe you'd rather stay home."
She stared at him. "You figured?"
"I was trying to make things easier."
"For who?"
"For both of us."
Her laugh was short and sharp. "That's funny."
"What's funny?"
"You keep making decisions for me and saying it’s better that way."
"I'm not making decisions for you."
"You literally just decided I wasn't coming."
"I didn't say you couldn't."
"You said I didn't have to."
"Because I thought maybe you wouldn't want to."
"You thought wrong."
He sighed. "Can we not do this again?"
Her jaw tightened. "'Again?'"
"Every conversation turns into this."
"No, Quinn. Every conversation turns into you assuming you know what I want."
"I know you."
"You clearly don't."
He rubbed a hand over his face. "I was trying to give you space."
"I didn't ask for space."
"You barely talked to me all morning."
"Because every time I look at you, I hear what you said."
His shoulders slumped. "I apologized."
"And that magically fixes it?"
"No."
"Then stop acting like it should."
"I'm trying to move forward." His frustration finally bubbled over. "So what, Y/N? How long am I supposed to keep paying for one bad night?"
Her mouth fell open. "...Paying for it?"
"You know what I mean."
"No, explain it."
"I apologized!"
"And?"
"I've owned what I said!"
"And?"
"What else do you want from me?"
She stood. "I want you to stop acting like your apology erased what you said."
"It should count for something!"
"It does!"
"Then why does it feel like nothing I do is enough?"
She looked at him, tears already gathering. "Because you're still trying to fix my feelings instead of understanding them. You’re not listening to me, Quinn"
"I do understand them! I’ve been listening the entire time! I just don’t know what you want from me!"
"No, you’re not. You listen enough to understand your guilt."
He froze. "What?"
"You hate feeling guilty."
"That's not fair."
"So you keep trying to rush me into forgiving you because then you don't have to sit with what happened."
His expression hardened. "That's not why."
"Then why are you so desperate for me to act normal?"
"Because I miss my fiancée!"
"So do I!"
Silence. The words hung between them.
Quinn looked like she'd hit him. "What does that mean?"
"It means I don't recognize us anymore."
"You think I do?"
"I think every time things get uncomfortable, you try to solve the problem instead of talking through it."
"So I'm the bad guy for wanting us to be okay?"
"No!"
"Then what?"
She threw her hands into the air. "You don't listen!"
"I AM LISTENING!"
"NO, YOU'RE WAITING FOR YOUR TURN TO TALK!"
His voice rose to match hers. "I'M TRYING TO HAVE A CONVERSATION!"
"THIS ISN'T A CONVERSATION!"
"THEN WHAT IS IT?"
"IT'S ME BEGGING YOU TO HEAR ME!"
"I HEAR YOU!"
"NO!" Her voice cracked. "You hear words! You don't hear me!"
Quinn laughed bitterly. "You know what? Fine."
She stared at him. "What does that mean?"
"It means I'm done defending myself."
"I didn't ask you to defend yourself!"
"It sure feels like you did."
"I'm asking you to care!"
"I DO CARE!"
"Then why do I feel so alone?"
His chest tightened. "Because you keep pushing me away."
She looked at him in disbelief. "I'm pushing you away?"
"You won't let me hug you, won't let me kiss you, you barely even look at me!"
"Quinn, you fucking hurt me."
"And what about me?"
The apartment went silent. Y/N blinked. "What about you?"
"I'm hurting too!"
"You think I don't know that?"
"No, I don't think you do."
She took a slow step toward him. "I have spent the last two days worrying that I somehow wasn't enough for the man I love."
"And I've spent the last two days wondering if you're halfway out the door."
She shook her head. "Do you hear yourself? I’m fucking terrified, Quinn."
"So am I."
"You don't act like it." She laughed, wiping tears from her face. "What exactly do you want me to do, Quinn?"
"I want you to fight for us."
Her expression shattered. "I HAVE BEEN!" Her voice echoed through the apartment. "I left my family, moved here, built my life here! I've loved you through road trips, injuries, bad games, trades, everything! I have never stopped fighting for us!" She pointed at her own chest. "But right now..." Her voice became dangerously quiet. "...I'm fighting you."
Quinn's anger vanished. "Y/N..."
"No." She grabbed her purse from the chair. "I can't keep screaming at the person I love." She walked toward the front door.
"Y/N, don't leave."
She didn't stop. "I need air."
"Please."
She paused with her hand on the doorknob. Without turning around, she whispered, "I miss us." Then she walked out, closing the door behind her.
This time, Quinn stood in the middle of the apartment, surrounded by words neither of them had meant to say, and the growing fear that every fight was pushing them a little farther apart.
----
Quinn couldn’t stay home. Not after watching Y/N walk out the front door with tears streaming down her face. Instead, he'd driven aimlessly for nearly an hour before ending up in Brock's driveway.
He sat in his car for another ten minutes, staring blankly through the windshield. When Brock opened the front door after Quinn's half-hearted knock, one look at him was enough.
"...Jesus."
Quinn looked exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot. He hadn't shaved. His hoodie was wrinkled from sleeping in it.
"You look like shit."
"I know."
Brock stepped aside. "Get in here."
---
Quinn sat on Brock's couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor while Brock set two beers on the coffee table. Neither of them touched them.
"So." Brock leaned back. "What happened?"
Quinn let out a long breath. "We've been fighting."
"I figured."
"For days."
"About?"
Quinn laughed bitterly. "Everything."
He told Brock about the missed dinner. The arguments. The things he'd said. The things she'd said. How every conversation somehow became another fight.
When he finally finished, Brock sat quietly for a few seconds. "You are such an idiot."
Quinn looked up. "...Thanks."
"No, seriously." Brock pointed at him. "You're a moron."
"I already know that."
"I don't think you do."
Quinn frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Brock sighed. "Remember two days ago?"
Quinn looked confused.
"At the rink."
"When?"
"We all had that hour between meetings."
Quinn's face stayed blank.
"Bolds texted his girl." Brock pointed toward himself. "I texted Sunny. Hell half the room was texting their wives, girlfriends, fiancées..." His eyebrows lifted. "And Matt looked over at you."
Quinn slowly remembered. "...Yeah."
Brock nodded. "He asked, 'You gonna text Y/N?'"
Quinn closed his eyes. "...Yeah."
"You know what you said?"
"No."
Brock shook his head. "You said, 'Nah. She'll be fine.'"
Quinn's stomach dropped.
Brock continued. "And Bolds looked at you and said, 'Dude... just text her.'"
"Goddammit."
"You laughed." Brock stared at him. "You laughed and said she'd understand."
Quinn buried his face in his hands. "...Fuck."
"And both of us told you to send the damn text."
"I know."
"So why didn’t you text her?” Brock's voice was firmer. "You keep talking about these fights like they came out of nowhere."
"They didn't?"
"No." Brock leaned forward. "They started because she's been trying to tell you something for a long time."
Quinn swallowed.
"She misses you."
"I know."
"No." Brock shook his head again. "You heard what she said, You didn't listen."
Quinn stared at the floor. “That’s what Y/N said.”
Brock ignored him. "You know what every single fight you described had in common?"
"What?"
"She wasn't asking you to quit hockey. She wasn't asking for less hockey. She was asking for more Quinn, and every single time..." Brock sighed. "you acted like she was telling you to quit hockey."
"I wasn't trying to."
"I know you weren't, but that's what you did."
Quinn rubbed both hands over his face. "I just– I felt attacked."
"I know." Brock nodded. "And your feelings matter."
Quinn looked up hopefully.
"But."
That one word made his stomach sink.
"You don't get to invalidate hers because yours are hurt too. You kept saying, 'I'm hurting too.'"
"Because I was."
"I believe you." Brock's voice softened. "But when your fiancée tells you she's been feeling lonely for months..." He held Quinn's gaze. "...that's not the moment to make sure she knows you're hurting."
Quinn looked away. "...Yeah."
"That's the moment to hear that the woman you love is telling you you’re hurting her." Brock continued. "Think about what she actually said."
"'I miss you. 'I miss my best friend. I just wanted one text. I want to feel like I matter.'" He spread his hands. "Those aren't attacks."
Quinn's throat tightened. "I thought she was asking me to choose."
"That's because you got defensive."
"I know."
"You were so busy saying you love her," Brock's voice became gentler. "that you never actually showed her."
Quinn blinked rapidly. "I thought saying I was doing my best..."
"...would make her feel better?"
Quinn nodded.
Brock sighed. "It probably made her feel guilty."
Quinn froze. "What?"
"You basically told her, 'I'm already giving everything I have.'" He looked Quinn dead in the eye. "How's she supposed to ask for anything after hearing that?"
Quinn felt sick. He'd never thought about it like that.
Brock wasn't finished. "And then..." He winced. "You said probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."
Quinn whispered, "'I never asked you to.'"
Brock nodded slowly. "Yeah, that."
"I didn't mean–"
"I know you didn't, but she can never unhear that."
Quinn's eyes burned. "I know."
Brock leaned closer. "If my girlfriend moved across the continent for me, rearranged her whole life because she believed in us, sat home making my favorite dinner while I forgot to send one text." He shook his head. "And then I told her I never asked her to do all that?" He let out a slow breath. "I'd expect her to wonder if any of it mattered."
Quinn couldn't breathe. His chest physically hurt. He remembered her face. The exact moment she'd gone from angry to devastated.
"I did that."
"You did."
Tears filled Quinn's eyes. "I made her feel like an afterthought."
Brock nodded once. "I think she's been feeling like one for a while."
The words broke something inside him. Every late practice, missed dinner, forgotten text, every "I'll make it up to you." Every promise he'd genuinely meant, and failed to keep.
He covered his face with both hands. "Oh my God..." His voice cracked. "I'm the reason she thinks she comes second."
Brock didn't sugarcoat it. "Yeah."
Quinn cried quietly into his hands. "I love her so much."
"I know you do."
"I was trying so hard..."
"I know, but loving someone isn't the same as making them feel loved."
Quinn sat there, shoulders shaking. "I've been such a fucking moron."
Brock reached over and squeezed the back of his neck. "Yeah, but you're not beyond fixing it."
Quinn looked up, eyes red. "How?"
Brock gave him a look. "You stop trying to prove you're right, stop keeping score over who's hurting more, and for the love of God." He pointed toward Quinn's pocket where his phone sat. "Next time send the damn text."
Quinn pulled his phone out. The screen lit up with a picture of him and Y/N on the beach, both of them laughing at something outside the frame. His thumb hovered over her name.
Then he looked at Brock. "...What do I even say?"
Brock smiled sadly. "Tell her you finally understand how hurt she's been.”
----
The house was quiet when Quinn walked in.
"Y/N?"
No answer.
He tried again, louder. "Y/N?"
"I'm upstairs." Her voice was emotionless.
That scared him more than if she'd been yelling. He climbed the stairs two at a time. The bedroom door was open. Y/N was sitting on the edge of the bed, absently folding one of Quinn's sweatshirts. She didn't look at him when he stepped into the room.
He took a shaky breath. "...Can we talk?"
"No."
"Y/N, please."
"No."
"I just need five minutes."
"No."
He stepped farther into the room. "I went to Brock's today."
"I don't care."
"He made me realize–"
"I said I don't care."
Quinn stopped. She still hadn't looked at him.
"I know I've hurt you."
"I don't want to hear it."
"I wasn't listening."
"I know."
"I finally understand–"
"No." She put the sweatshirt down and finally met his eyes. "You don't get to do this."
His heart sank. "...Do what?"
"You don't get to disappear all day, figure everything out with Brock, come home, and dump it all on me because now you're ready."
"Y/N–"
"No." Her voice cracked. "I'm not doing it."
"I'm not asking you to forgive me. I just want you to hear–"
"I DON'T."
The words echoed off the bedroom walls.
She stood so quickly the bed frame rattled. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say."
His face fell. "...Please."
"No."
"I finally understand."
"I don't care."
"I know why you're hurting."
"I don't want to hear it."
"I know I made you feel like an afterthought."
"I SAID I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!" Tears spilled down her cheeks. "You don't get to make me cry again."
Quinn froze.
She was shaking. "You know what's going to happen if I let you keep talking?" Her breathing hitched. "You're going to apologize. You'll cry, tell me you love me, tell me you didn't mean it, and because I love you.” Her voice broke. "I'm going to forgive you."
His chest tightened painfully. "Y/N..."
"No." She wiped angrily at her tears. "I have spent days questioning whether I matter to you. I'm finally starting to feel angry instead of just sad. I need that right now. I need to be angry." She laughed bitterly through the tears.
He whispered her name again.
She shook her head. "I'm protecting myself. I know you finally figured it out, and I'm glad, but I can't be the person who makes you feel better about hurting me."
Those words knocked the air from his lungs. "I don't want you to make me feel better."
"I don't care." She pointed toward the hallway. "Leave."
His eyes widened. "...What?"
"Leave."
"Y/N, please."
"Leave."
"I'm begging you."
"And I begged you to hear me."
He couldn't argue with that.
She pointed at the door again. "I'm serious. I don't want to hear another apology, another explanation, another promise, another 'I didn't mean it, another 'I'm trying. I don't want another word."
He stood frozen. His eyes were full of tears. "I love you."
She squeezed her eyes shut. "I know and I love you, but please leave before you make this harder."
He didn't move.
"If you love me..." Her voice was barely audible. "...respect the one thing I'm asking you to do."
His shoulders slumped. Slowly, he nodded. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door, but when he reached it, he hesitated for just a second. Then he stepped into the hallway. The bedroom door closed behind him with a quiet click.
Quinn stood outside staring at the white painted wood. His forehead rested against it.
On the other side, Y/N slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor. The second she heard his footsteps disappear down the hallway, she buried her face in her arms and sobbed.
---
Saturday morning. Y/N sighed as she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror.
"I need an everything shower."
Maybe she'd feel more like herself afterward. She twisted the engagement ring off her finger before turning on the water. It had become routine months ago. The ring always came off before washing her hair. She'd place it in the same little ceramic dish on the bathroom counter, shower, dry off, finish her skincare, then slide it back on.
Always.
Steam filled the room as she spent nearly an hour washing her hair, exfoliating, shaving, using every expensive product she'd convinced herself was necessary. She finally felt relaxed.
Afterward she wrapped herself in a fluffy towel, blow-dried her hair, put on lotion, did her makeup, and started thinking about the errands she needed to run.
Groceries. Dry cleaner. Picking up Quinn's suit from alterations. The florist she'd promised she'd stop at.
Her phone buzzed.
Her best friend. "You still coming?"
Y/N glanced at the clock. "Oh, crap."
She hurried into the bedroom to get dressed. Jeans. Sweater. Sneakers. Perfume. Purse. Keys. Coffee. She kissed the top of Bear's head as the dog wagged his tail excitedly.
"I'm only gonna be gone a couple hours." She walked past the bathroom without another glance, and the little diamond ring sat forgotten on the counter.
---
Quinn got home about twenty minutes after she left. Practice had been miserable. He hadn't been able to focus for more than thirty seconds at a time. Every drill had felt off. Every whistle had made him jump. Even his teammates had noticed something wasn't right, but he'd brushed them off with a weak, "Just tired."
He wasn't tired. He was scared. The argument from yesterday morning kept replaying over and over.
Y/N's voice. "I'm scared we'll say something we can't take back." The look on her face when she'd walked out the front door. The way she'd barely looked at him.
He'd convinced himself the space would help. Maybe she'd cool off. Maybe he'd come home, they'd finally sit down, and he'd tell her everything Brock had said. Tell her he understood now. Tell her he was going to be better.
He just needed one chance. He unlocked the front door. The apartment was silent.
He kicked off his shoes and tossed his keys into the bowl by the door before rubbing both hands over his face.
"Baby?"
Nothing. He looked toward the living room. Blanket folded. TV off. No music playing. No Bear greeting him. No Y/N humming while cooking.
His stomach twisted.
Maybe she'd gone to the store or to get coffee. Maybe she'd just needed more time.
Part of him was relieved he'd have a few minutes to gather his thoughts before she came home.
He wandered toward the bathroom to wash his hands. As he pushed the door open he froze.
The ring. Her engagement ring was sitting in the middle of the bathroom counter. Not tucked safely inside the little ceramic dish she always used. Not beside her moisturizer. Not next to her makeup brushes.
It was centered. Like it had been placed there intentionally.
Quinn stopped breathing. "No..." His voice barely existed. His eyes refused to leave the diamond. "No..."
The room suddenly felt too small and far too hot. His heartbeat pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else.
Slowly he reached for it. The ring settled into his palm it felt impossibly heavy.
His knees almost gave out. "No..." His breathing became uneven. "No, no, no..." He looked around the bathroom desperately.
Maybe there was a note. Maybe she'd left something explaining– Nothing. His stomach dropped so violently he had to brace himself against the counter.
Every horrible possibility he'd spent days trying to ignore slammed into him all at once.
She was done. She'd finally reached her limit. The missed dinners, road trips, forgotten texts, broken promises. He'd pushed too far.
He stumbled backward into the hallway wall. His chest tightened so sharply it almost hurt to inhale.
His phone. He yanked it from his pocket.
No texts. No missed calls. Nothing from her.
He opened her location. Across town. Not moving.
His mind filled in the blanks before logic ever had a chance.
She's with someone, telling them, and figuring out how to leave. She left the ring so I would understand before she had to say it out loud.
His hands started shaking so badly he almost dropped it. He sank onto the edge of their bed, staring at the diamond resting against his palm.
The memories came all at once. Standing in front of her dad asking permission. The jeweler sliding the ring across the glass counter. Second-guessing every tiny detail because he wanted it to be perfect. The proposal. Her tackling him into the flowers because she'd been too shocked to speak.
The tears. The laughter. The way she'd stared at the ring like it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
"I'm never taking it off." She'd laughed. "Unless I'm showering."
His eyes squeezed shut. "I screwed everything up." His voice cracked.
Every fight replayed in painful detail. Every sarcastic response, defensive comment. Every time she'd simply wanted him to hear her, and he'd heard criticism instead.
His throat tightened until swallowing hurt.
He looked down at the ring again. "I'm so sorry."
He'd played through broken fingers, separated shoulders, concussions, deep bruises that covered half his body, but none of them compared to this.
He clutched the ring tighter. "I'm so sorry..." His vision blurred.
Without thinking, he hit Jack's contact.
The phone rang twice.
"What's up?" Jack sounded distracted.
Quinn couldn't get the words out. "Jack..."
Jack went quiet. "...Quinn?"
"I..." His breathing hitched. "I think..."
"What happened?"
"I think she left me."
Silence.
"What?"
"The ring."
"My ring?"
"No... her ring."
"It was on the bathroom counter."
Jack sat up wherever he was. "...What?"
"She left it there. She won't answer me and she's across town. We've been fighting, and I found the ring." His words were tumbling over each other. "I think she's leaving."
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hang on. What happened?"
Quinn told him everything.
Jack was quiet. "...Man." Jack sighed. "You really fucked up."
Quinn's shoulders fell. "I know."
"No.” Jack shook his head. "I mean..." He let out a long breath. "Luke and Bug have had some pretty nasty fights, said dumb shit, slammed doors, gone to bed angry, but Jesus, dude."
Quinn shut his eyes. "I know."
Jack's voice softened just slightly. "You made your fiancée feel like she was second place."
"I KNOW.” Quinn covered his face.
"You don't reassure someone they're loved by explaining why they shouldn't feel lonely." Jack sighed. "I love you, man, but you were an idiot."
Quinn nodded weakly. "...Yeah." Finally Quinn muttered, "I should've known better than to call you."
Jack snorted despite himself. "Probably."
"Can you..." Quinn swallowed. "...Can you put Bug on?"
Jack frowned. "What?"
"I need to talk to her."
Jack sighed and pushed himself off the couch. "Hold on." Quinn could hear him walking through the house. "Bugs!"
A muffled voice floated down the hallway. "What?"
"Quinn wants to talk to you."
There was a beat of silence. Then another voice, much closer this time. "...Why does Quinn need to talk to my girlfriend about his relationship problems?"
Luke.
Jack snorted. "Because apparently I'm too mean."
Luke appeared to have wandered into whatever room Jack was in because his voice became clearer. "Absolutely not."
Quinn closed his eyes. "...Luke."
"No." Luke didn't even let him continue. "I finally have a day off and I'm trying to smother my girlfriend. We have plans! We were gonna order food, watch movies, and I wasn't planning on letting her leave my arms until tomorrow."
Jack laughed. "I can unfortunately confirm that's exactly what he's been doing all morning."
"I got up to get water," Bug called from somewhere in the background. "He followed me."
"I wasn't following you." Luke sounded offended. "You walked away from me so I corrected the situation."
Jack made a face. "See? I told you."
Luke ignored him. "So why exactly are you interrupting my quality cuddling time?"
Quinn sighed. "...I need Bug."
Luke groaned dramatically. "I don't like the sound of that."
Jack crossed his arms. "You really don't."
Luke's joking tone faded. "...What happened?"
Jack looked toward him. "He thinks Y/N left him."
Luke's expression changed instantly. "What?"
"He found her ring on the bathroom counter."
Luke stared for a second. "...Oh."
Jack nodded once. "And after everything he told me..."
Luke let out a slow breath. "...Yikes."
Quinn buried his face in one hand. "Thanks."
Luke rubbed the back of his neck. "...Dude."
Quinn let out a defeated laugh. "I know."
Luke sighed and glanced toward the hallway. "Bugs?"
She rounded the corner, already suspicious. "What?"
Luke wrapped an arm around her waist the second she got close, pulling her against his side.
She looked at the phone. "Is that Quinn?"
Jack nodded. "He wants to talk to you."
She frowned. "Why?"
Luke answered for him. "Because apparently my brother made some really stupid decisions."
Bug's expression immediately fell. "Oh..."
Luke kissed the top of her head before handing her the phone. "Be nice."
She looked up at him. "I'm not gonna yell."
"I know." He smiled sadly. "I think disappointed might actually be worse."
Bug took the phone. "...Hi, Quinn." Her voice was soft.
He tried to answer, but othing came out.
"Quinn?"
His breathing hitched. "I..." His voice cracked so badly he had to stop.
Bug waited. She could hear him trying to breathe through tears on the other end of the line. "Quinn?"
"I think..." He swallowed hard. "I think I ruined everything." The words dissolved into a sob.
Bug's heart sank. She glanced up at Luke, who was already watching her with concern. He quietly rubbed a hand up and down her back before walking Jack into the kitchen to give them some privacy.
Bug lowered herself onto the couch. "Hey..." Her voice became even gentler. "Take a breath for me."
"I'm trying."
"I know."
"I really..." Another shaky inhale. "I really fucked this up, Bug."
She stayed quiet, letting him talk.
"I love her so much."
"I know you do."
"I didn't..." He sniffled loudly. "I didn't know she felt like that." Another sob escaped him. "I thought..." He laughed bitterly through his tears. "I thought we were just fighting."
Bug closed her eyes. "Oh, Quinn..."
"I didn't know she felt alone. I didn't know she stopped asking because she thought she'd make me feel guilty." His breathing became uneven again. "I would've answered every text. I would've left practice for five seconds if I'd known. I would've–" His voice broke completely. "I would've done anything."
"I know."
"I just..." He looked down at the engagement ring still sitting in his palm. "I looked at this thing every day. I looked at her, and I still missed how unhappy she was."
Bug felt tears prick her own eyes. "Quinn..."
"I don't deserve her." He laughed without humor. "I made the person I love feel like she was second. I made her think she wasn't worth thirty seconds of my time." His voice cracked again, and he started crying harder. "I'm such a fucking idiot."
Bug let him cry. She didn't interrupt. She didn't rush to reassure him. When his breathing finally slowed enough that he could hear her, she spoke quietly.
"You were an idiot."
Quinn let out another broken laugh. "Yeah."
"But you're not a bad man."
He didn't answer.
"Quinn."
"I don't feel like a good one right now."
"I know." She tucked one leg underneath herself on the couch. "You know why I'm disappointed?"
He whispered, "...Why?"
"Because I know you. You've always loved people outwardly. You remember birthdays, drive hours just to surprise people, you’d cancel plans in a heartbeat if somebody needed you, give the shirt off your back, so seeing you miss something this important," She sighed. "it just doesn't sound like you."
Quinn wiped at his eyes. "I don't know how I missed it."
"I think you got comfortable. I think you loved her so much that you assumed she knew."
He closed his eyes. "And I stopped showing it."
Bug nodded even though he couldn't see her. "Yeah."
Finally Quinn whispered, "Do you think she hates me?"
"No." The answer came instantly. Bug smiled sadly. "I think she's exhausted, heartbroken and protecting herself, but I don't think she hates you."
He let out a shaky breath. "I found the ring. I thought..." He looked at it again. "I thought she was leaving me."
Bug's expression softened. "Oh, Quinn."
"I sat there for two hours thinking this is what I deserve." His voice dropped to a whisper.
Bug felt her chest tighten.
"You know what? I'm really glad you got scared."
Quinn frowned. "...What?"
"I know that sounds awful, but maybe that fear finally let you feel a tiny piece of what she's been carrying. She kept wondering am I still important?'" Bug sighed softly. "And today you wondered if she still wanted you."
"I never thought about it like that."
"I know." She smiled sadly. "But now you have."
Quinn looked down at the ring resting against his palm. "I don't know how to fix this."
Bug's voice was calm. "You fix it by becoming the man she thought she was marrying."
A tear slipped down Quinn's cheek. "I want to. I really want to."
"I know you do."
He took a shaky breath. "...Do you think she'll even listen to me?"
Bug was quiet for a long moment. Finally she answered honestly. "I don’t know… maybe."
His heart sank.
---
The front door unlocked almost two hours later.
Quinn's head snapped toward the hallway. His heart was pounding so hard he thought he might actually be sick.
The grocery bags rustled before she even stepped into view.
"...Quinn?"
No answer.
She frowned. "Quinn?"
She rounded the corner into their bedroom. The second she saw him, she froze. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed. His elbows rested on his knees, both hands wrapped around something so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
His eyes were bloodshot, cheeks were streaked with dried tears, he looked like he hadn't moved in hours.
"...Baby?"
He looked up. The second their eyes met, something inside him shattered. He stood so fast the engagement ring slipped from his trembling fingers and landed on the comforter.
Y/N's eyes followed it. "...My ring." Her gaze darted to her naked left hand. "Oh..." Her face drained of color. "Oh my God." She stared at her own hand. "...Quinn."
His breathing was uneven.
"You..." His voice cracked so hard he had to stop.He tried again. "You don't..." Another shaky breath. "You don't want to marry me anymore?"
Y/N's eyes widened. "What?"
"I found it." He pointed toward the ring without taking his eyes off her. "It was on the bathroom counter." His chest rose and fell with panicked breaths. "I thought..." He swallowed, but it did nothing to steady his voice. "I thought you left it there because you were done."
She took one step toward him. "Quinn, no–"
"I know." He shook his head before she could continue. "I know I deserve it."
She blinked. "What?"
"I know." His tears started falling again. "I know I've been a terrible fiancé. I made you feel like you didn't matter, I made you feel alone, I kept defending myself instead of listening." He laughed bitterly through the tears. "I finally get it."
He looked down at the ring. "I just..." His shoulders shook. "I didn't think, " His voice dropped to a whisper. "I didn't think I'd lose you before I got the chance to be better."
Y/N's heart broke. "Quinn–"
"I'm sorry." The words came out before she could say anything. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for every dinner I missed, every text I forgot, every time I made you feel guilty for needing me. I'm sorry I made you question whether you mattered." He wiped angrily at his face. "You've always mattered. You've always been the most important person in my life. I was just too stupid to make you feel that way."
His breathing hitched. "I know you don't owe me another chance, you don't owe me forgiveness, after everything I did and said–" He looked at her with completely broken eyes. "I wouldn't forgive me either."
Y/N could barely breathe.
He reached down, picked the ring up with trembling fingers, and held it in both hands. "I was going to spend the rest of my life making you happy." His voice cracked. "And I made you miserable instead."
Another tear slid down his cheek. "If this is really the end." He looked at the ring. "I'm so sorry this is how I loved you."
Y/N crossed the room in three quick strides. "Quinn."
He flinched when she reached for him, as though he expected her to take the ring and walk away. Instead, she gently took it from his shaking hands. He watched silently. She slipped it back onto her finger then she held up her left hand between them.
"I forgot."
He stared.
"I took an everything shower. I put it on the counter, my best friend called while I was getting dressed, I got distracted, and I walked out without it." She shook her head, tears falling freely now. "I forgot my ring."
Quinn just stared at her hand. At the diamond back where it belonged.
His lips parted. "You..."
"I'm not leaving you."
He closed his eyes the breath he let out sounded almost painful, and his knees nearly buckled. Y/N reached out instinctively, catching him by both arms before he lost his balance.
He buried his face against her shoulder, and a sob escaped him before he could stop it. "I'm so sorry."
She held him tighter.
"I'm so, so sorry."
"I know."
"I never wanted to make you feel unloved."
"I know."
"I'll spend the rest of my life proving you come first if you'll let me."
She closed her eyes. Neither of them spoke for a long moment. She simply held him while he cried into her shoulder, his hands clutching the back of her sweater like he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go.
The grocery bags still sat forgotten by the front door. Nothing about the last few days had magically disappeared. The hurt was still there. The conversations they still needed to have were still waiting.
Y/N rested her cheek against his hair, she quietly whispered, "I forgot my ring, Quinn."
He nodded against her. "I know."
She kissed the top of his head. "I'm still here."
His arms stayed locked around her as though every instinct in his body was convinced that if he loosened his grip even a little, she'd disappear. Y/N could feel his heartbeat racing against her chest. It wasn't slowing down.
She rubbed slow circles across his back, feeling the occasional tremor run through him every time he tried to steady his breathing. "Quinn."
He only buried his face farther into her shoulder. "I really thought..." His voice was muffled against her sweater. "I really thought you were gone."
He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes were swollen from crying, and his curls were a mess from repeatedly dragging his hands through them. He looked exhausted.
"...I don't deserve that."
"What?"
"You comforting me."
She frowned. "Quinn..."
"No." He shook his head. "I spent days making you cry, and then I found a ring on the counter and suddenly I fell apart." He laughed once, bitterly. "I got two hours of the fear you've been living with for months."
Y/N's expression softened. "You don't have to compare them."
"I do." His voice cracked again. "Because it was only two hours and it destroyed me."
Silence settled between them.
His eyes filled again. "I wasn't trying to make you feel that way."
"I know you weren't choosing hockey over me because you didn't love me." You were choosing hockey because you trusted I'd still be here." She smiled sadly. "And I always am, I always will be."
Every word felt like another weight settling onto Quinn's chest.
"I took you for granted." The admission barely rose above a whisper. "I spent so much time worrying about stupid shit I stopped being the man who deserved to put that ring on your finger."
"Quinn."
"No." He squeezed her hand gently. "I need you to hear this."
She stayed quiet.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me today, to pretend this week never happened, or to trust me just because I'm crying." He took a shaky breath. "I'm asking you to let me earn back what I broke."
She searched his face for a long moment. "You know that's going to take time."
"I know." He nodded.
"I know."
She studied him and reached up, smoothing a curl away from his forehead. "I love you."
His eyes closed for a moment. "I love you more than hockey."
She gave him a look.
He nodded. "I know that shouldn't even have to be said."
"It shouldn't."
"But I made it feel like it did." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. "I'll never stop apologizing for that."
She gently shook her head. "I don't want apologies anymore. I want consistency."
Quinn nodded once. "You'll have it."
----
The groceries had eventually made it into the fridge after Quinn insisted on putting every single bag away while Y/N sat on the counter and watched him with the tiniest smile she'd had all week.
Now they were curled up together on the couch. Y/N was tucked into Quinn's side beneath their favorite blanket, one of his arms wrapped securely around her waist. His hand absentmindedly rested over the engagement ring she'd accidentally left behind.
Every few minutes his thumb would brush over it because he needed the reminder that it was back where it belonged.
Y/N caught him doing it for about the tenth time. "You know it's not going anywhere."
"I know." Another tiny rub over the diamond. "...Just checking."
She laughed quietly. "You've checked like twelve times."
"I don't think it's been twelve. Maybe thirteen."
She rolled her eyes fondly before leaning over and kissing his cheek. "You dork."
"I've been called worse."
She reached for her phone. "We should call Bug."
Quinn looked at her. "You sure?"
She nodded. "I think she deserves to know she doesn't have to worry anymore after you stole her from Luke for your quarter life crisis."
He smiled. "Yeah."
The FaceTime rang once.
Then the screen lit up.
Bug answered completely horizontal. Her face was practically buried in Luke's chest. One of Luke's arms was wrapped around her shoulders while the other lazily held the phone above them.
His chin rested on top of her head. Neither of them looked like they'd moved in hours.
Y/N burst out laughing. "...Seriously?"
Luke looked offended. "What?"
"You guys are literally one person."
"No." Luke shook his head."I'm the blanket."
Bug grinned. "And I'm attached to the blanket."
Quinn couldn't help smiling. "I thought you had plans today."
Luke looked down at Bug. "We did. We accomplished them."
Jack's voice floated from somewhere off camera. "You've been on that couch for like six hours!"
Luke didn't even look away from Bug. "And?"
"You've ordered food twice!"
"It was lunch and then dessert."
"I don't see the issue." Bug giggled. "I wanted cheesecake. So we got cheesecake."
Jack appeared behind the couch just long enough to roll his eyes. "I live with the grossest people."
"You literally walked in here just to complain," Luke replied.
"I did." Jack shrugged. "And I'd do it again." He disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived.
“Can we kick him out? Please?”
“I HEARD THAT!”
“GOOD!”
“No I wanna keep him,” Bug said looking up at Luke. Bug looked back at the screen. "So..." Her eyes flicked between Quinn and Y/N. "You two look a lot less miserable."
Y/N smiled. "We're okay."
Bug let out the breath she'd clearly been holding. "Oh, thank God."
Luke smiled too. "I was about to drive up to Michigan and knock some sense into my brother."
"You already did." Quinn laughed. "So did Jack, and Brock."
Bug smirked. "As they should have."
Quinn nodded. "...As they should have." There wasn't even an ounce of defensiveness in his voice anymore.
Y/N squeezed his hand.
Bug noticed and her smile grew. "You've got your ring back on."
Quinn instinctively looked down at Y/N's hand. His shoulders relaxed all over again. "...Yeah."
Y/N caught the look on his face and smiled softly before intertwining their fingers. "I'm pretty sure he's looked at it every five minutes."
Luke snorted. "I believe her."
"Traitor."
"I live with Bug." Luke shrugged. "I've learned arguing with your girlfriend is generally a bad survival strategy."
"Damn right," Bug said proudly.
Y/N laughed so hard she had to lean into Quinn. He wrapped his arm around her a little tighter without even thinking.
Luke caught the movement. "There he is."
Quinn frowned. "What?"
"The clingy Quinn. I was wondering when he'd come back."
"I'm not clingy."
All three of them just stared at him.
Even Jack yelled from the kitchen, "Bullshit!"
Quinn looked down at Y/N. "...Am I clingy?"
She smiled sweetly. "You've held my hand for almost two hours."
He glanced down. "Oh."
Luke grinned. "Told you."
Quinn looked back at the screen. "I'm not letting go."
Bug's eyes softened. "I don't think anyone's asking you to."
Y/N rested her head on Quinn's shoulder. "I'm not."
Quinn kissed the top of her head. "Good."
Another comfortable silence settled over the call.
Luke tightened his arm around Bug, who responded by burrowing even closer until only half her face was visible.
Y/N pointed at the screen. "Look who's talking about clingy."
Luke looked genuinely confused. "This is my normal."
Bug nodded. "Very normal."
Jack shouted from the other room,
"He’s followed her around like a lost puppy all morning!"
"I was making sure she got back safely!" Luke called.
Everyone dissolved into laughter.
Y/N looked up at him, smiling as he laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.
She leaned up and kissed him softly. When she pulled back, Quinn smiled at her with a warmth she'd been missing.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I know." She kissed him once more. "I love you too."
── .✦: Macklin Celebrini hates your boyfriend. For no weird reason; he just thinks you could do so much better than someone who treats you like an afterthought. Definitely not because he's in love with you.
... a little emotional cheating !!
you posted:
♫: purple - Olivia Rodrigo
liked by mackcelebrini, michaelmisa_, and 567 more
you sharkie better start liking the boyf bc unfortunately for her he's not going away
comments...
mackcelebrini you should really reconsider sharkies name. that's like my coworker
your.boyfriend macklin always has to make a cameo lol
↳ you well look at him in that photo so happy to be a mess
catbtoffoli 🩵🩵🩵
opening your messages...
you posted:
♫: stupid song - olivia rodrigo
liked by mackcelebrini, _willsmith2, and 658 more
you and if there is a god, he's the bond that's between us two
comments...
mackcelebrini YOURE A SOARK IN THE DARK AND MY CLOTHES ALL CAUGHT AFLAAAAAAAMEEEEE
↳ you i got ur ass on Olivia huh
your.boyfriend so sorry I couldn't help you move!!!
liked by creator
user1 so happy to have you on set 🥳🥳
liked by creator
macklins texts...
you posted:
♫: maggots for brains - olivia rodrigo
liked by mackcelebrini, your.bsf, and 618 more
you missing the boyf and now i edit in stinky hockey rinks but I am genuinely so happy !!!😁😁😁
comments...
mackcelebrini hi!!
↳ you hi :))
↳ _willsmith2 oh my FUCKING GOD😭😭😭😭😭😭
your.boyfriend can't believe sharkie is so mean to me and so nice to Mack 😔
opening your texts...
Macklins texts...
you posted:
♫: so american - olivia rodrigo
liked by mackcelebrini, aiden_celebrini, and 756 more
you van with the bestie!!
comments...
mackcelebrini hey bestie
↳ you hiii bestie :)
_willsmith2 be so fucking serious
aiden_celebrini I was there too but it's chill
this took FORRRRREVER. I am very proud of this smau. I love them so much. That last text was supposed to be earlier in the smau but I changed my mind 😭ok bye
i'll touch that fire for you, i do what all of them around you scared to do, i'm not
author's note: so i've been sitting on this for a minute and figured today would be the perfect day to post because....IT'S P'S BIRTHDAY! so go wish @thewintersoldierdisaster a happy birthday because she deserves it! (and i'm sorry this is so late, life has been nonstop today).
summary: to be loved is to be defended aka the "nate beats the shit out of the rat" fic (you, me and a baby series)
pairing: nathan mackinnon x reader
warnings: m*tthew tk*chuk, violence
tracy had the hand of your two year old toddler as the three of you made your way down to your seats. while your friend held wyatt’s hand, your own were full of snacks you got under the guise of sharing with your child. there was no telling what the concession stand attendant was initially thinking when you ordered two hot pretzels and a soda, but you thought the twenty-seven week bump you were sporting was enough context for them.
wyatt wore a cute little mackinnon jersey with nate’s number on it. her hair was styled in a way that didn't completely cover her last name, headphones already placed over her little ears. she bounced down the stairs holding tracy’s hand, yanking your friend’s shoulder every now and again until you finally arrived at your seats, holding wyatt in your lap.
the third period started moments later.
you watched from your spot as your husband and his teammates skated down the ice, munching on your pretzel all the while.
“mama, pretzel,” wyatt said, patting your cheek as gently as she could. and because you were a good mother, you pulled a piece off of your pretzel and handed it to her.
“it’s like i’m seeing double right now,” tracy said. you and wyatt glanced at her at the same time. “she's your clone.”
“i’d hope she’d be my clone after i carried her for nine months and pushed her ten pound body out of my vagina,” you said. “if she was nate’s carbon copy, i’d be pissed.”
“for a second, it looked like she would be,” tracy recalled. “but thank god she looks like you.”
you nudged her with an elbow. “nate is handsome! wyatt would be okay if she looked like him.”
“but you're hotter than him.”
“i don't think it’s a competition, trace.”
she shrugged and turned back to the game while you kept peeling pieces of your pretzel off to feed your toddler like a duck at a pond.
wyatt jabbed a finger against the glass as players skated by at an inhumanly fast rate. “dada!”
you couldn't help but laugh because nate was on the bench, staring down his teammates. wyatt couldn't really tell the difference between her dad and his teammates on the ice unless he was right in front of her, and you couldn't blame her. oftentimes, it was his jersey number and your shared last name that clued you in to where he was. wyatt couldn't read yet (despite nathan’s best efforts to get her to win some imaginary competition as the youngest reader on the team) and while she could count to ten with one to one correspondence (and your assistance), she was nowhere near ready to recognize written numbers or words.
all that to say, she had no idea the number on her jersey matched the one on her father’s, that the number twenty-nine meant her dad was around.
you watched as nate hopped off the bench and immediately started charging down the ice with necas right behind him. some random panthers player (and before anyone accused you of being a fake hockey fan, you didn't care enough about teams that weren’t nate’s, or sidney’s for that matter, to learn their rosters) shot a puck at the goal only to be swallowed up in wedgewood’s glove.
the faceoff started in the avalanche’s offensive zone, with number fifteen on the sleeve of the panthers player facing nate. even if you wanted to know who was going against your husband, you couldn't see the name because it was nate’s back who was to you.
when the ref dropped the puck, the whistle was blown a second later, number fifteen kicked out of the face off circle. number nineteen, whose name you did know, skated to the circle, facing nate with a concentrated—yet undeservingly smug—look on his face.
you watched with a close eye as matthew tkachuk skated up to the circle. you'd heard among the wives and girlfriends about him, had seen the hate comments online, had seen the chirping videos. you hadn't formed a super solid opinion on him (mainly because you didn't care about florida) until the last two years with the presidential endorsement via instagram likes or the team usa drama.
the video that stuck out to you the most was the instance where he called a bruins player’s wife a whore. when you'd shown it to nate, he'd rolled his eyes and scoffed.
“families are off limits,” he'd said. “the rat should know that.”
“mama,” wyatt said. “more ‘zel, please.”
you pulled off another piece of the pretzel and handed it to her, watching her eat it happily, kicking her legs all the while. you turned your attention back to the game and felt the moment your eyes locked with tkachuk’s.
his smug look deepened before his eyes turned to nathan’s. you couldn't read lips, but whatever he said to your husband made his spine stiffen, his shoulders lined with tension that wasn’t there a second ago. the puck was dropped and nathan slapped it away to necas who raced down the ice with it.
whatever tkachuk could’ve said to nate was erased from your mind as the game continued on. you bounced wyatt in your lap when she got bored, kissed her cheeks and tickled her stomach when the bouncing didn't work. but for the most part, she was captivated by the game, only flinching when a body was slammed into the glass directly in front of your seats.
to her credit, she didn't cry, just looked at you with wide eyes.
the score was tied 2-2 halfway through the third period.
after enduring most of the game with your second born dancing on your bladder, you finally took another trip to the bathroom and made it back to your seat with twelve minutes left in the game. it wasn't until seconds after your ass hit the seat that it happened.
tkachuk was yapping to your husband from the bench. it was almost quiet enough to hear what was said if you were listening closely enough, but wyatt was babbling and smacking the glass. even from halfway across the ice, you could see the way nate tensed up, you knew him and his body too well to not notice.
but he skated away.
until tkachuk got on the ice, just close enough to your husband before the face off in the avs defensive zone. his mouth was running and then the gloves dropped.
tkachuk’s gloves barely hit the ground before nate was on him.
the arena erupted.
your eyes widened as tkachuk flailed for a minute—something you hadn't seen in the few games you'd seen of his fighting—as your husband all but tackled him to the ground. there wasn’t enough time to cover wyatt’s eyes and to be quite frank, you were in too much shock to do anything but stare.
nathan landed a few punches until the refs pulled him off and tried escorting him to the penalty box. “do it again!” you'd just barely heard over the roar of the crowd. “do it again and i’ll beat your ass again.”
you watched as your husband continued to shit talk tkachuk in the penalty box for the next thirty seconds, though you could no longer hear what was said. you watched as the rat wiped the blood from his mouth across the arena, but said nothing in response. you watched as nate turned back to the game and ignored his presence now that he’d sent a message.
“holy shit,” tracy said.
you nodded, still unable to form words. wyatt continued to slam the glass, even more now that those around you had taken to doing the same.
“what the fuck happened?” you mumbled to your friend, not caring about the cursing around your very impressionable child. not when you watched your husband beat the shit out of an opponent.
god, that was hot.
you shook your head of the thought before you could unpack that thought in an arena with thousands of other people.
“i think icarus flew too close to the sun,” tracy said. “wrote a check his ass couldn't cash.”
“it had to be about wyatt, he wouldn't fly off the handle for anything else,” you said.
out of the side of your eye, you could see tracy looking at you like your high school graduation was a modern miracle. “you are also under that same category, babes. given how shitty matthew tkachuk is, he probably went for the twofer.” she gestured towards the penalty box. “and bit off more than he could chew.”
you'd have to ask nathan after the game.
as the time ticked down on the five minute major, you kept glancing from the penalty box back to the ice, squinting, as if that would help you see nate’s face better (spoiler alert: it didn’t).
as soon as nate—and the other guy—was released from the penalty box, he was thundering down the ice, immediately getting the puck and passing it off to brock nelson who shot it into the back of the net.
the arena exploded into cheers, which didn't seem to bother wyatt with her giant headphones on. you watched as the team celebrated together and you screamed with everyone else when the goal and assist was announced.
things settled down for a few minutes as the clock wound down to the final two minutes of the game. from the looks of it, tkachuk had shut his fucking mouth and was trying his best to make up the goal deficit nelson had put his team in.
but it didn't matter in the end because whatever he said to your husband had pissed him off enough that he was still skating down the ice like it had personally insulted him. you couldn't count how many shots on goal he had in the last few minutes of being on the ice. all you could see from your position on the other side of the rink was the way he stampeded towards the goal, yet also fluidly moving around opponents. he drew his stick back and flung the puck forward, going over the goalie’s left shoulder and into the back of the net.
you weren't even fully sure if it went in until the horn sounded and the crowd roared for the fourth time that night (barring the brief smackdown fight nate was involved in).
the game ended 4-2.
you waited a few minutes to watch the stars of the game, long enough to watch nate skate out for winning second star—brock nelson got first star for his three point game.
you followed tracy out of the rink and down towards the locker room, wyatt held your hand tightly despite the exhaustion starting to settle in for her. it was well after her normal bedtime, even if she’d taken a later nap.
you were winded by the time you made it to the locker rooms. in the time it’d been since you'd been pregnant with wyatt, you’d forgotten how exhausting it was. being twenty-seven weeks pregnant with a two year old was not for the weak. your toddler usually wanted to be carried and you'd just read something on the internet about not knowing when it would be the last time you picked up your child (that thought process had you sobbing in bed at 11 pm right when nate got home the other night). after carrying her when she asked, and especially walking up and down the stadium stairs, your body ached. if it wasn't for the fight, you might have just taken wyatt home and sent nathan a text message.
thankfully, your husband (or the reporters) had mercy on you because he didn't leave you or wyatt waiting for long. the tension you saw in his shoulders earlier in the game seeped from his body when your eyes met.
“dada!” wyatt tore herself from your grasp and ran as fast as her legs could move.
nathan dropped into a squat and opened his arms. as soon as she ran into his chest, you watched him tuck his face against the side of her head, pressing a soft kiss there. he picked her up with an ease you wish you had but just didn't because you were not an athlete and because you were entering your third trimester next week.
you watched as he approached you, trying to catalog any injury he may have but was trying to hide from your careful gaze.
“i’m fine,” he said right before he leaned in to kiss you sweetly. “you're a sight for sore eyes. how’s our girl doing?” he asked, the palm not holding wyatt to his body lightly rested on your bump.
“she’s been kicking away, dancing on my bladder, the usual.” you pushed some hair out of his face. “you fought that guy,” you stated quite plainly. “want to tell me what that was about?”
nathan shrugged, but the tension was back in his body. “he was being an ass.”
“nathan...”
he removed his hand from your bump and dragged it down his face. “listen, i don't want to repeat it, but it wasn't kind.”
“who was it about?” you pressed. and maybe you should've quit while you were ahead, but you wanted to know, wanted to satisfy that curiosity.
he fixed you with a look. “don't play dumb, honey. you know who.”
your jaw dropped a little. “he said something about wyatt?”
his eyes searched your face, though you weren't sure what exactly he was looking for. his hand reached up and traced the outline of your bottom lip. “kids are off limits,” he mumbled. “that was the one rule he followed.”
you waited for him to continue.
“i’m not repeating what he said,” nate insisted.
“i’m not asking you to, i just want to know what got you so worked up.”
“isn't it obvious?” when you said nothing, nate pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose. “he mentioned you and wouldn't drop it. i’m not going to tell you what he said, but i handled it. he won't be talking about you again.”
your stomach twisted. it was uncomfortable, knowing some random man you'd never met had said something about you to your husband, bad enough that he lost his cool.
“hey,” nate’s hand cupped your cheek. “i handled it.”
wyatt chose that moment to yawn, reminding the two of you that your child was up past her bedtime and the clock was ticking on how long you had before she became irate.
“let’s get you home,” he said, kissing the top of wyatt’s head.
later that night, after nate rocked wyatt to sleep, he climbed into bed beside you. as soon as his back was settled against his pillow, you threw your arm over his chest and laid your head right where his heart beat.
“you could've gotten in trouble,” you said into the fabric of his tee shirt.
nate sighed, like he was saying this again? but he knew you well enough after being together for two years and married for a few months that you weren't going to let it go.
“i didn’t.”
“but you could have.”
he placed a solid, lingering kiss on the top of your head. you could feel the way his shoulders lifted as he shrugged. “and it would've been worth it. you and wyatt and our baby girl matter the most to me. no one gets to talk shit about any of you, least of all where i can hear it.”
speechless, you looked up at him before the intensity in his eyes nearly became too much. you nodded and pressed a kiss right over his collarbone before allowing yourself to fully relax in his hold.
will smith eating reader out while his family is downstairs
NSFW content below the cut (minors dni)
the chatter downstairs quieted, signaling that will’s parents had finally retreated to the guest room, the one you’d spent days preparing just for them. you’d slipped away nearly an hour earlier, feigning a migraine as you climbed the stairs to the bedroom you and will shared, your social battery long drained. will had caught your eye as you left, offering an apologetic glance and a quiet promise of “I’ll be up soon” before turning back to his dad, mid-sentence about how incredible the sharks’ practice facility was.
his parents had been lovely, really. his mom had entertained you with stories of will’s childhood, proudly swiping through an endless amount of baby will photos before sharing a few of his favorite family recipes. his dad, quieter but no less warm, had taken it upon himself to investigate the odd rattling sound coming from under your car’s hood, roping will in under the guise of father-son bonding.
it wasn’t your fault. you were ovulating, and will looked delicious. backwards hat, sleeves pushed up, arms flexed as he leaned over the engine, tongue caught between his teeth in a quiet focus. it was unfair. borderline criminal, how hot he looked just existing.
as if working on the car hadn't already been enough, your brain decided to replay will on the golf course yesterday, like a highlight reel designed specifically to worsen the ache between your thighs.
he wasn’t even good at golf, which made it worse somehow, like he had no right to look that attractive while slicing drives into the trees. but there he was, effortlessly cocky in a white polo that clung just right across his back, hat backwards yet again, and those too-tight khaki shorts that left nothing to the imagination.
you remembered watching him line up a putt, tongue peeking out in concentration, the same way it did when he was under the hood of your car, or when he was pounding that little spot inside you like he was trying to knock it loose, focused entirely on making you cum all over his cock.
it didn't take long for you to get bored of waiting for will, fingers diving beneath the soaked cotton of your panties. you knew, in the back of your mind, that will would be up soon. his nighttime routine was quick — face wash, brush his teeth, maybe check the score of a game on his phone. but you couldn't really bring yourself to care.
your fingers danced around your clit before finally sinking into your warm heat. you let out a soft sigh of relief, ignoring the sound of the bedroom door opening.
"migraine, huh?" will chuckles, voice strained as if he's already trying not to blow his load at the sight of you.
"tried waiting for you," you whine, fingers pumping in and out of your aching cunt. will shakes his head, eyes locked on the way your panties stretch with each thrust of your fingers. he tosses his hat to the top of the dresser, settling on his knees between your thighs. he grips your wrist, ignoring your whines of protest as he tugs your hand out of your underwear.
"shh, i've got you," he murmurs, shifting down as he presses soft kisses to your inner thighs. he lifts your legs, tugging them over his shoulders.
"what's got my girl all worked up, huh?" he mumbles, kissing the damp patch on your panties. he giggles as your hips buck, chasing his mouth.
"ovulating," you whine, chest rising and falling beneath the old t-shirt you'd stolen from his drawer.
"noted," he murmurs, hooking his fingers in the waist of your panties and tugging them down your thighs. you hastily kick them off, moaning softly as the cold air hits your soaking heat. will lets out a breathy laugh, running his index finger through your folds.
he's not patient enough to tease tonight, thank god. he leans down, tongue dragging through your folds like he's craving it. he's slow, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. his perfect nose nudges your clit, and you moan a little louder than he's comfortable with.
"you gotta be quiet, baby," he mumbles, thumbing comforting circles into your thighs. you nod frantically, eyes shut tight as you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, desperate to get his mouth back on your cunt.
his tongue swirls your clit before he takes it into his mouth, sucking on the bundle of nerves. your hands tighten in his hair, hips bucking against his mouth as you try to keep your noises down, vaguely conscious of his parents sleeping just downstairs.
he releases your clit, dipping his tongue into your entrance. you let out a soft gasp, writhing against the sheets. he hums against you, hands tightening their hold on your hips as he fucks his tongue into your dripping hole.
he finds the perfect rhythm, tongue swirling your spit-soaked, swollen clit, and fingers replacing his ministrations at your entrance. he pumps two digits into you, curling them into the spot that he knows so well.
"will, 'm gonna cum," you whimper, tugging at his blonde curls nestled between your fingers. his free hand interlocks with yours, giving you a soft squeeze of encouragement.
"cum for me, pretty girl," he mumbles, face buried deep in your pussy as he slurps and sucks. one more pump of his gorgeously long fingers sends you over the edge, back arching and hand ripping from his to cover your mouth, muffling the cries of his name. he works you through it, rubbing your hip as he eases you down from the high.
your back finally settles down onto the mattress again and he slowly pulls his fingers from your heat. he licks them clean, expression softening as you catch your breath. he leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before silently heading to the bathroom. he returns a minute later with a damp washcloth, gently cleaning you up. he takes his time, careful to not overstimulate you.
once he's finished, he tosses the washcloth towards the hamper. he lays down, pulling you into his arms.
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.
