summary: some off my favourite nhl players and what I think you would do that would give them butterflies
[word count] 2.3k
[includes; brandon carlo, quinton byfield, jack hughes, simon benoit, nathan mackinnon, brady skjei, matthews knies, will smith, joseph woll, mat barzal, luke hughes, sidney crosby, michael kesselring + gabe landeskog]
a/n: only two more posts left of the pop girlies series—I hope you’ve enjoyed consuming it as i’ve had creating it. no warnings come to mind when thinking of this part—kissing? cliches? tooth rotting fluff? anyways, song from daydreamin’ by ariana grande
Brandon Carlo: when you look up to talk to him
it just does something for brandon when you're talking to him and you're looking up. when you look up to talk to him, something shifts—the air feels charged, and time slows for just a second. the way your eyes meet makes his heart stumble in his chest, like it's forgotten the rhythm. it's the smallest thing—just a glance, just a moment—but it sends butterflies tumbling through him every time.
you don't even realize you're doing it either. brandon's a tall man, and the little conversational quirk comes naturally—simply because you want to look at your man in the eyes when you're talking. it makes it hard for him to focus on what you're actually saying though, because you're blinking up at him all doe eyed, touching his arm and pushing onto your tip toes so you don't feel like you're yelling...and all brandon wants to do is kiss the words off your lips.
Quinton Byfield: wearing his clothes
there's something about seeing you in his clothes that gets quinton all giddy. maybe it's the way the fabric hangs a little loose on you, soft cotton brushing your skin where it's never touched his before. or maybe it's the quiet intimacy of it—the sight of his hoodie swallowing you whole, sleeves past your hands, collar slipping just enough to show the curve of your shoulder. it shouldn't feel like much, but it does. whether its his hoodie, his tshirt or even his boxers, the sight never fails at sending a flutter through quinton's chest.
he catches you padding around the room like that, tugging at the hem absentmindedly, and his stomach goes tight. you don't notice what it does to him—you never do—but god, it's all he can see. the way you'll smell faintly like him afterwards, the way his clothes move with your body instead of his. it's domestic, disarming, and dizzying all at once. and when you glance up at him with that small, easy smile—his hoodie drowning you, his world spinning—quinton has to look away just to breathe.
Jack Hughes: kiss him in-front of people
jack used to hate the though of even the slightest bit of pda—that is, until you walked into his life. the first time, it happens before he can really think about it. before the noise and the eyes and the rest of the world have time to catch up. one second, you're laughing at something he said, light and careless, and the next, you're leaning in. it's not dramatic, not some movie scene kind of thing. it's simple. sure. certain. you just kiss him.
jack quickly learns that it's just something you do. small, quick kisses that feel like everything and more. because when you kiss him in front of everyone, it's like the world fades into a blur. the noise, the crowd, the eyes—none of it matters. all he can feel is you, warm and sure, your hand against his skin. and it catches him off guard every time, that rush in his chest—the butterflies, the spark, the quiet disbelief that you're his. jack thinks his favourite part though is when you pull back, and you don't seem to care about the eyes or whispers or snickers. it's the easy smile you give him afterwards and how you slide your fingers between his. that's what undoes him the most.
Simon Benoit: mess with his tie
when you reach up and mess with his tie, simon's breath tends to catch—just enough that it feels like the world has stopped spinning, but not enough for you to take notice. and you never realize the affect it has on him—you just step closer, fingers brushing the neat knot at his throat, eyes flicking up like it's nothing. but to him, it's everything. you tug gently, straighten it, smooth the fabric against his chest, and simon swears the world narrows down to the feel of your hands.
you're always so close that he can smell your shampoo, feel your breath ghosting over his skin. it's innocent, really, the kind of thing you'd do without thinking. but for him, it's dizzying. because when you look up to check your handiwork, smiling just a little, all he can think about is how easily you undo him—how one simple touch, one small fix, can make his heart forget every steady rhythm it's ever known.
Nathan Mackinnon: stealing his food
there's always that flash of mischief when your hands darts across the table, stealing a bite of his food that was meant for him. when you take nathan's food off his plate or takeout container, he always tries to appear annoyed—and if it wasn't for that little smile he tries to hide, you'd think it was true. but he's not annoyed, no. the opposite, actually.
nathan watches you like it's a slow, delicious crime. the little theft feels intimate, as if you've plucked a secret from right under his nose. the way you chew, the small satisfied smile tugging at your lips, makes him want to laugh and scold you all at once. he knows he should be annoyed, but he can't help the warmth spreading through him—soft, sudden, unnecessary. even better, you don't even notice the effect you have. you're just you, stealing fries and stealing moments, and nathan's left looking at you like it was the best thing anyone's ever taken.
Brady Skjei: when you get jealous
when you get jealous, brady can't help but smile—not because he enjoys seeing you upset, but because it proves you care. there's a flicker in your eyes, a quiet storm you try to hide, and it makes his chest tighten in the best way. he wants to reach out, pull you close, and whisper that you don't need to worry—because to him, it's always you. and the best part is always how you deny it. brady will duck his head and ask, and you'll get all pouty and deny your jealousy. now that, really gets him going.
he lets it go on for awhile, not because he thinks it's funny to pretend to be interested in random women with lingering eyes. but because brady knows eventually you'll snap—march up to him and stick your tongue in his mouth. and he can't help the light feeling that jolts through him at your possessiveness.
Matthew Knies: push his hair off his face
when you reach up to push matthew’s hair off his face, the world seems to pause for him. your fingers brush against his skin—light, careful—and he swears his heart forgets how to beat for a second. it's such a small gesture, barely a graze, but it leaves a warmth blooming in matthew's chest that he can't shake.
your fingers will slide through the strands, slow and gentle, tucking them back so you can see him better, and you don't think much of it—you're just fixing the mess he made, brushing his hair out of his eyes so he can see. but for matthew…but to him? the warmth of your skin against his forehead, the way your fingertips linger a second too long, the quiet softness in your eyes when you look at him—it all leaves him dizzy. its everything. and yeah, maybe he refuses to cut his hair short just so that you’re able to fuss over it. he’s just a man after all.
Will Smith: hug him from behind
will always feels it before he sees it—when you wrap your arms around him from behind. that familiar comfort leaking into his bones before he can even register that it's you. sinking into his bones. he freezes for half a heartbeat, then melts into your touch, a smile tugging at his lips as your chin digs into his spine.
it does something to will, that kind of touch. the simplicity of it. no words, no warning—just you, reaching for him because you wanted to. he feels your hands flatten against his chest, feels the steady rhythm of your breathing syncing with his, and something in him just unwinds. you probably don't even realize what you're giving him in that moment—how safe it feels, how grounding. but it him feel loved in a way that nothing else could.
Joseph Woll: when you’re giddy to tell him something
times when you're giddy to tell him something, joseph can see it before you even speak—it's in the way your eyes light up, and in the smile you can't quite hide. you tend to trip over your words, waving with your hands like you’re recalling a historical event, laughter spilling through every sentence, and he just watches, completely undone by your enthusiasm and cuteness. whatever you're saying almost doesn't matter, because it's the excitement in your voice that makes him feel gooey—simply because you're happy to tell him. that this thing happened and joseph is the person you want to tell.
you don't notice how joseph softens, or how he leans in a little, hanging on every word just because it's coming from you. you finish your story with that breathless grin, eyes searching his face for a reaction—and he gives it, of course he does. but what he doesn't say is that it didn't matter what the story was. the best part was watching you glow while you told it. and when joseph is on the road, it’s even better, because you’re going out of your way to facetime him—phone propped up by the sink as you wash your face and recall your work scandal—and it’s the best win.
Mat Barzal: hold his bicep
there is nothing that gets mat feeling some type of way more then when you're just holding his bicep. it's such a small thing—your hand resting there, casual, familiar—but it makes his pulse stutter all the same. the warmth of your touch seeps through his skin, and suddenly mat is hyperaware of how close you are. he always tries to play it cool, but inside, there’s a masculinity surge rushing through him.
and its always casual for you, instinctive even—you're just guiding him through a crowd, or leaning in closer while you talk, or giving yourself some stability in heels while crossing a bunny cross walk—but to mat, it's the most romantic thing you could do. you don't even realize you're doing it, the way you squeeze a little when you laugh, or rest your hand there without thinking. but he notices. god, he notices. mat's breath hitches, and he tries to keep talking like nothing's changed, but the world's always getting narrowed to the spot where you're touching him.
Luke Hughes: touch his abs
it happens so often—so casually—that it's almost painful. whether you're just placing your hand there for some balance, brushing past him in the kitchen, posing for a stereotypical photo, or trying to subtly get his attention while he's talking with jack, luke can't help feel his heart retract and stomach swarm with tingles when you touch his abs. his breath hitches, a rush of warmth spreading through him that has nothing to do with the touch itself and everything to do with you.
luke will try to focus on whatever he's doing, but the warmth of your fingers against him, the ease with which you touch him, makes his thoughts scatter. it's subtle, teasing, effortless—and somehow completely devastating. even more painful, you'll glance up at him, smiling shyly like you’re sorry for interrupting, unaware of the effect you're having, and luke has to clear his throat. all it took was that one casual, fleeting touch to make him want to forget the world and remember only you.
Sidney Crosby: when you snuggle up to him
sidney crosby is a secret lover boy. so it never fails at doing something to him when you snuggle up against him. just the act of leaning in, pressing against him like you belong there—it makes sidney's chest tighten and his heart stutter, even though he knows you do. belong there, that is. the warmth of you against him, the quiet weight of your body fitting against his, feels like it's rewriting the rhythm of the world.
your breath on his neck, your arm draped lazily over his, is distracting in the best way. small noises—your soft sigh, the shift of your weight—send sparks through him that he can't explain. it's intimate and effortless, the kind of closeness that makes everything else fade to background noise. it could be a lazy afternoon and you're simply craving his touch, or it could be in your deepest sleep without realizing, but sidney holds you to him like his life depends on it.
Michael Kesselring: when you want to shower with him
when you hint that you want to shower with him, michael's heart skips. it's not just the thought of you being naked—although, he's not complaining—it's the closeness, the shared warmth, and the idea of being together in such a private, simple moment. and the way you look at him when the thought slips out, innocent curiosity laced with mischief, makes his chest tighten, pulse stuttering in a way that's equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
michael always tries to keep his composure, laughs it off, but the way your eyes linger, the small hopeful tilt of your head, undoes him faster than he expected. the image of you in the same small, steamy space, water dripping off your curves, touches unavoidable—it curls through his stomach like fire. and you probably don't understand what it means for michael, but he doesn't mind. because the thought of you feeling safe enough with him to share such a private part of your routine together, is the most intimate part of all.
Gabe Landeskog: reach for his hand when you’re feeling nervous
you often reach for gabe's hand when you're feeling nervous, and everytime it makes him pause in the best way. it does something to him when you touch him like that—hesitant, small, almost invisible if he weren't paying attention. your fingers brush against his, a quiet plea for comfort, and his chest tightens in that way that makes him want to scoop you up and never let go.
the idea that you find so much comfort in him that you're wanting his reassurance when you're anxious or worried or nervous, makes gabe feel like the manliest man in the world. your sole protector. your anchor. he will look down at you—notice the little tremble in your hand, the way your thumb hesitates against his, the soft glance you give him that says, stay with me—and the entire world around you hums. gabe will reassure you with a hushed whisper and a fleeting press of his lips to your temple. and maybe the best part of all is how after that, you start to feel better.
note: I know I should be working on my other series, and I'm about halfway done the next chapter but I just got really inspired for this fic and I couldn't shake the idea. Hope y'all enjoy. Happy reading!
Simon Benoit x Reader
wc: 10.5k
warnings: not beta'd, one night stand (not Benny), cryptic pregnancy, baby (she is named), mentions of food, alcohol, fluff, angst, reader drinks coffee, team and WAGs find out at the same time, some Portuguese phrases (not important to overall story), a few French words (might be wrong, I tried my best but I only did French in school til grade 8), some time jumps but they're fairly obvious, not beta'd
check out my main masterlist here!
St. Lawrence Market is already busy and bustling by the time you get there.
Strings of little white lights, unlit, crisscrossed above the rows of kiosks, sun bright enough that they’ve been rendered unnecessary until later. The air smells like coffee, fresh bread, and strawberries—the kind that have just been picked.
You love it. Arranging to come almost every weekend is a small, relaxing routine. Wandering between stalls, buying too many fresh-baked goodies, and pretending you were the kind of person who could cook elaborate meals on zero energy with an array of fresh herbs and seasonal produce.
Today, you have a canvas tote slung over your shoulder and an iced coffee in your other hand as you browse the wares, pausing at a stand selling peaches.
Roberto, the 70-year-old Portuguese man who runs the stand, is standing there with his usual kind smile. Over the time you’ve been coming to the market, you’ve become a regular at his stall.
“Olá! Tudo bem?”
“Good morning Roberto,” you answer with a smile, sighing a little. “I’m good, Roberto. Glad it’s the weekend. How are you?”
He shakes his head at your words, lines on his face deepening as he frowns. “Querida, you work too hard.”
Before either of you can get another word in, a little girl no older than 5 runs up to him, tugging on his sleeve. “Avozinho, quem é este? Posso comer outro pêssego?”
He picks the girl up, propping her on his hip, and the way he speaks is the same soft voice he uses to speak with you. “Querida, ela é minha amiga. só mais uma, não quero que estragues o almoço, a avó fez o teu favorito.” He turns to speak to you again, a smile back on his face. “Querida, you need to enjoy life more. You’re young. Have fun. And the peaches are really good this week.”
“You say that every week, Roberto,” you say with a smile.
“They’re good every week, Querida. What can I say?”
You laugh, picking up one of the peaches and turning it in your hand. Behind you, someone else steps up to the stall. You just barely see him in your peripheral vision. He’s tall enough that he casts a shadow across the table in the midday September sun.
“Are they actually good?” He asks, accent blanketing his words.
His voice is warm and curious, and it's enough to have you glancing in his direction—and tilting your head up farther than expected.
The guy standing beside you is huge. Not just tall, but broad shoulders and long legs, definitely athletic in that unmistakable way that suggests professional sports or, at the very least, a lifelong dedication to a strict training regimen. His simple black t-shirt clings to his defined upper body, arm tattoos showcased, and definitely catches your attention. And the baseball cap, pulled low in a poorly veiled attempt to shield his eyes from the sun or conceal his identity, doesn’t stop you from recognizing him.
How could you not? He’s become a more consistent presence on your screen during hockey season.
Simon Benoit.
Defenceman.
You look back at the peaches as soon as you remember to, trying to avoid him noticing your moment of recognition. Roberto catches your eye as your gaze shifts, and you swear he smirks a little.
When you speak, your voice is steadier and calmer than you feel. “They are. But, you have to smell them first?”
“Smell them?”
You pick one up and hold it in his direction. “If it smells sweet, it’ll taste sweet.”
Simon studies the peach. It's almost like he can’t decide if it’s a prank or not. Then he leans down and sniffs it.
“…okay,” he says thoughtfully. “That does smell good.”
“Congrats,” you say. “You’ve successfully passed Peach Selection 101.”
He laughs softly, the sound a little more raspy than you expect.
“Is there a final exam?”
“You eat it.”
Roberto chuckles while Simon picks out two peaches and pays.
Grabbing three for yourself, you pay and step away from the stall, assuming that’ll be the end of your interaction. But as you move toward the bakery tent a few stalls down, you hear footsteps trying to catch up behind you.
“Hey.”
You turn.
Simon is standing there holding one of the peaches out to you.
“I feel like I should thank you properly for the lesson,” he says.
“You already paid for the peach.”
“Still,” he says. “Seems rude not to say thanks.”
You study him for a moment. Up close, he looks different from how he does on TV—less polished, more like a regular guy. A little awkward in a way that feels surprisingly genuine.
“You’re Simon Benoit,” you say.
He grimaces as you full name him. “Yeah.”
“I figured.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No,” you say. “Just means if I give you bad fruit advice and it ruins your day, someone might blame me.”
That earns another laugh. Simon rubs the back of his neck, awkward, most definitely endearing, and absolutely debating something.
“So,” he says, finally. “Do you come here a lot, or were you just wandering around educating strangers on the finer points of produce shopping?”
“Mostly the second one.”
“Good to know.”
There’s a brief pause.
Slightly awkward.
You expect him to say goodbye. Instead, he glances toward the coffee stand a few stalls down.
“Can I buy you a coffee?” He asks.
You lift the iced beverage in your hand. “Already have one.”
He’s quick to bounce back. “Okay. Next one?”
You raise an eyebrow.
He seems to realize how that sounded.
“I mean—not immediately. Like…sometime.”
You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips at his awkward correction. “Are you asking me out?”
“Yes,” he says immediately. Then, after a half-second: “I think so.”
That makes you laugh outright. For someone who plays in front of almost 21,000 people on any given night, several nights a week, Simon looks remarkably nervous.
“What if I say no?” You ask.
“Then I’ll pretend this conversation never happened and go home with my emotional-support peaches.”
You consider him for a moment.
He’s handsome, sure, anyone with working eyeballs could see that. And his tattoos are definitely a selling point. But, more than that, there’s something earnest about him. And you like earnest.
“Okay,” you say.
He blinks. “Okay…?”
“Coffee,” you clarify. “Next time.”
His face lights up in an almost boyish way.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Can I get your number?”
You type in the digits, giving yourself a cute contact, and hand the phone back. Simon glances down at the screen, then back up at you.
“I’m glad I asked about the peaches,” he says.
“Me too,” you reply, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Well, Simon Benoit, enjoy your fruit.”
Then you turn and continue down in the direction you were initially headed.
Simon stands there for a second, watching you walk away, still holding the peach. Then he grins to himself.
Best damn decision he’d made all day.
It doesn’t even take two days before the Maple Leafs locker room notices the change.
The room is loud in the comfortable, familiar way it always is after practice. Gear clattering as it's thrown into stalls, music playing a little too loudly from someone’s speaker, and half the team gathered around the whiteboard, arguing over something that has nothing to do with anything.
Simon is sitting in his stall, unlacing his skates, when someone drops heavily into the seat beside him.
“Alright,” Matthew says, tossing a stray roll of tape into his cubby. “What’s going on with you?”
Simon doesn’t even look up. “Whadd’ya mean?”
“You’ve been smiling at your phone, two days straight, like a guy who just discovered the best thing ever.”
Simon snorts at his teammate's words.
“I always knew you were dramatic Kniesy.”
Matthew leans over, crowding him, trying to peek at the screen Simon had just turned off.
“Is it a girl?”
“No.”
Matthew waits, just staring.
Simon sighs. “…yes.”
Matthew slaps his knee. “I knew it!”
That gets the attention of another teammate a few stalls away.
“Benny’s got a girl?” Someone calls.
“Shut up,” Simon mutters.
Matthew’s grin just widens. “What’s her name?”
Simon hesitates for a moment before answering.
Matthew tilts his head. “Last name?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You’re going on a date with someone and you don’t know her last name?”
Simon shrugs. “We met at St. Lawrence.”
Matthew stares at him. “…the farmers market?”
“Yeah.”
“You picked up a chick over veggies?”
Simon is quick to correct him. “It was peaches.”
From his stall a little ways down, OEL leans over. “Did you just say peaches?”
Matthew points at Simon dramatically. “He got produce-rizzed.”
“That’s not a thing,” Simon says.
Matthew ignores him. Staring as he presses for more information. “So? What happened?”
Simon leans back in his stall.
“She helped me pick out good peaches.”
“That’s the whole story?”
“She was funny.”
Matthew smirks. “Dude. Oh, god. You’re so gone.”
“She just seemed…normal.”
The teasing directed at Simon eased, just a little.
“That’s rare.”
Simon nods. “Exactly.”
He pulls his phone out again, glancing at the last text you sent him.
Princess Peach 🍑: don’t be late. I’m judging you already
Matthew notices immediately. “Oh yeah,” he says, standing up. “He’s completely gone.”
You arrive at the restaurant ten minutes early. Double-checking the text Simon had sent you earlier that night with the name and address—only sending it after your insistence on at least one nice date before he picks you up.
It’s a fancy place. Somewhere you’d definitely not ever take yourself. It’s the kind of place you’d only go on someone else’s dime—and you suspect he’d picked it, on the recommendation of a teammate, and in an effort to impress you. It’s modern, not in a cold way, bathed in warm mood lighting and accented by a stunning view of Toronto.
You’re grabbing a sparkling water at the bar, halfway through reading the menu, when someone approaches you.
“Hi,” Simon says.
You look up. And blink. He had clearly tried. Dark jeans. A white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up a little, hair still slightly damp like he’d been in a rush and didn’t have enough time to fully style it.
“You clean up well,” you say.
Simon laughs nervously. “Is that good?”
“It means you don’t look like you just came from the rink.”
“At least that’s something.”
The hostess escorts the two of you to your table, right in front of the window, and Simon pulls out your chair, helping you into your seat before sitting down across from you.
For just a moment, you both smile, that slightly awkward way people do when they’re excited but still figuring each other out.
“So,” you say. “How were the peaches?”
Simon leans back dramatically.
“Life changing.”
“Wow.”
“I ate one in the parking lot.”
“You couldn’t wait until you got home?”
“No.”
“That’s…something.”
The waiter comes by, listing off the specials. You listen carefully before agreeing on two appetizers, followed by drinks and mains.
Conversation flows surprisingly easily after that. Simon tells you about the constant travel during the season. You tell him about your job and how you’d once locked yourself in a library study room during college. He laughs so hard he nearly knocks over his water glass.
“So what made you talk to me at the market?” You ask eventually, curiosity getting the better of you.
Simon rubs the back of his neck. “I was trying to figure out if the peaches were good.”
“Sure.”
“And,” he admits, “you looked interesting.”
“Interesting?”
“You didn’t seem like someone who was gonna freak out about me being…me.”
You tilt your head. “You mean a giant hockey player buying fruit?”
Simon laughs. “Exactly.”
The food arrives, and you keep talking. About everything and nothing at all. Two hours pass without either of you noticing.
When you do finally step outside, the night air is cool and quiet. A tell that fall is in full swing. On the sidewalk, you and Simon stand side-by-side for a moment.
“So,” Simon says. “I had a really good time.”
“Me too.”
He hesitates slightly, the same way he had at the market before asking you out.
“Can I see you again?”
You pretend to think about it. “Hmmm.”
Simon waits patiently.
“…yes,” you say.
His shoulders relax instantly. “Good.”
There’s a small pause. Probably thirty seconds. Then you step closer, pressing a light kiss to his cheek.
Simon blinks in surprise.
“Goodnight, Benny,” you say.
Then you walk to your car.
Simon stands on the sidewalk for a second, stunned. Then he grins to himself. The boys are absolutely going to hear about this tomorrow.
What started as a simple coffee turned into a fancy dinner at Canoe the next week. Then another dinner. And another.
Simon is gone a lot for games and road trips, but when he is in town, he’s surprisingly normal—funny, thoughtful, the kind of guy who remembers all the little things. He brought you take-out after long, late work days. Sends you pictures from hotel rooms with messages like This place has terrible coffee. Miss you.
Simon doesn’t realize he’s nervous until he checks his phone for the fourth time in two minutes.
“You waiting on a trade call or something?” Matthew asks from the hallway outside the locker room.
He shoves his phone back into his pocket. “No.”
Matthew gives him a long look. “…you’re waiting for her, aren’t you?”
Simon sighs. “She’s meeting some of the guys’ girlfriends upstairs.”
Matthew’s grin is immediate. “Oh man.”
“What?”
“You’re finally introducing her to the WAG committee.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It’s absolutely a thing.”
Before Simon can argue his point any further, one of the equipment staff members pokes his head into the hallway.
“Benny, your girl’s here.”
Matthew claps him on the shoulder. “Good luck, buddy.”
Upstairs, in the hallway outside the boxes, you pause at the top of the stairs.
You’d only been inside one of those once. It was fancy. And definitely out of your price range. Walking closer to the suite number you were told, you pick away at non-existent lint on your top. You can hear the girls chatting from outside the door.
Pushing it open, you see exactly what you were expecting. A bright, modern space, overlooking the arena. Furnished, decorated and packed with a buffet and an array of drinks. And a group of women, standing around the island/bar-top in the suite.
The girls notice you right away.
One of them waves.
“You must be her!”
You walk closer, cautious. “Yes?”
“I’m Aryne,” the woman says warmly, standing to hug you like you’d known each other forever. “John’s wife.”
Another woman stands up, moving a little out of the group.
“I’m Ella. I’m dating Matthew.”
Within about thirty seconds of entering the suite, you were introduced to six other people and handed a drink you didn’t ask for but were thankful for anyway.
“You’re Benny’s mystery girl,” Ella says with a grin.
“Mystery?”
“Oh yeah,” Aryne says. “He’s been really weird all week.”
You laugh. “Weird how?”
Aryne leans forward dramatically. “Smiling.”
Laughter erupts in the suite at her words.
“That bad, huh?” You say.
“For him?” Ella says. “Extremely suspicious.”
You relax a little. They’re friendly. Easygoing. Way less intimidating than you were expecting. So much better than you’d been bracing yourself for.
“So, how did you two meet?” One of the girls asks.
You smile. “At the farmers market.”
There’s a collective pause.
“…Really?” Ella asks.
“Over peaches,” you add, nodding.
Aryne bursts out laughing.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” You ask.
Aryne wipes her eyes. “John told me, he heard Benny telling Matthew about that like it was a life-altering event.”
You lean back a little in your chair. “I did give excellent peach advice.”
“I believe it,” Ella says.
Moments later, the arena lights are dimming slightly as warmups start on the ice below. The ladies move towards the glass railing. You follow behind. The team skates out a minute later, helmets and jerseys flashing under the lights.
Simon comes to a stop near the blue line.
Aryne nudges you gently. “Watch this.”
No sooner than she finishes nudging you does Simon look up toward the box. His eyes immediately find yours. And his whole face lights up, something you know is uncharacteristic for him, especially when he’s “in the zone.”
“Oh yeah,” Ella says softly on your other side. “He likes you.”
Down on the ice, Simon lifts his hand and gives a small wave.
You don’t waste any time waving back to him.
Then Aryne leans toward you conspiratorially. “Don’t worry. We already approve of you.”
You laugh.
“Is there a test I’m supposed to pass?”
“Just keep him smiling like that,” Ella says.
You look down at the ice again. Simon keeps glancing up at you while warming up. It makes your chest feel warm.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I think I can manage that.”
It wasn’t long after your first official date that you and Simon made it official. And then you met the WAGs (getting along pretty quickly), which only bolstered in your mind how seriously he was taking your relationship. September changed to December really quick. Now the cold front was deep in the city, snow coating most visible surfaces. The usual Toronto winter.
Simon is halfway across the country on a road trip—last one before the holidays—when you wake up with a sharp cramp in your abdomen. You groan, rolling onto your side.
“Okay,” you mutter to yourself. “That’s…new.”
The cramps don’t stop. In fact, they actually get worse. By mid-afternoon, you were pacing in your apartment, clutching your abdomen, and then all of a sudden, something warm trickles down your legs. You freeze in place.
“…what the fuck?”
Your first thought is that something is really, really wrong.
Your second thought is to call your best friend, Olivia.
Olivia arrives less than fifteen minutes after you’d called her. She takes one look at you, doubled over on the edge of your couch, before making an executive decision.
“Yeah, nope,” she says immediately. “We’re going to the hospital.”
The hospital visit starts out like any other. Questions. Blood pressure. A nurse asking about your symptoms. Then another nurse comes in. Then a doctor. Then an ultrasound machine.
You’re lying on the bed, confused and uncomfortable, while the doctor frowns at the screen, pressing and moving the doppler against your abdomen.
“Ok,” the doctor says carefully, “did you know that you’re pregnant?”
You blink at the doctor, trying and failing to comprehend what she’s telling you. “I’m sorry…what?”
“You’re pregnant,” the doctor repeats gently. “And you’re in active labour.”
For several seconds, the room is completely silent save for the beeping of monitors and the usual hospital sounds. Your mind, though, is swirling with panicked thoughts. There’s no way that it's Simon’s—you’d been careful, and even then, you’ve only been seeing each other for 3ish months. That spirals you into panicked thoughts about his possible reactions. Would he stay with you? Would he want to break up? Is he gonna think you tried to trap him and have just been lying this whole time? Even if he does stay, is he really going to want to raise a child that’s not his?
“…That’s not possible,” you say, finally forcing out a coherent sentence.
The doctor just gives you a practiced, sympathetic smile. “Actually, it happens more often than you’d think. It’s called a cryptic pregnancy. Affects about 1 in every 500.”
You just look at Olivia sitting in the chair beside your bed. She looks like she’s about to faint.
Simon’s phone buzzes just as the team bus pulls into the hotel.
Olivia: Call me. Emergency.
His stomach drops instantly.
Fingers shakily tapping at the screen. The phone only rings twice before Olivia picks up. Simon doesn’t even have a chance to say anything before Olivia blurts out, “she’s having a baby!”
Pushing out the breath he was holding, he felt his muscles relax. For a joke, it definitely wasn’t funny.
“She didn’t know she was pregnant!” Olivia rushes out. “She’s in labour right now!”
The tension that had released from his muscles only seconds earlier seemed to return with a vigour that he’d only experienced during previous playoff runs. And he’s moving before he even realizes it.
“Which hospital?”
Simon makes it back to Toronto and to the hospital just after midnight. His hair is mussed from running his hands through it, travel bag slung over his shoulder. He rushes into the hospital following the signs to the maternity ward, barely paying any mind to the people around him. He’s moving so quickly that he almost collides with Olivia in the waiting room.
“Simon! You made it,” she says in relief.
His chest is tight with worry and something else he can’t name. “Is she okay?”
Olivia smiled at him, relief palpable. “She’s fine.” Then she steps forward, looking for him to follow her. “And so is the baby.”
When they arrive at the private room, Olivia knocks before gesturing for Simon to go in, whispering that she’ll be in the waiting area if they need anything.
Simon walks into the room slowly. Steps controlled and calculated.
You’re sitting up in the hospital bed, exhausted—and a little sweaty- holding a tiny bundled newborn wrapped in a hospital blanket against your chest. You only look up when his footsteps get closer to the hospital bed. For a moment, neither of you says anything.
“So…funny story.” You say, voice quiet, breaking the careful quiet.
Simon stares at the baby.
Then back at you.
And the first thing he asks is, “are you okay?”
The question surprises you. And brings tears to your eyes.
“Yeah,” you say, voice hushed. “I think so.”
There’s a long pause.
Steady.
Not awkward.
“I know the timing doesn’t make sense,” you add, rushed. “You and I haven’t been together long enough. And Simon, honestly, I completely understand if this situation—”
Simon places a hand on the edge of your bed.
“hey,” his voice is gentle as he speaks. “Breathe.”
He walks closer to the bed, closer to where you’re sitting.
The baby makes a small squeaking sound and nestles deeper into the blanket.
Simon looks down, his expression softening in a way you’d only seen him do a couple of times before.
“She’s beautiful,” he says. “And really small.”
“Seven pounds,” you say, voice weak, wavering.
Simon nods slowly, then he looks back at you.
“You went through all of this today,” he says quietly. “Mostly alone. And your first thought, is to worry about me.”
You swallow.
Simon rubs the back of his neck, stalling, clearly searching for the right words.
“I know I’m not the dad,” he says finally. “Timelines obviously pretty clear on that.”
You look down at the baby in your arms.
“But,” Simon continues, voice steadier than before, “I care about you. A lot. And if you’ll let me…I’d like to stick around.”
As you try to absorb the words, all you can do is blink at him.
“For you,” he says. “And…for her too.”
The baby makes another soft noise, like she’s upset no one's giving her attention. Simon looks completely captivated. And you, you feel tears prick the back of your eyes.
“You’re sure?” You ask.
He smiles at you. “Yeah. I am.” Then he sits carefully on the edge of the bed, doing his best not to jostle you too much. “Besides, I think I’m already a little attached.”
The baby stretches one hand out of the blanket, and Simon reaches over, rubbing his finger across the back of her hand. Then she reaches out, gripping tight onto his finger.
And in the Toronto hospital room, a few days away from the winter holidays, your strange, unexpected family began.
Simon had seen Adelaide before, technically.
The night she was born—tiny and sleepy and fresh, bundled up in that pink blanket at the hospital. But that night was chaos. Full of exhaustion. And shock. This time it feels a little different.
You’d been texting and calling and FaceTiming with him while he gave you space to try and adjust to being a mom. And today, you invited him over to your apartment.
You’re sitting on the couch, Adelaide tucked against your shoulder. Simon just hovers awkwardly nearby, and he tries to remind himself that you’re both new to this, that you’re both adjusting.
“You know, you can hold her Simon,” you say, voice gentle.
Simon rubs at the back of his neck, tugging slightly at the ends of his hair. “She’s still really small.”
“She’s eight weeks old.”
“That’s still small. What if I hurt her?”
You laugh softly. “Babies are built for first time parents. She’s sturdier than she looks.”
He hesitates for a moment longer before carefully sitting beside you on the couch. You shift Adelaide slightly and guide her towards him.
“Support her head,” you say as you place your daughter into his waiting arms.
Simon nods as you’ve just given him extremely serious instructions. And when Adelaide settles into his arms, something in his expression gives way instantly. His body goes completely still, like he’s afraid even breathing too hard might send her tumbling to the floor. Adelaide blinks up at him, and he just stares back down at her in quiet amazement.
“…bonjour ma petite coccinelle,” he whispers.
You watch him. This man that you’ve been falling for, definitely against your better judgment, looking like an absolute marshmallow, holding your daughter. His big hands looked slightly absurd holding such a tiny thing. But somehow it also looks exactly right.
Adelaide makes a tiny squawk before wiggling a little and resting against his chest.
Simon’s eyes widened. “Is she—”
“She does that when she’s getting comfy,” you say.
Simon smiles down at the baby in his arms before directing his gaze to yours. “She’s got your nose.”
You tilt your head. “You think so?”
“Yeah.”
Adelaide grabs onto his thumb, the one that had been gently rubbing her tummy, and holds on tight.
Simon freezes again.
“…okay,” he says, voice quiet. “I’m in trouble.”
“why?”
“Because now, I’m definitely attached. Good luck getting rid of me.”
You laugh and smile at him. Even with his words, you’re pretty sure that train had long left the station.
The locker room is loud after practice, in that same way it always is. Simon is halfway through unlacing his skates when Matthew walks over.
“So,” Matthew says casually.
Simon looks up. “What?”
“You gonna tell them or should I?”
Simon narrows his eyes at his teammate, who’s standing there with a smirk and that look in his eye.
“Tell them what?”
Matthew grins. “That you’re basically a dad now.”
Simon groans.
Across the room, two teammates look over.
“…a what?” One asks.
Matthew points dramatically at Simon.
“Benny’s got a baby!”
The room goes uncharacteristically silent for a hockey locker room.
Simon sighs. “It’s not like that.”
“What’s the baby’s name?” John asks.
“…Adelaide.”
“Hold up,” Domi says. “You’ve been hiding a baby?”
“She’s my girlfriend’s daughter,” Simon clarifies.
Matthew leans further back in his stall, acting casual. “And Benny here is already carrying baby pictures.”
Simon glares at him.
Matthew pulls out his phone. “Oh look, I still have the one you showed me.”
“Matthew—”
Simon is too late to stop him. The photo of Simon holding Adelaide pops up on the phone screen, and all too soon, the phone is getting passed around the room.
One of the guys lets out a teasing, “Awww.”
Simon buries his face in his hands.
Easton grins, looking at the photo before looking at Simon. “Dude, you absolutely look like you’re shitting bricks.”
“I was terrified,” Simon admits.
OEL nods approvingly. “She’s cute.”
Matthew claps Simon on the shoulder. “Congrats on the emotional growth dude.”
Simon rolls his eyes, smiling at his teammate's antics.
You didn’t intend to keep it a secret.
That was the frustrating part. You just…you hadn’t managed to figure out how to share the news yet. Because honestly, how are you supposed to bring up something like this?
Hey, yeah, by the way, I ended up having a cryptic pregnancy, and now there’s a baby.
Every time you tried to go over the words in your head, they sounded more and more ridiculous.
So you kept putting it off.
One more week.
One more conversation.
One more game night staying home.
When the dam breaks, it happens on a Tuesday afternoon. You’d asked Olivia to watch the baby while you met Aryne and Ella for coffee near the arena. The café was crowded in that familiar way that comes with the lunchtime rush, and simultaneously makes you glad that you didn’t bring the baby with you.
Aryne’s already there when you arrive, waving you over to the table with a smile.
“Ella’s parking,” Aryne says.
You sit down and smile. “How’s John?”
“Still getting used to not being captain whilst still trying to be a mentor, it’s a fine line apparently.”
“I can only imagine.”
Aryne laughs lightly. The two of you chat for a few minutes—weekend plans, the game from two nights ago, and some gossip about a rookie prank that resulted in orange hair. Then Ella slides into the chair beside them.
“You guys will not believe—”
Her words cut off mid-sentence, and her eyes drift past your shoulder.
“Wait,” Ella says slowly.
You turn in your chair.
Across the café, Olivia had just walked in. Holding your daughter.
You freeze.
Olivia spots you immediately. There’s a brief moment where your eyes lock with Olivia’s. Aryne follows your gaze. Takes in your best friend. And the baby she’s holding clearly has some of your features.
“…girl?” She asks carefully.
You turn back to look at the girls.
Aryne’s expression had shifted. Not angry. More like confused.
“Is that…your baby?” Ella asks, voice soft.
Your table goes completely silent, and Olivia approaches, steps hesitant.
“I can—uh—I can go,” she says, words rushing out.
But it’s too late. They’d seen the baby. They knew she was yours; there was no point in delaying anymore.
Adelaide makes a small, sleepy noise, and Olivia hands her to you gently. She instantly settles in your arms. Olivia apologizes to you softly before moving to sit at the next table.
Aryne looks at you. “You have a baby?”
You swallow.
“Yes.”
Another momentary pause hangs heavy between you.
“You didn’t tell us,” Ella says.
The words aren’t harsh or accusatory, but the way they land—heavy—feels like something sitting on your heart.
You open your mouth, words coming out fast. “I was going to, I just—”
Aryne leans back slightly in her chair, voice shaking when she speaks, not with anger, but hurt. “We’ve been hanging out for months. And I’ve been through that a few times, you know that.”
“I know.”
“We talk about everything,” Ella adds quietly.
“I know,” you say again, gently bouncing the baby as the guilt eats at you.
Aryne rubs her hands together, thinking. “Does Simon know?”
You nod. “Yes.”
That confirmation seemed to sting more than anything, that you hadn’t leaned on your friends.
“So Simon knew,” Ella says softly. “But we didn’t.”
Your chest tightened. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you.”
Aryne shakes her head slightly. “Maybe not. But that’s kind of what it feels like though.”
You look down at the baby. She just blinks up at you sleepily, completely unaware of the tension hovering over the table.
“I just…I wasn’t quiet sure how to explain it,” you say quietly. “Every time I thought about it, it sounded dumb.”
“Explain what?” Ella asks.
You take a breath. “I didn’t know I was pregnant.”
Both women at your table just blink at you.
“What?” Aryne says.
“It was a cryptic pregnancy,” you say, words sounding weak even to your own ears, despite them being the truth. “I found out when I was in labour.
The table falls silent again.
Ella’s eyes widen. “…wait. Seriously?”
You nod.
Olivia chimes in carefully. “It was insane. One minute she was having stomach pain and called me to the apartment, the next minute we were at the hospital and the doctor was like ‘surprise, there’s a baby in there.’”
Aryne processes it. “That’s…wild.”
“Yeah,” you say, quieter than intended. “That’s also why I didn’t know how to bring it up. It sounds absolutely bonkers.”
Ella looks at the baby sleeping in your arms. Then back at you.
“You still should’ve told us.”
The words aren’t cruel, but they are honest.
You feel your throat tighten. “I’m sorry.”
Aryne sighs, leaning forward again. “We’re not mad that you have a baby. Were hurt because we thought we were…closer than that.”
You blink hard, fighting back the tears that were pricking the back of your eyes. “You are. You’re some of my closest friends here.”
Aryne studies you for a moment, then she softens slightly. “Then let us be part of your life.”
You hesitate, just for a second, then carefully pass the tiny bundle of blankets across the table.
Ella holds the baby first.
Her expression melts instantly.
“Oh my god,” she whispers. “She’s adorable.”
Aryne leans closer. “What’s her name?”
You smile faintly. “Adelaide.”
Aryne reaches out and touches the baby’s tiny hand. “Well, I guess we’re going to need a lot of baby pictures.”
You laugh shakily. And relief washes through your chest as you watch your friends fawn over your daughter, thankful that you didn’t lose them.
Simon notices something is off the moment you walk into his apartment later that day. The routine had stayed the same since he’d given you a key to his place; hang your bag on the hook he hung up just for you, drop your keys into the dish, greet him with a kiss, and start telling him about your day before he even finishes asking the question.
Today, though, you just lean against the doorframe.
Silent.
“Hey,” Simon says cautiously.
“Hey.”
He crosses the room, closing the distance between you. “You okay?”
You hesitate for a second.
“I had coffee with Aryne and Ella this afternoon.”
Simon’s shoulders immediately relax.
“Oh yeah? Where?”
“Aroma, by the arena.”
Simon nods. “Good place.”
There’s a pause. A short lull.
“They saw Adelaide.”
Simon frowns, not really understanding the issue.
“…okay.”
“The girls didn’t know about her.”
In an instant, it’s cleared up for him. He straightens up, looking right at you. “They didn’t?”
You shake your head. “I kept meaning to tell them. I just…didn’t know how. It sounded so silly every time I thought about it.”
Simon runs a hand through his brown locks.
“So they found out by accident?”
“Yeah.”
He studies your face, trying to see what you’re not saying.
“Did they say something to you?”
You shrug, voice wavering slightly as you try to sound casual. “They were just…hurt.”
His frown deepens at the sound of your voice and your word choice. “Hurt how?”
“They thought I didn’t tell them because I don’t trust them,” you say, softly. “Or that I don’t see them as friends they same way they do me.”
“Were they mean about it?”
“No. They just…just told me how they were feeling.”
Simon sighs. “That sounds like them.”
You look up at him. “You’re not mad?”
“At them?”
“Yeah.”
“No.” He shakes his head and then steps a few steps closer to you. “But I am a little upset that you thought you had to deal with that alone.”
You blink at him.
Simon reaches over gently and nudges Adelaide’s tiny socked foot where she’s sleeping strapped to your chest. “You know they’d lose their minds over her, right?”
You smile faintly. “They already did.”
He moves so he’s beside you and wraps an arm loosely around your shoulders. When he speaks, his voice is soft with a tenderness you’ve really started to notice: “You’re allowed to let people care about you.”
You lean into his embrace. “I’m still getting used to that.”
Simon kisses the top of your head.
“Good thing we’re not going anywhere.”
Three days later, you’re home with Adelaide in your apartment, Simon out of town for a roadie, and you hear a knock on the door.
Looking at the baby in the bassinet, you lower your voice, “are you expecting company baby girl?”
Shuffling over, you swing open the door to find Aryne and Ella standing in the hallway. And behind them…bags. Lots of bags and boxes, all varying in size, shape and colour.
You blink at the girls standing at your door. “…what is happening?”
“We’re here,” Ella says.
“I can see that,” you say slowly, still a little confused. “For what?”
Aryne holds up a giant tote bag, packed to the brim with goodies. “Baby reinforcements.”
Before you could say anything else, they walked inside the apartment and immediately rushed over to the bassinet.
“There’s our beautiful girl,” Ella says softly, voice sounding a little goofy.
Adelaide just blinks up at the faces staring down at her.
Aryne turns to you. “We might have overreacted the other day.”
You’re quick to wave off her worries. “You didn’t. You’re my friends, and you should’ve found out in a better way.”
“We overreacted a little,” Ella admits. “But we were mostly just sad we couldn’t help you, that we missed the beginning.”
Her words have your heart squeezing in your chest, a little bit of guilt still eating at you.
“You guys didn’t miss it, not really,” you say, looking at them. “I’m still figuring it out.”
“I thought you might be, so we talked to Simon,” Aryne says, smiling, pulling a tiny onesie out of one of the bags. “Because we brought supplies. All the stuff you’re missing or don’t have enough of.”
Ella holds up another bag. “And snacks.”
“And coffee.”
“And a list of babysitters, all vetted or pre-trialed by one of the other moms on the team.”
You stare at them. Shocked by their kindness and generosity.
“You guys didn’t have to do this.”
Ella looks at you like that’s the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “Girl, you’re dating one of the boys.”
“Okay?”
“That makes you family.”
Aryne nods. “Adelaide too.”
That warm feeling that only happens when you’re cared for and truly feel loved spreads through your chest.
“Well in that case,” you say, gently lifting Adelaide out of the bassinet. “Who wants baby cuddles?”
Both faces light up, but Ella is quicker to jump in. “Oh, absolutely.”
You smile at that, sharing a look with Aryne, and make a note to yourself to tell Simon to tell Matthew about her reaction.
You definitely weren’t expecting to see him again. It was a short relationship—casual, a friend of a friend, months before you’d even met Simon, and long before you knew Adelaide existed. And you still haven’t forgotten how, when you texted him, you wanted to talk; he hit you with a “new phone, who dis?” And when you explained who you were and the situation, he’d blocked your number.
So you thought that was it.
You’d never have to worry about him again.
So when you open the door one afternoon, expecting to sign for a delivery, and instead find Kevin standing there…it feels like your heart drops out of your ass.
“…hi,” he says awkwardly.
You close the door, leaving it open only enough for your body. “How did you find me?”
He shifts, uncomfortable. “I ran into Olivia and some other friends last week. They let it slip.”
You sigh.
Because of fucking course.
“What do you want?”
He rubs at his right shoulder. “I heard about the baby.”
Irritation prickles under your skin, but it’s overpowered by your lungs suddenly feeling too small.
Panic over anger.
And like a small miracle, Simon chooses this exact moment to appear in the hallway behind you. Adelaide balanced easily in the curve of his arm.
“Everything okay?” He asks.
You watch as Kevin’s eyes flick from you to him and then to Adelaide. His expression changes immediately.
“…that’s her?”
Simon steps closer to you, almost instinctively.
“Yes,” you say quietly.
Kevin stares for a long moment. At the baby. At you. At the family unit in front of him. Then he shakes his head slightly.
“I just wanted to see her.”
Simon’s voice stays calm; it’s the kind of calm that has that underlying anger. “You’ve known about her the entire time. Now you’ve seen her.”
Kevin looks between you like he’s only now getting it. “You’re…together?”
“Yes,” you say.
Kevin nods slowly. Taking a deep breath, he gets ready to leave when his gaze catches on something he didn’t see before. Adelaide’s tiny hand tangled in Simon’s hoodie string, gripping tight, completely comfortable, completely relaxed. And he exhales.
“…she likes you.”
Simon glances down at the baby in his arms. “Yeah.”
There’s a long, awkward pause. And once again, it’s Kevin who breaks it.
“You’re doing a good job.”
The words are general enough, but the way he’s looking directly at Simon tells you they’re meant for him.
“Thanks.”
Kevin looks at you, for what you hope is the last time.
“I didn’t come here to cause problems,” he says. “I just wanted to know how she was. That she’s doing okay.”
You soften slightly at his words. “She is.”
Kevin nods. Then he turns and walks away.
Simon closes the door with his free hand.
For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Simon pulls you into his side with his free hand, and you let him. You let yourself lean into his warmth and comfort.
“Well…” you say, “that was weird.”
Simon laughs quietly. “Very.”
It starts around 2am.
Simon wakes up first. His first thought is that he imagined the sound—a sound somewhere between a whimper and a cough, coming from the baby monitor on the nightstand. And then it echoes again, a tinny sound in the otherwise mostly quiet bedroom. A thin, unhappy cry.
Simon reaches across the bed, nudging you awake gently. “Hey.”
You roll over and crack your tired, heavy eyes open just barely, looking at him. “What?”
“I think Adelaide’s awake.”
“I’ll get her,” you groan softly, sitting up, still half asleep.
By the time you’re standing, Simon is already moving down the hallway to the nursery.
As soon as the light switches on, the crying gets louder.
Not the normal fussy noise she makes sometimes. This is panicked crying.
You make it to the nursery in time to see Simon lean over the crib.
“Hey, hey,” he says softly, voice still thick with sleep.
Adelaide’s little face is flushed, tiny fists clenched as she cries and cries. Simon picks her up carefully. Her body feels warm. Too warm.
“Okay,” he murmurs.
“What’s wrong?”
Simon shifts the baby slightly, walking closer so you can touch her forehead. As soon as you feel the warmth of her skin, your expression changes.
“Oh no.”
“She’s warm.”
“Yeah.”
Adelaide cries harder. You take your daughter out of Simon’s arms and cradle her in your own, rocking her gently.
“It’s okay,” you murmur, tone soft and gentle, “it’s okay.”
But she just keeps crying.
Simon’s still standing in the same spot, body tense. “Should we call someone?”
“Probably just a fever,” you say quietly, though even to your own ears you don’t sound completely convincing. “We’ll wait till morning, if nothing changes we’ll go to the doctor.”
You try rocking Adelaide again. It doesn’t help. The pained cries continue to echo in the nursery.
“Shhh…” you whisper. “Baby, it’s okay.”
Nothing seems to work. Not bouncing. Not rocking. Not gentle pats on her back. Even with the baby Tylenol, her cries didn’t seem to subside.
Simon’s chest tightened. He hates this. Watching the tiny baby, the one he’s come to see as his own daughter, feeling miserable and not being able to fix it for her.
“Hey,” he says, voice soft.
You look up at him.
“Let me try.”
You hesitate, just for a half second, before deciding what harm that could possibly do. Maybe your boyfriend could perform a miracle. Then you carefully pass the baby back to him. Simon holds her against his bare chest, one big hand supporting her head.
“Hey,” he murmurs again.
Adelaide hiccups between sobs.
Simon slowly continues pacing the nursery.
“It’s okay ma petite coccinelle,” he says quietly. “You’re alright.”
You lean back in the glider, watching. For a moment, just a moment, Adelaide keeps crying. Then the cries soften before slowly coming to a complete stop. She sniffles once. Simon just keeps pacing the room. Adelaide’s tiny hand rests on his chest, close to his heart. Within another minute…she falls asleep.
“…what?”
Simon looks down at the sleeping baby. “She just needed a walk?”
You just stare at him. “I tried that.”
Simon shrugs helplessly, trying not to jostle the baby too much.
“I’m just very calming, apparently.”
You laugh softly, relief pooling in your chest.
Simon carefully sits on the ottoman in front of the glider, still mimicking the movements of walking about. Adelaide continuing to sleep peacefully against his chest. For a few minutes, neither of you speaks.
Simon’s the first to break the silence, “that scared me.”
“Me too.”
You watch as he looks down at your little girl, safely cradled in his arms. When he speaks, his tone is almost reverent.
“She trusts me.”
“You’re her safe person,” you say gently.
Simon swallows. He wasn’t quite expecting that feeling—the sudden, fierce certainty that if anything ever hurt this tiny girl…he’d move mountains to stop it. He tears his eyes away from her and looks up at you.
“I know she’s not mine,” he starts, voice soft and gentle.
You shake your head, immediately cutting him off. “She is yours…”
Simon blinks at you.
“What?”
“You might not be her biological dad, Simon,” you say. “But you’re her dad in all the ways that matter.”
He looks down at Adelaide again. Her tiny fingers still curled up against his chest.
“…yeah.” He gently kisses the top of her head. “Okay.”
A couple of nights later, you and Simon are halfway through a grocery store aisle on a dinner run when Adelaide starts fussing.
Not crying.
Yet.
Just unhappy.
You shift her slightly in the car seat perched on the shopping cart. “She’s probably getting hungry.”
Simon frowns. Then he crouches down to look into the car seat.
“Hey,” he says softly.
Adelaide blinks up at him, momentarily distracted. Simon makes a ridiculous face, and her attention is fully on him instantly.
Then, she giggles.
It’s a tiny, breathy baby laugh.
You just stare at the sight in front of you.
“…what.”
Simon grins at you proudly.
“How did you do that?”
He just shrugs.
Adelaide reaches up toward him again.
Simon straightens up to his full height. “She likes me.”
You cross your arms. “You know she does.”
“Well,” he says thoughtfully. “She has excellent taste, just like her mom.”
You try to stay annoyed, but the smile on your face gives you away so easily.
Adelaide’s three months when you finally return to the WAGs box for a game. She’s staying with your friend Olivia for the night, upon some firm insistence that you desperately need a “normal adult evening.”
You had just grabbed a drink from the kitchenette when you overhear someone say— “wait, that’s Simon Benoit’s girlfriend, right?”
Another voice answers. “Yeah. The one with the baby.”
The tone isn’t kind, and whoever speaks next isn’t much better.
“…pretty convenient timing if you ask me.”
The conversation stops you in your tracks. Even if you weren’t supposed to hear it, you did. Before you have a chance to turn around and defend yourself, Aryne jumps in.
“Excuse me?” She says, voice sharper than you’ve ever heard her.
The two women on the other side of the suite look startled.
“We were just saying—”
Ella cuts them off, voice almost eerily calm. “No. You were implying something.”
One of the women shifts awkwardly in place at being called out, while the other stands firm, both in her spot and in position, lifting her brow at you with a distinctly nasty expression on her face.
“Well it’s just kind of weird isn’t it?”
Aryne folds her arms over her chest. “What is?”
“That she suddenly has a baby, just barely into her relationship with Simon.”
Ella smiles.
It’s definitely not a friendly smile.
“I mean it’s not really any of your business.” She says. “Cryptic pregnancies are a documented medical phenomenon.”
The woman, the one who looked so sure of herself, blinks at you. “…what?”
“And, even if it wasn’t,” Aryne adds coolly, “Simon knows the timeline.”
“And we know her,” Ella finishes, gesturing to you.
“So unless you’re secretly her doctor or Simon himself…maybe mind your business.”
The one girl looks ready to say something until her friend tugs on her arm, pulling her back to their seats.
Ella turns to look at you. “You okay?”
You nod slowly. “Yeah.”
Aryne squeezes your shoulder with a smile. “Good. Now sit down.”
“Why?”
“The teams about to score.”
As if on cue, the puck flies into the back of the net, the goal horn sounds, and the crowd below erupts, all in quick succession.
You laugh. But for the first time since everything changed, you finally feel normal again.
It’s been 10 months of you, Simon and Adelaide, and while unexpected, you wouldn’t change it for the world. The day it happens, it’s entirely by accident. And somehow, that makes it worse.
Simon’s sitting on the carpet with Adelaide in your apartment's living room while you make coffee. Simon has one of her toys and is dramatically shaking it; she’s laughing along.
“Attention please,” he says in a mock-serious voice. “Important meeting.”
Something about the way he’s talking sends Adelaide into a fit of giggles.
Simon points to himself. “This is Simon.”
Then he points to her. “This is Adelaide.”
Then back to himself. “Simon.”
Adelaide stares at him, and he repeats the sequence. She opens her mouth, and instead of repeating after him, she says, “Dada.”
Simon freezes on the spot. Completely.
In the kitchen, you stop moving mid-stir.
“…did she just—”
Simon slowly looks up, catching your eye as you walk into the living room over to where they are.
“Say it again,” Simon whispers, barely managing to get the words out.
Adelaide claps her hands happily. “Dada!”
Simon looks like someone has just unplugged his brain. “That—” he points to himself. “That’s not even close to my name.”
You’re trying not to cry or laugh or both at the scene in front of you. “Babies say ‘dada’ first sometimes babe.”
Simon just stares at your daughter. “You know I’m not actually your dad, right?”
Adelaide grabs onto the strings of his hoodie, pulling.
“Dada!”
Simon sighs dramatically, but this time he is fighting a smile. “I guess I’ve been chosen.”
You sit down on the carpet beside them. “You don’t seem very upset.”
He looks down at the baby and then back at you.
His voice softens dramatically. “…I’m really not.”
The season’s now in full swing, and he should be focused on other things. Instead, he’s had this idea haunting his brain for weeks now—since Adelaide first called him dada, and since a week ago, a teammate had to rush away for an emergency with his kids, and Simon couldn’t help but think about what would happen to him in that position. But saying the words out loud, that is terrifying.
He finds you over at his apartment after a game one night. You’re sitting on the couch while Adelaide sleeps away in her crib. Sitting on the arm of the couch, he takes a deep breath, then pushes out harshly.
“Hey?”
You look up at him. “Yeah?”
“So…I’ve been thinking about something…”
The words alone make you nervous.
“Okay…”
Simon takes another deep breath. “I know Adelaide’s not biologically mine.”
You nod slowly, unsure where the conversation is going.
“But,” he continues, “I want to be her dad.”
You blink at him. “You are her dad, Simon. In all the ways that matter.”
“I know. But I mean legally.”
Your eyes widen.
Simon rubs the back of his neck, nervous, and your reaction doesn’t really help reassure him that he’s not asking too much.
“I’m not asking right now. Or trying to pressure you. I just…” he glances over to the hall, and then to the baby monitor, where you can see Adelaide sleeping. “I want her to have our last name someday.”
Your eyes fill instantly.
That reaction sends Simon panicking. “Hey—no pressure—”
You shake your head, laughing thickly through the tears. “Simon.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s really sweet. Really one of the nicest things anyone’s ever asked me.”
He relaxes slightly. “So that’s not a no?”
You stand up from the couch, moving to stand in front of him. You wedge yourself between his thighs and wrap your arms around him.
“It’s definitely not a no.”
The Leafs do a variety of events for charity every year. The charity skate is a favourite of both the players and the community. Kids everywhere. Fans packed the stands.
Simon crouched in front of the bench, trying to tie Adelaide’s tiny skates.
“You ready?”
“Yes!”
You laugh from behind them. “She’s been looking forward to this all week.”
Simon lifts Adelaide from the bench and carries her onto the ice. You move from behind the bench to lean on the boards and make it just in time to see your daughter wobble dramatically on the unfamiliar surface.
Matthew skates over.
“Whoa,” he says. “Mini Benoit.”
“Technically no,” Simon says.
Adelaide grabs onto his pant leg, clutching tight. Then she points proudly at Simon and shouts. “Daddy!”
Matthew can’t manage to hold back his laughter.
“Well,” he says. “Guess the kid settled that debate.”
Simon looks down at Adelaide. His chest feels ridiculously full. Heart feeling unfathomably lucky.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She did.”
Once again, Simon had been stewing on something for weeks. Not the game, not the practice schedule, not instability of living on contracts—which he should’ve been thinking about—this was different.
He’s been thinking about home. About what that means. And every time it came to mind, he landed on the same conclusion: home is you and Adelaide.
So on Saturday, while on a roadie, on a rare-ish day off for him, he calls you.
“Hey,” he says when you pick up.
“Hey yourself, you sound serious.”
“I am.”
“Uh-oh,”
Simon laughs softly. “I promise it’s a good uh-oh. I’ve just been thinking…I want you and Adelaide to move in with me. Or me with you. Or we just find a new place.”
Even though he can’t see you through the phone, he hears the way your breath catches. “Wait…what?”
“I mean it,” Simon says, words coming out fast. “I know it’s a lot. But I think we’ve been building up to this—I mean we basically have doubles of all Adelaide’s baby stuff at my place. I can’t imagine doing this without you two.”
There’s another pause on the other end of the line.
“Are you…are you sure?”
“Yes,” he says, voice certain. “I’m sure.”
When Simon gets back in town, you make a plan to spend the following Friday driving around neighbourhoods and checking out potential houses.
Adelaide’s tucked into her car seat in the backseat of Simon’s car, and you can hear her babbling to herself softly as you drive around.
“Red!” Adelaide squeals, pointing out the window at a two-story with a bright red front door.
Simon smiles at the excitement in her voice, looking to the backseat in the rearview. “Do you like it?”
“Yes!”
You glance over at him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Simon takes your hand, kissing the top of it.
“Yes. More than anything.”
In that moment, he’s not thinking about how he could be traded at literally any time. Or that putting down roots, buying a house, could be all for nothing if he has to leave or if you decide one day that you’re done living with his lifestyle.
The inside of the house is even better. It’s updated, modernized, without feeling cold and sterile. It’s warm and cozy. On the main level, you walk into a perfectly sunlit room together, and Adelaide’s attention is immediately drawn to the painted pink walls.
“Pink!”
Simon kneels on the floor so he can see Adelaide’s level. “This could be her playroom.”
You laugh. “You know she probably won’t keep it pink forever.”
He shrugs, grinning. “She can choose. Whatever makes her happy. I want her to feel at home.”
You wander through the rest of the house. Through the kitchen, imagining meals together, the living room for movie nights, and a decent backyard, perfect for Adelaide.
Just as you’re nearing the end of the walkthrough, Simon pulls you aside. “You know, this isn’t just about the house.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“It’s about us,” he admits with no prompting. “I want this…our life. I want to come home every night to you and Adelaide and whatever else we choose. I want us to build everything together.
“I…I want that too,” you whisper, feeling your chest tighten at his words.
Adelaide runs back to you, giggling. Simon is quick to scoop her up, effortlessly, and it sends her into a fit of giggles. Giggles that echo through the fairly empty house and make it that much easier to picture a future here.
“This is the one. This is our home now.”
The party takes over the living room and a lot of the main floor. Streamers. A cake shaped and decorated like a hockey puck, with extra sparkles upon Adelaide’s insistence.
Half the team showed up.
All of the WAGs.
Matthew’s leaning against the side of the house, on the covered patio where Simon is working the grill—the Toronto winter weather not enough to discourage them.
“You realize you’ve completely turned into a suburban dad right?”
Simon shrugs. “It feels right.”
Food is served. Everyone eats. Adelaide claps her hands excitedly at the decorations every time a balloon catches her attention.
Once all the plates are cleared, Ella walks over. “Ready for cake?”
Simon laughs. “She’s been ready for cake for weeks.”
You sit Adelaide in her highchair and place the smaller cake in front of her. Adelaide stares at it. Only for a moment. Then, she immediately shoves both hands into the frosting deep as they go. Everyone cheers. Simon’s laughing so hard he’s nearly crying.
“This is chaos.”
You smile up at him. “You love it.”
“Yeah. I really do.”
The courtroom is small and quiet. Just you, Simon, Adelaide, a judge, and a few of your close friends sitting in the back. You’ve already been here for a while, going over paperwork and evidence and answering questions.
Adelaide is sitting on Simon’s lap, swinging her legs back and forth, playing with his hand that’s resting on her midsection.
The judge smiles at her. “And what’s your name?”
“Adelaide.”
“And who’s this?” The judge asks, gesturing to Simon.
Adelaide looks up at Simon, a proud smile on her face and then turns to the judge.
“My dada.”
Simon’s throat tightens.
The judge smiles warmly, looking at the paperwork again. “Well, it looks like he would like to be your legal father.”
Adelaide nods very seriously. You assume she understands, both you and Simon have talked with her at length to make sure she’s involved and understands what’s happening, to the best of her abilities at least.
“Okay.”
Everyone laughs softly.
The judge turns her focus to Simon, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes.” Simon doesn’t hesitate.
The judge nods, then looks at the table in front of her, signing the documents.
“Congratulations.”
Simon looks down at the little girl on his lap, the one who’s become his whole world. “I guess it’s official.”
Adelaide twists in his lap, hugging him to the best of her ability. “Dada!”
You wipe tears from your eyes.
That scary night in the hospital feels like a lifetime ago now.
Simon didn’t want a huge, dramatic proposal. And when you’d talked about it, you told him you didn’t either. He’d given it serious thought—arena scoreboard, fans cheering, centre ice—but it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like you. Too public. Definitely too much pressure.
Instead, he chose somewhere simple. Somewhere with meaning for both of you.
The farmers' market.
The same stall where you’d met almost 2 years ago.
You didn’t suspect anything when Simon suggested going on a Saturday morning.
“You’re craving peaches again?” You tease as you walk between the stalls.
“Always,” Simon says.
Adelaide toddles between you, holding each of your hands. She’d recently mastered walking and treated it like a competitive sport—constantly ready to take off in a sprint.
“Slow down,” you laugh as Adelaide pulls you and Simon forward.
When you reach the peach stand, it’s exactly the same as it always is, exactly the same you remember it being the day you met Simon.
Same crates.
Same lights.
Same signs.
Same Roberto.
When he looks up and sees you all together, he smiles that same kind smile. “Back again?”
Simon grins. “Best peaches in the city.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head.
Simon turns toward you. For a moment, just a moment, he looks at you, really looks. Then he drops to one knee.
You freeze. “Oh my god.”
Adelaide claps excitedly, thinking Simon is playing with her. Simon ruffles her hair, laughing nervously, then turns his attention back to you, pulling a small ring box from his pocket.
He starts by saying your name softly, “meeting you here was the best accident of my life.”
Your eyes are already filling with tears.
“You and Adelaide changed everything for me.”
Adelaide leans forward curiously, eyes focused on the shiny ring nestled in the box. “Pretty.”
Simon smiles.
“I love you both more than anything. Will you marry me?”
You laugh through your tears, smiling so wide you feel like a crazy person—you’re sure you look like one too. “Yes!”
Simon barely gets the ring on your finger before Adelaide is throwing her arms around his neck.
“Dada!”
People who’d stopped around the stall clap for a moment before going on their way.
Roberto wipes his eyes with a handkerchief dramatically. “Estou tão feliz por ti, Querida. Sempre soube que estes pêssegos eram especiais.”
summary: working for the leafs social media team was nothing short of uneventful - especially when a blonde french man is adamant on making you flustered.
[word count] 15.9K
warnings: NSFW! workplace romance | very flirty! benny | fluff | angst |suggestive themes | smut | kissing | grinding | brief fingering | unprotected p in v intercourse | read at your own discretion.
pairing: simon benoit x reader
🎵 dazed & confused by ruel, how do I do this by kelsea ballerini, labyrinth by taylor swift, espresso by sabrina carpenter, guilty as sin? by taylor swift, good looking by suki waterhouse, + love of my life by harry styles
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Prologue:
you first saw simon benoit in passing. you remember the moment all too well.
dylan, your boss and head co- ordinator for the toronto maple leafs social media team, needed you to cover a pre-season game after the usual instagram girl called in sick. you usually worked more with the youtube page and tiktok account, but willingly stepped up when he asked. after all, it was still grabbing content - and you were used to that.
you remember standing in the players tunnel to capture a video of the team getting ready to take the ice. simon breezed passed you in a cloud of woodsy spice and bright eyes. he didn't really notice you, only sending a brief nod and closed lipped smile in your direction before jogging away.
you barley saw his face, and you didn't recognize the name on the back of the blue jersey. you were intrigued, but didn't seek out for answers - just did the job and left.
you didn't think about him much after that - not until he got called up to play on the leafs back end for the foreseeable future. then, simon benoit was always around; practices, team meals, games and everything in between. he became a solid member of the toronto maple leafs.
he was always polite and friendly. you were smitten as soon as you got a proper look at his face and he flashed you an award winning smile. simon was all dirty blonde mullet, tattoos and moustache...it was unfair, really. in the few weeks he's been playing with the team, you've also noticed how much of a determined and hard player he was. you could tell he really loved what he did. they way he battled for the puck, threw his body around and blocked any shot no matter the speed - and all that made you even more interested in him.
to say you were currently nervous was an understatement: you were quite literally trembling. your mouth was dry and underarms moist as you set up the tripod for the teams filming camera. your dress - although professional - was flowing freely, brushing your tan knees in a way that was almost overstimulating.
normally, getting equipment ready to film content was fine - easy, even. but the presence of the 6 foot 4, deliciously scented, handsome canadian was enough to throw you off your game. just the thought of having to soon converse with simon, has your body feeling trembly. thankfully, you could pass as being chilled: the slight breeze providing the excuse.
"you're not cold?" the sound of simon's french accent has you tensing up in the shoulders. you'll have to talk to him much sooner than you intended, and you feel yourself get warm at the thought.
as nonchalant as you can manage, you pretend to fiddle with one of the dials on the video recorder, although you'd already adjusted it all properly - you needed a distraction when you spoke. you clear your throat, "no, this is a treat compared to toronto."
although it was Anaheim, it was still january and the wind did bring a chill to your exposed skin. in that moment, you wished you brought your jean jacket along instead of leaving it in your hotel room. with that in mind, it was still much warmer than winter back home.
simon laughs once, crossing his arms over his sweater clad chest. the material tightens over his biceps so wonderfully, and you have trouble focusing. "yes, true but you've just got a dress on...i've got a shirt on if you want to borrow my - "
the thought of wearing his clothing and getting to smell his cologne was just too much. even though him just offering his sweatshirt sent your heart ablaze.
"i'm good," you interrupt, eyes finally dashing up to meet the man before you. his gaze is soft on you, and the way his hair sticks out from beneath his hat is almost endearing. you send him a close lipped smile when he gives you a concerned look, clearly weary of your tone. "thank you, though, simon."
his lip quirks up on one side, "just call me benny."
you tuck a loose hair that's fallen from your messy braid behind your ear, hands falling from the pointless fiddling on the camera. "did I say your name wrong?" your brows crease together, worried that he was only giving you his nickname because you butchered his actual one.
simon shakes his head quickly, arms uncrossing. "no, no. it's just..." you quirk a brow as if urging him to continue. he breaths a laugh, "nothing, it's okay."
you don't read into his dismissal and remove the clipboard out from where it was tucked between your ribcage and bicep. immediately you feel relief from where the metal clip was digging into your boob. "okay, benny, just to go over this one more time - it's a get to know you for our tiktok so all the questions are probably ones you've answered a million times so I apologize for that...ummm," you meet his eyes and they widen when you see he's smirking back at you. you clear your throat, and look back to your clipboard. "we are already rolling so if you're ready, we can start?"
his arms cross again, and his chest bulges out. "i'm always ready."
"is that so?" for some reason, you decide to tease him. you're not sure where your sudden confidence has come from, but you don't back down - looking up through your lashes to watch his face for a reaction.
his tongue pokes his cheek and he snickers, "oh yeah." you're not sure if he's trying to sound seductive, but it works, and your face flushes red. his suggestive tone has your spark of confidence disappearing and you dart your eyes down quickly, "how do you properly pronounce your name?"
"are you asking or is this the first question?" he teases, hands clasping behind his lower back. although now you can't stare at his veiny hands and long fingers, the way his chest broadens at the pull has all your attention. "I can't tell."
you subtly shake your head to pull yourself together. "I thought you were always ready?" you hum, sending him a playful glance. you're not sure how confident your teasing remark comes across, but you still keep the eye contact.
simon laughs a real hearty laugh and the sound sends your stomach swooping. "touché" he muses. "simon benoit." he answers your question without being asked again, and his thick accent has you feeling flustered.
clearing your throat once, "any nicknames?" you ask.
"just benny," he smiles.
the breeze picks up again -the anaheim air smelling like ocean. hints of grass from the golf course you and the team were at currently filling your nostrils. "you lived here in california for a few years, where was your favourite spot to go to?"
simon hums momentarily, "I think, uh, laguna beach, it's a pretty cool spot - a little artsy hippie, I liked it a lot."
you hum lightly, tucking the same piece of hair that's fallen out your braid back behind your ear. "artsy and hippie huh?"
his lip quirks up, "what? do I not look like the type?"
you just shrug lightly, "no no, just wasn't expecting that. maybe some practice rink or expensive cafe"
"c'mon i'm not that shallow," he laughs. simon notices your eyes almost sparkle when you tease him, and you always have to fight back a wide smile. he likes the way you flush when he teases you back, and he wonders if you always get flustered when doing media with the team.
your quiet laughs fades, and you look down at your clipboard again. "do you have a favourite spot in toronto?"
his arms go over his chest again, and he sways back and forth slightly. "yeah, I like trinity bellwoods. it's a nice spot. cool little cafes, nice park."
your eyes brighten ever so slightly, "so I wasn't wrong about the expensive cafes?"
simon splutters twice with amusement, "who said it was expensive?"
you giggle, "all toronto cafes are, benny."
he breaths a laughs, "well, one day I can take you. then you can decide if it's expensive."
you have to fight a smile. this was not helping your case- I mean, he was practically asking you on a date...right? maybe he was just being friendly, or maybe just keeping the conversation rolling. regardless, you flush at his words and look away, "we will cut that don't worry."
simon just shrugs, "doesn't matter." although he seems nonchalant with his words, there's a small part of his pride that flares knowing you didn't want anybody to watch the way he flirted with you - that you wanted to keep it between you both.
you fight a smile. "what's in? and what's out?"
his brows pull together, "what does that mean?"
"like, what do you want to see more of this year? and what's something you want to see less of?"
"ahhh, I see," he hums, "let me think."
the breeze picks up again and you shiver gently. on the golf cart behind you, your coworker, james, shoves his headphones off one ear. he's sitting on your shared cart with the teams editing laptop, making sure the shot on the camera is correct and the audio is working - all the boring stuff you hated doing. "y/n," he hums, "can you adjust benny's microphone, i'll let you know when it's good again."
fuck, you think.
"yeah, sure," you nod gently. you move towards simon with as much confidence as you can muster, avoiding the way he watches your every move with a playful little smile.
you can smell that same spicy scent he is always wearing as you step into his space, and you feel faint. "just...stay still for a moment." you whisper into the air between you and the quebec native.
"okay," he says back just as quietly, mirroring your tone. only as you concentrate on keeping your cool, simon is smirking softly down at you.
you hope he can't see the shake in your hands as you reach up to the collar of his maple leaf branded sweatshirt. you start adjusting the microphone with expertise, james calling out directions as you do so.
you can feel simon still staring down at you, and you wonder if he's still got that sexy smirk on his face or not. he shifts, hands moving to sit on his hips.
"stay still," you remind him, eyes darting up to meet simon's. your tone is harsher than intended, but you can't help it. being so close to him had you feeling nervous and tense and james still didn't have the audio and -
"you're kind of bossy," simon laughs.
you hear james call out from behind you both, telling you the audio is back and the video can continue. although his words fall on deaf ears, simon's statement the only thing you can concentrate on. "what?" you splutter, hands falling back to your sides and away from the man in front of you. "i'm not bossy."
"shame," simon teases gently, "I like bossy,"
your eyes go wide, and you shoot a glance over your shoulder to your co-worker. james doesn't look up, but he's smirking - because he can literally hear you both word for word.
"wha - no, i- shhh," you panick, face surely flushed bright red and if somebody was to reach out and touch it - they'd get burnt from the heat.
simon smirks at your reaction. he leans in close to the microphone clipped to your dress, sitting between your boobs. "james, cut that out." he says.
if you weren't frozen (and kinda turned on) you would've moved away, but you didn't. too wrapped up in the smell and voice and aura of simon benoit.
"i've got it," simon says once he straightens back up to his full height.
"got what?" you don't mean to whisper but you do, face still beating red.
"my answer," he teases, "are you ready? or do you need a minute?"
you scoff highly, "yes, i'm ready! you were the one with the microphone problem." you wave your hands rather frantically in the direction of his chest.
you can hear james stifle a laugh behind you.
"I'm teasing you," simon says. he has the strongest urge to tuck that damn piece of hair behind your ear, but he doesn't want to scare you. there's also an audience, and you've also only just properly met. so instead, he smirks, shoe nudging against yours.
"oh, okay." you heat up with something you think is embarrassment, "let's get on with it then, god, benny"
your attempted dig back is successful and has simon laughing loudly as you retreat back a few feet to behind the tripod. you pick up your abandoned clipboard on the grass and you ask the question again.
the filming don't last much longer, and simon continues to flirt with you - very much unbothered by the fact your co-worker can hear his every word. everytime your cheeks turn pinker and you have to fight a smile: simon gets a little bit more smitten. when you end the video, he protests once and says he's having too much fun and that has your heart fluttering.
simon bids goodbye then with a smirk and a gentle nudge to your side. you busy yourself with packing up the tripod so you don't have to face james with a flushed face.
it's no use though, because he comes up to you and clears his throat knowingly.
"what?" you hiss.
james has always been your closest co-worker. you'd even consider him your closest friend outside of the rink. in fact, you spend most evenings with james and his boyfriend at their apartment watching 2000's movies and eating unhealthy snacks until your stomachs are on the verge of exploding.
"you think he's cute, don't you?"
"no," you say immediately. "well, he's not ugly - but, no no he's just-i'm just-"
"you know he was flirting with you, right?" james teases, rolling up one of the cords around his forearm. "but based on your permanently red face...you knew, and you liked it."
you splutter, "he's just being friendly."
"whatever you say," james teases in your ear, turning away to pack up the laptop. "but, so you're aware...he couldn't keep his eyes off you for more than 10 seconds."
you swallow hard at that.
the rest of the day you kept catching simon's eyes and everytime he gave you that smirk that had you melting.
Part One: (A)
ever since that interview, anytime you and simon had to interact, he was always getting you flustered. you're not even sure if he was meaning to flirt with you - but boy was he good at it. even thinking of simon had your chest flushing and ears burning, leaving you to fan yourself with sheets of paper while james gives you a smug look: it's fine...really. three weeks have passed of sweet teasing, brushing limbs and trying to ignore the sultry smirk he always seemed to sport when you cracked around him.
the hallways of the practice arena were dimly lit and the cool air wafted through the halls from the rink just a few turns away: chilling your bones.
james wasn't working with you today. he was back at the main arena working on editing the first set of blueprint videos for the leafs youtube channel. so you stood by yourself, phone held in one of those janky tripods that tilt dramatically to the left when you touch it.
with free hands you hold onto the stained whiteboard that held your question of the day: would you rather be a cowboy, pirate or samurai? the question came after mitch marner was bugging you for questions about cowboys (his yellowstone obsession was getting worse).
it only took three players before simon sauntered his way over. he peeks around ryan reaves, who's stopped to read the question. "samurai," reaves decides, gum clicking between his teeth as he passes by.
simon tucks one of his gloves under his arm and uses his bare hand to scratch his growing goatee. your eyes linger on his lips momentarily, watching the way the move - oh, he's talking to you.
"what?" you mumble, blinking three times fast.
he laughs, and you swear his cheekbones becomes dusted with a faint pink. "I asked what would you pick?"
another player passes and calls out there answer.
"you're the one whos supposed to answer the question, benny, not me."
"but I wanna know you have to say," he quips with a raise to his brow and an upwards tug to his lip.
your spit thickens and you swallow nervously under his tense gaze. "i'm very busy and you're distracting me right now."
simon really laughs at that and you have look away. "i'm not distracting you - i'm trying to give you content."
you blush, "whatever."
simon takes a step closer to you, and on his skates he's even taller than normal- no doubt reaching 6"5. you crain your neck back slightly to keep eye contact. "are you going to answer my question?"
simon smirks down at you, eyes meeting the whiteboard touching your belly once more. "captain jack sparrow."
you squint at him, "what? that's not a proper answer."
"yes it is," he chimes, "the pirate one: so i'd be captain jack sparrow. he's badass, no?"
you'll have to edit most of this interaction out the video, you think. the swearing and his teasing and the way he looks down at you...it's all too much for your crushing heart and the fans speculating will just be overwhelming.
you stand your ground, keeping eye contact and pray your face doesn't go too much redder. "just because you pick pirate, that's no guarantee you'd be jack sparrow."
mitch marner approaches you both and answers samurai - which goes against his begging for the damn cowboy question. as you and mitch bicker about it his answer, simon notices the way you're more confident in the eye contact with his teammate and you don't blush...at all.
it has simon swelling with pride that's he's the only one you react to that way and the thought has a fire lighting under him. wordlessly, he slips past you both with a smile on his lips.
you edit the videos on the unoccupied visitors bench after you captured some on ice videos of the team during practice. you were sitting beside the teams photographer for a good chunk of the practice before you left to go into one of the spare rooms to pack up your stuff and head home.
you could hear the players laughing in the dressing room as they undress and pack up. you end up tweaking the video more on your computer, taking up another 20 minutes of time. you're still shoving things into your shoulder bag when you leave the room, checking the oversized compartments to make sure you've got everything.
so you're not looking where you're going, and you're reprimanded when you bump into a body. the impact sends the bag off your shoulder, loose papers flying out and pens rolling across the concrete.
"i'm sorry, I wasn't -" you look up to see a smiling simon, hand on your shoulder to steady you. the sight and feeling of him as you stopping your scentence.
"my apologies," he says. "I didn't see you."
you give him a skeptical look, "you didn't see me?"
simon did see you: he just wanted to try and get you flustered again. plus any excuse to talk to you from here on out, he was going to take. "swear." the smirk he's sporting has you believing him even less.
simultaneously, you both bend down to collect the spilled items. it's then when you notice simon is dressed in his regular clothing, a hoodie and a pair of athletic pants. he's got his winter parka on as well.
he passes you your pens and you shove them back into the branded bag, standing to your full height. "thanks," you nod, "I didn't take you for such a gentleman."
he stands as well, passing you a loose laptop cord. "you think i'm a gentleman?" there's a teasing tone underlying in his voice.
your eyes are drawn to his black coat again, and your brows pull together. he was clearly leaving, but both entrances were the other way: in the direction you had been headed. the rink, the dressing room, none of that was down were you two collided. "depends," you hum, "do gentleman purposely try and knock me on my ass? or is that just you?"
simon kisses his teeth, looking down to the floor briefly. "just me I think."
his honesty has you fighting back a giggle. you have to bite onto your bottom lip from cracking, but the corners of your mouth still tug upwards. "thought so."
"I wasn't trying to knock you down - which, by the way, didn't happen," he muses, "I was trying to find you."
"why?" you drag out, hands clasping onto the strap of your heavy bag.
"to walk you out," he says in a 'duh' manner. you give him another skeptical look, and he sighs gently "I'm trying to get to know you, y/n. just go with it and treat your new co-worker - me, by the way, nicely." he's teasing you again, a glimmer to his eyes as they watch for your reaction.
"alright," you nod as you start walking down the hall. simon follows quickly, falling into step with your much smaller strides. "it's not like, a part of your job or anything though...to get to know me. you don't have to spend time with me."
he laughs beside you, his coat covered bicep brushing against your shoulder. "I know. doesn't mean that I don't want to spend time with you."
you two reach the door to the parking garage, and he holds it open for you to slip through after him. you smile in thanks, that all familiar heat making it appearance on your skin. "thats nice of you to say, really."
"see," he smirks as he comes to a stop, "I can be an actual gentleman - not just the creepy kind who stalks around the arena until he finds you."
you do laugh out loud at that, all your teeth shining and simon admires the way your face looks while you smile. "stalked the arena until you found me huh?"
he shrugs like he's not embarrassed, which has you beaming even more. "what can I say? i'm very determined to make you blush and do that spluttering thing you do when we speak."
you can't tell if you've paled or gone red, his call out has you feeling light headed and nervous and overwhelmed. "is it that noticeable?" you laugh gently. the panick must be all over your face because simon immediately steps forward, "no, it's okay. it's endearing...I kind of like it."
your brows raise in question and you slightly scoff, "you like watching me get flustered and embarrassed?"
his eyebrows pull together, "what? god no, I like that i'm the only i've seen that can get you like that."
"what is this?" you question, "are you hitting on me? because, you - I can't - we're not allowed to date or whatever without like a 15 page report and - i'm sorry I don't know what's happening. what's happening?"
although his eyebrows shoot up at your rambling, he looks very endeared. "I'm hitting on you, y/n. that's what's happening. is that okay?"
"no!" you say quickly. your eyes close with regret, "no, I meant yes. it's okay but you can't...not really. especially in front of my co-workers and the team. remember! the 15 page report we'd have to fill out if people even thought -"
simon reaches forward, gently tucking a straight strand of your hair back and behind your pierced ear. his gentle touch from his large hand has you pausing, eyes glimmering as you stare up at him.
"okay."
"okay?" you repeat with a squeak. "what does that mean?"
he laughs gently, his hand trailing down your strand of hair and off your body. "it means that i'll be careful when we flirt."
you feel yourself get hot. "seriously, I can get in so much trouble."
"do you want me to stop?" simon asks you gently, "because if you really don't want to continue this, i'll walk away and we can forget it."
with a pondering moment and a shake of your head, you mumble, "no, I don't want you to stop."
"you won't get in trouble, okay?" he hums, "i'll just act normal and just be my normal self...only with secret intentions that nobody will catch on to." he smirks and you laugh through a shaky breath, eyes meeting the floor quickly as you begin to flush a deep burgundy.
simon catches the flush. "there it is," he whispers, hand reaching out to brush against the soft skin of your cheek.
you clear your throat. like with any man you've encountered, there is that nagging voice in your head that reminds you of everything that could go wrong. that what you think could be their intentions are possibly far from it - cheating, toxicity, fake feelings, a bet...everything that could break your heart. with that in mind you meet his eyes again, and you begin to knaw at your bottom lip. you try not to sound guilty when you say, "i'm not trying to date anybody...right now."
you tuck your hands into your coat pockets nervously, already preparing for the blow up and curse out from the man infront of you. he will get mad at your confession...maybe even-
"that's fine," he says immediately, halting the million little thoughts of panic swirling in your head. you exhale in relief, releasing your lip in favour of a smile.
simon mimicks your expression and then says something that has your heart stopping in the best possible way. "but with the most respect i'm not going to stop trying to change your mind."
-
"he said what?!!" james asks you loudly. you sink further into the white couch cushions of his apartment, hands covering your face.
"that he's not going to stop trying to change my mind." your voice comes out muffled from behind your hands.
james leans forward and pulls your palms away from your face. "and you're telling me you didn't pull him into the back seat of your car and pounce on him after that? it's kind of the hottest thing i've ever heard."
you groan, "I don't know what to do now. or what to say, god, what the hell. I really like him, james. I have an actual crush on this man."
"then why didn't you just say fuck it and do something about it? and don't give me the paperwork excuse, y/n."
"because..." you sigh, your thoughts of doubt once again drowning you. "what if this is all just some sort of thing he does? like...what if i'm just a notch on his belt? something different or someone new that he can't help but try and get with." your pick the skin around your thumb, the sting serving as a distraction. "so I told him I wasn't ready because im scared to get fucked over. i'm trying to protect my peace."
your friend gives you a pitiful look, no doubt memories of your previous relationship and break up making an appearance in his mind.
you had dated you last boyfriend for 4 years and it was awful. sure, the beginning was great but as you two grew as a couple, it got more toxic and exhausting. he cheated on you with a friend and it was all just a shitty situation. hence your hesitation with simon and the thoughts of doubt you were experiencing.
"I get that," james hums, pulling your into a tight side hug, "and I love you so much and never want you to go through that again. just...feel simon out.
let him continue getting you all...blushy and weird as long as you're comfortable- which, judging by your confession earlier - you're very comfortable." you smack your friends arms and he laughs. james continues, "and if you're still feeling doubtful, then it's not meant to be."
Part One: (B)
february 8th was a busy day for you and the leafs social media team. it was the annual outdoor practice and family skate at nathan phillips square downtown - which was a huge day for content.
the TTC was always packed, but even more so with the presence of the toronto maple leafs on board. most of the team wasn't able to find sitting room on the subway, so they were all spread out through the packed cart, shoved between fans and other passengers.
you tug on your lanyard as a nervous habit, eyes dancing through bodies. you find james on the other side of the subway cart. he's holding up one of the teams phones, live streaming for the instagram account. today you opted for purely tiktok content, which would really start once you got to the rink and off the hectic subway.
the TTC comes to a screeching stop at one of the many stops along the way to your destination, and the movement jolts you backwards. "sorry!" you say.
a large hand touches your leather clad hip delicately, steadying your sway. "looks like you're the one trying to knock me on my ass this time." the thick french accent gives simon away immediately.
you turn around so you're facing him. "you're lucky you made yourself known, I was ready to sock a stranger in the face for touching me."
he laughs loudly - too loudly for a public setting and it has you looking around nervously. "i'm kind of upset you only just realized I was standing behind you. I must not have a distinctive presence."
he does have a distinctive presence, you think. you could smell his cologne as soon as the cart started moving, but you were too nervous to turn and look to find out if was him. instead of telling him he smells good and making a fool of yourself, you hum, "I can't take you seriously with that mask on your face."
you see his lips curl into a smirk through the home-made cut out on his black face warmer. "you don't like it?"
"it's awful," your smile betrays your words and that has simon's grin widening. "I can't see your face, only your mouth, it's kind of creepy."
"is that why you keep staring at my lips?" he teases quietly.
you splutter, "well, they are the only thing I can see."
suddenly, simon grabs you waist, tugging you closer and spinning you around so your back is now facing the row of seats that were previously to your right. "what are you doing?" you panick, eyes dancing around to make sure nobody is watching.
"relax," he muses, "you were in the way."
your brows burrow, "In the way...oh," you stop once a little old lady shuffles past, leaning on her walker as she moves through were you once were standing. "I'm surprised you could see her with those crazy tinted glasses."
"wow! you are on fire today," simon muses, releasing your waist. "I like it."
you flush deep, "good." simon's brows raise at your words, and you wish you could see his eyes. at the same time, you think, you were only so bold because you couldn't watch him stare at you.
Instead you focus on his mouth, the smooth pink lips and his moustache peeking out from the mask.
"you're staring again," he whispers. "is it my moustache that you like?" you flush and he smirks, "wanna ride it?"
your face falls and you become impossibly redder. he brightens at your reaction and laughs with amusement. "si!" you screech out. "you flirt in the most awkward situations."
"you know you love it," simon remarked, "you should call me si all the time, I like it."
"does anybody even call you that?"
"no," he hums, "just you."
his arm is caging you in, his veiny hand griping the bar above your head to steady himself. the cart halts again, making you bump into william nylander behind you and it had you snapping out of the trance.
"sorry willy," you mumble.
then willy mentions a certain clip you wanted to get of him walking off the train and you break away from the quebec native to plan with william and directing him like normal.
the short walk form the TTC station to nathan phillips square wasn't long. you got lots of fun videos of the boys during the trek and when you weren't recording, morgan rielly was talking your ear off about his girlfriend and dog who you always asked about.
the fans were always amazing, and you were never less than shocked at how many showed up to the outdoor practice. the practice wasn't anything crazy, but after that, peoples families started to arrive for the scrimmage and family skate. you even got to (very carefully) shuffle out on the ice and get content of willy and his doggies.
you're back on the bench when simon comes up to you, still wearing his glasses and mask, but his smirk is prominent. "hey y/n."
you analyze his face and the way he dragged out your name. you pocket the phone and cross your arms gently, "what do you want?"
simon slaps a hand to his chest, scoffing, "what makes you think I want something?" you raise a brow in his direction and he breaks with a groan. "fine. can you put on my marks for me?"
you're confused at first, but then simon shows you the black stick clutched in the hand he slapped his chest pad with and it all makes sense. "why? you're wearing all that stuff on your face and nobody will be able to see the stripes."
he shrugs and leans in close, "maybe I just want you to touch me."
"shhh," your ears burn red, and thankfully it can be mistaken for just being cold, "just...sit down and shut up."
you gesture to the bench behind you and simon walks around you, his grin still present, "okay bossy."
you send him a look and take the chalk from his outstretched hand. "alright, glasses off."
"mitchy, do you hear how bossy she is?" simon muses. mitch marner is a few feet away from you both, tying his skates up. he snickers as you squeak.
"y/n's always been bossy." mitch teases.
"hey!"
"really?" simon looks up at you, his deep blue eyes now visible as his previously worn sunglasses sit his his lap. "I thought I was special."
your eyes widen in his direction. "you're...ridiculous. now stay still."
"yes ma'am"
with nimble fingers you tug his face covering down ever so slightly, allowing just enough of his cheeks out for you to draw. you're too concentrated on making clean marks that you don't notice simon's gentle gaze on your face.
"you have pretty eyes." he whispers once you finish the left side.
"oh." you pause, "i- thank you." you turn his face slightly with your hand, letting it linger on his jaw before you start drawing again.
mitch is still occupied, now just with john tavares and his kids instead of his skates. with that in mind, simon inches his hand over his thigh. once close enough, his index finger reaches out and gently strokes the outside of your leg. "welcome." he mumbles.
you tense from where you stand between his spread legs. his gentle touch has you feeling jittery in the best possible way. when he pulls away you try not to frown.
"all done," you mutter, pulling up the mask to its original spot. the black marks almost blend into the edge of the material and it has you biting back a giggle.
"thanks," he replied, standing to his full height, "how can I repay you?"
at first you just laugh off his flirty remark, but then you think of an opportunity for content do you look up at him all big and doe eyes. simon swallows harshly as he looks at you, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. "can you do me favour?"
"anything," he gulps immediately.
"I need you to do like a minute long live on the tiktok account," you stated. he looks a bit hesitant at first so you sigh, "please?" you notice a black smudge on his jersey from where he slapped it earlier, and you reach out and start rubbing the mark away. you don't know if it was your touch on him or you plea but he agrees.
Part Two:
"is it just us here today?" are the first words that come out of simon's mouth when he enters the blue room.
the sudden voice makes you jump, head spinning around like a swivel, but you relax when you see it's just him. simon is in his usual get up of a leaf branded sweatshirt, shorts and his compression socks.
"james is on his way." you answer, fiddling with the lighting off to the side of the room, trying to get the proper tone for the camera. "aren't you cold?"
he hums, "eh, i'll be okay."
you smile, "okay," you hum in a sing song tone. you finish with the lights and move to the gray couch in the center of the room. fluffing the rogers branded pillows, you can feel simon watching you. you straighten up and spin around to find him, in fact, admiring you.
"stop staring at me to distract me," you laugh through an exhale, moving back towards the camera.
"oh, I'm not staring at you to distract you." simon mumbles. just as he goes to take a step closer to you, james opens the door, balancing his open laptop on one arm and his coffee on the other.
simon moves away from you to seem less suspicious (even though james knows about every conversation you and him have shared ((unbeknownst to simon of course)).
you brush past to help james with his things, your knitted sweater brushing against simon's chest on the way.
james takes charge with the video, which you're glad about. you're not sure if you could control your crush enough to keep composed for a video your boss has to approve before james edits. although you don't ask any questions, simon always makes sure to look at you when answering. he even winks in your direction after he nails the milk game, which is just...too much.
the video wraps up after he does (not well) the 10 seconds challenge. james leaves the room after he claims he needs to run up to his office before the next player gets there, but you know he's just being sneaky and trying to give you both a second alone.
you grab your bag off the floor below one of the tables in the room. "si," you start, "i've, um, got something for you."
simon finishes folding up the blanket he'd pulled out from behind the couch. he smirks at your words and raises his brows. "yeah?"
you nod. it's too late to back down now, you think. you grab ahold of the maple leafs branded tin and wave it in his direction.
"what's this?" he questions. long fingers pull the lid off to reveal 6 chocolate chip cookies. the smell wafts through the air and he moans. "Did you make these?"
you flush at the sound of his groan. ever since you were little you've loved baking. it's your love language. your grandma has taught you one of her easiest cookie recipes and ever since you'd made them at any given opportunity. when james mentioned for simon's blue room video he was going to create some sort of milk related challenge - you didn't think twice about tossing a batch of cookies in the oven. "yeah, I thought because of the milk..." you stop as you watch him take a big bite. his face changes and you wince. "are they not good? I'm sorry."
simon shakes his head and swallows his mouthful, "no, no. they're good, fuck, they're great!"
"really?" you blush, "it's a simple recipe really, thought it be nice to go with the milk and-"
"I thought I was trying to win you over here, not the other way around." he takes another cookie and shoves the whole thing in his mouth.
you forget about his comment when the cookie starts falling out of his lips and you laugh, trying to catch the crumbs with your hands. "si!" you laugh gently when a chocolate chip falls to the carpet.
he flushes fondly at the use of the nickname, chewing slowly. "you gunna have one? or are you going to make me eat all alone?"
you roll your eyes and reach into the tin. you pause with the cookie by your lips, eyes meeting simon's once again. he nods and gestures to the cookie. so, you take a bite and fight the urge to groan.
as simon looks down to brush cookies off his chest, you take a moment to really admire him. you really think everything about him is perfect. his skin, his hair, his lips and even the damn cookie crumb on the corner of his mouth. suddenly, he catches you and you look away immediately.
you don't notice the way he smiles brightly at that.
the door is pushed open and you jump away from simon, your once close proximity now feet apart. william nylander is oblivious to the tension and smiles, "where'd you get the cookies from?" the swede tries to reach in the tin and grab one but simon smacks his hand.
"hey! get your own, these are my cookies."
willy laughs, "what! where'd you get them?"
"from someone special," simon sends you a quick wink while william is busy looking around the room.
Part Three (A):
filming the team playing keep up before warm-ups had always been your favourite content to get. it's the only part of a game day that wasn't super tense, and the players would crack jokes with you and each other all while having fun.
plus, it doesn't hurt when they loose the ball and simon gets lifted up or climbs to retrieve the ball and his shorts get all tight showing off his butt and thighs.
this away game was no different, and a small group of players gathered by one of the staircases and were kicking around the ball.
you'd been distracted by a member of the coaching staff sneaking behind you so you weren't looking and the ball had been kicked by simon. it had hit the wall infront of him, the force of his movement propelled the ball off the wall and right towards you.
thankfully, you didn't drop the team's phone when the soccer ball hit you in the face. you did wince though, your free hand coming up to clutch your nose. you can hear a few players concerning voices over the drumming in your ears.
you're too focused on not crying infront of the maple leaf team when simon jogs up the small flight of stairs to reach you. he grabs ahold of your face, tilting your head back.
"i'm so sorry," he rushes, "are you hurting bad?"
"i'll be fine," you insist. you take your hand away from your nose and thankfully it doesn't feel broken. "am I bleeding?" you question him. you flare your nostrils at him the best you can with the dull pain.
simon's ocean eyes dance over your entire face, checking for any injuries. "no," he mumbles, "not bleeding." he knaws on his lip and his thumb strokes against your cheek, "I didn't think the ball would come back and hit you, i swear. i'm so sorry."
"anything to get my attention, huh si?" you tease him. finally his eyes leave your beat red nose and find your eyes. a smile overtakes his lips and he breaths loudly.
"anything." he insists.
"is she okay?" tyler bertuzzi says behind you both.
"y/n?" somebody who sounds like mitch marner ask's in concern.
"i'm okay!" you call out. nobody can see you past their defenceman's broad back. which is good, because they'd probably ask questions about the way he was holding you and looking at you...and the way you looked back. "you should probably let go of me," you whisper.
simon notices how there's no tone of willingness in what you tell him, but he nods regardless. he releases your face and turns back to his teammates. "she's all good."
Part Three (B):
you're already set up on the ice with james when the players start making their way onto the rink. james has taken on getting the more aesthetically pleasing content for the blueprint series on the youtube channel, where as you get to do what you do best and make the players do stupid things for the fans (and your own) enjoyment.
"here comes lover boy," james whispers out of the side of his mouth. he's looking through the lense of the camera when he says it, so even though you know who he's referring to, you follow his eye sight.
simon looks so good. he looks like he's just got a fresh hair cut and recently trimmed his facial hair. he's laughing at something jake mccabe said as he steps into the ice. his tattoos are peeking out his jersey sleeve and he's not wearing his guard so you can see all the muscles in his neck.
he doesn't see you, him and his defensive partner too busy skating over to the benches set up for the team photo. you're upset momentarily, but then matthew knies skates over so you can mic him up and you get distracted.
the last of the team finally makes it onto the ice a few minutes later, and the staff starts to make their way down.
simon hears your laugh before he even sees you. he spins on his skates and searches through the small crowd of his teammates and staff until he can locate you. the first thing he notices is how you're wearing your hair slicked back into a ponytail. he likes that style the most out of anything he's seen you do because he can really see your face this way. you've got on a nice pair of jeans on and a cropped blazer that sits right against the waist band of your pants. gold jewelry shimmering under the lights and you're probably wearing your usual scent and -
"dude, what are you staring at? it's been five minutes" bobby mcmann breaks simon out of his trance.
he spins to his left and shrugs, "um, what?" simon hopes he doesn't look too flustered - no doubt flushing from the embarrassment of being caught.
just as bobby goes to speak again, you interrupt. "hey guys," you call, shuffling over in your sneakers until you're close enough, "I need to get some .5 pictures. si, can you help me out?"
"of course," he mutters. simon reaches to grab onto the phone, and his fingers brush against yours at the exchange. at the touch, he frowns slightly, "your hands are freezing," he states, "I'm not that cold, I can give you my gloves if you want."
"i won't be able to hold the phone, si."
"well, technically i'm the one holding the phone." he teases.
you laugh once, "ill pass on the sweaty stinky gloves."
simon scoffs and sends bobby a wide look, the ladder laughing at your banter. "they're not stinky or sweaty!"
"just...come here," you hiss and he makes his way over. you start instruct him how to take the photo of bobby in a way to get the most humorous angle. then you repeat the process with bobby when he reaches up to take simon's photo. then when bobby hands the phone back - to simon - the french man makes sure to take a photo of you with the lense and you immediately push his arm.
laughing, bobby skates away and leaves you and simon by yourselves. once he notices nobody within the general vicinity, simon takes no time leaning in close to you with that smirk you know all too well. "you look so beautiful today."
at first, you're too distracted by how good he smells, but once his words register you can't help but smile. with a playful roll of your eyes, you tug the wrist of his jersey, "c'mon flirty pants, we got pictures to take."
he starts to skate away slowly. it's rather pathetic the way you're shuffling along the ice after him, and the sight has simon chuckling breathy. he spins back to you and offers his arm. "c'mon slow poke, we have pictures to take." he mimics your earlier words teasingly.
"ha ha," you huff sarcastically, reaching out until you can wrap your small hands around his large bicep. once you're holding tight, simon starts guiding you both along."there's knies," you state, nodding towards the winger. matthew knies perks up when you call his name, slowly making his way over to you both.
while he's still out of earshot, you send a firm squeeze to simon's bicep to grab his attention. without looking, you mutter "don't say anything that will get us in trouble, matthew is mic'ed up."
with a quick nod, simon looks down at you, "i'd never."
the small time spent before the group photos is the most fun either you or simon have had in a long time. simon doesn't leave your side until it's time for the picture to be taken. he's upset when he's ushered away to the benches and he's even more upset that you're sitting nowhere near him for the photo.
after the pictures, it's a mess of bodies leaving the ice, and simon doesn't catch you before you leave the rink. he watches the back of your head as you leave the rink and move back towards the hallways. he immediately follows to try and get to you.
instead of taking the tunnel down to the locker room, simon turns the opposite direction. his skates hit the concrete flooring and in that moment he doesn't care that he will have to sharpen them extra before next game - too busy calling out for you.
at the sound of your name, you stop your conversation with james and turn around to watch simon hobble his way over to you, the anti-skate flooring, limiting his strides. your brows furrow and you stop moving. "hey...everything okay?"
simon is glad james didn't stop to wait with you and that nobody else is in earshot. he comes to a towering stop before you and exhales, "I want to take you on a date."
"what?" you whisper.
he smiles slightly, "y/n, i'm tired of only seeing you at our job and I want to, fuck, I don't know, go out with you."
you take a deep breath and look around to make sure body has come close. "si, i'm not sure..."
"just," he sighs, "one date. just one and if after that you're still unsure then...we can stop."
you knaw on your lip and briefly weigh your pros and cons. on one hand, all your earlier worries could still be the case. a slot in his schedule he's just looking to fill -or a task to conquer, possibly only fun to have. on the other hand...it might not be any of that.
"okay," you smile, "one date."
Part Four (A):
you get a text from simon the night of the team picture day: just hours after he asked you out and enchanted numbers.
si
what are you doing tomorrow night?
you resist the urge to scream into a pillow and kick your feet with excitement.
y/n
tomorrow, like you, i'll be at the arena doing my job
si
babe 😐
si
AFTER that
y/n
nothing
si
wait for me after the game and we're going out
so sure, maybe you dressed a tad nicer than you usually would for work. the march air was still chilly in toronto, but that stop you from slipping on your favourite black pencil skirt. you paired it with some nice booties and high necked black top with your trusty oversized denim jacket.
you regret the choice of not wearing tights as you wait by simon's car in the parking garage. the chill tickling up your legs and making you shutter. it isn't long before he comes out the elevator, hair slightly damp. you're surprised he showered that quickly and got dressed again. he's wearing the striped burgundy suit that you love on him and you feel yourself smile at him.
"hey," he greets happily once he approaches, "weren't waiting long, were you?"
you shake your head, "not long at all." he throws his things in his backseat and then stands infront of you. slowly, he looks you up and down once and licks his bottom lip. you gulp gently, "am I dressed okay? I didn't know where we were going so I thought-"
"you look amazing." simon interrupts. he reaches past you and opens the passenger door. "ready to go?"
you blink, "yeah."
once simon starts driving, the nerves you thought would come along with the date never started. in fact, you feel more comfortable than you ever have with a man. there's a taylor swift song playing quietly through the speakers, and if that wasn't a sign you were in the right spot - you weren't sure what else could be.
simon flicks his signal on, his blinker flashing on the dark pavement. he looks over at you just as you do him, and he smirks. "are you not going to ask where we are going?"
you let your head fall against the head rest and you shrug your shoulders softly. "maybe I like surprises."
he exhales a laugh, "alright." he makes a right turn and says, "we are almost there."
you look out your window just as you pass trinity bellwood park. you fight the urge to smile and look back over to simon. he's smiling while he looks out to the road ahead, no doubt remembering the same conversation shared between you as you did too.
moments later he pulls up to a small cafe. the sign in the window says there open until 11, and it's just past 10 as he parks. "I deal coffee & wine," you state, "are we getting coffee or wine?"
simon unbuckles his seat belt, "whatever you want."
as soon as simon pulls open the glass door of the cafe, you're hit with the bitter scent of coffee and grape wine. the warmth of the eatery enveloped your skin and you sigh happily. "smells so good."
simon laughs in agreement. "wanna look at the menu?" he whispers into your ear.
you flush and nod. he places a hand on the small of your back and pushes you closer to the counter. a young woman behind the long counter top greets you both and waits at the till for you.
"what do you recommend?" you ask quietly, slightly leaning back into simon's chest as you look up at him.
his thumb moves against your back. "you like sweet things, so probably the hot chocolate or chai tea. they're nice and sweet."
you don't question how he knows your taste, because you aren't suprised. instead you smile, "mhmm i could definitely go for a hot chocolate."
you move towards the cash and order the drink. simon adds his own drink: an americano coffee. you see one more butter croissant in the display case and your eyes light up. "ou, can we also have that croissant?"
the woman laughs gently at your enthusiasm and adds it to your order. simon pays wordlessly and moves you both over to the side as they make your fresh drinks. you groan as the barista adds a pile of whipped cream on your drink and simon smiles down at you.
a moment later you two are making your way to the back of the eatery. you notice there's only one another person sitting in, but that makes sense for the time.
"thanks for this," you smile once he takes a seat across from you, holding up your steaming white mug.
"of course," he smiles, immediately taking a sip of his coffee. "thank you for coming out with me, I know it's late."
"trust me," you hum, "I understand the late schedule and busy day. we work together, remember?"
you tease gently. simon is tonguing his cheek, leaning forward on his elbows to get closer. "okay cheeky."
you laugh behind your hand, eyes twinkling as you look over at him.
"I never would've thought when we first met you would've been this quippy."
you shrug, "i'm full of suprises."
simon laughs gently, "yes, i've realized that," you laugh quietly at his statement. "it's one of my favourite things about you."
"oh really?" you raise a brow at him, reaching into the branded paper bag to pull out the flakey pastry. you rip it in half and set the second half back on top of the bag. "what else is there?"
"mhmm," simon rest's his head in his palm, "obviously when you're bossy."
"obviously," you tease, taking a bite of your croissant.
"also when you blush - but that's another obvious one." your raise one brow at him with a small smile. his face falls ever so slightly, "my absolute favourite thing about you though is how dedicated you are. how even when i'm annoying and distracting you, you're always focusing on yourself and your job. you're also really sweet and beautiful and nice..."
your face changes into a soft delicate expression and simon clears his throat, "or maybe the cookies, i'm not sure yet."
you scrunch your nose and nudge his knee under the table. "you're ridiculous." he grabs your ankle before you can pull your leg away, his palm warm as it encloses on your skin, holding you to him.
softly, he strokes along the back of your calf with his thumb and you swallow your food gently.
"you love it through," simon teases.
you hum, "to be decided."
he laughs loudly and the one barista looks over to your table. you send her an apologetic smile but she just smirks like she understands.
"are you going to eat your part of the croissant?" you ask him, brows raised as you push the paper closer to him.
"that's for me?" he smiles.
"yeahhhh," you smile, "i'm a giver, si. I also wasn't going to make you pay for food you don't get to at least try."
his long fingers grab the pastry and bring it up to his mouth. "well, i'm a taker." he takes a big bite and moans at the buttery flavour. you shush him through a laugh.
"we're in public, don't moan!"
"why?" he teases after swallowing, "it turning you on?"
"stop!" you laugh. he joins in your laughter, finishing off the croissant with only one more bite. he dusts his hands off by sliding them together and you try not to frown when he lets go of your ankle. you bring your foot back to your own side of the table and simon frowns. instead of saying something, his dress shoes slide over to you and he locks his own ankles around your one leg.
"can I ask you something serious?" he questions.
you flip your straight hair over your shoulder and nod, "course."
"what's the real reason you didn't want me flirting with you. when we first talked about this back in january, you seemed so scared of my affection."
you clear your throat and look down into your mug.
"you don't have to answer if you really don't want to," simon hums, "I just want to make sure i wasn't making you uncomfortable."
"you never have," you say immediately, eyes meeting his again. he's looking at you so gently you sigh, "it's just...I didn't know how to act around you. until about 10 months ago, I was in a relationship and...obviously lost my touch at flirting and that feeling of being around somebody new as a single person."
"I understand," he nods, "how long were you together?"
you laugh bitterly, "almost four years," you look down at your half empty mug again, "but it wasn't healthy. he wasn't very nice and we were always arguing. he cheated on me with our friend."
"fuck," he curses, "i'm sorry to hear that."
you just shrug, "even with all that, I really thought we were soulmates or something, I don't know, it sounds silly."
"no it doesn't," simon hums, "you probably learned a lot from that relationship, and that's what's important."
"you're right." you take another sip of your now luke warm drink.
after a moment he says, "if it's any consolation, your flirting worked on me. I was smitten as soon as you opened your mouth."
you blush, "is that right?"
"oh yeah."
he catches sight of the clock behind you and hisses, "they're gunna close soon, we should probably head home."
you try not to sound disappointed as you agree. he leads you out the restaurant and into his car soon after, and the conversation doesn't stop the entire ride back to the scotiabank arena parking garage. simon scans his badge as you approach the gates, driving slowly until he reaches you car.
"here's me," you hum.
"here's you," he muses. the car keeps running as he gets out of his vehicle and rounds to your side of the car. he pulls open the door and you climb out with a smile.
"well," you say, "thank you again for tonight, si, seriously i had a really good time."
"yeah?" he mutters gently. "what was your favourite part?"
you lick your lips as you catch a whiff of his cologne, "I can't say..."
simon laughs gently, "what? c'mon."
shrugging up at him, you try and contain your smile. "not telling."
simon breaths that laugh once again, blue eyes not once starting from yours. "you're killing me here, jolie fille."
the native tongue has you feeling tingly. it sounds so beautiful coming from his lips and you gently sway towards him. "what's that mean?"
he bites his bottom lip ever so slightly, "pretty girl."
immediately, you feel hot from his compliment. you giggle gently, hands flying up to cover your face and press against your burning red cheeks.
"nuh uh," simon teases, "no hiding," he continues as he grabs onto your wrists delicately, prying your hands away to uncover your face. "I wanna see you."
your lips go tight, and you stare up at him. he's now standing chest to chest with you, staring down at you with a soft smile. he lets go of your wrists and slowly, he brings one of his hands back up to your face. gently, he runs a finger over your cheekbone, no doubt a trial of pink following his touch.
you watch his face in anticipation. just as he reaches your hairline, his entire hand moves and caresses the side of your face as he holds you in his palm. the sounds of traffic outside seem to no longer exist, you can't hear anything besides the thumping of your heart and the soft breathing from simon.
you watch as his eyes wander down from your eyes, to then your cheeks and then finally your lips. simon swallows harshly and licks onto his bottom lip. his other hand finds the other side of your face, and he is holding onto you gently.
your heart is racing as you stare up at him. you feel so small in his hold and nothing short of beautiful. his palms are warm against your face, and you wonder is his heart is racing just like yours is.
he finally meets your gaze again, and you notice how wide his pulls are blown. the small rim of blue that surrounds them are an even darker shade than normal, the colour resembling the deepest part of the ocean - and you wanted to dive right in.
simon wets his lips again, thumbs gently stroking the patch of skin right before your ears. standing in the middle of the parking garage is never a place you thought your body would feel tingly and pulse with nerves and excitement- but here you were.
"what?" you asks you gently, breaking the tension between you.
"I can't stop thinking about kissing you," simon mumbles in a low tone.
you could feel yourself go weak, and your tongue slips out between your lips to wet your mouth slowly. "and what are you going to do about it?"
there's a ghost of a smile on his lips right before simon leans down into your space. his nose nudges against yours twice and you take a deep breath. slowly, your hand finds his abdomen and slips under his suit jacket - keeping yourself grounded with the touch.
then finally, he leans in the last centimetre and connects your mouths together. his lips expertly move against your own and when his tongue prods for entrance, you let him in. you can taste the lingering americano coffee in his mouth and you whine against him.
simon's brows pull together at the sounds, one of his hands sliding into your hair and pulling you even tighter against his body.
your free hand finds his face, and you press your palm softly against his skin as you hold him to you.
when you separate, you're both breathless, chests heaving as you stand together and clam down. then, simon smiles brightly, thumb coming down to rub against your swollen lips. the action has you grinning.
"your cars still running," you whisper through your smile.
he laughs shakily and that tickles against your skin. "I know," simon mumbles. he reluctantly pulls his forehead away from where it rested against yours, straightening his back to his full height. your hand falls from his face and rests against his chest.
once he can finally look at your entire face again - all rose tinted lips, flushed cheeks, glimmering eyes and messy hair from where he was holding, he smirks. "i've got to be here early tomorrow...you work tomorrow?"
you nod just as you pull your hand away from his chest, "I do."
"good," simon whispers. he leans in once more and places another heavy kiss against your lips. when he pulls away and you've become even more flustered, he slowly releases your face."i'll see you tomorrow then."
"yeah," your teeth push into your wet swollen bottom lip in a way to contain the embarrassingly large grin you're about to get, "see you tomorrow."
Part Four (B):
the jet was quiet. although, that was expected with a late night flight after a time zone change. this short road trip was especially hard, considering it was three hours behind toronto time and the games had been rough ones.
most of the team was sleeping, or keeping to themselves quietly. just the occasional person engaging in conversation with their seat mate, or somebody getting up to use the bathroom.
beside you, james was sleeping. his head tilted down, and mouth slightly open. his active facial expressions were keeping you rather entertained- it was much more amusing that watching dylan, your boss, across from you edit on his computer.
on your leg, your personal phone vibrates, indicating a text message. the bright light is momentarily blinding, and you squint harshly until you can swipe your brigtness all the way down.
your eyes read the message quickly, and the words have you shifting in your seat. thankfully, dylan is still engrossed in his work so he doesn't see the way you've flushed red.
you peek down the isle of the jet as best you can without drawing too much attention. you catch simon's eyes almost instantly, clearly he was doing the same thing.
he smirks all hot and syrupy at you. he waves his phone in your direction once and then starts to type. a moment later, your phone buzzes again and you're met with his previous message as well as his new one.
si
i'm thinking about your lips right now
si
you look so pretty
you smile at your screen.
y/n
such a flirt. you're being obvious, you know?
you watch him shrug to himself, eyes still on his phone.
si
you're the one who was leaning out of your seat like a mad woman to try and get a glance at me
you roll your eyes playfully.
y/n
and I found you already looking at me
si
touché
you find each others eyes again. to keep his smile contained, he bites onto his bottom lip, unashamedly admiring you from across the plane.
you send him a gentle smirk, resting your head against your palm as you stare back. although you don't want to get called out from staring at simon, the rush of it all has it feeling extra dangerous. you mind flashes back to your first kiss with simon only a few days ago, and your body flushes again. although you've shared many kisses since then - it didn't stop you or him from wanting to do it over and over again.
as if he can read your mind, your phone vibrates again.
si
can we sneak off to the bathroom and make out?
you bite your lip.
y/n
definitely not. but when we get home...
Part Four (C):
simon's hands are warm against your exposed legs. his finger tips dip underneath the edge of your pyjama shorts as you straddle his thighs.
his lips pull away from your kiss, wet as they trial down your neck. he sucks onto your sweet spot and nibbles the skin there. the sensation has you whimpering, grinding down onto his jean covered crotch.
after your date a few days back, you went home and screamed happily into your pillow. never in your 23 years of life have you been kissed and held so perfectly. simon knew exactly how to kiss you in a way that was everything you craved and more. the following morning when you saw him, it took everything in your willpower to not pull him into a storage closet and do it all again.
so after a few excruciating hours of working, simon had the evening off as a healthy scratch. which would usually bum him out, but as you say on top of him half naked, he couldn't care less.
underneath your shorts, he grabs your ass, pulling you over his hardening dick in a way that has you both breathless.
"fuck," you whimper, "I need you so bad."
he smirks slightly. his eyes dart down to his crotch, small streak of arousal left from your grinding. "yeah, I can tell."
you're not even embarrassed about it, and if anything, it turns you on more.
"I need you too," simon mumbles, lips touching yours as he speaks before pulling you in for another hot kiss. the hand that was once squeezing your bottom slips back down until he rounds it to the front of your body.
delicately, his hand slips past your shorts to find your lacey underwear. expertly, his fingers manoeuvre the material out of the way, leaving you exposed under your shorts.
you moan in unison and you pull away from the kiss. simon slides two fingers through your wetness, the sticky arousal coating his fingers. "fuck, you're so wet."
the words have you moaning quietly. then, using the same two fingers now coated with your slick, he prods them into your dripping hole. your quiet moans turns into one of pornographic level, walls clenching down on his long digits.
"si, I need you in me so bad."
"fuck, yeah," he agrees in a mumble. his fingers don't stop their skillful pace, and if he keeps going you'll surely cum. "wanna take you to the bed though, bébé."
"mhmm okay." unfortunately, simon's fingers slip out of your cunt. "let's go before I combust."
he chuckles gently at your exaggeration but doesn't hesitate in picking you up. your legs wrap around his strong torso and you can feel his dick hit your ass cheek.
you bite your lip at the feeling of him poking into you. thankfully you're in a studio apartment and you two skip the awkward stumble down a hallway to a bedrooom. within 10 steps, simon is dropping you down on your mattress.
you reach forward and unbuckle his belt looped through his jeans. you're still flat on your back as you work, and simon leans over to kiss your lips messily. the hand he isn't using to hold himself up, comes down to the waistband of your sleep shorts and effortlessly pulls them down.
he pulls away from the kiss in favour of sitting back on his knees. smirking, he begins to pull down your shorts and panties. once you're naked from the waist down, simon grabs your hips, pulling you until your wet core is flush against his clothed crotch. you both grunt at the friction.
"get naked si, before I start touching myself."
he smirks, "bossy."
you don't have time to bite back because he pulls off his shirt, revealing his toned stomach and arms, skin littered with tattoos that have you drooling.
"fuck," you moan. as you take off your shirt, simon discards his jeans and boxers, leaving him completely naked before you. your nipples tighten at the sight of his hard and heavy dick - his tip an angry red with a smear of precum on the slit. he pumps it a few times.
simon feels like he could cum already at the sight of your hazy eyes and flush face. "you ready?" he questions gently, slowly crawling back over your body.
"shit, yes," you moan. "please, si."
with your go ahead, he begins by nudging the tip of his dick against your puffy throbbing clit. the sensation is heavenly and your head pushes further into your bedding, a mewl leaving your mouth.
then he guides his member to your dripping entrance. the feeling of your warm hole and sticky juices on his tip have him shuddering and he doesn't waste anymore time - fully sliding into you.
"fuck," you moan loudly at the full feeling.
simon hisses at the sensation of your walls hugging him so sweetly. he curses and grabs your leg with one of his hands, manoeuvring it up and over his shoulder. the new angle allows him to push his dick even deeper into your pusssy.
you mewl even louder at the feeling. your positive reaction has simon smirking and he finally starts thrusting into you. slowly at first, pulling the entire way out before pushing back in. but then he starts pushing into you harder, not fully leaving before he pounds back into you.
"you feel so good," he mutters through his grunts, his large hand squeezing your hip. "fuck, can you feel that? your walls pulling me back in everytime baby? it's like you're made for me."
you moan loudly at his words, the sound of his dick sliding in and out of you is so gushy and hot that it's overwhelming - the coil in your belly already tightening. using the hand that wasn't griping his bicep, you bring him down to meet for a kiss. it's all teeth and panting but it's just what you needed. "i'm gunna cum," you mumble on his mouth.
"yeah," he encourages, "c'mon." simon bring his thumb down to your clit and with two full circles on the bundle of nerves, you're cumming with a shout, walls clamping down on his thick cock as he continues his pumping.
it's just a few thrust later, simon's hips and thrusting come to a halt buried deep inside you. he moans into your neck - hot ropes of cum coating your insides as he finishes.
"fuck," he moans, looking down to where your bodies connect. it's a mess between you, all glistening skin and wet hair flat to skin. he thinks he's never seen anything sexier.
you smirk as he lifts his head and meets your eyes. finding your lips, he brings you in for a chaste kiss.
"i'm gunna have to shower," you whisper against his lips. "wanna join me?"
simon smirks breathlessly, "lead the way."
after another round in the shower, simon can't help but admire you. you both have wet hair, and your skin is all dewey from the water and your eyelashes look extra long. you're so beautiful.
there was a time where simon wondered if you would ever properly relax in his presence. like, truly be relaxed.
sure, he loved watching you flush from his nicknames and flirty remarks. he didn't mind the way you stuttered sometimes when he said things, or the way you nervously advert his gaze. simon loved it all. he knows it means you're making progress and you like him - which is all he wants.
currently, simon can only think about that as you both brush your teeth in the mirror - making eye contact every couple seconds and grinning like you've been together for your whole lives.
you're both only half dressed, you without pants and simon without his shirt. you've opted for stealing his shirt though, which simon thinks is even sexier than you naked.
in this moment, after the sex and the kissing - this moment, simon knows that you're truly comfortable with him. looking at you as you lean over and spit out your toothpaste, simon can't believe there was a time you weren't.
Part Five:
you're pretty sure you're skipping. which, yeah, in theory is embarrassing - but you can't help it. thoughts of the night before run freely through your head, phantom touches and kisses currently grazing your skin.
simon spent the night at your place, and he even drove you both to the leafs facility together. like usual, you had some editing to do up in your office, but this time before packing up, you had printed out all the proper paperwork for a workplace relationship. you were planning on bringing it up to simon when you both got back to his car, so you thought you'd just head down and wait for him at the locker room.
quietly, you near the open doors of the locker room - careful not to draw too much attention to your presence. thankfully the halls are empty, and it's not too loud. you slow in your steps right outside and you can hear a few voices inside the room. smiling, you hear simon's distinctive accent and laughter.
stopping fully, you hear a different voice. "-finally happened then?" they ask. you can't recognize the voice and don't catch the full scentence.
suddenly, simon laughs just once, "I don't kiss and tell."
"look at his face!" somebody different cheers, "you sly bastard. you did it...I knew you had an extra pep in your game today."
slowly, your expression changed to one of confusion to one of displeasure. you blink hard as tears begin to sting your eyes.
the original voice you heard cheers, "we've only been waiting since you brought her up in january-"
the frantic beating of your heart increases- they had to be talking about you. you and simon and what happened - not only last night but everything since january. your stomach plummets to the ground. all your original doubts about getting involved with simon start rushing back and now they don't sound so stupid.
you don't stick around any longer and turn on your heels. you don't have it in you yet to feel angry, all you can focus on is getting the hell out of the arena before you breakdown.
shakily, you pull out your personal phone and order an uber - exiting the arena.
-
simon pulls his sweatshirt over his head, momentarily hiding his flushed cheeks from his teammates.
jake mccabe sends him a knowing grin at the sight of his blush. jake cheers at the sight, in the midst of removing his elbow pads. "we've only been waiting since you brought her up in january. you're obsessed with her."
simon laughs gently, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly."obsessed is crazy." it's not crazy and he knows that. because simon has been obsessed with you since he's first seen you. at first, he thought he was being subtle with his longing glances and flirting - but then joseph woll picked up on it, then bobby and then jake and now it's not a secret.
bobby snickers and tosses his sweaty jersey into the team branded laundry bin sitting in the middle of the room, "fitting for somebody who's crazy in loveeeee." he sings.
"she's a nice girl benny," jake says to his defensive partner, "im glad things are progressing between the two of you. you just need to sit her down and really tell her how you feel. none of that 'just flirting' casual stuff from the beginning- because we both know that was never what you wanted - you don't want to give her mixed signals."
in the few months simon has been with the leafs, he's always admired jake on and off the ice. he was an amazing teammate, an outstanding defence man and always knew the right thing to say. this time was no exception and simon hummed in agreement, "you're right," he states, "she's probably waiting for me at my car right now...I should go and drive us back to one of our places and just...confess how much I like her...because i really fucking like her."
"you sappy piece of shit," bobby mutters with a grin, "go before she gets sick of waiting for you and walks home."
simon laughs gently, "if I bring up that 15 page document I want us to fill out she probably will walk home." he tosses his hat over his damp hair. "i'll see you guys later"
when simon doesn't see you waiting against or in his car, he frowns. then he panics, spinning around to look at his surroundings for any sight of you.
confused and worried, he quickly retrieves his phone out of his small duffle bag, immediately pulling up your contact.
simon
hey, I thought you were going to wait for me? did you get a ride home? everything okay?
it's five long minutes of watching the screen in search of your reply. he knaws on his lip anxiously as he looks and waits. then his phone dings, your nickname appearing.
y/n/n 🤍
didn't feel well.
simon
want me to come over with anything?
y/n/n 🤍
no
y/n/n 🤍
I need space for a little bit, simon.
his heart comes to what feels like a halting stop. something is definitely up. your last text message was staring at him tauntingly, and the urge to go comfort you was overwhelming him. at first, he types another message but reluctantly deletes it.
after all, if you're really not feeling well, you're probably trying to rest and the last thing he wants is to annoy you or disturb your sleep before your shift at the game.
but then james is the one recording all the pre-game content - you nowhere to be found.
the following morning, you don't reach out. when he catches sight of you during early morning drills, you don't look like you've been off sick. you also don't look at him. simon watches as you ignore him completely.
jake sends him a sympathetic look once he sees your face in comparison to simon's but simon can't even decipher what's happening. his heart breaks and he feels confused and defeated.
Epilogue:
7 days. an entire week since you left the arena and simon in a frenzy of tears and heartbreak. an entire week of ignoring the french man you've fallen for. paying no mind to him, or filming him for content, avoiding even his closest friends. you've ignored all of it.
after overhearing simon and a few teammates discussing you and your relationship in the locker room, you called james. in the back of an uber as you sobbed, james listened as you told him everything. how it sounded like you were nothing more than a lay: another girl who he set his sights on.
"look at his face"
"it definitely happened"
"talking about it since january"
his teammates chimes danced in echoed around your head, taunting you and your stupidity. you had finally opened yourself up to a man again since your previous relationship - finally let your guard down enough and finally feel completely free with simon and for what.
you weren't more to him than just a fucking notch on his belt. you're glad you didn't stick around to hear the rest of the conversation because you didn't even want to think about what else could've been said.
that night you had james cover your shift. you couldn't even fathom being in the same arena as simon after the wound was still so fresh. the next morning you avoided him completely - you didn't even crack when you felt his ocean eyes burning into your figure - you couldn't look: wouldn't look.
that first morning, you cried in your car after clocking out for the day. james had offered to handle the parts of your job that required up close content with the team, while you opted to stay up in the offices to edit.
the off chances you were around the team, it was never without james. you avoided one on one interaction with most of the players, and avoided even glancing towards simon.
the first two days, he tried to make his way towards you. but both times you left before he could reach you. he didn't deserve your time and you definitely didn't want to hear whatever pity excuse he would come up with.
on the 7th day of ignoring simon, your heart was still broken. you didn't work, so you sat on your apartment couch. your tv is on mute, some home renovation show is the only thing illuminating your dark living space.
the leafs game ended an hour before, but you didn't watch. you only knew because james asked if you wanted company - which you declined in favour of finishing up some editing for tomorrows uploads.
you're mid audio adjustment when there's two quiet knocks echoing through your apartment. you pause and wait for a moment. but then two more knocks follow and you sigh.
tossing your throw blanket off, you're already prepared to lend mrs. tomlinson, your elderly neighbour, some milk for her nightly tea. it was often her husband forget to pick up diary when he went grocery shopping, and she ended up on your doorstep everytime.
"milk again, mrs. tom-" you freeze with the door half open.
simon looks up from the floor at the sound of your voice. he is still in his suit, hair washed and damp as the scent of apple shampoo floods your senses.
the sight of him then has you panicking and you try to shut the door. you're not quick enough and he reaches out, palm flat against the door to stop it from completely closing. "y/n," he mumbles softly, "what is wrong?"
the sound of his voice is too much. all traces of anger, sadness, guilt, disappointment and love come flooding back in. "please leave," you whimper.
he looks heartbroken at your request, shoulders dropping in defeat as he stands in front of you. "did I do something wrong?" simon asks, "I mean- why are you avoiding me? I don't know what happened but it's killing me - you're killing me here."
"i'm killing you?" your voice is strained as you cry.
he exhales a hard breath and runs a hand through his hair frantically. the action leaves his strands messy. "i've been racking my brain for a week trying to figure out what I could've done wrong, and i've come up with nothing." he laughs once in something similar to disbelief, "I thought maybe at first you really were sick and trying to keep distance for my sake. but I quickly realized you were actively ignoring me."
you sigh, eyes shutting momentarily as you beg your emotions to hold on for a little big longer.
finally, you meet simon's eyes properly for the first time in 7 damn days. his are swimming with emotions and you try not to scoff - what could he possibly be emotional about - he should be guilty. he should be on his knees, begging for your forgiveness-
"please, y/n, just tell me what happened and let me fix it."
irritation bubbles into your chest and you subconsciously move closer to him. "I heard you," you state, "in the locker room last week." you're suprised that your voice doesn't waiver or change as you finally admit to him what you know.
instead of the guilty look you expect to take over his sharp features, simon looks at you with confusion. "okay...what did I say?"
you scoff. a tear falls from your eyes and you angrily wipe it away, "you seriously don't remember? 'I don't kiss and tell'," you mimick his words from a week ago. his face changes then, a look of something like embarrassment taking over. angrily, you continue "was I seriously nothing more to you than somebody new to get with?"
his brows pull together, "what-"
"I mean, fuck, simon," you interrupt him, "I opened up to you! I told you about my ex and my doubts about getting into a relationship. I risked my fucking job for you by breaking the rules ! I was ready for that absurdly long conversation with HR for this to work out! I really like you and you didn't even care about me for more than one night?"
simon jumps in quickly, stepping closer to you and past the threshold of your apartment and the hallway. "there has never been a time where you were just a casual thing. especially after you opened up to me, the last thing I would do is switch up on you and abandon what we have."
you shake your head, arms crossing against your chest defensively. "I heard you and your teammates talking about me!"
"then you didn't hear everything!" he interrupts, "in the locker room I was talking about how much I like you and how much progress we've made together! jake and bobby were bugging me about how crazy obsessed I am with you."
"oh? and, what? i'm just supposed to believe you?"
"yes," he replies, "yes! because why would I go through months and months of trying to get you agree to go on one date, if all I wanted was a one time hook up?"
his words have you pausing. sure, if you thought long and hard you probably could come up with a reason why he tried so hard to just fuck you...but then again, maybe you can't come up with a reason. maybe he was telling you the truth. you swallow gently, "I don't know."
"well I do know," he laughs gently, eyes downcast and runs a hand over his head. once he looks up again, your face is wearing a much softer expression than before and simon feels himself becoming slightly breathless. "it's because i'm falling in love with you, y/n."
at his words you body covers itself in goosebumps. your arms fall to your sides, limp and heavy. "you're what?" you mumble. all traces of negative emotions you once felt have disappeared. you can't tell if you want to cry or kiss him.
oblivious to your new emotions, simon continues. "god, it's never just been about flirting with you or just trying to make you blush - those were just the extras that I got the pleasure of having. i've had a crush on since the moment I first saw you back during the pre-season - when you were recording the walk out. when I found out you were the regular social admin for the team, I've never been so excited to be around somebody or spend time with someone. and spending time with you, y/n has been my absolute favourite thing.
I really like you, y/n. hell, like I said, i'm falling in love. and if you're not ready for this right now, then i can wait–"
his words are muffled as you push up onto your tippy toes and press your lips against his. it takes a moment for it to register that you're kissing him, but then he sighs gently against your mouth.
you hold his face in your small hands, tenderly caressing your lips together. simon wraps one of his forearms around you waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his body as his other hand moves to caress the side of your head.
slowly, you pull away breathlessly, "you saw me? at that pre-season game?"
simon nods just as delicately as your breathing, "you were impossible not to notice, y/n." he gives you another kiss, this one quicker than the last. "i'm sorry that I made you believe anything different than my true feelings, I never wanted to hurt you."
you shake your head gently, "i'm sorry for ignoring you. I should've just asked you about what I heard, instead of assuming the worst possible scenario. I feel so silly," you admit, "it's just after everything that happened with my last relationship, god, I had so many doubts about you and your intentions so that one little thing pushed me over the edge."
"don't feel silly," he hums, leaning down for another kiss. simon pulls away slowly and you slightly chase his lips."if I told you about my actual feelings before today, none of this would've happened."
"don't dwell on that," you mumble, "and after this, i'll never assume again. there's no more doubts and i'm leaving my baggage at the door."
"I'll take your baggage always, jolie fille."
the french term of endearment is not forgotten and you smile, leaning back up to re connect your mouths for another euphoric kiss. in that moment you decide you'll never get tired of the way simon kisses you.
you both part to catch your breath.
"so..." you hum after a beat, chest still pounding as you start to regain normal breathing patterns.
"so." simon replies breathless, a grin tugging on his lips.
"you're falling in love with me?" you tease.
"I thought I was pretty obvious about that part," he mumbles sheepishly, the hand that was once on your face coming to rub the back of his neck.
you smile gently up at him, thumbs rubbing against the warm skin of his jawline. "you ready to fill out those 15 pages of paperwork ive been talking about?"
simon's hand lowers slightly from your lower back and down to your ass, affectionately rubbing over the flesh. that flirtatious smirk you love so much appears his face, "i'm always ready."
Hi Jules, love your work so much! Was wondering if you could write this prompt "there is tinsel. everywhere." [laughing] "i think you got more of it on yourself than the tree" from page 2 with Simon Benoit?
Thanks queen, hope the blog keeps growing every day 🥹🥰🫶🏼
okay so i made them parents again and im really liking the domestic dad! simon benoit — may have to explore that more in the future 🙂↕️❤️
the sound of milo’s little giggles can be heard from down the hall, and as you make your way towards the laughter, it only makes you gently join in. you round into the family room, anticipating what’s got your son so humoured, but before you can ask—you see it.
“there is tinsel. everywhere.” you announce, surveying the scene unfolding in your living room. “I think you got more of it on yourself than the tree.” you tell milo, but he’s not paying attention to you. too busy covered in silver strands of glitter, running back and forth to the pile of tinsel on the coffee table and the tree.
you turn your gaze towards your husband, and snicker. “so are you.”
simon looks down at his own sweater—now sporting a glittering safety vest of tinsel draped across his chest—then at the floor, where milo has created what can only be described as a festive explosion.
your four year old is in his own little world still, humming a tune only he knows, fists full of tinsel as he tosses handfuls of it into the air like confetti. every landing spot is fair game. the couch, the cat bed, the coffee table, even simon’s socks.
he lets out a quiet, resigned huff that’s really just his version of a laugh. “he’s thorough,” simon says, ruffling your son’s hair as the boy scampers past him with yet another roll of tinsel.
“he’s a menace,” you correct affectionately. “just like his dad.”
“but festive menaces,” simon counters, reaching down to snag milk around the waist mid run. he squeals, giggles vibrating out of him once again as your husband lifts him with one arm like it’s nothing. “oi, little man. thought we were decoratin’ the tree.”
milo, dangling upside down in simon’s grip, declares proudly, “I am decorating! daddy said we need lots!”
as you sit down on the couch, you give your husband a look over the ornament box. “did he?” milo giggles some more and then nods. you sigh, but you’re not annoyed. not really. “alright then. I think lots means that we need to do some more work.”
simon lifts a brow, a silent question in your direction—asking if you actually want to let your christmas crazed son loose with the tinsel again. when you smile with conformation, he moves. “you heard the boss,” simon murmurs, shifting milo right side up and setting him on his feet. “more tinsel baby.”
and just like that, your son is back to chaos.
you snort. “at least he’s enthusiastic.”
“enthusiastic,” he repeats, watching milo wrap tinsel around the cat, who is sitting stoically like this is the price of living with humans. “that’s one word for it.”
but despite the chaos—the glitter, the holiday music slightly too loud, the half hung lights dipping unevenly in the middle—the room feels warm and full in a way that makes your throat go tight.
your husband sits down beside you with a tired groan. he brushes a bit of tinsel from your hair with gentle fingers. “you’re enjoyin’ this,” he says, but it’s not a question. it’s an observation.
you look up at him, letting yourself lean into the moment. “of course I am.” subconsciously, you let your hand fall down to your belly. there’s barley a bump there—barley any signs of the new life you’ve just started growing—but it still makes you giddy. you’re almost 15 weeks.
simon watches you with a smile, eyes creasing at the corners with anticipation—that tiny, precious smile he saves for the two of you. “good,” he murmurs, hand covering yours. thumb stroking the tiny swell. “‘cause I like seein’ you happy.”
you feel your cheeks warm, and he notices. of course he notices. with his free hand, simon lets his thumb ghost along your cheekbone. but your bubble is shattered when a stray ornament rolls along the floor and falls at his feet. he bends to pick it up.
milo bounds over to you both, little matching sweatsuit still covered in tinsel. he tugs on both your hands at once. “tree! tree! tree!”
simon scoops him instantly, settling him on his hip. “alright, baby. let’s do the star.
hours later, and a good :0 minutes past his bedtime, milo fights sleep like it’s a personal rival—wriggling and giggling and insisting he isn’t tired, even as his eyelids droop dramatically every thirty seconds. you finally convince him to climb into his tiny bed after a quick bath and wrestling him into his red pyjamas—his bedsheets decorated with dinosaurs and superheroes. but the moment he settles, simon spots a family sparkle.
there is tinsel in milo’s hair. still. somehow.
“how’d you get more tinsel in your hair baby?”
your eyes naturally search until you spot what your husbands seeing as well.
your son shrugs under the covers, a little grin pulling at his rosebud lips.
simon mutters, “christ,” under his breath. then, milo yawns so wide that his eyes water, and that’s when your husband gives up entirely, kneeling beside the bed and gently carding his fingers through milo’s hair. every few seconds, another tiny piece of silver or gold tinsel works its way free and flutters down onto the blanket.
that’s when you know he’d gotten into the tree again after bath time.
you sit beside them, plucking out stray pieces simon misses. It’s a slow, quiet little ritual. his big hands careful, and your touch light and soothing—milo’s breaths growing deeper as the room settles.
“think we got it all,” you whisper after a while.
“no chance,” he murmurs. “kid’s a walkin’ ornament.”
you nudge his shoulder, and he smirks, eyes softening as he watches your son finally drift off. small hand curls around one of simon’s fingers—instinctive, trusting and something he’s done since he came out of your womb.
simon still, just like always does when milo grabs him like that. it’s like your husband forgets how to breathe for a second, and you swear he falls in love with fatherhood all over again each time.
you lean your head lightly against his shoulder. “you’re so good at this, y’know.” his kiss him over the material of his hoodie.
he scoffs under his breath. “I spent half the day covered in tinsel.”
“and he adored every second of it.” you smile, “and I can’t wait to grow our family and watch you do it again.”
simon glances at you then, the room dim, milo asleep between you, everything warm and still. his voice drops to something low and honest. “I can’t wait either.”
your breath catches and simon sees it. his free hand finds your thigh, thumb brushing gently once, a silent hey, I meant that.
you lean closer without thinking, and he meets you halfway. you share a soft kiss, slow and lingering, pressed right over your son’s sleeping head. It’s careful, reverent almost, the kind of kiss that says this is our life, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
when you part, simon rests his forehead against yours for a beat. “love you,” he whispers, barely there. “both of you. and that little girl growing inside you.
you smile, “a girl huh?”
simon reaches over to tuck the blanket snugly around your son, brushing his knuckles over milo’s cheek with a tenderness that still hits you right in the chest. then he looks back at you, eye darting over your soft glowing face. “yeah. a girl.”
you turn off the light and walk out together—fingers laced, hearts full, tinsel still stuck to simon’s elbow because of course it is.
vol. 2 prompt no. 3: showering together (non-sexual)
“babe, look.”
simon’s thick accent, which is full of excitement and humor, has you carefully turning on your feet—unwilling to slip on the wet shower tiles.
one look at your boyfriend has your hands freezing in your sud covered scalp. he’s grinning proudly, facial hair soaked in water and shampoo—a sign that he’s been scratching at his jaw in thought. but that’s not what simon wants you to see.
no, he’s sporting a extravagant mohawk, held together by your raspberry and lemon shampoo.
“do I look like a rockstar?” he asks, making some wild attempt at air guitar. simon is lucky you love him, because in this moment he looks ridiculous. ridiculously dumb and adorable but still ridiculous.
you snicker, stepping under the stream off water to begin rinsing your second round of shampoo. “you look like you’re using too much of my shampoo.”
simon sqwaks like you just accused him of muder, “maybe it’s my shampoo.”
you quirk a brow, “I only smell mine.”
“you got me,” he hums, moving towards you in search of the shower head. you both move in unison—like you’ve done many times before. more times than you can count. showering together has been something you and your boyfriend have always done together—a part of your nightly routine.
he gently takes ahold of your waist, spinning you so that he’s under the spray. simon tilts his head back, exposing his throat. you want to bite him. but you don’t obviously—not yet.
you push up onto your tip toes, and with simon’s hold on your waist, you’re stable. your rinse the soap out of simon’s hair, scratching at his scalp in a way that makes him moan far too loudly.
you laugh, cupping the water in your hand and splashing it at the base of his neck where soap has collected. “this is a sign, babe. you need a haircut.”
simon opens one’s eye, peering down at you. “but then I can’t do fun shampoo hairstyles.”
“that’s the point.”
he snorts at your remark, large hand sliding down your back to give your ass a warning squeeze. it makes you squirm, but simon just holds you tighter.
Hiii, could you please write prompt 17 from list one w/ Simon Benoit? Love your work and happy holidays!
you already know I saw the name simon benoit and jumped up and down with excitement. the girls who get it, get it!! hope you enjoy this—simon and reader and parents in this for the ultimate cozy vibe
prompt 17: in the trenches of snow forts, amidst a war of a snow fight! who will win?
the backyard is a battlefield.
miniature snow forts rise like lopsided castles from each corner, glittering under the late afternoon winter sun. your breath fogs the air in front of you as you crouch behind a wall of hastily packed snow, gloves already wet, nose cold, heart light.
across the yard, simon straightens to full height behind his own fortress—far too smug for a man twice your size and armed with a bucket of pre rolled snowballs. your four year old, milo, is in the middle zone, bouncing excitedly in his fluffy blue snowsuit, scanning the yard like a tiny commander trying to decide whose team he’s betraying next.
“milo!” you whisper yell, cupping your hands around your mouth. “over here! I need reinforcements!”
he gasps dramatically—because everything is dramatic at four—and waddles toward you as fast as the layers of winter gear allow. snow flurries explode around his boots and he’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.
but just as he reaches your fort, a snowball smacks the ground inches from his foot.
you gasp. “dad almost took you out, buddy!”
milo shrieks with a mix of laughter and outrage. “daddy!” he accuses, spinning toward the enemy lines.
simon is already ducking back into cover, voice rumbling through the yard. “all’s fair in love and snow wars!”
you playfully glare. “you’re hitting your own child now?”
“you threw the first snowball at my head,” he counters, popping up just long enough to flash you a wolfish grin. “this is nothing compared to that.”
milo climbs into the fort with a dramatic,—“oof,” flopping onto his knees. “mommy, we get him.”
“oh, we will absolutely get him.” you ruffle his hat. “we will get him good.”
together, you build ammo—milo’s lumpy, yours perfect spheres, whispering and giggling like simon can’t hear you conspiring against him. spoiler alert, he can, and he can’t stop the fond smile from tugging at his face. milo loads his snowballs into your mittened hands, little face flushed with purpose.
“okay,” you whisper, “when I say go, we both pop up and fire. ready?”
he nods so hard his pom pom hat wobbles.
you peek over the wall and see your husband— crouched low, rolling a snowball with the kind of precision normally reserved for the rink. his breath curls in the cold air, the tips of his ears are red, cheeks flushed. he looks unfairly good, all broad shoulders in a winter jacket, strong forearms flexing as he packs snow with those big hands. it makes you want to give him a million more milo’s.
you swallow when your son tugs your coat impatiently. right. snow war.
“ready?” you murmur again.
milo nods fiercely, face scrunched like a tiny warrior.
“go!”
you both jump up. milo tosses his snowball with a heroic yell, and you launch yours with accuracy that would make a snowman jealous.
simon rises at the same time—and your snowball sails in a perfect arch, landing squarely in the middle of his chest.
he stops. looks down. and then looks up at you slowly. “oh, I see how it is,” he says, brushing snow off his jacket with a dangerous smile. “It’s treason, then.”
you squeak and duck back down. milo cackles.
“daddy’s coming!” your son whispers, thrilled.
you hear simon’s heavy boots crunching in the snow with purpose, getting closer and closer to where the two of you are hiding.
“milo,” you say, eyes wide, “you have to run. save yourself.”
but he just giggles and dives deeper into the fort, absolutely not going anywhere, just as the footsteps stop behind you.
a shadow falls over the snow wall—and then, arms are scooping you up from behind, lifting you right off your knees. you shriek and laugh all at once.
“simon! this is a safe zone!”
“nuh uh! not when the queen of the opposing kingdom ambushes the king,” he murmurs against your ear, voice warm and smug and wickedly soft. snowflakes melt into his facial hair as he tilts his head, brushing his cold nose against your cheek. “you hit me hard, sweetheart.”
“and I’ll do it again,” you retort, kicking your feet as he spins you around.
milo bursts out giggling. “daddy caught you mommy! that means daddy wins!”
simon sets you down but keeps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest, his breath warm on your neck.
“I think,” he says, squeezing you gently, “I won the battle.”
you twist in simon’s hold, eyebrows raised. “you sure about that?”
he leans in, brushing a quick, teasing kiss to your lips—warm and sweet—melting you faster than any snow could.
“yeah,” he murmurs, low and soft just for you. “pretty sure.”
then milo, who always wants the upmost attention for his parents, runs into your husbands legs, little snow suit making that adorable swooshing sounds. then with all his little might, smacks a snowball against simon’s legs.
you son squeals with delight, arms raised. “I win! I win!”
“hey!” simon scoops him up, tossing him gently in the air as Milo shrieks with the best kind of laughter—the warm, tiny, I love my family kind.
you watch them, heart swelling so full it almost aches. this—this silly snow war with your boys, this laughter, this warmth in the cold—is the best kind of day home together.
and with milo held on his hip and you wrapped against his side, simon can’t help but to think he’s already got the best presents of any christmas ever.
