https://www.tumblr.com/yvaineseleneposts/813622775337156608/hi-are-you-taking-requests-for-timo
thank you can I please request an exes to lovers fic with Timo and Hischier sister and they’re divorced with a small child
Can't stop loving you
A/N: requested by Anonymous. I absolutely loved this idea!
Pairing: Timo Meier x reader
Words: 4,1k
Warning(s): exes to lovers
The first time Timo saw her again, it felt like someone had pressed pause on his lungs.
It was at the arena, of all places, where everything between them had once felt so certain. The hum of the crowd, the scrape of skates on ice, the sharp smell of cold air and adrenaline. It used to be their world, now it felt like walking into a memory he hadn’t been invited back into. He wasn’t supposed to notice her immediately, but he did. He always did. Y/N stood near the glass, her coat wrapped tightly around her, one hand resting protectively on the small shoulder beside her. Their son. God, he’d gotten taller.
Timo hesitated longer than he should have. He had faced roaring crowds, overtime pressure, and career-defining moments without flinching but walking toward her again felt harder than all of it combined. Maybe because there were no clear rules here, no whistle to signal when to stop, no teammates to fall back on. Just the weight of everything they had been and everything they had broken.
“Hey,” he finally said, his voice quieter than he intended.
Y/N turned, and for a split second, something flickered across her face, surprise maybe, or something softer that disappeared too quickly to name. “Hey.”
Their son beamed up at him. “Papa!”
That word still hit him every time, sharp and warm all at once. Timo crouched down, pulling the boy into his arms, breathing him in like he could make up for lost time in one moment. “Hey, champ,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his hair. “You’ve grown.”
Y/N watched them, arms crossed now, not defensively but like she needed something to hold herself together. They had been good once. That was the part that made everything harder. It would have been easier if they had always been wrong for each other, if the love hadn’t been real, if the memories didn’t still feel alive in the spaces between them.
“Game was good,” she said after a moment, nodding toward the ice, filling the silence because she always had been better at that than him.
“You stayed till the end,” he replied, a small, almost-smile tugging at his lips. “You used to leave early to beat traffic.”
“You used to complain when I did,” she shot back automatically, and then they both paused, caught in the familiarity of it.
For a moment, it felt like slipping back into an old rhythm. The kind you don’t forget even after everything falls apart, but then reality settled back in, heavy and unspoken.
Divorce papers signed. Separate homes. Careful schedules. Conversations reduced to logistics like pickup times, school updates, doctor appointments. They had become polite where they used to be everything else.
“I can take him this weekend,” Timo said, standing again, his tone shifting into that careful neutrality they both relied on. “If that still works.”
Y/N nodded. “Yeah. That’s fine.” A pause. Then, softer, “He’s been asking.”
Timo swallowed. “I know.”
Another silence, but this one was different, it felt more uncertain. Their son tugged at Y/N’s sleeve, asking something about snacks, and she bent down to answer him, brushing his hair back in a way that made Timo’s chest ache with familiarity. She had always done that. Small, instinctive touches. She used to do the same to him.
“You look tired,” he said before he could stop himself.
She glanced up, startled. “You always say that.”
“Because you always are.”
“And you always think you can fix it.”
The words landed between them, heavier than either of them expected. Timo looked away first, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” she interrupted gently. And she did. That was the problem. She had always understood him too well.
The truth was nothing about their ending had been simple. It wasn’t one big mistake, one dramatic betrayal. It was smaller things such as missed calls, long road trips, exhaustion, words said at the wrong time and apologies that came too late. Love that didn’t disappear but slowly got buried under everything else. They had tried. God, they had tried. But trying hadn’t been enough.
“I miss you,” he said suddenly.
It slipped out, unplanned and unguarded, and the second it did, he almost took it back. That wasn’t part of the script they followed now. They weren’t supposed to say things like that anymore.
Y/N froze. The arena noise faded into the background, or maybe it just stopped mattering. She looked at him, and whatever she saw made her expression soften in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time.
“You don’t get to say that like it’s easy,” she whispered.
“It’s not easy,” he replied, his voice rough. “None of this is.”
“Then why now?”
Because I never stopped, he wanted to say. Because every time I see you, it feels like I made the worst mistake of my life. Because I thought giving you space would fix things, and instead it just pushed you further away. But he didn’t say any of that, at least not yet.
Instead, he took a step closer, careful, like approaching something fragile. “Because I don’t want this to be it for us.”
Her breath caught, barely noticeable, but he saw it.
“Timo…” she started, shaking her head slightly, like she was already preparing to protect herself.
“I know,” he cut in softly. “I know we broke it. I know I messed up more times than I can count. But we were good too. We were more than this.”
Her eyes flickered, something breaking through the walls she had spent so long building. “We tried,” she said. “You remember that, right? We didn’t just give up.”
“I remember everything,” he said. “That’s why I can’t let it go.”
Their son tugged at them again, oblivious to the weight of the moment, asking if they could get food now. Y/N let out a small, shaky laugh, brushing at her eyes quickly.
“Come on,” she said, straightening. “We’ll talk later.”
It wasn’t a yes or forgiveness, but it wasn’t a no either. And for the first time in a long time, Timo felt something shift.
Nico knew before anyone said anything. It was in the way the air shifted when Timo walked into the room, in the way his sister went just a little too still, like she had trained herself not to react, but couldn’t quite help it. Nico had spent his whole life reading her, long before the world knew him as Nico Hischier, before captaincies and cameras and expectations. To him, she was just his little sister. And Timo had been his best friend long before he had ever been anything else. That was what made all of this so complicated.
“You’re staring,” Y/N muttered under her breath, not looking at him as she adjusted her son’s jacket.
“I’m observing,” Nico corrected, leaning back against a wall in the locker room like he had all the time in the world. His gaze flicked between her and Timo Meier, who stood awkwardly near the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome or not.
“You’re judging,” she shot back.
“Also true.”
She finally looked at him then, narrowing her eyes. “Stay out of it.”
Nico huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You say that like I haven’t been in it from the start.”
And that was the truth of it, wasn’t it? Nico had been there when they first met, when the teasing had started, when the lines had blurred into something more. He had been there for the late-night talks, the fights, the makeups, the wedding. He had stood beside Timo, grinning like an idiot, when his best friend married his sister. And then, years later, he had stood in a quiet hallway, fists clenched, trying to understand how it had all fallen apart.
“I’m serious,” Y/N said, softer now. “Don’t.”
Nico studied her for a moment, really studied her, and the teasing edge slipped just slightly. “You still love him.”
It wasn’t a question.
Her expression hardened immediately. “Nico.”
“You do,” he pressed, not unkindly. “And he—” Nico glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice, “—he looks like someone kicked his dog every time he sees you.”
“That’s not my problem anymore.”
“It is when you both keep pretending like nothing’s there.”
She let out a sharp breath, turning away from him. “You think it’s that simple?”
“No,” Nico said immediately. “I think it’s exactly as messy as it looks. But I also think you two are idiots.”
That earned him a glare. “Wow. Super helpful.”
“I’m serious.” He pushed off the counter, stepping closer to her. “I’ve seen you with other people. It’s not the same. You know that.”
Her jaw tightened. “You don’t get to compare.”
“And you don’t get to lie to yourself.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Across the room, Timo was crouched down, helping their son with something, his big hands careful, his voice soft in a way that always caught Nico off guard. It was the same way he had been from the beginning. Solid. Steady. Maybe not perfect, but never careless with the people he loved.
“That’s the problem,” Y/N said quietly. “It was real. It wasn’t some almost-thing we can just… I don’t know… try again.”
Nico’s expression softened. “No one’s saying it’ll be easy.”
She laughed, but there was no humour in it. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re stubborn.”
“I learned from you.”
“Exactly,” he shot back, a small grin breaking through.
That cracked something in her, just for a second. She shook her head, looking down. “You didn’t see the worst parts.”
Nico’s voice gentled. “Maybe not. But I saw enough to know you didn’t stop loving each other. You just got lost somewhere.”
Her throat tightened at that, but she didn’t respond.
Across the room, Timo finally stood, hesitating like he wasn’t sure if he should interrupt. His eyes flicked to Nico briefly, something unspoken passing between them, the kind of understanding that only came from years of friendship, of shared history, of knowing exactly what the other was thinking without needing to say it out loud.
Do something, Timo’s expression seemed to say.
Nico sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You know he talks to me about you, right?”
Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“All the time,” Nico said. “Tries to act casual about it, but he’s terrible at that.” A small, fond smirk tugged at his lips. “You’d think after all these years, he’d get better.”
She glanced over at Timo instinctively, her expression faltering when she saw the way he was already looking at her.
“He regrets it,” Nico added quietly. “Whatever you think happened. He regrets it.”
Y/N swallowed, her defences flickering.
“And you?” Nico asked gently. “You’re telling me you don’t?”
She didn’t answer and she didn’t have to.
Nico nodded once, like that was all the confirmation he needed. Then, because he was still her brother before anything else, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m not saying you have to fix it overnight,” he said. “But maybe… stop acting like it’s already over.”
Her eyes stung, and she hated that he could still get to her like this.
“Talk to him,” Nico added. “Actually talk. Not about schedules or drop-offs or who forgot to pack extra socks. Talk like you used to.”
Y/N let out a shaky breath, glancing between her brother and the man she had once built a life with.
“Just don’t waste it,” Nico finished softly. “Not if it’s still there.”
For a long moment, everything felt suspended.
Then Timo took a tentative step forward, his voice careful but hopeful. “Can we… maybe go for a walk? Just us?”
Y/N hesitated.
Nico didn’t say anything else. He just gave her a look, a quiet, steady kind of encouragement, and then turned away, scooping his nephew up into his arms.
“Come on, champ,” he said lightly. “Let’s give your parents a minute, yeah?”
And just like that, the choice was hers. Y/N looked back at Timo, at the familiarity in his eyes, at the history they couldn’t seem to outrun.
“…Okay,” she said, barely above a whisper.
The walk was quieter than either of them expected. It wasn’t awkward, but they were being careful. Like both of them were stepping around something fragile, something that might crack if they moved too quickly. The arena lights faded behind them, replaced by the softer glow of streetlamps and the distant hum of traffic. Their shoulders brushed once, accidentally, and they both noticed, however neither of them commented on it.
“Coffee?” Timo asked after a moment, glancing at her like he wasn’t sure if he was pushing his luck.
Y/N hesitated, but only for a second. “Yeah. Okay.”
It felt strangely normal, walking side by side into a small café a few blocks away. The kind of place they used to go to all the time before everything got complicated, before schedules and distance and silence replaced the easy rhythm they once had. The bell above the door chimed softly as they stepped inside, warmth wrapping around them almost immediately.
They ordered without really thinking, her usual, his usual. That hadn’t changed. Of course it hadn’t.
They sat across from each other, a small table between them, hands wrapped around cups they hadn’t yet touched. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Up close like this, it was harder to pretend. Harder to ignore the way time hadn’t erased anything, it had just settled it deeper.
Timo broke first.
“I talked to Nico,” he admitted.
Y/N let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking her head. “Of course you did.”
“He didn’t tell me what to say,” Timo added quickly. “He just… told me to stop being an idiot.”
“That sounds like him.”
There was a small smile there. It didn’t last long, but it was real.
“He talked to you too, didn’t he?” Timo asked.
She looked down at her coffee, tracing the rim of the cup with her thumb. “He always does.”
Timo nodded. That made sense. Nico had always been like that, loyal to a fault, stubborn in the way only someone who loved deeply could be. It wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t given up on them, even when they had.
“I meant what I said earlier,” Timo continued, his voice quieter now. “About not wanting this to be it.”
Y/N’s fingers stilled. She didn’t look up. “Timo…”
“I know,” he said gently. “I know it’s not that simple. I’m not asking you to just forget everything. I wouldn’t even know how to do that myself.”
That made her glance up, finally meeting his eyes. There was no defensiveness there. Just honesty, and something softer, something that made her chest tighten in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“I hated how we ended,” he admitted. “Not just the divorce but the way we got there. The distance. The… silence.” He swallowed, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to hers. “I thought I was giving you space when things got hard, but I think I just stopped showing up the way you needed me to.”
Y/N’s breath caught, quiet but sharp. “You did,” she said, not unkindly. “And I didn’t say it the way I should have. I just… kept waiting for you to notice.”
“I should have.”
“And I should have said something before it got that bad.”
The words settled between them. For the first time, it didn’t feel like they were talking around the problem. They were actually looking at it.
“I was tired,” she continued softly. “Not of you, but everything. And it felt like I was carrying it alone.”
Timo nodded slowly. “You weren’t supposed to.”
“I know that now.” A small pause. “And you?” she asked after a moment. “What were you feeling?”
He exhaled, leaning back slightly, like he needed the space to say it. “Like I was failing you. Failing us. And instead of fixing it, I just avoided it. Threw myself into hockey, into anything that made it easier not to deal with what was happening at home.”
She nodded, because that part she remembered all too well.
“I never stopped loving you,” he added, almost like an afterthought, but it was more impactful than anything else he’d said.
Y/N looked at him for a long moment, searching his face like she was trying to decide if it was safe to believe him.
“I didn’t either,” she admitted quietly.
And there it was. The truth, sitting between two cups of coffee that had gone cold.
Back at Y/N’s apartment, things were significantly less serious.
“Okay, no more sugar,” Nico was saying, crouched in front of his nephew, who was already grinning like he knew he had won. “Your mom will actually kill me.”
“Just one more,” the boy insisted, holding up two fingers instead.
“That’s not how numbers work,” Nico muttered, but he was already reaching for the snack anyway.
He wasn’t great at this, he knew that. He was better on the ice than in a kitchen, better at reading plays than bedtime routines, but he still tried. For his sister, for Timo, for the little kid who looked at him like he hung the moon.
“You think they’re talking?” his nephew asked suddenly.
Nico paused, glancing toward the door like he could somehow see through it. Then he smiled, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Yeah. I think they are.”
“Good.”
“Yeah,” Nico echoed softly. “Good.”
Back at the café, neither Y/N nor Timo had moved. Not away, at least. Their hands had found each other somewhere in the middle of the conversation. At first, it was experimental like they were both testing if it was still allowed. But now their fingers were intertwined, familiar in a way that felt almost unfair after everything.
“I don’t know what this looks like,” Y/N admitted. “If we try again. It won’t be the same.”
Timo shook his head. “No. It won’t,” he paused before he added, “But maybe that’s not a bad thing.”
She studied him, her grip on his hand tightening slightly. “We’d have to do it differently.”
“We would.”
“No disappearing when things get hard.”
“Never again.”
“No pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”
“I promise.”
She let out a soft breath, something in her shoulders finally loosening. “And we take it slow.”
Timo smiled, it was small, but real. “As slow as you need.”
For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt something shift. Not just hope but something steadier than that. Something built on everything they had learned the hard way.
“…Okay,” she said.
And this time, it meant more because this wasn’t about going back. It was about choosing each other again and knowing exactly how much it would take.
They don’t rush back into it. In the past, everything between them had moved fast. Falling in love, building a life, and becoming a family before they fully understood what that meant. This time, when they step out of the café, their hands brush again, but neither of them immediately grabs on. The space between them isn’t distance, it’s intention.
“I should get back,” Y/N says softly, glancing down the street in the direction of her apartment.
Timo nods. “Yeah.”
Although neither of them moves right away. There’s something almost fragile in the pause, like both of them are aware that this (whatever this is) matters too much to handle carelessly.
“I meant what I said,” Timo adds after a moment. “About taking it slow.”
“I know,” she replies. And she does that’s the part that feels different this time, she believes him.
He hesitates, then leans in just slightly, not quite crossing the line, giving her the choice. Y/N closes the gap. It’s not a desperate kiss instead it’s soft and familiar in a way that makes her chest ache, because it reminds her exactly how easy it used to be and how much they almost lost. When they pull back, neither of them says anything.
Nico knows the second they walk in. He’s sprawled on the couch, their son half-asleep against his chest, a cartoon playing quietly in the background. He looks up when the door opens and immediately narrows his eyes.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Y/N replies too quickly, slipping off her coat.
Timo, behind her, is trying (and failing) not to smile.
Nico sits up a little, adjusting the small boy in his arms. “That’s a lie.”
“It’s not a lie,” she insists, but there’s warmth in her voice now, something lighter than before.
“You’re both doing that thing,” Nico continues, pointing vaguely between them. “That weird, quiet, not-looking-at-each-other-but-actually-looking-at-each-other thing.”
Timo huffs a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You always overanalyse everything.”
“And I’m always right.”
Y/N rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t argue. That’s when Nico knows for sure. He looks between them again, more carefully this time, and whatever he sees makes his expression soften just a little.
“Did you at least talk?” he asks, quieter now.
Y/N nods.
“Like, actually talk?”
“Yeah,” she says, glancing at Timo for just a second before looking back at her brother. “We did.”
Nico leans back again, exhaling like he’s been holding that breath for months. “Good.”
There’s no teasing this time. No smug comment.
Their son stirs slightly, blinking awake when he hears their voices. “Mama?” he mumbles, reaching out.
Y/N immediately crosses the room, her expression softening completely as she takes him into her arms. “Hey, baby,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Did you have fun with Uncle Nico?”
“Yeah,” he says sleepily, already curling into her. Then, peeking over her shoulder, “Papa?”
Timo steps closer, his hand coming up instinctively to rub the boy’s back. “Hey, champ.”
It’s such a small moment but it felt so ordinary. Nico watches it all from the couch, something almost unreadable in his expression. Not just relief but like he’s witnessing a version of his family that almost disappeared, slowly finding its way back.
“Okay,” he says after a moment, pushing himself up. “I should go before I start charging for babysitting.”
“You’d be terrible at it anyway,” Y/N shoots back automatically.
“I was amazing,” Nico argues. “He’s alive, isn’t he?”
“Barely,” Timo mutters under his breath.
Nico points at him. “Don’t ruin this for yourself.”
Timo raises his hands in surrender, but he’s smiling.
As Nico grabs his jacket, he pauses near the door, glancing back at them one last time. His gaze lingers on his sister, then shifts to Timo.
“Don’t mess it up again,” he says, not harsh but not joking either.
Timo meets his eyes, something steady and certain in his expression. “I won’t.”
Nico holds his gaze for a second longer, then nods once. “Good.”
And just like that, he’s gone. The apartment feels quieter without him. Y/N adjusts their son on her hip, swaying slightly as he drifts back to sleep. Timo watches her for a moment, something soft settling in his chest.
“I can put him to bed,” he offers.
She hesitates not because she doesn’t trust him, but because this, too, feels like something new. Something they have to relearn.
“…Okay,” she says finally.
Timo steps closer, carefully taking their son from her arms. The transition is seamless, practiced from years of doing this before everything fell apart. Their fingers brush again in the process, lingering just a second longer this time.
Y/N watches as he carries their son down the hallway, her chest tightening with something she doesn’t quite have a name for yet. Hope, maybe.
When Timo comes back, the apartment is dimmer, quieter. Y/N is standing by the window, arms wrapped loosely around herself, lost in thought.
“He’s asleep,” Timo says softly.
She turns, nodding. “Thank you.”
A small silence settles between them but it’s not uncomfortable.
“So,” she says after a moment, exhaling slightly. “What now?”
Timo steps a little closer, not too much. Just enough.
“Now,” he says carefully, “we keep going. Like this.”
“Slow?”
“Slow.”
She studies him for a long moment, like she’s committing this version of him to memory. The one who stays, who doesn’t rush, who doesn’t pull away when things get uncertain.
“…Okay,” she repeats.