hiii i saw u take requests for zack bolduc🙏 i dont have like a specific idea but i would love to read literally anything about him that ud wanna write :))
Miss, that's not your fiancé
SUMMARY: When your class wins a contest that gives them tickets to a Montreal Canadiens game and a special pre-game rink visit, your students are thrilled — mostly because they are convinced this will finally prove you’ve been lying about Zachary Bolduc being your fiancé. But when Zach recognizes you immediately, greets you like you’re the most important person in the building, and very proudly confirms that he is, in fact, engaged to their teacher, your students are forced to accept the truth: Miss really did bag a Hab.
WC: 4.1K
WARNINGS: Pure fluff, teacher!reader, fiancé!Zachary Bolduc, playful student teasing, public affection, mild embarrassment, students being dramatic and nosy, soft established relationship, no angst.
Your students had never believed you, not once.
Not the first time one of them had spotted the small diamond on your left hand while you were writing fractions on the board and gasped so loudly half the class thought there was a spider.
Not the second time, when someone had asked who your fiancé was and you had answered, very casually, “Zachary Bolduc,” like you weren’t talking about an NHL player currently wearing a Montreal Canadiens jersey.
And definitely not the third time, when a group of eleven-year-olds had immediately launched into the kind of dramatic disbelief only middle schoolers were capable of.
“Miss, respectfully,” Mateo had said, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, “there is absolutely no way.” You had blinked at him over the top of your laptop. “Respectfully?”
“Yes. Respectfully. Because I like you.”, beside him, Sofia had nodded gravely. “You’re really nice, Miss. But Zachary Bolduc is not your fiancé.”
“He is,” you had said, trying not to laugh “No, he’s not.”
“Why would I lie about that?” Liam had lifted his hand, not even waiting to be called on. “Maybe you met him once and your brain just decided the rest.”
The class had erupted, you had stood at the front of the room, marker still in your hand, engagement ring catching the fluorescent classroom lights, and wondered how your life had become being lovingly roasted by sixth graders “I have pictures,” you’d told them.
“No AI,” Mateo shot back immediately.
“It’s not AI.”
“Photoshop.”
“I don’t even know how to use Photoshop.”
“Exactly what someone using Photoshop would say.” You had stopped trying after that.
At first, Zachary thought it was hilarious.
Every time you came home with another story, he would lose it on the couch, head thrown back, one hand over his stomach like your class had personally been placed on earth to humble you “They said I’m not believable enough to be your fiancée,” you told him one night, dropping your tote bag near the door and kicking off your shoes.
Zach had looked up from where he was sprawled across your couch, still in sweatpants from practice, hair damp from a shower. “What does that mean?”
“I asked the same thing.”
“And?”
“They said you look like someone who would be engaged to an influencer, not a teacher who keeps granola bars in her desk.” Zach’s mouth had fallen open before he started laughing again. “That’s so specific.”
“They also said I probably made you up because I needed street cred.”
“You do need street cred.” You had thrown a pillow at him, he caught it easily, grinning, then reached for your hand once you got close enough. He pulled you down beside him and kissed your knuckles right above your ring, still smiling against your skin.
“One day,” he said, “they’re gonna find out.” You snorted. “At this point, you could walk into my classroom wearing your jersey and they’d say you were a hired actor.”
“Honestly? I respect them.”
“You would.”
“They have standards.”
“They are eleven.”
“Still.” For months, it became the running joke of your classroom, any time the Canadiens came up, your students would look at you like you were seconds away from making another outrageous claim.
When you had worn one of Zach’s hoodies on a casual Friday, the class had clocked it immediately “Miss,” Sofia said slowly, narrowing her eyes at the logo on your chest, “interesting choice.”
“It’s cold.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s my fiancé’s.” Mateo put his pencil down. “Here we go again.”
You had laughed so hard you had to turn toward the whiteboard, so when your school announced that your class had won the city-wide reading contest — after weeks of you bribing them with stickers, extra recess, and the kind of dramatic motivational speeches usually reserved for championship locker rooms — you were already emotional.
Then the principal told you the prize.
A trip to a Montreal Canadiens game, not just tickets, a pre-game rink visit was included in the prize too.
A small meet-and-greet with staff and a few players before puck drop, the second the words left your principal’s mouth, your entire class exploded.
Kids screamed. Some jumped out of their seats. Someone knocked over a pencil case. Mateo stood up with both hands on his head like he had personally been drafted.
You, meanwhile, stood near the doorway with your hand pressed over your mouth, because you knew.
You knew Zach would be there, you also knew your students still absolutely did not believe you.
The week leading up to the game was chaos, every morning, someone asked whether Zachary Bolduc knew you were coming, every afternoon, someone asked whether you had “finally told the truth.”
On the bus ride to the Bell Centre, it somehow got worse.
You were seated near the front with your clipboard, permission slips carefully tucked in a folder, emergency contacts highlighted, while thirty kids vibrated with enough excitement to power the entire city “Miss,” Liam called from three rows back.
“Yes?”
“Are you nervous to see your fake fiancé?” you turned slowly in your seat, the chaperone beside you choked on a laugh.
“My very real fiancé,” you corrected “Sure.” Sofia leaned into the aisle. “Are we supposed to act surprised when he doesn’t know you?”
“He knows me.”
“Would he know your birthday?”
“Yes.”
“What’s his favorite food?” You opened your mouth, then paused, the class went silent, you pointed a finger at them. “Do not.” Mateo slapped the seat in front of him. “She doesn’t know!”
“I do know.”
“Then say it!”
“He changes it every week!”
“Fake relationship.”
The bus erupted again, you sat back in your seat, cheeks warm, trying very hard not to smile too much. Your phone buzzed in your coat pocket, and when you pulled it out, Zach’s name lit up your screen.
Zach ❤️: You here yet?
You glanced around at your students, all of them still arguing over whether you were about to be exposed in front of the entire class.
You: Almost. They’re currently discussing how embarrassing it’ll be when you don’t recognize me.
His reply came almost instantly.
Zach ❤️: Perfect. I’m about to be so annoying.
You stared at the message.
You: Zachary.
Zach ❤️: What? I’ve waited months for this.
You had a terrible feeling, by the time the bus pulled up, your students were practically plastered against the windows. The Bell Centre felt enormous around them, bright and loud even before the game had started. Staff members greeted your group and led you through the entrance, giving everyone wristbands and reminding them of the rules.
No running, no yelling in restricted areas, stay with the group and do not touch anything unless someone says it is okay. You repeated every instruction twice, teacher voice fully activated, even though your own stomach was fluttering.
It wasn’t like you had never been there before. You had been to plenty of games. You had waited for Zach after practices, kissed him in parking garages, worn his hoodies in the quiet of your apartment, helped him choose ties for team events, listened to him stress about games and travel and the pressure of playing in a hockey city that felt everything so deeply.
But this was different, this was your school life colliding with your real life.
Your students knew you as Miss. The one who reminded them to write their names on their papers, who kept extra pencils in a cup near the door, who made them redo sloppy work because she knew they were capable of better. They knew you as the person who tied shoelaces on field trips and settled arguments over whose turn it was to use the good markers.
They did not know you as Zach’s person.
They did not know that the man they watched on TV sometimes fell asleep on your shoulder during movies. That he complained when you stole fries off his plate but always pushed the plate closer. That he texted you before morning skate and called you after road games no matter how tired he was. That he had proposed to you in the soft quiet of your kitchen because he said that was where he loved you most — barefoot, laughing, flour on your cheek from the cookies you had nearly burned.
Your students were whispering as the staff led you closer to the rink area “Do you think we’ll meet Cole Caufield?” “Do you think Nick Suzuki will be there?” “Do you think Miss is about to get caught lying?”
You looked over your shoulder. “I can hear you.” Mateo smiled sweetly. “We know.”
A staff member greeted you near the boards, warm and cheerful, explaining that the players were finishing up some pre-game routines but a few people would come by to say hello. Your students lined up against the glass, eyes huge as they took in the ice, the seats, the arena slowly filling above them.
For a few minutes, everything was exactly what you had hoped, they were awed, they were happy, they were asking questions and pointing at every little detail like it mattered.
Then one of the equipment staff members walked by, glanced over, and smiled “Hey, Y/N,” he said casually, you smiled back. “Hi.”
Your students went silent, painfully silent, you felt thirty heads turn toward you at once.
Sofia’s mouth opened, Mateo looked like someone had unplugged his brain.
The staff member, completely unaware he had just cracked the foundation of your students’ worldview, gave the class a friendly wave. “You guys excited for the game?”
A chorus of shaky, confused yeses followed, ehen he moved on, Liam slowly raised his hand, you sighed. “Yes, Liam?”
“How does he know your government name?” You pressed your lips together. “Because I come here sometimes.”
“Why?” you stared at him, he stared back, the class collectively leaned closer “Because,” you said carefully, “my fiancé plays here.”
Mateo whispered, “This is getting scary.” before anyone could respond, another voice called your name.
A familiar one, you closed your eyes for half a second.
Of course.
Of course he couldn’t just walk over normally, Zach came down the hallway in team gear, hair slightly messy, face already lit up with a grin so wide you knew immediately he had planned every second of this. He wasn’t on the ice yet, but he looked game-ready enough for your students to recognize him instantly.
The reaction was immediate, gasps, actual gasps, one kid whispered, “No way.” another said, “That’s him.”
Sofia grabbed Mateo’s sleeve so hard he yelped, Zach ignored all of it, completely, he walked straight toward you like there weren’t thirty children watching with their entire souls leaving their bodies.
“Hi, baby,” he said.
The class screamed, not loudly enough to get in trouble, but loudly enough that a nearby staff member laughed, you covered your face with one hand. “Zach.”
“What?” he asked, all innocence, stopping right in front of you “You know what.” He smiled, leaned down, and kissed your cheek.
Your students lost their minds.
It was not a scream this time. It was a collective collapse. A full academic breakdown. Mateo turned around and walked three steps away like he needed space from reality. Sofia covered her mouth with both hands. Liam just pointed at you, then Zach, then you again, as if trying to solve an equation no textbook had prepared him for.
Zach slipped an arm around your waist, you could feel him laughing silently “You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered.
“I’ve been called fake for months.”
“You have not. I have.”
“Same thing.”
You looked at your students and tried to recover any amount of authority “Class,” you said, clearing your throat, “this is Zach.”
Nobody answered, Zach lifted his free hand. “Hey, guys.” Mateo slowly turned back around. His face was pale with betrayal “You’re real,” he said.
Zach nodded very seriously. “Last time I checked.”
“And you’re actually engaged to Miss?” Zach looked down at you, and his expression softened in a way that made your chest ache. The teasing slipped from his face for just a second, replaced by something warmer, steadier.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m actually engaged to Miss.” The class went quiet again, but this time it was different.
Your students had seen adults be married. They had seen parents and teachers and people in their lives exist in relationships. But to them, you belonged to the classroom. To homework and reading logs and reminders about indoor voices. Seeing someone look at you like that — like you were not just Miss, but somebody’s whole world — made them strangely shy.
Then Sofia, because she was Sofia, broke the silence “Did she make you say that?”
You gasped. “Sofia!” Zach burst out laughing “No,” he said. “She didn’t make me say that.”
“Blink twice if you need help,” Liam added, Zach immediately blinked twice “Zachary!” The kids howled.
You jabbed a finger lightly into his side while he laughed harder, pulling you closer on instinct “She’s mean to me,” he told them.
“She gives homework,” Mateo said grimly. “We know.”
“Exactly.”
“I cannot believe you’re bonding over this,” you said.
One of the staff members asked if the kids wanted to take a group photo near the rink, and suddenly everyone remembered where they were. Zach helped organize them without even being asked, naturally crouching a little beside the shorter kids, giving fist bumps, answering questions about warm-ups and sticks and whether getting checked into the boards hurt as much as it looked “Yes,” he told them honestly, “but you get used to it.”
“That’s concerning,” you said, he looked over at you. “You say that every time.”
“Because it is concerning every time.” A few other players passed through and greeted the group. Some recognized you, too, which did not help your case at all.
Kirby who was one of them smiled and said, “Hey, Mrs. Bolduc” The kids gasped again, you pointed at him. “Do not encourage them." Zach looked delighted. “No, no. Let him talk.”
“Mrs. Bolduc?” Mateo repeated, like he was tasting the words, you felt your cheeks heat. “Not yet.”
“Soon,” Zach said, and there was something unbearably proud in his voice, that shut you up immediately. Because there were many versions of Zach you loved.
The focused one. The sleepy one. The competitive one. The one who got quiet after a bad game and needed you to sit beside him without forcing him to talk. The one who lit up when he saw you after being away. The one who proposed with shaking hands even though he had spent half his life performing under pressure.
But proud Zach was dangerous, proud Zach looked at your ring like he had won something, proud Zach said “my fiancée” like it was the most important title he had ever been given, proud Zach made you forget how to act normal in front of your students.
Unfortunately, your students noticed, Sofia’s eyes narrowed again. “Miss is blushing.” You snapped back to reality. “I am not.”
“You are.”
“It’s warm in here.”
“We’re beside ice.”
Zach laughed into his fist, you turned to him. “You are not helping.”
“I’m not trying to.” Eventually, he had to go.
The staff gave a gentle reminder that Zach needed to finish getting ready, and the kids immediately started protesting like he was being sent away forever.
Zach gave them all a final wave, then turned to you, for one second, he hesitated.
You knew why, he was careful about your work life. Careful about not making you uncomfortable. Careful about boundaries when you were with students, when you were responsible for them, when you had to be their teacher first and everything else second.
But you were already in too deep, they had seen him kiss your cheek. They had heard him call you baby. They had witnessed the downfall of their conspiracy theory in real time.
So when he leaned down slightly, you met him halfway and let him press a quick, soft kiss to your lips.
It was brief, sweet, still enough to make thirty middle schoolers explode behind you.
“MISS!” “Oh my gosh!” “IN FRONT OF THE CHILDREN?” “She has a LIFE!” “I feel betrayed!”
Zach pulled back laughing, his forehead nearly brushing yours “Good luck,” he murmured.
“With the game?”
“With them.” You glanced over your shoulder at your class, who were now reacting like they had just watched the season finale of their favorite show. “I need it,” you whispered.
He squeezed your hand once, thumb brushing over your engagement ring, then started backing away “I’ll look for you during warm-ups,” he said.
Mateo immediately shouted, “WE’LL BE WATCHING YOU TOO!” Zach pointed at him. “I’m counting on it.”
By the time you got your class to their seats, they were no longer the same children who had gotten on the bus.
They were changed, haunted, humbled, still extremely dramatic, the second everyone settled in, the questions began. “How did you meet? “Did he propose in public?” “Do you get free tickets?” “Does he help you grade papers?” “Does he know you have a teacher voice?” “Does he know you’re scary when people don’t line up properly?”
You answered some and dodged others, no, he did not help you grade papers, though he had once put stickers on completed quizzes because he said it looked fun, yes, he knew about the teacher voice, no, he was not scared of it.
That was a lie. He absolutely was.
When warm-ups started, your students surged toward the glass in their designated area, waving wildly the second they spotted Zach on the ice, he saw them almost immediately.
You knew he would, his face broke into a grin, and he skated closer, tapping the glass right in front of them with his stick. Your students shrieked like he had personally blessed them.
Then his eyes shifted to you, you were standing a little behind the kids, arms crossed over your coat, trying to pretend this wasn’t making your heart do something ridiculous.
Zach smiled softer, not for the kids, not for the staff, for you, then he lifted his glove and tapped the glass again, right where you stood.
Your students turned as one “MISS.” You sighed. “Watch warm-ups.”
“He loves you,” Sofia said, sounding shocked by the obviousness of it, you looked at Zach through the glass. He was still watching you, smiling like he knew exactly what she had said.
Your voice softened before you could stop it “Yeah,” you said. “I know.”
The game itself was electric, your class cheered like they had been born and raised in the arena. They yelled every time Zach touched the puck, even when absolutely nothing happened. Mateo took it upon himself to explain hockey rules to anyone within earshot, despite getting several details wrong. Sofia kept a running commentary on how “Miss’s fiancé is actually really good,” as if she had discovered him herself.
When Zach scored an assist, your entire row lost its mind, you were pretty sure one of your students ascended spiritually.
By the third period, your voice was nearly gone from cheering and from reminding everyone to stay in their seats. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. Your heart felt impossibly full watching your students experience something so special — something they had earned.
And yes, maybe a tiny part of you felt smug, just a little.
When the Canadiens won, the arena roared around you, your students jumped and clapped and hugged each other. You laughed, clapping along with them, eyes immediately finding Zach on the ice.
He looked up toward your section, it took him a second, but when he found you, he lifted his stick slightly, for the class and for you.
For the ridiculous, wonderful fact that two completely separate pieces of your life had finally met, on the bus ride home, the energy was different.
Exhausted, but still buzzing.
Some kids were half-asleep against the windows. Others were whispering about the game, replaying the best moments with the seriousness of professional analysts. You sat near the front again, coat folded over your lap, your phone glowing in your hand.
Zach ❤️: So? Do they believe you now?
You glanced back, Mateo was awake, watching you suspiciously, you typed back.
You: Mostly.
A second later, Mateo called out, “Miss?"
“Yes?”
“I believe you now.” You smiled. “Thank you.” A pause, then he added, “But I still think he blinked twice.” the bus erupted one last time, you laughed, shaking your head as your phone buzzed again.
Zach ❤️: Tell Mateo I’m safe and willingly engaged.
You looked back at your students, unable to hide your smile “Zach says he’s safe,” you announced, “and willingly engaged.” Sofia sighed dreamily against the window. “That’s actually kind of cute.”
Liam nodded. “Still weird that Miss has a life.”
“Very weird,” Mateo agreed, you turned forward again, laughing under your breath.
Later that night, after every student had been picked up and every permission slip had been tucked away and every lost mitten had been returned except one, Zach came to get you from the school parking lot.
He was leaning against his car when you walked out, hands in his jacket pockets, hair still damp from his post-game shower.
You were tired down to your bones, but the second you saw him, you smiled, he opened his arms without a word, and you walked straight into them “How was it?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, you buried your face in his chest. “You have destroyed my classroom.”
“Good.”
“They’re never going to be normal again.”
“They weren’t normal before.”
“That’s true.” He laughed softly, wrapping his arms tighter around you. For a moment, neither of you moved. The school was quiet behind you, the parking lot mostly empty, the air cold enough that you tucked your hands under his jacket for warmth.
Then he pulled back just enough to look at you “So,” he said, eyes bright, “favorite part?” You pretended to think about it. “Probably when they realized you were real.”
“Not my assist?”
“That was second.”
“Wow.”
“Actually, no. Third.” His eyebrows lifted. “What was second?” You smiled, reaching up to fix the collar of his jacket “When you told them you were actually engaged to me.”
Zach’s expression softened in that same dangerous way from earlier, he covered your left hand with his, thumb brushing your ring “I like saying it,” he murmured.
“I noticed.”
“I’m gonna keep saying it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He leaned down, nose brushing yours. “My fiancée. My future wife. The teacher whose students think I’m fake.” You laughed against his mouth. “They thought you were fake.”
“Past tense?” You hesitated, Zach groaned. “They still think I’m fake?”
“No. They believe you’re real.”
“But?”
“They may think I’m holding you hostage.” He stared at you, then he started laughing so hard you had to hold onto his jacket to keep from stumbling.
And right there, in the quiet school parking lot, after a night your students would talk about for the rest of the year, Zach kissed you like he didn’t care who saw.
Like he was proud, like he was yours and for once, when you told your class about your fiancé on Monday morning, nobody argued.
Not even Mateo, though he did raise his hand after announcements and ask, very seriously, “Miss, can your husband come to career day?”
You blinked “He’s not my husband yet.”
Mateo shrugged. “Basically.” from the back of the room, Sofia sighed. “I still can’t believe Miss bagged a Hab.”
You turned to the board, shoulders shaking and when Zach texted you five minutes later asking how school was going, you sent back one simple answer.
You: They believe me now.
His reply came instantly.
Zach ❤️: Good. Took them long enough.
