Jarvy Would Get Lost If Burns Wasn't Holding Him.

So baby girl

Luke Hughes | POST-RAW 3.31.25

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🥰

i will be your father figure / put your tiny hand in mine / i will be your preacher teacher, anything you have in mind / i will be the one who loves you, til the end of time | sidney crosby⁸⁷

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⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 11.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you needed a job, sidney crosby needed a nanny. it was supposed to be simple—watch the kids, keep your head down, and finish your phd. but nothing about sidney was simple, and the longer you stayed, the harder it became to ignore the way your heart betrayed you every time he did something so dad-like it hurt.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | age gap (reader is 22, sid is 36), single dad!sid, mentions of divorce, deadbeat mom, daddy issues storyline thats a big part of the plot (hence the title), mild angst, pining, tensionnnnn, sid being an unaware dilf, reader being so down bad it’s pathetic, teasing, banter, alcohol consumption, soft moments, so much tension it’s physically painful

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | this was supposed to be slutty but then it turned into mutual emotional damage with a side of yearning. and i know this is a reader insert but the backstory is very needed in this plotline.

and there will probably be a part 2, not sure yet. i had too much fun writing sid as the most dad-like man to ever exist, and reader being so in denial about the way he’s literally perfect. if you like slow burn and suffering, this one’s for u<3

Sidney Crosby was used to chaos.

It came with the territory—fifteen years in the NHL, two kids, and an ex-wife who made divorce court feel like a seven-game series with no overtime winner. He could handle pressure. Thrived under it, even. But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for single parenthood.

It had been a year since the ink dried on the divorce papers, and yet, somehow, things still felt unsettled. He had the kids most of the time, which was exactly what he wanted, but balancing their schedules with his own? That was a whole different challenge. There were early morning skates, team meetings, and road trips stacked against school drop-offs, bedtime stories, and the occasional existential meltdown over why six-year-old Jack’s favorite dinosaur didn’t have enough fossils to be officially classified.

Then there was Olivia—eight going on seventeen—who had mastered the art of an unimpressed stare long before she ever learned to tie her skates. She adored her dad, but she was sharp, a little skeptical, and old enough to remember how bad things had gotten with her mom before Sidney finally walked away.

Samantha, his ex-wife, had been—how to put it lightly—a mistake. The kind of mistake that came with an expensive wedding, two kids, and a prenup she’d tried (and failed) to contest. They had been young, and Sidney, for all his talent and discipline on the ice, had been naïve. He thought love meant pushing through anything. She thought love meant power, control, and a lifestyle she wasn’t willing to give up. When she realized Sidney wasn’t going to let her spend her way through his contract extension, things got nasty. Fast.

The custody battle had been brutal, but in the end, the courts sided with stability—and stability had always been Sidney. Still, Samantha had just enough visitation to make things difficult. She’d cancel last minute, show up late, make promises she had no intention of keeping. Olivia was starting to see through it. Jack, not so much. He still ran to the door whenever she said she’d come.

Sidney hated that part the most.

Which was why, after months of barely holding it together, he finally admitted he needed help. Not from family, not from teammates, but from someone neutral. Someone who wouldn’t look at him like he was some tragic, overworked martyr but would actually help him fix things.

So, for the first time in his life, Sidney Crosby hired a nanny.

And that’s where you came in.

The nanny search had been a last-resort kind of thing. The idea of bringing a stranger into his home, into his kids' lives, felt unnatural. Sidney wasn’t used to outsourcing his responsibilities. He was the guy who showed up. Always. But showing up wasn’t enough when he was running on fumes, barely holding together the pieces of his carefully managed life.

His teammates had suggested things. “Get a chef, man.” “Hire a personal assistant.” “You need a live-in nanny, like, yesterday.” But it wasn’t that simple. He didn’t want someone cooking quinoa bowls and pretending to know his kids. He wanted someone real. Someone who wouldn’t just clock in and out but who could meet Olivia’s sharp eyes without flinching and actually listen to Jack’s endless dinosaur facts.

The search had been exhausting. Too many candidates who looked at him with stars in their eyes, seeing Sidney Crosby instead of a dad desperate for help. Too many who were stiff, impersonal, or, worst of all, the kind who called his kids “adorable” but clearly had no patience for a high-energy six-year-old and an eight-year-old who had mastered sarcasm young.

Then, there was you.

You weren’t what he expected.

At twenty-two, you were younger than most applicants, but you had this quiet confidence about you, the kind that made Olivia’s skeptical stare turn curious instead of dismissive. You didn’t treat Jack like a little kid; you took his dinosaur knowledge seriously, even challenging some of his facts, which instantly won you favor. And you didn’t treat Sidney like some hockey superstar or a pitiful single dad in over his head. You were professional, sure, but also… normal. Like this was just a job you wanted to do well, not some golden opportunity to get close to a famous athlete.

The fact that you were a Ph.D. student at the University of Pittsburgh was the kicker. You weren’t looking to nanny forever. You had a life, goals, things outside of this. That made him trust you more. You were busy, too. Just in a different way.

He hired you after the second interview.

It was supposed to be temporary—help through the season, maybe reassess in the summer. But Sidney had a feeling, deep down, that once you settled in, things wouldn’t feel temporary at all.

The first week was awkward.

Not because you were bad at the job—you were great. But because Sidney wasn’t used to sharing control. He still found himself hovering when you helped Jack with breakfast, stepping in when Olivia needed help with her math homework, even though you clearly had it handled. It took effort for him to step back, to let you take the reins on little things, to not micromanage every second of his kids' lives.

Jack took to you immediately, eager to show you his dinosaur books, his Lego collection, and every single one of his hockey cards. He followed you around the house like a shadow, peppering you with questions about your classes, your favorite color, whether or not you believed in aliens.

Olivia was harder.

She didn’t dislike you, but she watched. She observed. She wasn’t mean—just cautious. She’d been through enough to know that adults came and went, that some were worth trusting and some weren’t. It wasn’t personal. It was just… how she protected herself.

You handled it well. You didn’t force yourself into her space. You let her warm up on her own terms, and slowly, bit by bit, she did.

The first real breakthrough came one night when Sidney was stuck late at practice. You were helping Olivia with her homework, and she sighed, erasing the same math problem for the third time.

“I’m just not good at this,” she mumbled, frustration evident in her voice.

You didn’t brush it off or tell her she was wrong. Instead, you nodded thoughtfully. “Math was hard for me too, you know. I used to get so mad at it.”

Olivia blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. And now I’m doing a Ph.D., and I still get mad at math sometimes.”

That made her smile—just a small one, but it was something.

By the time Sidney got home, Olivia had finished her homework without a meltdown, and Jack was half-asleep on the couch, curled up under a blanket you’d thrown over him.

It wasn’t some life-changing moment, but for Sidney, it was proof. Proof that he’d made the right choice. That maybe, for the first time in a long time, things were finally settling into place.

And he wasn’t sure why that scared him so much.

You needed the job more than you let on.

On the surface, it looked like a side gig—something to help pay the bills while you worked on your Ph.D. at the University of Pittsburgh. People assumed you were just another overachiever balancing too much at once, trying to make things work. And sure, that was part of it. But the real reason? The one you didn’t talk about?

You were broke.

Like, dangerously close to losing your apartment, eating ramen five nights a week, debating whether coffee was an essential expense broke.

Grad school wasn’t cheap, and while you had scholarships covering tuition, the rest—rent, books, food, transportation—was on you. You’d been juggling part-time jobs for months, tutoring undergrads, working late shifts at a bookstore, even considering barista work despite your well-documented inability to make a decent latte. Nothing paid enough, and nothing gave you the flexibility you needed for research, teaching assistant duties, and the mountain of work that came with your dissertation.

You were drowning.

Then, you saw the listing for the nanny job.

At first, you almost dismissed it. You weren’t a professional nanny. Sure, you had experience—you’d babysat all through high school and undergrad, worked summer camps, and even helped raise your younger siblings when your mom had to work long hours—but would Sidney Crosby, the Sidney Crosby, really hire someone like you?

But the pay was good. Really good. And the hours? Surprisingly flexible.

You could make it work.

So, you applied.

And then somehow, impossibly, you got the job.

Why were you so good with kids? Because you got them. You knew what it was like to be a kid who needed someone to show up.

Growing up, your home life had been… complicated. Not bad, not in a way people whispered about, but hard. Your mom was a single parent, working two, sometimes three jobs just to keep things afloat. Your dad wasn’t in the picture—he left when you were young, and you stopped waiting for him to come back a long time ago. That left you as the oldest, the one who had to step up. You packed lunches, helped with homework, figured out how to soothe scraped knees and temper tantrums. You learned early how to be patient, how to listen, how to read between the lines of what kids said and what they actually meant.

You didn’t resent it. If anything, it made you better. It made you someone people trusted. Someone kids trusted.

So, when Olivia was wary of you, keeping her distance, you understood. You’d been that kid, too.

And when Jack rambled on about dinosaurs for twenty minutes straight, you didn’t just nod along distractedly—you engaged. You asked questions. Challenged his theories. Because you knew what it felt like to be small in a world that didn’t always take you seriously.

You weren’t just good with kids. You were exactly what they needed.

And maybe, deep down, this job was exactly what you needed too.

--

The grocery store had become a thing.

At first, you weren’t sure if Sidney had ever actually taken Olivia and Jack shopping himself or if food just magically appeared in the house whenever they needed it. But by the second week, you realized it was a necessary trip—Jack burned through snacks like a full-grown athlete, and Olivia had opinions about what was in the fridge.

So, you made it part of your weekly routine. A little adventure, something to break up the monotony of school, homework, and structured schedules.

And a month into the job?

You actually liked it.

You liked the way Jack made even the most boring errand feel like an expedition, weaving through the aisles like he was navigating a jungle, determined to find the best cereal. You liked how Olivia, who had been so reserved at first, had started easing into the role of The Responsible One, rolling her eyes at her brother but subtly making sure he didn’t wander too far.

You liked them. A lot.

That day, the three of you were deep in the snack aisle when it happened.

“I don’t get it,” Jack announced, dragging his fingers along the shelves as he scanned for his favorite granola bars. “Why don’t they have dinosaur-shaped ones? That would be way cooler.”

“You should write a letter to the company,” you suggested, nudging the cart forward. “Start a petition.”

Jack lit up like you’d just handed him a million dollars. “Wait, could I do that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Whoa.” He nodded, like you’d just unlocked an entirely new part of his brain.

Olivia, walking slightly ahead, snorted. “You’re creating a monster,” she muttered. But there was no bite in it—just mild amusement.

You were about to respond when Olivia suddenly stopped in the middle of the aisle, staring at something on a display shelf near the end.

You followed her gaze.

Vinyl records.

More specifically, a Taylor Swift vinyl.

“Wait.” You slowed the cart. “You have a record player?”

She blinked, as if realizing she had reacted to something without thinking. But then, after a beat, she nodded. “Yeah. My uncle got me one for my birthday.”

“That’s actually really cool.” You stepped closer, reading the label. Red (Taylor’s Version). “Good choice.”

Olivia hesitated, her fingers hovering over the edge of the plastic wrapping. “…do you like her?”

You let out a scoff that was so deeply offended that she actually cracked a small smile. “Do I like her? Olivia. I have been a Swiftie since I was, like, twelve. I have been through it. The ‘Speak Now’ era? Devastating. ‘Reputation’? Life-changing.”

Her eyes narrowed, like she was assessing if you were for real. “You know about the eras?”

You gasped dramatically. “Olivia, I could write a thesis on the eras. I could teach a course.”

Something shifted in her then—something subtle, but important.

Because for the first time since you’d started this job, she wasn’t speaking to you like an adult. She wasn’t guarded, cautious, or testing you. She was just an eight-year-old girl standing in a grocery store, holding a Taylor Swift album, grinning.

“…What’s your favorite album?” she asked, like this was the real test.

You tapped your chin, playing it up. “That’s a huge question. I think I have to go with ‘Folklore,’ but ‘1989’ is a classic.”

She nodded approvingly, and then, a little quieter, admitted, “I like ‘Red’ the most.”

You nudged the album in her hands. “Then I think we should probably get this, don’t you?”

Her grip tightened, like she hadn’t actually expected you to agree. “Dad would say no.”

“Well, I’m not Dad.” You leaned in conspiratorially. “And I think this qualifies as an essential purchase.”

Olivia bit her lip, fighting back a smile. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Jack groaned from behind you. “This is boring. Can we go back to the dinosaurs?”

You rolled your eyes but grabbed the vinyl off the shelf, placing it in the cart with a decisive thunk. “Nope. We’re having a moment, Jack. You’ll live.”

And for the rest of the trip, Olivia didn’t walk ahead.

She walked beside you. Talking. Smiling. Just being a kid.

And maybe, for the first time, you felt like you weren’t just the nanny. You were part of something.

Dinner that night was a little different.

Usually, mealtimes were at the table—Sidney liked structure, and you could tell he wanted to keep some sense of normalcy for the kids. But tonight? Olivia had a request.

“Can we eat in the living room?” she asked, her voice a little hesitant, like she expected the automatic no that probably came most of the time. “Just this once? We can watch The Eras Tour while we eat.”

Sidney, fresh off practice and visibly exhausted, had raised a brow. “The what?”

You gasped. “Sidney. The Eras Tour. The concert film. The biggest cultural event of our time.”

He gave you a blank look. “You’re joking.”

“Absolutely not.”

Jack, already seated at the table, piped up. “What’s an era?”

“A long time,” Olivia mumbled, shoving a piece of chicken onto her fork.

“In Taylor Swift terms,” you corrected, “it’s a concept. A legacy. A lifestyle.”

Sidney pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, sure. Living room it is.”

And so, you all sat around the coffee table, plates balanced in laps, watching as Taylor Swift took over the screen.

Jack had fought hard against sleep.

For the first hour of The Eras Tour, he’d fidgeted through every ballad, perking up only when the stadium lights on screen exploded into color. He’d even tried to pretend he cared—asking Olivia questions about why Taylor Swift had so many different outfits and whether she was richer than their dad (Olivia had assured him that she absolutely was). But by the time Taylor launched into Enchanted, his little head had started dipping against Sidney’s arm.

He barely made it through Reputation before sleep won.

Now, he was completely out, his face smushed against a couch pillow, his legs tangled in the throw blanket Olivia had draped over him earlier. His mouth was parted just slightly, deep breaths pulling him further into whatever dream world he’d sunk into. You doubted a freight train could wake him at this point.

Sidney sighed, shifting slightly. “I should put him to bed.” His voice was quiet, careful not to disturb his son.

You nodded, tucking your legs under you on the couch. Olivia was still curled up in the corner, arms wrapped around her knees, her eyes fixed on the screen. She’d barely moved all night, utterly absorbed in the concert. Even now, as All Too Well (10 Minute Version) started playing, she just stared, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the couch cushion beside her.

Sidney stood slowly, careful not to jostle Jack too much as he scooped him up. The six-year-old barely stirred, just tucked his face further into his dad’s chest with a sleepy murmur.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Sidney murmured, heading toward the stairs.

Olivia didn’t respond.

You watched her for a moment, waiting for her to comment on how Jack always passed out first, or maybe some sarcastic remark about how you and Sidney were so uncultured when it came to Taylor Swift. But she stayed quiet, eyes still locked on the screen, a little crease forming between her brows.

Something in her posture had shifted.

She looked… small.

Not in the literal sense—Olivia had always carried herself like she was older than eight, like she’d already learned not to expect much from the world. But now, curled into herself like that, her expression unusually unreadable, she actually looked her age.

A kid trying really hard to hold something in.

You adjusted the blanket over your lap, keeping your voice light. “Okay, we made it to Red. Pretty legendary.”

Olivia didn’t respond at first. She kept watching, but there was something distant in her eyes, like she wasn’t really seeing it. Then, quietly, she said, “I don’t see my mom.”

It was so soft you almost didn’t catch it.

You stilled, glancing at her. She wasn’t looking at you—her gaze was still fixed on Taylor, like if she focused hard enough, maybe she wouldn’t feel the weight of what she’d just admitted.

Your stomach twisted, but you kept your voice even. “Yeah?”

She swallowed. “She’s… busy. She says she has to work a lot. That it’s important.” Her fingers curled tighter around the edge of the couch cushion. “I think she just doesn’t want to see us.”

Your chest ached at the quiet finality in her voice, the way she said it like she had already made peace with it. Eight years old, and she spoke like someone who had long since stopped hoping for something different.

You didn’t say anything right away. You knew better than to rush into a response, to give some generic reassurance like Oh, I’m sure that’s not true!—because Olivia wasn’t a kid who believed in sugarcoating. She wouldn’t take comfort in some empty promise.

So, instead, you let the silence settle. Let her lead.

A beat passed. Then, finally, she exhaled. “She moved to New York last year. Said there were better job opportunities there.”

You nodded slowly. “That must’ve been really hard.”

She shrugged, but it was too forced to be nonchalant. “She wasn’t around much before that, anyway.” A pause. Then, with a small, bitter smile: “Jack doesn’t even notice. I mean, I don’t think he remembers what it was like before. He was little when they got divorced.”

You stayed quiet, giving her space to keep talking.

She hesitated, then hugged her knees closer to her chest. “It’s different for me.” Her voice dipped lower. “I remember everything. The fighting. The way they stopped talking to each other unless they had to.” She bit her lip. “The way Dad tried to hide it from us.”

Your throat tightened.

She finally glanced at you, her expression carefully measured. “It wasn’t like, some big thing. No one threw plates or anything.” She exhaled through her nose, like she was frustrated with herself for even explaining. “But it was worse, in a way. It was like… watching something fall apart really, really slowly. Like, at first, you think maybe they can fix it, but then one day you just know they won’t.”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “That’s… a lot to deal with, Olivia.”

She let out a humorless little laugh. “Yeah. I guess.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter: “Dad never talks about it.”

You stayed quiet, sensing that she wasn’t finished.

“He just… acts like it’s fine. Like it’s normal that she doesn’t come to our games, or our school stuff. Like it’s normal that she only calls on birthdays.” Her fingers tightened in the fabric of her pajama pants. “And I know he’s not fine. I know he hates it. But he just—he doesn’t say anything.”

Your heart ached for her.

For Sidney, too.

Because it made sense, didn’t it? Of course he wouldn’t talk about it. Sidney Crosby had spent his entire life being the person everyone leaned on. The one who took the pressure, the expectations, and carried them. He didn’t complain. He didn’t show when he was struggling.

But Olivia saw.

She wasn’t a kid who needed things spelled out for her. She noticed when her dad got that faraway look in his eyes during Jack’s hockey practices, like he wished things were different. She noticed the way he never said anything bad about their mother, even when she deserved it. She noticed how hard he worked to make sure they were okay, even if it meant pretending he was.

And Olivia? She was just like him. Carrying everything on her little shoulders.

She turned her gaze back to the screen, where Taylor was singing about a love slipping through her fingers. “I don’t think he ever wanted us to know how much it hurt.”

Your heart broke at the way she said it—so certain, so resigned. Like it was just the way things had to be.

You took a breath, choosing your words carefully. “You know… just because someone doesn’t talk about something doesn’t mean they don’t want to.” You hesitated. “Maybe he just doesn’t know how.”

She was quiet for a long time.

Then, finally, she nodded. Just once. She didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t have to.

Instead, she shifted slightly, leaning the tiniest bit closer—not quite touching, but close enough that if either of you moved even an inch, your shoulders would brush.

And you stayed like that.

Silent. Together. Letting All Too Well play in the background, filling the spaces between the words she wasn’t quite ready to say yet.

The house was quiet when Olivia finally went upstairs for bed, leaving you alone in the dim glow of the TV. The Eras Tour had ended, but neither you nor Sidney had moved to turn it off yet. The screen sat idle, a soft instrumental playing as the credits rolled, filling the otherwise silent space.

You let out a slow breath and rubbed your hands over your face. Tonight had been… a lot.

Olivia opening up had been unexpected, and it left this tight, aching feeling in your chest. You could still hear her voice—quiet but firm, steady in that way that only kids who had to grow up too fast could be. And even though she hadn’t said it outright, you knew she was waiting for someone to prove her wrong. To prove to her that not all parents disappeared, that love didn’t always have an expiration date.

And Sidney?

God. It hurt to think about him.

The way he carried everything on his own, the way he tried so damn hard to keep it together for them. You had seen that kind of quiet suffering before.

And maybe that was why you had always been so shy around him.

It was ridiculous, really. You were 22 years old—you shouldn’t be acting like some nervous teenager around your boss. But Sidney Crosby was just… intimidating in a way you couldn’t quite put into words.

It wasn’t just that he was him—the legend, the hockey star, the man whose face had been on cereal boxes when you were growing up. It was the fact that he was so much more than that.

He was a dad who knew the exact way Jack liked his peanut butter sandwiches cut. A man who kissed his daughter’s forehead before leaving for practice like it was second nature. A person who had been burned by love but still got up every day and did his best for the two little people who needed him most.

And he was—

Well, handsome.

It was stupid. So, so stupid. But every time he walked into a room, your stomach did this ridiculous little flip, and it wasn’t fair that someone could make a hoodie and sweatpants look that good. It wasn’t fair that he had the kind of presence that made you hyper-aware of yourself—of the way you spoke, of the way your cheeks got hot when he so much as looked at you.

It was just a stupid crush. A stupid, completely inappropriate crush.

You exhaled, shaking the thought away, and stood up, stretching.

Time to go home.

--

It had been through everything with you—your old, beat-up Ford.

You’d had it since you were sixteen, bought secondhand with money you had scraped together from summer jobs. It had seen late-night study sessions, spontaneous road trips, and more break-downs than you could count. You knew it inside and out—the little rattle it made when you hit a certain speed, the way you had to jiggle the key just right to get the engine to turn over.

And tonight?

Tonight, it had chosen violence.

You turned the key. Nothing.

No roar of the engine, no reluctant chugging, not even a weak attempt at life. Just silence.

You tried again.

Click.

You almost screamed.

Instead, you let your forehead drop against the steering wheel, inhaling sharply through your nose.

Not tonight. Not after everything. You were already emotionally drained, already exhausted, and this? This was just the cherry on top.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, already opening the Uber app, because absolutely not. You were not dealing with this right now. You’d handle it in the morning. Right now, you just needed to—

A knock on your window made you jump.

Your heart leapt into your throat, and for a split second, you thought you were about to be murdered in Sidney Crosby’s driveway. But then you turned, and there he was, standing outside in the glow of the porch light, his hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie.

“Car trouble?” His voice was muffled through the glass, but even in the dim light, you could see the way his brows were drawn together in concern.

You rolled the window down halfway, feeling absurdly embarrassed. “Yeah, it—” You sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face. “It’s old. It does this sometimes.”

Sidney didn’t say anything at first. He just stepped back, hands on his hips, assessing the car like it was a problem he could solve if he stared at it hard enough.

Then, before you could stop him, he was crouching down to peer under the car like some kind of mechanic dad.

Your stupid, traitorous heart clenched. “Sid—”

“Pop the hood,” he said, already moving to the front.

You blinked. “What?”

He shot you a look. “Pop the hood.”

And because you were too flustered to argue, you did.

He lifted it with ease, leaning in to inspect the engine, muttering something under his breath. You sat there, gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white, watching as he fiddled with something like this was normal.

Like it was normal that he was being so fatherly and competent and stupidly attractive about it. Like it was normal that this whole situation was making your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite name.

Eventually, he let out a sigh and shut the hood, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “It’s not starting tonight.”

You groaned. “Yeah, I got that part.”

He quirked a brow. “You calling a tow?”

You shook your head, holding up your phone. “Uber.”

Sidney frowned.

And not just any frown. It was that dad frown, the one you’d seen him give Jack when he suggested eating four popsicles in a row. The one that brooked no argument.

“Yeah, no,” he said flatly. “You’re not getting in an Uber this late.”

Your stomach flipped. “Sidney, it’s—”

“I’ve got a guest room.” He shrugged, like it was the most obvious solution in the world. “Sleep here tonight. We’ll deal with your car in the morning.”

You stared at him. “I don’t want to impose—”

“You’re not.” He tilted his head, giving you a look that was way too soft for your heart to handle. “C’mon. We’ll make a night of it.”

You exhaled sharply, but… you didn’t argue.

Because for the first time in a long time, someone was looking out for you. Someone was saying, Hey, you don’t have to handle everything alone.

And maybe that was why, as you followed Sidney back inside, something in your chest cracked open just a little bit wider.

Sidney made a beeline for the fridge as soon as you stepped inside, moving through the kitchen like he’d done it a thousand times before—which, obviously, he had, considering it was his kitchen. But there was something oddly comforting about watching him in his own space, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, posture loose, movements easy.

The whole house was quiet now, Olivia and Jack fast asleep upstairs, and the silence felt heavier in the absence of the kids’ usual chatter.

Sidney pulled open the fridge door, scanning its contents before reaching inside and pulling out a bottle of beer. He twisted the cap off with practiced ease, taking a long sip before glancing over at you.

“You want one?” he asked.

For half a second, you actually thought about it—not because you particularly wanted a beer (you weren’t even sure if you were in the mood to drink anything), but just because the idea of having one with Sidney Crosby was somehow hilarious.

But before you could even open your mouth, he snorted and shook his head, muttering, “Never mind. You’re probably too young.”

You froze.

Your entire body stilled. And then, slowly, you blinked at him, because what.

You let out an incredulous laugh, eyebrows practically hitting your hairline. “Wait—what?”

Sidney just shrugged, taking another sip of his beer like he hadn’t just personally attacked you. “You’re, what, twenty?”

Your jaw dropped.

Your actual jaw dropped open.

“I’m twenty-two,” you said, voice high with offense, like that extra two years would suddenly make him view you as a fully grown adult.

Sidney didn’t even look remotely phased. If anything, his lips twitched, like he was amused by your reaction. “Yeah, exactly.”

You gasped. “Sidney.”

“What?” He gave you an actual, real-life smirk, eyes flickering with amusement. “That’s barely legal drinking age.”

“Barely legal drinking age? Oh my God—” You threw your hands up. “I am a grown woman.”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Uh-huh.”

“I am, and I’ll have you know that I have been drinking—” You cut yourself off so fast you almost choked.

Sidney raised an eyebrow, watching you flounder like it was his favorite pastime. “Yeah?”

You scowled. “Legally. I’ve been drinking legally. For over a year.”

“Wow. Over a year?” He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, that really changes everything.”

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, but it lacked any real bite because he looked so damn entertained, and you hated that it made your stomach flip.

Sidney shook his head, still smirking, and then—just to drive the nail further into your coffin—he reached into the fridge, grabbed a carton of orange juice, and poured some into a glass. Then he slid it across the counter toward you with a straight face.

“There you go, kid.”

You gaped at him.

“Are you serious?”

Sidney grinned, taking another sip of his beer. “Yup.”

Oh.

Oh, this was bad.

Because up until now, you had been convinced you were at least in the friend zone—which sucked, but you could deal with it.

But this? This was worse.

This was the daughter zone.

You weren’t just a kid to him—you were, like, some innocent, helpless little thing who needed to be protected from beer. Like you were Jack, asking if he could stay up past bedtime.

And your stupid, idiotic crush went into a full-blown meltdown over it. Because what the hell were you supposed to do with that?

How were you supposed to deal with the way he teased you so effortlessly? The way his voice dipped into something softer, just for a second, like he genuinely thought you were too young to be dealing with broken-down cars and late-night beer?

It was horrible.

And it was attractive as hell. Which was stupid.

You crossed your arms over your chest, staring him down. “You know, I could drink you under the table.”

Sidney snorted. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.”

He smirked again, smirked, and you almost threw your juice at him. “I don’t know, kid. You might need a nap halfway through.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re just mad because I’m young and full of life.”

That made him laugh, a low, warm sound that sent actual, real shivers down your spine.

“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” he said dryly. “I’m jealous.”

“You should be.” You lifted your juice in a mock toast. “I’m in my prime.”

Sidney just shook his head, utterly unbothered, before taking another sip of his beer.

And you, unfortunately, had to stand there and grapple with the fact that you were completely screwed.

You stared at the glass of orange juice sitting in front of you.

Then you stared at Sidney, who was still smirking like this was the funniest thing in the world.

Then back at the juice.

Because the worst part—the absolute cherry on top of this entire humiliating situation—was that you actually liked orange juice.

Like, a lot.

And you were thirsty, damn it.

So, after a long, dramatic pause, you picked up the glass and took a sip, maintaining perfect eye contact with Sidney just to prove a point.

You hadn’t even set the glass back down before he burst out laughing.

“Oh, that’s too good,” he said, shaking his head. “You were so offended, and you’re drinking it anyway.”

You scowled. “I like orange juice, Sidney. I’m not gonna let you win out of spite.”

He was grinning, and it was so unfair, because no man should look that attractive while actively mocking you. “I don’t know,” he teased. “You were pretty worked up about it. You sure you don’t wanna—what was it?—drink me under the table?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “I walked right into that one.”

“You did.” His voice was filled with way too much amusement, and when you peeked up at him, he was still smirking around his beer bottle, entirely too pleased with himself.

You squinted at him, watching as he took another sip, posture loose and obnoxiously relaxed, like he wasn’t single-handedly ruining your life with his casual teasing.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you accused.

“Yeah,” he said easily. “I am.”

The audacity.

You exhaled sharply, picking up your juice again. “You know, you can laugh all you want, but this is actually good.” You took another sip, lifting your eyebrows in mock challenge.

Sidney snorted. “Yeah, it’s juice. Of course it’s good.”

You pointed a finger at him. “Exactly.”

“I just think it’s funny,” he said, like he wasn’t actively enjoying this. “You got so defensive about being an adult, and then you went and drank the juice.”

“Oh, my God.” You groaned. “I am an adult, okay? I just also happen to enjoy a refreshing glass of orange juice.”

“Uh-huh.” He looked entirely unconvinced.

You narrowed your eyes. “You know what? This is why your daughter is in her Taylor Swift phase.”

Sidney actually winced, like you had physically struck him, and it was so satisfying that you almost cheered.

“Oh, that’s low,” he said, shaking his head.

You grinned. “It’s the truth. Olivia is at the age where she’s realizing you’re old and lame.”

He sighed dramatically. “First the juice, and now this. You’re just determined to ruin my night, huh?”

You gasped, pressing a hand to your chest. “I would never.”

He laughed at that—really laughed, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and you felt that traitorous flutter in your chest again.

It was so unfair.

Because this was nice.

The teasing, the banter, the way he was actually joking with you instead of just treating you like the kids’ nanny. And maybe that was why your stupid crush decided to fully combust in that moment.

Because you weren’t even in the friend zone. You were in the daughter zone, and somehow that was infinitely worse, and yet here you were—still crushing, still falling harder just because he poured you some stupid juice and laughed at you.

It was pathetic.

And, honestly?

It was so predictable, daddy issues and all.

Sidney took the last sip of his beer, setting the empty bottle on the counter with a soft clink. He stretched his arms over his head, his t-shirt lifting just slightly at the hem, revealing a hint of toned stomach before he let them drop back down.

“All right,” he said, voice rough with exhaustion. “You should get some sleep.”

You braced yourself for the inevitable teasing, the inevitable kid comment—but it never came.

Instead, he just looked at you—really looked at you, the exhaustion in his face softening into something gentler. It wasn’t because you were young or because he thought you couldn’t handle staying up late—it was just late, and he cared enough to tell you to rest.

And somehow, that was worse.

Because it wasn’t patronizing.

It was just him being him—Sidney Crosby, good father, good man, genuinely good person.

And all you could do was nod.

“Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat as you pushed away from the counter. “Yeah, I’ll, uh… I’ll head up.”

He gave you a small, tired smile. “Guest room’s all yours.”

You murmured a quiet “thanks” before grabbing your phone and heading toward the stairs, but you could still feel him watching you as you left the room.

That should’ve been the end of it.

You should’ve gone up to the guest room, crawled into bed, and fallen asleep immediately. Instead, you lay there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling like a complete idiot.

Because you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

And the worst part?

It wasn’t even in a normal crush way—it wasn’t about his arms, or his voice, or how frustratingly handsome he was when he smirked.

No.

It was the fatherly stuff that got you.

The way he so easily checked out your car without hesitation, like it was second nature to take care of things for you. The way he poured you a damn juice because he thought beer wasn’t for you. The way he tucked Olivia in, the way he held Jack so effortlessly, the way he made them feel safe even when their world had been shaken apart.

He was a good dad. No, he was the best dad.

And his ex-wife?

She didn’t deserve him.

Not even a little bit.

You hadn’t even met her, but from the little Olivia had told you, she barely even tried. She had two amazing kids who would’ve done anything for her, who had wanted to see her, and she had just… not shown up.

Meanwhile, Sidney had stepped up and been everything.

Everything a father should be. Everything a partner should’ve been. And she had thrown him away. It made your stomach churn just thinking about it.

You turned onto your side, pressing your face into the pillow and groaning softly. Because, God, this was so predictable.

So cliché. Daddy issues and all, falling for the single dad who made you feel safe for the first time in years.

You wanted to cringe at yourself. But mostly? Mostly, you just wanted to sleep.

And with Sidney Crosby on your mind, that felt damn near impossible.

--

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee.

For a second, you forgot where you were, the unfamiliar ceiling throwing you off, the bed too soft, the blankets too crisp. But then it all rushed back—the broken-down car, the teasing, the orange juice, the way Sidney had looked at you right before you’d gone upstairs.

You groaned into your pillow.

It was too early to be thinking about him like that.

Forcing yourself to sit up, you ran a hand through your hair and grabbed your phone off the nightstand. The time read 7:12 AM, which meant the kids were probably already up, and Sidney—being the actual superhuman that he was—was definitely awake.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before padding out of the room and heading downstairs.

The house was warm with the early-morning light, and you heard Jack’s little voice before you even made it to the kitchen.

“I want pancakes!”

You grinned to yourself.

“Yeah?” Sidney’s voice, still rough with sleep. “Well, I want to win another Cup, but we don’t always get what we want.”

You had to bite back a laugh.

“But, Dad—”

“Relax, buddy. I’m making them.”

Jack cheered, and when you stepped into the kitchen, you were greeted with the sight of Sidney at the stove, flipping pancakes like he did this every morning. Which, you guessed, he probably did. He was still in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair a little messy from sleep, a mug of coffee sitting on the counter next to him.

Olivia was at the table, flipping through a book, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else, and Jack was bouncing on his toes near the counter, waiting for his pancakes like his life depended on it.

Sidney glanced up, spotting you.

“Morning, kid.”

You glared. “Don’t start.”

He smirked, then nodded toward the coffee pot. “There’s fresh coffee.”

You muttered a quiet “thanks” before making a beeline for it, pouring yourself a mug and taking a sip like it was the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“So, did you sleep okay?” Sidney asked, flipping another pancake.

You leaned against the counter, watching as Jack tried to sneak a chocolate chip from the bag Sidney had been using for the pancakes. “Yeah, thanks for letting me stay. Sorry for the whole, you know, car dying situation.”

Sidney shrugged. “Not your fault.”

“Still.”

Olivia looked up from her book, but then she squinted at you. “Wait. Did you sleep in the guest room?”

You frowned. “Uh… yeah?”

Olivia made a face. “Oh. You should’ve taken Dad’s bed.”

You choked on your coffee.

Sidney snorted. “Olivia.”

“What?” she said, looking genuinely confused. “It’s the comfortable one.”

Sidney shook his head, flipping the last pancake. “You guys eat up. I gotta go get ready for practice.”

Jack cheered again, immediately diving into his stack of pancakes, and Olivia, still unbothered, turned back to her book.

Sidney slid a plate across the counter toward you. “Eat.”

You sighed, but sat down, knowing better than to argue.

And as you watched him move around the kitchen—calm, collected, fatherly as ever—you felt that same ache in your chest from the night before.

Because this wasn’t your life.

But for some reason, you wished it was.

Sidney slid a plate of pancakes in front of you like it was nothing—like it was completely normal for him to just make breakfast and look after everyone while simultaneously being the most attractive and responsible man alive.

And then, because apparently he wasn’t done ruining you, he leaned against the counter, crossed his arms over his chest, and—so casually it nearly short-circuited your brain—said, “So here’s the plan for today.”

You blinked. A plan?

Like, he had been thinking about this? About you?

Your stupid car? Your life?

You took a sip of coffee to cover how flustered you felt. “Oh?”

Sidney nodded, all business, like he had been mentally scheduling everything since last night. “I’m taking you to the mechanic after we drop the kids off.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he kept going. “I already know what’s wrong with it. It’s just the alternator.”

You blinked. “How—?”

Sidney shrugged. “Checked it out last night.”

You stared at him. Because—of course he had. Of course, while you had been spiraling about how he was the best dad ever, he had been outside, under the hood of your car, figuring out what was wrong like it was second nature.

He took another sip of his coffee, completely unbothered, while your entire soul left your body.

“And I’m coming with you,” he continued. “Because mechanics like to take advantage of girls.”

Your brain short-circuited again.

You narrowed your eyes. “I am not a girl.”

Sidney smirked. “Yeah? Tell that to the guy who tried to charge my sister two hundred bucks for an oil change last year.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“…Two hundred?”

Sidney gave you a knowing look.

You sighed.

“Fine,” you muttered.

But inside?

Inside, you were melting.

Because who even thought like that? Who went out of their way to protect people like that? To make sure you wouldn’t get scammed? To check out your car and figure out the problem so nobody could lie to you about it?

Your chest ached, and you hated yourself a little for it.

You were so weak.

And you scorned yourself for it.

Because this was exactly why you had promised yourself you’d never be like this. Never feel like this.

But, God, Sidney made it so difficult.

Maybe that was because, deep down, you had always wanted someone like this.

Someone who just took care of things.

Someone who thought ahead, who made plans, who didn’t wait for you to ask for help before stepping in and making sure you were okay.

You had never really had that before.

You had been the eldest daughter, raised by a single mother who had been doing her best but had never really had time to be the kind of parent who worried about things like broken cars and alternators and mechanics overcharging people.

No, that had been you.

You had been the one making sure your little brother had packed a lunch for school, the one who had learned how to fix things when they broke because there wasn’t anyone else to do it. You had been the one answering the door for debt collectors, the one figuring things out, the one making the grocery lists and making sure nothing slipped through the cracks.

And you had been good at it.

You still were.

But sometimes—sometimes you had wished there had been someone to help. Someone to just… think of things before you had to think of them. And maybe that was why Sidney made your chest ache the way he did.

Because you had never had that before, and now here he was—being exactly that person. Not just for his kids, but for you. And maybe he didn’t even realize he was doing it, but it didn’t matter.

Because it was so easy for him. And it made you feel safe in a way that made your stomach twist.

Because you had spent your whole life not needing anyone. And yet—somehow—Sidney Crosby was making you want to lean in.

Just a little.

--

The school drop-off was quick. Jack practically launched himself out of the car, already halfway to the front doors before Olivia had even finished unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Bye, Liv,” you said.

She turned to you, and—much to your utter shock—she gave you a small smile. “Bye.”

You almost froze in place.

But before you could fully process what had just happened, she was out of the car, disappearing into the school without a second glance.

You turned to Sidney, eyes wide. “Did you see that?”

He smirked. “Yeah. She likes you.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. And you hated how much that meant to you.

Sidney pulled away from the curb, effortlessly maneuvering through morning traffic. “Alright, next stop—the mechanic.”

You sighed, slumping back against the seat. “Do you, like… do this for all your nannies?”

Sidney glanced at you, amused. “What?”

“Just—” You gestured vaguely. “Fix their cars? Make plans for them? Tell them they’re getting scammed before it even happens?”

He snorted. “Not really, no.”

You frowned. “Then why me?”

He shrugged, eyes on the road. “Dunno. You’re just… good with the kids. They like you.”

You swallowed. Because that meant something. It meant a lot.

And you weren’t sure what to do with that.

The moment Sidney pulled into the mechanic’s lot, you knew you were in good hands. Not because of the mechanic—no, he barely looked up from whatever he was doing.

It was Sidney.

He had that calm, composed, but don’t-mess-with-me energy that commanded a room without trying. He stepped out of the car with purpose, shutting the door with just the right amount of force. Not aggressive, but firm enough to say, I am not to be taken advantage of.

You followed, feeling like a little duckling trailing behind him like some kind of displaced housewife.

The mechanic—Joe, according to the nametag on his greasy coveralls—finally looked up, taking one glance at your car and letting out a low whistle. “What do we got here?”

Sidney didn’t even blink. “Alternator’s shot.”

Joe nodded, rubbing his hands on a rag. “Yeah? Let’s take a look.”

You rocked on your heels as Joe popped the hood, shining a flashlight over the engine. “Yep, that’ll do it. You’re looking at about… probably $1,100, give or take. Labor’s the killer, y’know how it is.”

You almost choked.

Sidney, however, remained unbothered. “That’s funny. ‘Cause I checked it last night, and it’s just the alternator. You and I both know that’s, what—two, maybe three hundred?”

Joe’s smile tightened. Sidney did not budge.

You watched, absolutely fascinated, as Sidney leaned against the counter, completely at ease, like he had all the time in the world. “So,” he continued, slow and deliberate, “you wanna try again? Or should I take my business somewhere else?”

Your jaw dropped.

Joe sighed, rubbing his temples. “Lemme—” He gestured vaguely toward the back. “Lemme check with my guys.”

Sidney nodded, all patient and controlled, but the minute Joe disappeared, you turned to him, shocked. “How—how did you do that?”

Sidney smirked. “Men don’t like getting called out for their bullshit.”

You blinked. “So, you just… intimidate people into lowering prices?”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “It’s not intimidation. It’s just knowing when someone’s trying to screw you over.”

You stared at him. Because, damn.

You knew Sidney was good at hockey. That he was kind. That he was an amazing dad. But this? This was something else entirely.

This was a guy who stood up for people. This was a guy who protected people without them even having to ask.

And God, did it make your stomach flip.

When Joe came back, he was begrudgingly willing to do it for $150.

Which was insane. Which was basically magic.

You wanted to high-five Sidney or something, but before you could, Joe sighed, glancing between the two of you. “You guys wanna wait inside? Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

You nodded, but then—Joe’s gaze softened, and he smiled. A knowing smile.

“You’re lucky your husband knows his stuff,” he said.

Your heart stopped. Sidney did not correct him.

You swore time froze for a second.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your brain trying so hard to form words, but all you could do was glance up at Sidney—who looked completely unbothered.

Like… he wasn’t rushing to fix it. Like he wasn’t that pressed about the misunderstanding. Like it wasn’t even worth correcting.

Joe didn’t wait for a response—he just gestured toward the small waiting area, already moving toward your car.

And you?

You were still standing there, trying not to let your brain explode. Because what the hell was that?

What the hell was Sidney Crosby not correcting that for? What did that mean? Were you reading too much into it? Or—

“C’mon,” Sidney said, oblivious to your inner crisis, nodding toward the waiting area.

And because you couldn’t exactly just stand there, you followed.

But your heart was still doing things. And you really, really wished it wouldn’t.

After settling your car situation (which still felt like a miracle thanks to Sidney’s intervention), you felt compelled to repay him somehow.

“Let me take you to lunch,” you said as he drove, eyes focused on the road. “As a thank-you. My treat.”

Sidney gave you a side glance, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Your treat?”

“Yes.” You crossed your arms. “I have a job, you know.”

“I know,” he said, smirking. “I just don’t think I’ve ever been taken out to lunch by my nanny before.”

Your stomach flipped, but you rolled your eyes to cover it up. “Well, there’s a first for everything. Do you have practice today?”

“Not till later.”

“Perfect,” you said. “Lunch it is.”

You ended up at a casual bar-slash-lunch spot, the kind of place that had burgers, wings, and good beer on tap. It was easy, relaxed—which was exactly what you needed after the whole morning of watching Sidney Crosby do battle with a mechanic.

The conversation was effortless.

Somewhere between ordering your drinks and the food arriving, you fell into a rhythm of casual banter—mostly about Olivia and Jack.

“Jack’s convinced he’s going to the Olympics,” you said, stirring your straw in your drink. “Like, now. At six years old.”

Sidney smirked, shaking his head. “Kid’s got big dreams.”

You snorted. “Yeah, but have you seen him skate? He’s like a baby giraffe out there.”

Sidney laughed, and it was so genuine, so real, that you felt it in your chest. “He’ll figure it out.”

You nodded. “Yeah. He’s persistent. I’ll give him that.”

Sidney took a sip of his drink, leaning back in the booth. “And Olivia?”

You hesitated, but the smile stayed on your face. “She’s… coming around.”

Sidney’s expression softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “She actually smiled at me today. And—don’t freak out—but I think she has like, a crush on a boy in her class now.”

Sidney groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God help me.”

You laughed. “Hey, at least she’s acting like a kid again.”

That seemed to strike a chord with him, because the laughter in his eyes faded just a little, replaced by something deeper. A comfortable silence settled over you both. The kind that didn’t feel awkward or forced—just… nice.

And then, quietly, Sidney said, “I really appreciate you, you know.”

Your heart stuttered.

He wasn’t looking at you. He was picking at the label on his beer bottle, like he was trying to find the right words.

“I mean it,” he continued. “What you do… what you’ve done for Olivia and Jack—it’s more than I could’ve asked for.”

You swallowed. “Sid…”

“She was really struggling,” he said, voice low but steady. “After the divorce. I mean, Jack was too, but Olivia…” He exhaled, finally looking up at you. “She’s always been the serious one. The one who takes everything in. And when the divorce happened, it was like… she stopped being a kid. She thought she had to be the responsible one. She thought she had to hold everything together.”

You nodded, because you understood that. More than you cared to admit.

Sidney shook his head, eyes flickering with something heavy. “I didn’t know how to help her. I tried. But…”

He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck, and your chest ached at the sight of it.

Because here he was—Sidney Crosby, the guy who had everything together, the guy who fought tooth and nail for his kids—and yet, in that moment, he looked so lost. Like he still didn’t know if he was doing it right.

You reached for your drink, just to have something to do with your hands. “You’re a good dad, Sidney.”

He let out a hollow laugh. “I don’t know about that.”

“You are,” you insisted. “You fought for them. You fight for them. And Olivia—she sees that. She might not always say it, but she does.”

Sidney studied you, something unreadable in his expression.

“You’re the first person to get her to act like a kid again,” he finally said. “That means more to me than you know.”

And just like that, your heart broke open.

Because you knew what it felt like to carry weight that wasn’t yours to carry. You knew what it felt like to be the one who had to be strong. And Olivia—God, Olivia—she had been right there, drowning in it, until you’d somehow managed to pull her back to the surface.

The server came by with your food, breaking the moment, and Sidney cleared his throat, straightening up.

But the words hung between you, unspoken but there. And you? You felt completely unraveled.

For a moment, you just sat there, stirring the ice in your drink, thinking about everything he’d said. About Olivia. About how much she’d been hurting.

You inhaled, slow and careful. “I get it, you know.”

Sidney looked up from his plate, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You hesitated, organizing your thoughts. “I get what Olivia’s feeling. I get why she tried to be the responsible one.” You picked at the napkin in your lap, voice quieter now. “Because I did the same thing.”

Sidney didn’t say anything, but he put his drink down. He was listening.

“My mom had me young,” you started. “She wasn’t even out of college yet. And my dad… well.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “He wasn’t interested in the whole family thing.”

Sidney’s jaw tightened.

“He left when I was four,” you continued, eyes flickering up to his. “And I guess, in some ways, I don’t even remember what it was like when he was around. But I remember what it was like after. I remember how my mom had to work two jobs. How tired she always was. How—” You swallowed. “How I felt like I had to make up for him leaving.”

Sidney’s expression softened, his brows knitting together like he was piecing you together in real-time.

“I started helping out more. Taking care of things that weren’t really my responsibility. By the time my little brothers was born, I was basically their second parent.” You let out a breathy laugh. “I mean, I was nine and I was making school lunches. I was helping with homework. I was doing all these things because I thought it would make things easier for my mom. I thought if I could just be good enough, she wouldn’t miss him. We wouldn’t miss him.”

Sidney’s hand flexed against the table.

“But the thing is…” You shrugged, forcing a small smile. “It never really worked. Because I was still just a kid. And sometimes kids need someone to tell them it’s okay to be a kid.”

Sidney exhaled, like something was clicking into place.

“That’s why I see so much of myself in Olivia,” you admitted, tracing the rim of your glass with your finger. “I know what it’s like to feel like you have to hold everything together. To feel like you have to be the adult when things fall apart.” You looked at Sidney then, your voice quieter, but steady. “And I think that’s why I care about her so much.”

Sidney’s brows drew together slightly, his beer resting untouched on the table between you. His eyes, deep and thoughtful, didn’t waver. He was listening—really listening.

You took a slow breath, letting the moment settle before continuing.

“The thing is, I know it’s not true,” you said. “I know she doesn’t have to be that way. That she’s just a kid, and she should be able to be a kid.” You exhaled softly, shaking your head. “But when you feel like everything around you is out of control, stepping up feels like the only option. Even if it’s not fair. Even if it’s not right.”

Sidney said nothing, but something shifted in his expression.

So you went on, voice careful, deliberate.

“I think… I think she’s starting to see that she doesn’t have to be the one holding everything together anymore.” You offered a small, knowing smile. “That she has someone who will do that for her. And that’s because of you, Sidney.”

His jaw tensed, but he still didn’t speak.

You could see it—the self-doubt, the way he carried the weight of the divorce like a failing on his part. He didn’t have to say it out loud for you to know he wondered, late at night, if he was enough. If he was doing enough.

And you couldn’t stand it.

“You’re a good dad,” you told him, voice firm.

His throat worked as he swallowed, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know about that.”

“You should,” you said, unwavering. “You should know. Because you are.”

He scoffed under his breath, running a hand over his jaw. “You don’t see me at two in the morning, staring at the ceiling wondering if I’m screwing this all up.”

“Sid,” you said, gentler now. “You love them. You show up for them. You fight for them. Do you know how many kids don’t get that?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but he stayed quiet.

You hesitated for only a second before you said, “I didn’t.”

Sidney’s gaze snapped back to you.

You kept your voice light—too light. “Dad used to call sometimes. When I was little. But it got less and less over the years. By the time I was Olivia’s age, I stopped expecting it. I stopped waiting.”

Sidney hadn’t touched his beer. Hadn’t moved an inch. His jaw was tight, his hands clasped loosely together on the table, but his expression was unreadable.

You cleared your throat. “That’s why I know Olivia’s lucky. Even if she doesn’t always feel like it right now. Even if it’s been hard, and things are messy, and divorce sucks—she’s got you. You’re there. You’re trying. And she knows it.”

Sidney exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, well. I wish that was enough.”

“But it is,” you insisted, leaning forward slightly. “That’s what I’m saying. You being there? That’s everything.”

Sidney’s gaze lifted to yours, and for the first time all night, there was something unguarded in his expression.

“I mean it,” you said, quieter now. “She doesn’t have to wonder if you’re going to come home. She doesn’t have to hold her breath every time the phone rings, hoping it’s you and being disappointed when it’s not. She doesn’t have to think she has to earn your love, Sid. She just has it.”

His jaw clenched.

“She’s lucky,” you finished. “Even if she doesn’t fully see it yet.”

For a long time, Sidney didn’t say anything. He just watched you.

And then, finally, he shook his head, voice low and steady.

“Your father,” he said, “is the lowest kind of man there is.”

Your breath caught.

“To walk away from his kids?” Sidney’s voice was rougher now, edged with something deep and unapologetic. “To leave you and your mom on your own? That’s… that’s not a man. That’s a coward.”

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t used to people saying it like that. You weren’t used to people saying anything at all about it, really. It had always been just one of those things—something people knew but never directly acknowledged.

But Sidney wasn’t mincing words.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he continued, voice quieter but still firm. “Neither of you did.”

Your hands felt a little shaky, so you pressed them together in your lap. And suddenly, it hit you.

This wasn’t just about your dad. This was about Sidney, too.

Because as much as you had lived your life wondering what you had done to make your father leave, Sidney was here—right here—terrified that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he gave, it might never be enough. That he might still lose his kids in some way.

So this time, when you spoke, your voice was softer. More sure.

“You’re nothing like him.”

Sidney looked at you.

“You’re a good dad,” you repeated. “You’re the kind of dad kids deserve.”

Something in his expression changed.

It was small, barely perceptible, but it was there—a flicker of something unspoken, something that settled between you like an understanding neither of you fully grasped yet.

And it wasn’t bad.

Not at all. But it was different.

Sidney exhaled deeply, finally leaning back against the booth. His hand scrubbed over his jaw like he was trying to find the right words, something you’d noticed he did whenever he was thinking hard about something. The air between you felt heavier now, weighted down by the conversation, by everything you’d laid out between each other.

Finally, he looked back at you.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still sure. “Really. I—” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, a humorless little chuckle leaving his lips. “I needed that.”

His fingers tapped against the glass of his beer, and then, suddenly, his expression twisted.

“Oh—shit, I mean—” He winced, shaking his head quickly. “Not, like—not that your story is a good thing or—Jesus.” He huffed out an exasperated breath, looking genuinely horrified at his own words. “I just meant—”

You laughed. Hard.

The immediate, sincere panic on his face only made it funnier.

“Sid, relax,” you grinned, covering your mouth as you shook your head. “I know what you meant.”

Sidney groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, well, that makes one of us.”

That only made you laugh harder.

He watched you for a moment, exhaling slowly, before finally shaking his head. “I’m gonna be honest. I don’t think I’ve embarrassed myself this much since the last time I fell in practice and took out, like, three guys on the way down.”

Your grin widened. “Wow. That bad, huh?”

“Oh, worse,” he said, pointing at you with his beer bottle before taking another sip. “Way worse.”

You shrugged, resting your chin on your palm. “I don’t know. I thought it was kinda endearing.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “You would.”

You shot him a smug look. “I do.”

He let out another soft chuckle, shaking his head. Then, after a moment, he looked back up at you, something more serious in his gaze.

“No, but really,” he said, voice lower, more steady this time. “Thank you.”

And that time, there was no fumbling. No awkward backtracking. Just genuine gratitude.

You felt your chest tighten slightly, the warmth of his words settling somewhere deep in your ribs.

Before you could find a way to respond, though, you realized something.

Sidney was still looking at you.

But not the same way he usually did.

His gaze was heavier now, slower, his expression just slightly more relaxed than it had been all night. His fingers absentmindedly traced the condensation on his beer bottle, and his eyes, dark and warm and a little unreadable, stayed locked on you in a way that sent a sudden rush of heat up your spine.

Oh.

You swallowed, your brain short-circuiting.

Because the way he was looking at you? You knew that look.

The lazy, half-lidded gaze, the way his lips were just slightly parted, how he lingered a beat longer than necessary on your face before his eyes flickered ever so briefly down, then back up—

Yeah. You knew that look.

And oh, you were in trouble.

Your stomach flipped, your skin going hot all over, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “Are you okay?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even.

Sidney blinked, like he was suddenly remembering himself. Then, he cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” he repeated, this time with a little more certainty. Then, as if sensing the shift, he smirked. “Why? You worried about me?”

You scoffed, but your heartbeat was still too fast. “Not even a little.”

He hummed, taking another slow sip of his beer, and damn it, his eyes were still on you.

And it wasn’t like that.

It wasn’t obvious, or aggressive, or even something you thought he was aware of doing.

But it was… different.

And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t imagining it this time.

---

Smash

---

Me yelling at the oilers rn

So many close chances

Step ur kitty up rn!

---

one goalie goes 10ft outside his own net and gets checked and it's interference, but another goalie gets slashed on the heel and it's no call. one goalie gets his own dman shoved into him by an opponent and it's not interference, but another goaltender initiates contact with an opposing player and it's interference. one goaltender has players falling on top of him and it's no interference, and another it's interference when the opposing player is outside the blue paint. make it fucking make sense.

---

Reblog to put candy in your followers halloween buckets :)

The Teacher's Always Right

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Your students badger you about your relationship status and you let slip you're dating a hockey player who plays for the Vancouver Canucks. They don't believe you, you're petty enough to arrange a school trip to Rogers Arena just to prove your point.

Notes: Very self-indulgent of me as someone who teaches teenagers for a living and regularly gets questioned on my relationship status. They really do bully you (affectionately).

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

You're in the middle of teaching your high schoolers about the fur trade in colonial Canada, mid-speech, arms spread wide as you gesture to your powerpoint when a teenage voice interrupts you.

"Miss, are you married?" It's David, sat at the back, legs stretched out as far as he can reach them. He's ironically enough wearing a Canucks jersey, specifically Number 43...a very, very familiar number to you. As is the question. In your years of teaching this isn't the first time you've been interrupted to be questioned on your relationship status, in fact it happens multiple times a year. Each set of students eager to know why you're a miss and if you'll be a mrs soon and are going to be leaving them to have a baby. When you were single, the questions were usually why?

"No." You've gotten rather good at deflecting or at least not letting slip the reality of your relationship, usually finding out you're not single is enough for them, but there's something about David's attitude that screams persistant curiosity. It makes you wonder why you bother teaching your subject at all when he's more curious about your love life than History itself

"Do you have boyfriend?"

"Yes, does this have anything to do with British colonisation or the fur trade or....?" You lean back on your desk, board pen landing gently on the surface, knowing that you're not going to be free of this conversation for at least another 2 minutes.

"What's your boyfriend do?" You breathe a deep sigh and look around the room, you don't want to get into who your boyfriend is. It's not like its a well known fact that you're dating the captain of the Vancouver Canucks and you try to keep it that way. Not because you're ashamed but because its your private life, school and home, those are as separate as you can make them. It would be impossible to do that if everyone was talking about your relationship, although you know eventually it'll become more public.

Stacy from one of the desk by the windows chimes in this time, curiosity peaked, dragging her away from her current hobby of staring out the window in boredom, "C'mon, miss, it can't be that bad? What? Is he like unemployed or something?" She says while chewing loudly on a wad of gum.

"Gum in the bin, Stacy." Her chewing stops and she slumps as she stomps her way to your classroom bin, spitting the gum in with a roll of her eyes.

"So? Is he unemployed?" You decide to answer the question, only because Stacy actually did what you said this time. You hated gum in the classroom, mostly because it always ended up on the bottom of your shoes and made them stick to the floor as you walked. You wouldn't mind it so much if they could all just throw it away normally.

"No. He's got a job, a good job." A really good job, a ridiculously good job actually. You didn't talk money with Quinn much, but the reality was that he made an amount in a year that you would never make in a life time as a teacher.

"Sooo???" David interjects, leaning forward now in his seat, clearly not happy enough to just know your boyfriend isn't some unemployed bum.

"He's a hockey player."

"Like beer league?"

"No. Like NHL." You watch your classes faces in what feels like slow motion, the series of disbelieving looks, wide eyes and raised eyebrows that are quickly followed by a chorus of objections and claims that you can't be telling the truth.

"Nah, no way! You're not here, teaching us, and dating a guy who makes millions, nah." It's actually frustrating, it shouldn't be. You've literally had students throw tables at you and yet, the idea that they think you are a liar is what makes you frustrated. Is it really that hard to believe that you enjoy your job and don't want to scrounge off of your pro-athlete boyfriend? Or that hard to believe that you managed to snag a pro-athlete in the first place?

"You don't believe me?"

"Nah, like if you are, he's gotta be in some really bad team in the US." You're already formulating a plan to prove to your students that you're not lying and not dating a shit NHL player. Sure, the plan involves a lot more work for you, but the idea is in your head and you can't help but think that it'll be worth it.

"He's a Canuck." You smirk a little, knowing the mention of the local team would get a response. Most of the kids you teach go to at least one game a year or watch it on TV. Some have even seen you at the games, but you always sit in the stands like a regular fan. Mostly because Quinn can't really talk to you anyway when he's locked into a game. You'd serve as more of a distraction if you sat front and centre every game.

"No, no way!" David stands, slamming his hands on his desk, "You're lying!" Half the class echo his claims that you must be lying and it makes you even more determined to prove them wrong. Do you really need to prove to a bunch of teenagers that you're dating an NHL player? No, do you want to? Absolutely.

"Fine, don't believe me, but i'm not lying. I'm dating a Vancouver Canuck."

It takes a little to get them all back on track with the lesson but you manage it. Although you're just as distracted. The moment the bell goes to signal lunch break and your classroom empties, you're on your phone calling your boyfriend, even though you know he's probably in the middle of practice.

He answers on the second ring, the sound of the rink in the background loud and clear as pucks hit the sideboards and skates scratch up the ice.

"Hey, baby, everything okay?" It's unusual for you to call him in the work day and you can hear the worry in his voice, even if he'll pretend he's not worried at seeing your name pop up when you should be working.

"Hey, I'm fine, don't worry...but...you know how you love me?" You fiddle with a little wooden bear that sits on your desk. Quinn bought you it after finding out your favourite animals were any type of bear, it's left ear is broken off and it's got a little bit of red paint where it fell on a floor one time, but you love it anyway.

"Uh huh?" The worry in his voice gives out to amusement at realising you're after something. On his end Quinn is stood at the bench watching the guys run drills, Tocc giving him a look as if to say 'hurry up'.

"And you know how you want to always make me happy?" He smiles at the faux innocent voice you put on, as if he'd deny you anything.

"What do you need me to do, baby?" There's zero hesitation, typical Quinn really, if you want something you've got it, if you need him to do something he's agreeing before all the terms are laid out. He's lucky you don't abuse that sort of power really, he'd spoil you completely if you let him.

"I need you to help me organise a school trip to see you guys practice and meet you all, so that I can prove to my students that I am actually dating an NHL player because they're calling me a liar and I will not be called a liar by teenagers who gaslight me all the time!" The faux innocent voice gives way to your rapid ramble, annoyance riding your tone as you pace across the front of your classroom.

You're greeted firstly by his loud and genuine laugh, so loud that it makes you pull the phone away from your ear. It takes a solid minute for Quinn to stop laughing, and he can see the looks he's getting from the ice, Brock throws him a questioning eyebrow raise, Petey perks his head up at the sound of his captain actually laughing that hard.

It's the dead silence on your end that makes him stop, "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yes! They're telling me i'm lying and I will not be called a liar!"

"Okay, so let me get this straight." He runs a hand through his hair, before leaning against the side of the bench, "Your students don't believe you're dating a canuck, so you need me to help you organise a school trip-"

"For free!" You interrupt, knowing you won't get permission for a trip that costs the school anything more than a few buses and fuel costs, school funding being what it is.

"For free, to prove that you're dating me?" There are easier ways, Quinn thinks, to prove this. Like, him posting a picture of you together on the internet or him kissing you in front of the arena at a game, but it's kind of cute how much you're affronted by your students calling you a liar. It also sounds way more fun.

"Yup, is that...is that too much to ask? I'm being silly aren't I?" He hears it in your tone, the way you seem to start second guessing yourself, can hear you tapping a fingernail against your desk, probably messing with the little bear figurine he got you all those years ago.

"A little silly, but for you? I think I can pull some strings, honey."

You know Quinn will say yes to most things you ask, but you hadn't actually expected him to agree this time. It had felt too big, too much. Your normal requests were small, something like asking if he could get you a doughnut on his way home or could he put the dishes in the dishwasher.

"You serious?"

"Yeah, i'm serious." It takes a beat before your almost squealing in delight down the phone at him, the realisation that he's actually saying yes hitting and he can't help but laugh even as he pulls the phone away from his ear.

"I love you! Have I told you that today?" Your voice is sweet and happy, brighter than it was before. It makes him want to always say yes to you, the way you light up like a christmas tree.

"Mmm, not since 6am this morning."

"Well, I love you and you are the absolute best boyfriend I've ever had and I will never take you for granted."

He can see Tocc motioning him over, telling him without words that its time for the call to end and get back to being captain. Part of him just wants to keep talking with you, rare as it is to get to do during a working day, but he has responsibilities just like you do.

"I have to go, baby, I have practice...but we'll talk about this later, okay?"

He knows his evening is going to be spent planning out what you want this trip to look like before he goes away and tries to make it happen, but he doesn't mind. Anything to make his baby happy. Even if that is trying to prove a bunch of teenagers wrong.

Between the two of you it takes about 2 months to organise the trip. A lot of that time simply spent getting risk assessments done, approval from your administration sorted and organising parental consent. It also takes you getting the sports teacher on side because it was becoming difficult to find a justification as a History teacher for why you wanted to take kids to meet some hockey players. By the time you've organised it, most of your students have forgotten your claims. You have not forgotten their belief that you are a liar, however.

"I can't believe you managed to get us a trip to Rogers Arena! To meet the Canucks! Best teacher ever!" The hockey boys in your class are especially stoked, many of them playing in junior teams and following the Canucks closely as their team of choice. David is no exception to that rule, arriving to the school bus in so many bits of Vancouver merchandise that you're unsure how he's managing to walk weighed down as he is.

"I told you, my boyfriend plays for them." You remind him, ticking him off the register of kids and ushering him up into the bus.

"Miss, we all know that's not true." He turns to you just as he's about to dispear to find his seat. The scepticism written all over his face.

It makes you shake your head, waiting for the moment the puck drops.

The entire ride to the stadium features your students making fun of you for saying your boyfriend was a canuck, you let it slide simply because you're looking forward to seeing them eat their words. They think its funny right now, but you know you're getting the last and final laugh.

You're met at the entrance by, surprisingly, Tocc, who greets you with a warm hug, "Hey, how you doing?"

"I'm good, thank you for having us, Tocc." You like Tocc, he's a good coach and you like that he cares about how the guys are as people not just how they perform. You also can see how much Quinn appreciates him as coach, so you have a soft spot for the scary looking guy.

"No problem," You can feel the weight of 50 eyes on you, all varying shades of disbelief as they realise you seem a little too familiar when interacting with the Head Coach and its only the beginning. You can't help but smile simply because they're starting to realise that maybe they fucked up. Maybe their doubt was misplaced, maybe you actually were telling the truth all along.

"Are Quinn and the guys on the rink or in the locker room?"

"Rink, easier to fit all the kids, but we've got to get them booted up first." The famililarity with which you refer to Quinn and the guys, does not go past David and Stacy both of whom share a look that screams 'don't tell me that she actually knows them...'.

It takes a bit of time to get all 50 kids in skates, although at least 20 of them bring their own, as do you. You're not much of a skater, but dating Quinn meant you couldn't avoid him buying you a decent pair for family skate and the few times he manages to drag you on the ice each year.

You're about to put your own on when Quinn makes his way over to you clearly having just come off the ice, guards on his skates and hair messy from his helmet. He waves briefly at some of the kids before reaching you, taking your skates in hand without hesitation.

"Y'know I can do it myself, right?"

"When have I ever let you do your own skates? Besides, I thought you wanted the last laugh?" He nods his head in the direction of your students who stand gaping at the Captain of the Vancouver Canucks putting your foot in a skate and putting said skate between his thighs to help him tighten the laces with care. Not something one does for a strange teacher they don't know.

"I'm really enjoying myself already. The whole ride they were giving me all sorts of hell about it, and now I can see their little brains working hard to figure out if I was actually telling the truth or not."

You watch Quinn work, finishing tying off your first skate before reaching for the other, his hands are sure on your calf as he slips your foot into it. "The guys are looking forward to it, think this might be their favourite practice of the year. You might be their favourite WAG now."

"All I had to do was bring a bunch of teenagers to the rink to get them to love me?" Quinn stops mid lace pull, smirk firmly in place as he looks at you from underneath his eyelashes.

"Y'know they loved you already, right? Pretty sure Petey is your number one fan."

"That's because I bribe him with sweets." Specifically his favourite sour candy which makes his eyes water. The more sour the better.

Quinn huffs out a laugh, tying off your laces before patting your foot and setting it back on the ground. His hands reach out to help you to your feet and linger on yours a little longer than is strictly necessary.

"You ready for this?"

"Can't back out now, so I guess I have to be." There's a slight bubbling of nerves under your skin, the sense that your students might not think this is cool and instead think that you're undeserving of your relationship, but you shrug it off. After all, they're kids, their opinion on your relationship is genuinely not important.

"See you on the rink?"

"See you there." You watch him walk away and try to ignore the buzz of chatter you can hear from students, commenting on the fact that Quinn did your skates for you.

You get them registered, orderly and help them file onto the rink, the less sure of the bunch buddied up with someone who had more experience skating to avoid 50 kids bowling each other over on the ice. You did not want to deal with a pile of kids flat on the ice after knocking each other over, the paper work would be ridiculous.

You stand back and just watch. The clear awe on their faces as they step out onto the ice, the large rink impressive any day let alone for kids who had never stepped foot on a rink that size. It makes you smile, knowing you're contributing to their memories, providing something great even if it all started out of petty spite. Even if they don't believe you, you feel good knowing they're getting to enjoy this experience.

You skate nearer to the front, Brock and Petey giving you a bright smile and wave, a variety of nods of recognition from the others. Little things that once again tell your students you know these men better than they expected you to.

"Hey, guys. Welcome to Rogers Arena, it's great to have you here," Quinn starts the introduction, smoothly sliding forward on his skates and gesturing to the line of players as he proceeds to introduce each them by name and position, before finally getting to himself, "And i'm Quinn Hughes, Captain of the team,"

"And Norris trophy winner" You chime in, arms crossed as you watch your boyfriend do what he's best at. He's good with fans especially kids, even if he's terrible with the after game reporters.

He turns to you with a bright grin, "Hi, baby," You can see the twinkle in his eye as he drops the petname, you know he does it on purpose to get the reaction that he does from your students as a wave of muttering and murmuring goes through the little crowd.

"Hi, honey, thanks for having us." You throw it right back, more sickly sweet than you'd usually be, playing up to your little audience who practically gasp.

"Anything for my girl."

"No fucking way!" "What the hell?!" You watch each face drop, mouths open, eyes wide. Watch David as he swears loudly face aghast, almost horrified at the realisation that he might have been making fun of Quinn Hughes' girlfriend the entire time he'd been calling his teacher a liar.

"Language, David!" You tell him off even as you smirk, watching the murmurs die off as Quinn and Boeser talk the kids through skating techniques and how best to shoot the puck, the different techniques and ways to hit the puck with the stick. Half of it makes little sense to you but its nice to watch how the kids get engaged, how Quinn takes over a leadership and teaching role.

You mostly take a step back throughout, watching your students learn from Quinn and the guys, but every now and then Quinn finds you under the pretense of fixing your stance or giving you a tip or piece of advice.

Like now, as his hands reach out, fixing how you hold the hockey stick, foot kicking yours just slightly further apart to adjust your stance.

"So, think they believe you now?" You look over at your students, the joy they're having learning hockey from some of the best, but also at the looks they keep sending your way. You're certain they've learnt their lesson, the teacher is always right, at least when it comes to her own love life.

"I think I am offically the coolest teacher in school, so thanks for that." You reach up and kiss Quinn on the cheek, quick and chaste, nothing inappropriate considering you're both at work and surrounded by kids, but it's enough to make his cheeks flush red.

He rubs the back of his neck with that boyish smile of his and it makes you want to kiss him all over again, "Well, I couldn't have a bunch of teenagers calling my girlfriend a liar."

You're so stuck in the moment with him that you don't notice David and his friends until they're upon you and calling out to Quinn. The picture of respect when talking to who might just be their new favourite NHL star.

"Hey, Mr Hughes?" Conveniently half the kids surrounding you are the ones who claimed you must have been dating some beer league level player or some guy from the Chicago Blackhawks.

"You can call me Quinn, Mr Hughes is my dad. What's up, dude?"

"So when are we going to be calling teach Mrs Hughes?" It's your turn to flush, face warming harshly as Quinn's practically asked when he's proposing to you by a spotty 15 year old.

"David!" You might never be able to call your future child David at this rate, far too familiar with calling the name in admonishment. Definitely no David's in your future. Add that name to the list of names you can't use.

David looks at you with a wide grin, braces on full display. "What? I'm tryin' a help you get that bank!" It's actually mortifying, you thank your lucky stars that Quinn knows you're not actually after his money because if a 15 year old were to ruin your relationship you might actually become a super villain.

"I do not need a 15 year old wingman!"

"Baby, it's alright." Quinn wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side as if that will sooth the embarrassment of having a 15 year old try to help you get a rich husband, "Uh, to answer your question, it won't be too long now, bud."

"So, like 6 months? A year? Next week?"

"Oh my god..." You turn your face into Quinn's shoulder, your groan muffled by his jersey. You're certain you might actually pass away from embarrassment, even if deep down there's a little thrill in your stomach that Quinn basically just said he's going to propose to you sooner rather than later.

"I gotta keep it a secret, sorry, man! Gotta keep Mrs Hughes on her toes." Your toes curl at the way he calls you Mrs Hughes, a small smile on your face hidden by his jersey.

A little back and forth is exchanged before David and his friends decide their bored and skate off towards Boeser who's going over the finer points of 'get to the net' and 'just shoot the puck'.

You mumble into Quinn's shoulder as his hands run up and down your back in soothing strokes, "Are you really ganging up on me with a bunch of teenagers?"

"Hey, I just told you that I want to marry you and you're mad at me?" He's not serious though, grinning as pushes you back to look at him. It's adorable, the pout on your face as you glare up at him for making fun of you. Although, you're always adorable to him, so maybe he's biased,

"Correction, you told a 15 year old that you wanted to marry me."

"Okay, okay, I see the problem." He shakes his head solemnly, hands on your shoulders as he lowers his voice just a touch, "Baby, just so you know I want to marry you."

"Okay."

"Okay?" You watch as he stands, mouth agape at your casual response. You're sure he was expecting you to giggle or squeal, but you're determined to mess with him a little.

"That's...nice to know?" You grin at him even as internally you're screaming because your boyfriend wants to marry you and you definitely want to marry him.

"You're such a fucking nerd."

"You're dating a teacher, that's like my whole thing. I'm a professional nerd."

"Yeah... it's cute. It's why I want to marry you."

"Quinn!" You shove him away with a laugh. Maybe your students won't be embarrassing you anymore, but you think you might have a lifetime of Quinn doing it instead. Somehow that doesn't seem like the worst idea.

---

No Quinny or bedsy goal

BUT Canucks win!!!

And Quinny assist

I’m trying to manifest a Canucks win rn!

I want a Quinny goal and bedsy because he’s home for the first time but overall Canuck win

---

Pls write something about Quinn and casual dominance w reader 🥲🥲 makes me feral

a/n: OH MY GOD YES!

summary: Here are four times Quinn Hughes has embodied casual dominance.

1. Quinn walked into the apartment, dropping his bag by the door with a soft thud, his hand scrubbing over his face in exhaustion. His game that night had been intense from the first moment of the first period, but stepping into your shared home, all the tension seemed to melt away as the warmth engulfed him.

You were curled up on the couch, wearing one of his hoodies, legs tucked beneath you as you scrolled through your phone. You glanced up as he walked in, a soft smile immediately spreading across your face, eyes lighting up.

"Hey, you're home," you greeted, setting your phone aside and kneeling on the plush of the couch to face him.

"Yeah," he nodded, his voice a little hoarse from shouting on the ice. He walked over to you, resting one hand on the back of the couch and the other under your chin, gently tilting your head up to meet his eyes. "Miss me?"

You nodded earnestly, the way his touch lingered on your skin sending a spark through you running right down to your core.

Quinn always had this way of being in control without even trying. Just the way he looked at you, or touched you, made you feel like you were exactly where you belonged, in his arms, protected and loved by him.

"Good," he murmured, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. He lingered there, pulling back just enough to let his warm breath fan over your skin as his nose bumped affectionately off of yours. "I'm starving. You've eaten already, right?"

"I was waiting for you," You shook your head, smiling a little sheepishly, chin ducking down to your chest.

"I thought we spoke about this a few weeks ago," Quinn raised an eyebrow, his thumb tracing lightly over your bottom lip. "You don't have to wait on me, you know that."

"I know," you whispered, your heart skipping at the gentle reprimand laced in his voice. He wasn't mad, Quinn never really got mad at you, one look in your eyes had him crumbling, but there was something in the way he spoke that let you know he expected more from you. "Just wanted to spend time with you."

There was a moment of quiet as Quinn huffed out a small breath, eyes softening.

"Good girl for being honest," he quietly smiled, giving your chin a soft squeeze before straightening up. "But I need you to eat when you’re hungry…C'mon, let's get you something to eat."

—

2.

You sat across from Quinn at the kitchen table, mindlessly scrolling through your phone, your bowl of multicoloured cereal left untouched while he ate what you called his 'crunchy-mom' breakfast.

He let his eyes linger on you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as you continue to type away, distracted.

In a swift move, Quinn reached over and placed his hand atop of your phone, gently lowering it until it was set down on the table. You blinked up at him in surprise, your mind hazy as you glanced down at the phone he had then switched off.

"Quinn—" you began before he cut you off with a small shake of his head.

"Eyes on me," he spoke firmly, but there's no harshness in his tone. It's more of a command, one you instinctively want to follow. His gaze locks onto yours, calm but unwavering. "You need breakfast."

Your breath catches for a second, the look in his eyes almost drowning you. You sigh with a playful roll of your eyes, feeling your pulse quicken as you lean back in your chair.

"Okay," you spoke softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

"That's better," Quinn replied, his voice low and approving. He continued eating, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but you couldn't help but feel a small thrill from how easily he took control of the situation.

"And don't think I didn't see you roll your eyes, pretty girl..."

—

3.

You ran a stressed hand through your tangled hair, tears pricking in your eyes as you slumped onto the floor.

You'd been tasked with getting ready for a night out with Quinn for the Canucks and you struggled to decide what to wear.

What if you dressed too fancy? Too causal? Too grandma-like? Too slutty?

Clothes were scattered all over the bed and floor as your frustration built with each passing second. You buried your face in your palms, face hot and screwed up.

You heard the soft patter of Quinn walking in, along with the pause of his steps as you presumed he took the chaotic scene in.

Without missing a beat, he crouched in front of you, placing his hands on either side of your face, gently grabbing your wrist and pulling you to a stop.

"Hey," he began softly, his voice calm, but there was a firmness that immediately made you pause. "Look at me."

You did, your breath coming in short, anxious bursts. Quinn's hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he forced you to focus on him.

"Breathe," he commanded, his thumbs still brushing softly over your skin. You did as he said, taking a deep breath in, and he nodded in approval. 

"Stop," he softly murmured, yet an authoritarian tone was laced through his tone. "You're overthinking again."

You sigh, leaning forward into his chest, as his arms immediately enveloped you.

"I don't know what to wear," you shyly admitted, feeling slightly embarrassed as you nuzzled your head into his chest.

Quinn chuckled quietly, his hand gently smoothing over your hair before he pulled away and stood up, eyeing the pile of clothes on the bed. Your reddened eyes follow his every move as his eyebrows knit together in thought.

"Don't worry about it," he murmured, glancing back at you. "I'll pick something for you."

You watched as he casually sorted through your various options before he pulled out a black dress you hadn't even begun to consider an option. Seemingly satisfied, he held it up, giving you a small nod.

"Wear this one," he advised, hanging it up in the en-suite for you. "You look stunning in it and I'm wearing all black."

You smile, your hand slipping into his outstretched palm allowing him to gently pull you up off the floor.

Your head buried itself in his chest once more, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he encircled your waist, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head.

—

4.

The room was crowded, full of voices and laughter, and you could feel the anxiety rising in your chest. It was one of those nights where everything you wore tore at your skin and everything reaching your ears was simply too overwhelming, leaving you to shrink inward, trying to find a place to breathe.

Quinn noticed immediately.

He had a knack for sensing when you were feeling off, even in the middle of such a busy event. You were standing by the bar, nervously fidgeting with the hem of your dress when he appeared beside you.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice low so that only you could hear. His hand found the small of your back.

"I just...there's so many people," you admitted, your voice barely audible above the crowd. "It's a lot."

Quinn nodded, understanding instantly and without missing a beat, he turned you towards him, his body shielding you from the rest of the room.

"Look at me," he instructed softly, his hand coming up to tilt your chin so that you met his warm, eyes. "You're with me," he reminded you, his thumb brushing lightly across your jaw. "Focus on me, okay? No one else matters right now."

The rest of the room dimmed as Quinn filled all of your senses as he guided your hand into his, squeezing it gently.

"Breathe in and out for me, nice and slowly," he murmured, his voice calm as you stiffly nodded.

You did as he said, feeling your heartbeat slow as you focused on the warmth of his hand in yours, the solid feel of him standing so close.

"Better?" he asked, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You nodded, feeling the anxiety that had been bubbling inside you begin to ease. Quinn leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his hand still tight in yours.

"Good," he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. "If you need a break, just say the word and we can go get some air."

---

Done Trying - Luke Hughes

Summary: In which Luke falls for a girl who always seems to be hanging around the Devils, the issue she has a toddler with one of his teammates

There will be more parts!! Next part is the backstory of John and Tori! Part after that is a continuation of this part! Hope you guys enjoy!

content: unplanned pregnancy, fluff, angst, children (is that a warning??), past relationships, self confidence and body image issues, money struggles, oc x ex!john marino (this is throughout the story, but this is a luke fic!! she ends up with luke!!)

WC: 4.8k

notes: this idea came to me the other night while i was watching tiktoks lol, but i thought it would a fun fic to write. the poll i put out showed a pretty clear leader the whole time, but if you guys are interested in me doing any of the other pairings in the poll just let me know!! before writing this i have a feeling it's gonna be a long fic so enjoy!!

Luke Hughes was walking down the street to the cafe that Jack had recommended. He still didn't know many places in Newark, seeing as it was his rookie season, but his brother had been a huge help... for the most part. Jack had told him about his coffee shop that was usually pretty quiet, so he wouldn't have to worry about fans coming up to him. And it had become his safe haven over the last two weeks.

Victoria Wilson was also walking down the street in the direction of the cafe, but she wasn't alone. Her newly turned two-year-old was toddling besides her, having refused to get in his stroller when they were leaving their apartment. "No" was his favourite word at the moment and Tori thought it might drive her crazy. She was dropping him off at his dad's in a couple hours, so she decided that grabbing him a bagel and some juice for breakfast sounded like a great way to get out of the house.

"Riley! Stop!" she screeched, watching as her son started to run down the sidewalk in the direction of a tall boy, looking at his phone. She didn't reach him in time though, the little boy wrapping his arms around the man's legs.

"What the hell?" Luke muttered, staring down at the toddler gripping his leg.

"I am so sorry! He's really big into hugging right now. We're working on learning who we shouldn't hug," Tori rambled, attempting to pull Riley off the man.

"It's fine. Really. No worries. Come on, little dude. Go back with your sister," Luke smiled, making the girl blush.

"I- I'm his mom, but I'll take that as a compliment," she smiled, finally prying Riley away and picking him up. He squirmed her arms, screaming "no" like it was mantra.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed," Luke rubbed the back of his neck.

"It's all good. Let me buy you a coffee. Again, I'm so sorry. Terrible twos," she sighed, reaching into her purse for a pacifier. "Here bubba. Let's go get breakfast."

Riley finally calmed down, happily putting the pacifier in his mouth. Tori had been trying her best to ween him off his "binky" but his dad wasn't, so it wasn't really working all that well.

"You don't have to do that. He's just a kid."

"Please, I'd really like to," she smiled. Luke nodded, opening the door for the woman and her son.

Tori ordered a coffee for herself and Luke, as well as a bagel and apple juice for Riley. They sat at a small table, Riley on her lap and Luke across from her.

"I'm Tori, by the way. And this little devil is Riley."

"It's nice to meet you," Luke grinned, "I'm Luke."

"So, how long have you lived in Jersey?" she smiled, breaking off a bit of bagel for Riley. He had a habit of trying to shove things in his mouth and gagging every time. So Tori always broke his food up into little pieces.

"A month now. I, um, just moved here for my new job."

"That's exciting," she grinned, handing Riley more food.

"What about you?"

"We moved here two years ago. Riley's dad moves a lot for work and I like to be in the same city as him so they can spend time together."

Luke nodded. So she was single. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't admiring her. She was stunning. Pale skin covered in freckles, ginger hair that she'd curled into waves, and the prettiest blue eyes he'd ever seen. She giggled as Riley dropped bagel all over his shirt, attempting to wipe it away as best as a toddler could.

"You said Riley's two?"

"Yes! He just turned two in August!"

"My mom always said that's the hardest age," Luke tried his best to relate to the girl in front of him.

"Ha! She's right. He really likes saying 'no' right now. It's impossible to get him to do anything except play mini sticks."

Luke choked on his coffee, "As in hockey?"

"Oh, yeah. He, uh, we're big hockey fans in my house."

"Devils?"

"No. No offence if you're a Devils fan. But we're proud Penguins fans. Right, Riley?"

"Pen-guin," he giggled, clapping his cream cheese covered hands together.

"That's cool," he nodded, checking his phone. Jack had texted asking if he'd died on the way to get coffee. "I, um, it was really nice meeting you, but my brother's getting worried about me. I should go."

"No worries! It was lovely meeting you too. Say 'bye-bye', Riley."

"Bye-bye!"

"Bye, Riley. Um, I was wondering if I could get your number. We could do this again some time? It's totally fine if not. I just-"

"Of course, Luke. Here," she chuckled, taking his phone from him. Luke walked out of the coffee shop with a smile.

It was the first Family Skate of the season and Luke was happily yapping away with Jack and Nico, seeing as they were all single. Luke had been texting nonstop with Tori for the last two weeks, she was really busy taking care of Riley so they hadn't met up again yet. He had found out she was 24, from Pittsburgh, and had a degree in journalism. He hadn't told her what he did for a living, just saying athletics which she assumed meant personal training. He was laughing at a joke that his brother had made when a flash of red hair caught his eye.

He did a double take. Standing at the bench was Tori, holding an extremely excited looking Riley on her hip, tiny skates on his feet. They were both dressed in Devils jerseys. Tori pointed at someone on the ice and Riley clapped happily. John Marino skated over, grabbing Tori's hand to guide her onto the ice. Maybe she wasn't single like he assumed.

"What're you looking at, Rusty?" Jack knocked his shoulder.

"Huh? Nothing."

"Come on, let's go see Curtis."

Luke followed his brother, keeping an eye on John and the girl now holding his hand. It hurt a little, he really thought they were connecting. And she hadn't mentioned a boyfriend at all.

Tori had yet to notice Luke, smiling widely watching her son and his father interact. Even if she and John had broken up, they still held a mutual respect for each other, maybe even still loved one another.

"Do you like his jersey?" she asked, showing John the '6 Marino' on the back of their son's shirt.

"Wow! You look just like Daddy, bubba!"

"'Ike Dada!" Riley smiled.

"My mom got it for him for his birthday. He was really excited to show you."

"Well, I think it's awesome. Tell your mom 'thank you.'"

"Of course. I-" she stopped. Her eyes locked with a familiar pair across the ice. Luke? She furrowed her brow, handing the toddler over to his dad. "Here. Practice skating with him. I, uh, need to talk to someone."

"Oh, sure! Everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just fine," she mustered a smile as he pressed a kiss to her temple, skating off with Riley.

"Luke?" she approached him, a confused look on her face. Jack and Nico looked at each other before skating off to see John and Riley.

"Hi, Tori. I, uh, I didn't expect to see you here."

"Yeah. Me neither. You play for the Devils?"

"Um... yeah? It's my rookie season. I just- I didn't want you to like only want to talk to me cause I play in the NHL."

"I gave you those vibes?" she sassed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No, no. That's not- You don't. I, uh, what're you doing here? I thought you were... single."

"I am. I would've stopped talking to you if I wasn't. Riley's dad also plays for the Devils."

Then it all fell into place for Luke. Moving from Pittsburgh, being Penguins fans, Riley's dad moving around for work, her being here.

"Johnny?"

"Yes. John invited us. I thought it would be fun for Riley."

"I'm sorry. I- I should've told you. Are- is this too weird now?"

"'This?' There isn't really a 'this' yet, Luke. We just met and I have a kid. But if you're asking if I'm going to stop talking to you. Then no. This isn't weird for me."

"Do you- d'you think John will be upset?"

"John? No. He just wants whatever is best for Riley. We broke up over a year ago."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to pry. I-"

"Luke, it's fine. It was nice seeing you, but I should get back to my family."

"Right. See ya, Tori," Luke smiled, ignoring the pain in his chest at her words. John was her family. How was he supposed to beat that?

"You know Luke?" John asked as his ex-girlfriend skated up next to him.

"You remember that guy I met that Riley hugged?"

"The one from the coffee shop? Yeah, you said- oh my god! Was it Luke?"

"Yep," she popped the 'p' at the end of the word, "He didn't tell me he played hockey."

"Are you gonna cut things off?"

"There isn't really a 'thing' to cut off. We just text."

"Right. Well, don't let it stress you out."

"I won't. Don't worry. Anyway, how's Riley doing at skating?"

"Like a newborn deer. But he loves it, so..."

"Are you gonna be just like Dada?" she cooed, kissing her son's chubby cheek.

"'Ike Dada!"

"Yes! Just like Dada!"

Riley joined John in the locker room after, seeing as he was spending the night at his instead of going home with his mom. He sat in John's stall, kicking his feet back and forth. John had changed him into some tennis shoes instead of his skates.

"Hey, Riley!" Nico smiled, raising his hand over a high five.

"Cap!"

"Yes sir! That's gonna be you some day, huh?"

"Cap!"

Nico ruffled the boy's dark curls, walking back over to his stall. Jack also came over to see the little boy, but turned his attention to John after.

"Did ya know that Tori and Luke know each other?" he frowned.

"Huh? No, Tori told me today. Why?"

"Luke had been talking about this girl he met a couple weeks ago, had no idea it was Tori. I would've told him to back off."

"Back off? Tori and I aren't getting back together. That ship has long sailed."

"Really? I thought you still... loved her?"

"Of course I do. She's the mother of my child and for that I'll always love her. But she's made it very clear that we didn't work as more than friends. If she wants to see other people, I'm not going to stop her."

"Even if it's your own teammate?"

"Luke is the only guy on this team I'd let date my ex. Trust me."

"Damn. Maybe I was gonna shoot my shot."

"She'd reject you before you could even say hi," John smirked.

"Hungy! Hungy!" Riley chanted, pulling at John's sleeve.

"Okay, bud. One second, Jack," John reached into his backpack, pulling out a pouch and opening it for Riley. "There you go, bud. Eat slowly."

"O-tay."

"Anyway, Tori wouldn't be interested in you. She only likes guys with curly hair."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. We were together for four years. I know what her type is," he rolled his eyes. "Are we done here? I'd like to take my baby home."

Jack nodded, sulking back over to his stall.

"So... how're things with that Luke boy going?" Tori's best friend, Allison, asked. The two girls were sat on the sofa, an almost empty bottle of red wine in front of them, some horrible reality tv show on in the background.

"About that..."

"Oh no! Did he end up being a dick?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. He, um, he's teammates with John."

"He's what?! You're kidding me!"

"Nope. Saw him at family skate today."

"I thought you said he was an athletic trainer."

"He told me he did athletics. I just assumed he did like training for something. But nope, he's a rookie for the Devils."

"That's insane! Are you cutting him off? I thought you'd sworn off hockey players."

"I-"

"Victoria Jane Wilson! Do NOT tell me you're thinking about getting with this guy!"

"I... I'm not sure. He's really cute, Ally. Like the cutest guy I've seen in a while."

"Cuter than John?"

"Not sure anyone is cuter than John. My son is his carbon copy and he's the cutest ever."

"Speaking of Riley, do you think this Luke kid is ready to deal with a child in addition to you? He's how old? 20?"

"I know... I love Riley, but he's definitely made my dating pool smaller."

"Well, you'll have no way of knowing until you ask him on a date."

"You were just saying no more hockey boys! Make up your mind, Ally!"

"I know... but you haven't been on a date in like what..."

"Seven months."

"Seven months?! Text him right now!"

"Right now?"

"Right now!"

Maybe it was the copious amounts of wine that she'd consumed or the fact that she hadn't been on a date in seven months, but she reached for her phone and typed out a message.

I was wondering if you'd like to go on a proper date some time? Without any children with us

"Done!"

"Yay!!! This calls for more wine!"

The girls clinked their glasses together, giggling as they drank more.

Hey, Tori. I'd love that! Is Riley with John tomorrow? I'm free after 5.

"Oh my God! He said yes!!!"

"I knew he would, girl! You're stunning."

"I-"

"Don't give me that shit about your 'Mummy Tummy.' You carried a baby for 9 months of course you aren't going to look exactly the same as you did before. But trust me, you look fucking stunning. Now text him back!"

Ally was over for the second night in a row, except this time it wasn't girls' night. She was helping Tori get ready for her first date in almost a year.

"You have to wear something lowcut! Show off the goods," Ally smiled, pretending to squeeze some boobs in the air.

"They're not that impressive," Tori rolled her eyes, flicking through her shirts.

"Girl! Be confident! If I had tits like yours, I'd walk around in nothing but a bra!"

"Ally! Don't be crass!"

"What? Just telling the truth! We both know that Riley exists cause John loved your curves a little too much."

"Allison!" Tori gasped, although it was a tad bit dirty, she couldn't help but giggle. She pulled a white, flowy tank top out of her closet, holding it up to her body. "Thoughts?"

"That's the one! You'll look irresistible. Now! Let me do your makeup!" Ally clapped.

Tori did a once over in the mirror, smiling brightly. She wasn't usually very confident in her body, and that only got worse after having Riley. A ring filled the apartment as someone pressed her buzzer in the lobby. She pressed on the intercom button, "Come up!"

"I'll be here the whole time. Call if you need rescuing and I want all the details when you get back!" Ally smiled, plopping down on Tori's bed.

Luke rasied his fist, knocking on the wooden door. Tori wiped her hands on her jeans one last time, opening the door to reveal the boy. He was wearing a polo shirt that showed off his arms in the best way and a pair of khaki pants. It looked like he had attempted to tame his curls, but they just looked like they always did but wet.

"Wow, you... you look so pretty, Tori," he stuttered.

"Thank you. You also look really cute," she blushed. "Let me just grab my purse and then we can go. Come in."

Luke entered the apartment, taking in the decor. There was a small table in the corner covered in art supplies and a basket of toys next to it. On the sofa was a stuffed Winnie the Pooh and lots of plastic farm animals. Hanging on the wall was a colourful scribble with Riley's name printed at the bottom. It was clear to him that Riley was the most important thing in her life.

"Sorry, it's a bit messy. I usually clean when he's at John's, but I was... kinda nervous about tonight and forgot."

"You've got no reason to be nervous. I promise," Luke smiled.

God, his smile was cute. It was crooked, almost like a smirk and she wanted to see it every second of every day for the rest of her life.

"Shall we?"

"We shall."

The walk to the restaurant was full of jokes and laughs. Conversation between the two flowed so easily.

"You're joking! There's no way!"

"I'm not! He ripped Quinn's braces out!"

"That's insane!"

"Do you have any siblings?"

"No, no, I don't. Only child."

"How's that?"

"It was a bit lonely when I was a kid. But now I've got Riley so it's impossible to feel lonely."

They sat at a table, deciding to share a very large plate of seafood pasta.

"This is kind of a personal question, so you don't have to answer. But did you always want to be a mom?"

"That's not too personal, in my opinion. But yeah. When I found out I was pregnant though, I was really unsure. I was 22 and wanted to do so much more in my life first. But I can do most of those things even with Riley. And if I can't, John is there to watch him for me."

"That's a good way of looking at things. I, uh, I've never dated anyone with a kid."

Tori giggled, "I'm not surprised, Luke. But I'm not asking you to stay around if you don't want to."

They quickly moved on from talking about Riley, talking about their childhoods, favourite movies, and favourite foods.

"Secretariat? The horse movie?" she laughed.

"Don't laugh! It's a good movie!"

"I've never seen it."

"Well, I know what our next date is going to be," Luke's eyes widened as his brain caught up with his mouth, "If- If you want to go on another date. I, uh, I get if you don't want to. No pressure."

"Luke, I'd love to watch Secretariat with you," she smiled, reaching across the table to hold his hand. She ran her thumb over his knuckles, giving him a reassuring smile.

"I, uh, I'm free tomorrow. If that's not too soon."

"That should work. I just have to pick up Riley at 5, so it'll have to be in the afternoon."

"I'll make sure I'm up then."

"It's okay. I also sleep in on days Riley is with John."

Luke walked Tori up to her apartment, not wanting their night to end. They stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking at each other.

"I had a really good night," she smiled, looking down at her shoes.

"M- Me too. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Mhm."

"Can... Can I kiss you?"

"I don't normally kiss on the first date," she smirked.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"I'll make an exception for you."

Tori pushed herself up on her tip-toes, leaning in until their noses brushed. She let Luke take the final step, softly pressing their lips together. His were a bit chapped, but she didn't mind. Maybe her lip balm would rub off and help him out. They smiled, breaking the kiss.

"See you tomorrow," she waved goodbye, closing the door as he walked down the hall to the elevator.

"How was it?!" Ally screeched. Tori jumped, holding her hand to her chest.

"Holy shit! I forgot you were here!"

"Okay? How was it?!"

"So good! He's coming over tomorrow. Oh Lord, I have to clean!"

"He's coming over?! You're getting laid?!"

"No, God. Ally, it's our second date. I'm not sleeping with him."

"Why not?! When was the last time you had sex?"

"Um..."

"When did you and John sleep together?"

"Two months ago."

"I still can't believe you did that."

"He looked really hot playing with Riley. And we both hadn't slept with anyone in months. It was just... a mutual release."

Ally shook her head, "Whatever. Two months. You need some dick. And not your ex's."

"Why not? John's-"

"I don't want to hear about John's dick, Victoria."

"Your favourite person ever wouldn't exist without it," she shrugged.

"Riley's the only good thing that came from John. Anywho..."

"We're not sleeping together tomorrow. We're watching his favourite movie."

"Aww! That's so sweet! Look at you!! Finally moving on from Johnny Boy."

"I've been moved on for a while. I'm not sure the same can be said for him."

"He'll figure it out when he sees how happy you are with Luke!"

Tori giggled, "Time to clean up."

"I'll help... if we open a bottle of wine."

"Deal."

Tori was so nervous that she'd refolded the blanket on the back of the sofa at least six times now. She didn't really have company over except Ally and John. She wanted her apartment to look the best it ever had. All of Riley's toys were back in his toy bin and his room, she'd even cleaned the kitchen counter in case Luke went in there for something.

The intercom buzzed and Luke's voice broke through, "It's Luke. Hughes. Luke Hughes. Except I don't think you're expecting another Luke. But, I'm here."

Tori laughed, pressing the button to let him up. Less than a minute later there was a knock at her door. She took a deep breath, swining it open and smiling widely. Luke was in a Devils hoodie and some track pants. Luckily, she was dressed similarly.

"Welcome! I set up the living room for us."

"Perfect," Luke entered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Tori sat on the sofa, Luke boldly sitting right next to her. Their thighs were touching and he had his arm stretched over the back of the leather sofa.

She couldn't help but admire his thighs. That was one thing she loved about hockey boys. Their thighs. It was probably her favourite feature when looking for a guy.

She clicked on Disney+, the app immediately playing Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

"Shit, sorry. Guess that's the last thing we were watching on here."

Luke just laughed, scooting closer to her (if that was possible). She relaxed, cuddling into his side. The movie started and Luke smiled down at her, pressing a kiss to her nose. She blushed, leaning up and connecting their lips in an actual kiss.

"No more kissing. You're going to distract me from the movie," Tori sassed, playfully pushing his face as he went in for another one.

"Fine," he pouted, turning his attention to the movie.

By the time the movie had ended, Tori was practically wrapped around Luke. A loud yawn escaped her.

"Was it that boring? That's my favourite movie we're talking about, Victoria," he feigned anger.

"It was sad. But I liked it. I need a nap though."

"Oh, I can go."

"No, come on. Your comfy," she grabbed his hand, leading him to her bedroom. Luke lay down next to her, allowing her to cuddle into his side, an arm thrown over his chest. She fell asleep almost immediately. He wasn't surprised though. He understood that Riley had been having a sleep regression and it was exhausting for John and Tori. He turned to look at the picture on her bedside table. It was her, Riley, and John at a beach. It looked recent, like it had just been taken over the off season. Tori was holding on of Riley's hands and John was holding the other. They looked like a happy, functional family. And it made Luke's brain run a mile a minute. How come her relationship with John hadn't worked out? Maybe she didn't commitment. Maybe she didn't want something serious. Maybe- A snore cut off his thoughts and he looked down at the sleeping figure in his arms. Why was he worried? She seemed happy. He just needed to not overthink it. Easier said than done.

Luke woke her up at 4:30, shaking her shoulder slightly. She slowly sat up, patting down her messy hair.

"What's up?" she mumbled.

"It's 4:30. I should probably go before John and Riley get here. I don't want to confuse anyone."

"Oh... okay. I, uh, sorry I fell asleep. I haven't had a full night of sleep in what feels like ages."

"You're fine, Tori. You coming to the game on Tuesday?"

"Yeah. I try to bring Riley to most home games. We just never stay long. He gets restless."

"See you then," he kissed her one last time.

"Mama!" Riley ran into Tori's arms.

"Hi, baby! Did you have fun at Dada's?"

"Yes! We 'ockey!"

"You played hockey! That's so fun! Let's get you some dinner!"

"Hungy!"

Tori smiled, standing up to talk to John.

"How was he?"

"You weren't kidding about the sleep. Couldn't get him down until 11 last night. And he was up at 3 and 5."

"Yeah, it's Hell. Did he stay in his cot?"

"Last night he slept in my bed. Night before he slept in his cot until 4."

"Did you use a pacifier?"

"I'm working on not. I know you said you want him to give it up. He used it last night because I could not calm him."

"That's fine. We're coming to the game Tuesday. Can't promise we'll stay after the first period though."

"All good. You wanna stay for dinner?"

"Nah, I'm going to Jack's. See you at the game."

"See you at the game."

John pressed a kiss to her hair, "Come say goodbye to Dada, Riley!"

"Buh-bye, Dada! 'Uv 'oo!"

"I love you too!"

Once the door was closed and locked for the night, Tori put Riley in his booster seat.

"How about mac and cheese?"

"Eese!"

"Let's do it! We're going to go see Dada play hockey in two days! Are you excited?"

"I 'uv 'ockey!"

"I know you do, baby! Mac and cheese time!"

Tori was exhausted Tuesday night as she entered the arena. Riley hadn't slept the last time night for more than 4 hours and was throwing tantrums all day because he was tired. He cried and cried for his dad. Tori eventually had to call John and have him come calm down Riley while she showered. She was on the brink of crying all day Tuesday and the stress of being at the game wasn't helping. But she'd promised John that Riley would be there at least for a little bit. She was chasing him around the family suite, trying to tire the little boy out. He'd started playing with some of the other kids and she finally had a moment to herself.

"Girl, you need a vacation," Reanne sighed, rubbing her friend's back.

"You're telling me. He's been so poorly behaved recently. I just... I'm considering have John move in until he gets over his sleep regression."

"Really?" Nicole gasped, "Are you sure?"

"I'm not sure what my other options are. Call my mom to come. But she hates flying. I'd ask John's parents, but they don't love me since the break up."

"Luke?"

"We've been on two dates! And he's a rookie. He needs his sleep."

"A nanny?"

"I have no money, girl. Child support is a saving grace at the moment."

"I'm sure John would-"

"I'm not asking my ex for money."

"Are you still working for that online newspaper?"

"Yeah, but the pay isn't the best ever. It works for us, but I can't afford a nanny."

"Well, if you need moral support when you talk to John about it, we're all here," one of the other wives smiled kindly.

After the game, John came over for a bit. Tori had texted him and asked for him to come so they could talk. So, now they were tensely sitting at the kitchen table.

"What's up, Tori?"

"I- I need to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"I, um, I need you to move back in for a bit. This... this isn't me asking to get back together. Please don't take it that way. I- I'm seeing Luke now. But Riley has been a lot to handle on my own right now. And I really need help."

"I- I could pay for a nanny. Or-"

"John. I'm asking you as his father not as my ex-boyfriend."

"Right. Um, yeah. I can do that. For how long?"

"Until he's over this sleep regression. We need to tag team it right now. It's too much for one person."

"Let me go to my place and grab some stuff. I'll be back in an hour. Can you set up the sofa for me?"

"Why? You can sleep in my room. It's closer to Riley's."

"Because we're not together?"

"John, I'm not uncomfortable if you aren't. Your the father of my child. It's not weird for me."

"Then it's fine with me. See you in an hour."

God, she hoped this didn't backfire.

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