singledadniall replied to your post: literallyfuckeveryone replied to your post: ...
I feel like coming to terms with the fact that you’d bone ovi is like a right of passage into this fandom tbh But I agree with everything you said about what it is that makes him attractive it’s all really, really true it’s very much an entire package kind of thing
YES EXACTLY it’s a whole package thing for sure. his personality is a huge part of it for me, which obviously you can’t see until you kind of get to know him through his interviews and stuff so it makes sense. it really was a damn wake up call though, i thought i would be immune to hoggles syndrome but i could not have possibly been more wrong about anything in my damn life.
me day 1 of hockey fandom: “i only like this cute one, the rest are ugly. pass.”
me day 30 of hockey fandom: “they’re all the cute one even the one who looks like a creature from the deep sea and i would sit on all of their dicks.”
what will the next 30 days bring? i can only imagine
Niklas doesn’t realize there’s a baby on his doorstep until he’s tripped over the basket, stumbled to the ground and sworn in Swedish while rubbing his ankle furiously.
“Wrong house buddy,” he mutters as he inelegantly gets to his feet and peers down at the sleeping baby. He – she? – is bundled up in white, looking utterly angelic. Nicky knows enough babies to know that it’s a mere illusion, that as soon as he touches the baby, he – she? – is probably going to wail at the discovery that they’ve been abandoned to someone as utterly clueless as him.
He keeps staring at the baby as he slips his phone out of his pocket and calls Holts.
“I’m not covering for you again if you’re late,” Holts says when he picks up.
“There’s a baby on my doorstep,” Nicky says bluntly. God, he needs coffee. Lots of coffee. “I think they delivered to the wrong house.”
“Holy shit,” says Holts before he hears a squeal of tires and a few blaring horns. “You know that’s just a myth, right? They always deliver to the right person.”
Nicky sighs and slumps down onto the ground, wrapping his arm around his knees and staring at the still sleeping baby. His baby. “Yeah,” he says heavily. “Just hoping, you know?”
“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Holts says in what Nicky always thinks of as his Serious Dad voice. “I’ll be at yours in five. You want me to call anyone?”
“Should call the office,” Nicky says reluctantly.
“And um, the other parent?” Holts asks softly. “You should call … them.”
Nicky blinks in surprise. “The other parent,” he repeats slowly. “I guess I should know who that is.”
“Oh Christ,” Holts says faintly but Nicky’s already hanging up.
“No other parent,” Nicky says firmly, reaching into the basket and picking the baby up. He – she? – stirs finally, blinking their eyes slowly and staring up at Nicky. “Rude to stare,” he murmurs, staring back.
The baby waves its pudgy fist once before they close their eyes, effectively dismissing Nicky for more sleep.
So definitely his child then.
*
The baby is a girl, Nicky discovers when he peers uneasily into her diaper. It’s pretty clean, so he figures he doesn’t have to worry about changing it just yet.
The doorbell goes and he picks her up, patting her bottom gently as he wanders towards the front door.
“Holy shit,” Holts says, staring at them.
“Told you,” Nicky grumbles. “Wishbaby.”
“So who’ve you been wishing for babies with then?” Holts asks, which is definitely not at the top of Nicky’s list of Important Shit To Figure Out right now.
“Need diapers,” he says with a shrug and Holts rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, no shit,” Holts says. “I’ve got people on it.”
Nicky arches his eyebrows at that, but he’s feeling too overwhelmed to care about whichever teammate Holts has dragged into this. He just hopes it’s not Willy or they’re all in trouble.
“What a cutie,” Holts says before Nicky finds himself neatly divested of his daughter. Holts is holding her like an expert, cooing softly and tickling her under the chin with his finger. “Who’s a gorgeous girl, hey? Who’s a pretty little lady?”
Nicky’s already itching to grab her back so he shoves his hands in his pockets and pulls out his phone. He should probably call the office to explain why he’s not going to make morning skate. And his parents, to let them know about their new granddaughter.
But he doesn’t make either call, because he’s giving into what he assumes are his fatherly urges and snatching his daughter back, glaring at Holts and tucking her into the crook of his arm.
Holts just laughs at him while the doorbell goes and he disappears, leaving Nicky to cuddle his daughter close and maybe whisper warnings about staying away from bearded hockey players. Or all hockey players, period.
“Nicky!”
He looks up and finds himself being stripped of his daughter again. “Hey Alex,” he says with a sigh. Of course Holts called Ovi first. Of fucking course he did.
“Pretty lady,” Ovi singsongs, running a surprisingly gentle fingertip down her cheek. “You name?”
“Uh,” Nicky’s mind goes blank as he stares at his daughter. “Not yet?”
“Pretty name for pretty baby,” Ovi decides.
“Maybe, Sofia?” Nicky suggests, running his hand through his hair as he looks at Ovi. “Yes?”
“Good Russian name,” Alex nods. “Sofiya. Yes, good name. Pretty name. Daddy very clever, little Sofiya.”
Nicky exhales slowly. “Okay, good. Sofia.”
“Uh, yeah, okay then,” Holts murmurs. “I’m gonna run to the store and pick up all the things you’re gonna need immediately. The rest you can order online, alright?”
“Yes, good, go buy things,” Alex says, finally looking up from where he’s been staring at Sofia and waving Holts towards the door. “Buy pretty pink things, yes?”
“Sure,” Holts says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks,” Nicky says, inching closer to where Ovi is making faces at Sofia. Not that she’s paying him any attention, since she’s been sleeping this whole time and everything.
“So,” Ovi murmurs when Nicky’s pretty much plastered against his side and they’re both staring down at Sofia with what Nicky can only assume is identical expressions of wonder. “You wish for baby, Nicky?”
“I didn’t know I was doing it,” Nicky says, which is the absolute truth. He hasn’t even taken anyone home in months, or thought about a relationship in over a year. He’s been happy to concentrate on his hockey and put the whole family issue aside for a while.
“I can believe,” Ovi says dryly. “Always denying own wants, Nicky. Always put team or others first. Never want things for yourself. Never put self first. Not healthy, Nicky. Not good for you.”
“Unlike you then,” Nicky says. Sofia stirs just a little and they both pause and hold their breath, but she just makes a cute little noise and snuggles back into Ovi’s arms, which Nicky does not find adorable at all.
“No, I’m always put self first,” Ovi agrees softly. “Why not? I wish for things I want. Otherwise, how else will I get?”
Nicky plucks Sofia out of Ovi’s arms and she flops onto his shoulder, mouthing against his neck.
“You wish, Nicky,” Ovi says quietly. “For baby. For Sofia.”
“You ever wish for a baby, Alex?” Nicky asks, his hand stroking down Sofia’s back as she snuggles closer.
“Yes,” Ovi says easily, to Nicky’s surprise. “Wish for baby for long time. Never think I get though.” Then he steps into Nicky’s space and drops his hand to Nicky’s hip. “Who you wish, Nicky? No girlfriend, no boyfriend?”
The weight of Sofia in his arms already feels right. She’s solid and real and she’s here because Nicky wished for her somehow. Wishing made her real. “You,” he says. “I wished for you and I wished for her.”
Ovi’s grin softens, gap-toothed and adorable. “I wished for you too. Never think it happen. Never think it possible.”
Nicky shifts just a little, until he and Sofia are nestled in the curve of Ovi’s arms. “I guess anything’s possible,” he says, utterly deadpan as he stares at his daughter. Their daughter. “She’s gonna be a great hockey player. Like her papa.”
Nicky feels Ovi’s arms tighten around him. “Papa,” he whispers, sounding awed. “Sofiya’s papa.”
Nicky turns to press his lips against Alex’s. They’re warm and so much softer than Nicky ever imagined. “You’re gonna spoil her rotten.”
“Yes,” Ovi agrees happily. “Spoil princess.”
Nicky huffs out a laugh. There’s so much they have to figure out, not least this brand new baby they’ve wished for together. But the front door opens and Holts is standing there with three bags full of baby things and Oshie and Willy are behind him looking bemused but they’ve got bags too and Ovi won’t stop nuzzling against his neck and he’s kept one huge hand on Sofia’s back the whole time they’ve been standing together so really, what could go wrong?
“Shit, I think I got the wrong diapers,” Willy says in dismay as he pokes around in one of Holts’ bags. “They come in different sizes??”
“Jesus fucking Christ, kid,” Holts says.
“Stop cursing in front of my princess,” Ovi growls.
Nicky wants to say he feels disappointed, wants to say that he feels let down at the way their season ended, but he’d be lying. Well, of course he feels sad, but not disappointed or let down. He’d expected this. Nicky had expected all of this, from the way the season ended, to who would score the last goal.
He goes through the handshake line, with his helmet resting atop his head, saying great job to everyone he shakes hands with, even though he knows, he knows it should be them on the receiving end of this. It always should be them. Maybe it’s a mental thing, maybe it’s a physical thing, the reason why they can’t seem to get past the second fucking round, of four.
Why can they only go half way, and never further?
The mood in the locker room is, well, sour. No one is looking at anyone, not even Mojo and Kuzy, who’d gotten married right before the playoffs started, in a quick ceremony in Kuzy’s backyard; a ceremony that everyone had been made aware of a fucking hour before it started, which resulted everyone coming in various states of dressing and formality.
There’s like a feeling of I told you so and it’s always the same and I knew it was going to end this way, why hope for more? all around the room.
The thing that really gets to Nicky, though, is that Alex hasn’t even moved since they got into the locker room. Everyone is taking their jerseys off, all their sweaty, gross gear off. Not Alex. He’s just sitting there, looking down at his hands like they will provide the answer to why they can’t ever seem to go all the way.
Nicky walks over to Alex, jersey halfway off.
“You do know this isn’t all on you, right?” Nicky asks, softly. He knows that Alex likes none of the credit, but takes all of the blame when the team isn’t doing well. It’s both a gift and a curse. “Maybe this just wasn’t our year.”
Again, Nicky doesn’t say.
“Just, just mad that I can’t do this for you,” Alex replies. He’s still looking down at his hands, and he sounds like he’s apologizing to Nicky, like he could single-handedly win this whole round. “Didn’t try hard enough, didn’t do anything well enough. Too many turnovers, too many breakdowns in own zone. Too much everything. Too much disappointment for you.”
Nicky frowns.
“You could never disappoint me,” he says, sits in the stall next to Alex’s. “Ever. Disappointing me is not in your genes.”
“But-”
“No,” Nicky says, and shakes his head. “We’ve been playing for nearly ten years now, and not once, not once have you disappointed me. You are always the one that lifts me up when I’m down, the one that I can turn to when I’m feeling upset. You are it for me, ok? And I know, I know it hurts but, this wasn’t all on you. And this wasn’t just for me.”
