#Toronto Maple Leafs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lightsoutmatthews · 1 day ago

Note

hey!!! can you do auston matthews meeting reader for the first time at a dog park? he’s with felix of course and reader is with her dog :)

Should I have done some work for my classes instead of writing this? Probably, but here we are anyways. Enjoy!! 😌

Dogs know best – Auston Matthews

It was one of those spring afternoons in Toronto where the sun actually felt warm for once. The dog park was busier than usual, probably because people were desperate to be outside after months of snow, slush, grey skies and cold.

You had your dog´s leash wrapped around your wrist while she sniffed around, occasionally darting off toward whatever caught her attention, still staying close enough and on the leash so you could make sure to stop her whenever necessary.

As you watched her stroll about, you were scrolling through your phone half an eye on her when she suddenly took off in a blur, tail wagging like crazy. An unusual occurrence, knowing she didn’t have the habit of running off without making sure you were right behind her every few steps. Codependency your friends had titled it.

You followed her with your eyes and saw her heading straight for another dog. A black and white doodle who looked like he just walked off a movie set, dressed in a Gucci bandana from what you could make out through the distance.

His owner, dressed in joggers, a hoodie, a cap pulled low and sunglasses, was crouched beside him, adjusting it while making sure the collar wasn’t on too tightly.

Your dog didn’t hesitate. She barreled right up to them, tail wagging so hard her back legs almost lifted off the ground.

“Sorry about her,” you said, walking over quickly. “She gets excited.”

The guy looked up, recognition immediately flashing through you. You knew that face. Everyone in Toronto knew that face, even with the cap and sunglasses.

“No worries,” he replied. “Felix loves the attention.”

You tried to play it cool, like you didn’t exactly know the dog’s name from seeing it floating around social media. “Felix, huh?”

He nodded and gave the doodle a quick scratch behind the ears. “Yeah. He´s used to the chaos.”

You crouched down to untangle your dog´s leash from where she had wrapped it around Felix´s legs. “Looks like they´ve decided to be best friends already.”

He smiled, just slightly, if you wouldn’t have looked at his face in that exact moment you would have missed it. “They´ve got good instincts.”

There was a short pause. You figured most people would probably freak out a little in your position. Auston Matthews, superstar center for the Toronto Maple Leafs, just casually hanging out at the dog park with his Doodle.

But the vibe didn’t seem like that. He didn’t seem to want attention, probably having enough of it whenever he was on the ice, and you didn’t feel like giving it to him.

“I´m Auston,” he said, holding out a hand after a second.

You took it. “I know,” slipped out of your mouth, a frown forming on your lips at you exposing yourself after all. “I mean, I´m not a crazy fan or anything,” you added quickly. “Just you know, it’s hard not to living in the city.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that tends to happen.”

You both stood there for a minute, watching your dog’s tumble around the grass, chasing and dodging each other like they had known each other forever.

“She´s yours?” he asked eventually.

“Yeah. Her name is Rosie. I rescued her a few months ago. I would love to tell you what breed she is but according to the shelter it’s a bit of everything, probably part kangaroo with the way she jumps on people.”

He grinned. “Felix is the same. Acts like he´s big and bad whenever we´re outside but back home he´s the biggest softie you can imagine. He couldn’t hurt a fly even if he tried.”

“She´s a menace around squirrels especially. Has to be the shepherd in her or something,” you laughed. “But she probably couldn’t hurt one if she saw one running around either.”

After that the quiet returned, both of you focused on watching the dogs again. It was surprisingly normal, given who you were talking to.

“Do you come here a lot?” you asked after a while.

He shrugged. “When I can. Depends on my schedule most times. I live close by and it´s one of the better parks in the city.”

Rosie barked and started sprinting in circles, baiting Felix into chasing her. He took the challenge immediately, legs working overtime.

You both laughed at them.

“They´re gonna be out cold tonight,” you chuckled.

“Thank God,” Auston muttered. “He gets a little crazy when he doesn’t get his energy out. Chewed through one of my sneakers just last week.”

“Rookie move,” you laughed. “Gotta hide the expensive stuff.”

His face turned into a frown. “Yeah, I learned that the hard way.”

It was weird, how easy it was to talk to him. He didn’t act like someone that was used to being in the spotlight. If anything, he seemed relieved you weren’t asking for a selfie or autograph or started to talk to him about the season and his stats.

You talked about dogs. Training tricks that didn’t work. The worst things they had chewed up. The best dog food brands. Nothing about hockey.

Eventually, the dogs wore themselves out and trotted back toward you both, panting, tongues hanging out, clearly proud of themselves.

“Guess that´s our cue,” he said, clipping Felix´s leash back on.

You did the same with Rosie. She leaned into your leg like she was ready to collapse on the spot.

“Hey,” Auston caught your attention again, looking a little uncertain for the first time since you started talking. “Do you come here often?”

You tried not to smile. “Yeah, I try to come a few times a week, depends on work.”

He nodded, glanced down at Felix, then back at you. “Cool. Maybe we´ll see each other again.”

“Maybe,” you replied sheepishly.

He hesitated a beat before speaking again. “Do you-,“ he stopped, adjusted Felix´s leash like it gave him something to do. “Would it be weird if I asked for your number?”

You blinked, starring at him for a beat too long before answering. “What?”

“Not in, like, a weird way. Just… uhm… this was nice. It´s kind of rare for me. Talking like this. No cameras or anyone asking questions or for a selfie or an autograph.”

You considered for a second. Then pulled your phone out of your pocket.

“Sure,” you said. “Why not.”

You handed it over, and he typed something in. A second later his phone vibrated in his pocket. Seemingly with a text from yours.

When he handed your phone back to you, you saw the name he had given himself in your contacts. Auston – dog park.

“Dog park?” you laughed.

He gave you a half-smile. “So you remember who it is.”

“Right, because there is so many people named Auston out there,” you continued to laugh.

Felix started tugging toward the exit, apparently ready to go home and collapse.

“I should take him before he tries to lead me into traffic,” Auston said.

“Rosie is not far behind. She will probably fall asleep on the sidewalk if we don’t start moving soon.”

You walked with him toward the edge of the park, then paused at the gate.

“Well,” you said, giving Rosie´s leash a little tug. “See you around?”

“Yeah, for sure,” he replied, a small smile tucking at his lips.

Then he walked away, Felix trotting happily beside him, leaving you standing there with your sleepy dog and a smile you didn’t even try to hide.

You glanced down at your phone again, rereading the name at the top of the screen, noticing the message he typed out to himself for the first time. Let’s schedule a playdate for the dogs soon. You chuckled. It sounded like a reminder to himself.

Rosie leaned into your leg, tired and satisfied. You leaned down, giving her head a quick scratch.

“Alright, girl,” you mumbled. “Looks like we made some famous friends today.”

She wagged her tail once, then let out a deep, dramatic sigh like she just finished the hardest workday of her life.

You took that as a sign to really get going.

As you walked home, the city around you busy as ever, you caught yourself wondering when you might see them again. Maybe next week. Mayber sooner. You weren’t familiar with the Leafs schedule. Either way, it didn’t feel like this was the one and only time you would.

Not even close.

#auston matthews #toronto maple leafs #auston matthews imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #auston matthews x reader #nhl imagine

88 notes · View notes

tonyspep · 3 days ago

Text

this chapter was really intense but more light hearted than i expected with the teasing of jack between him and ellie. i thought you wrote that really well just like her interaction with steph really gave us a different understanding of her, which i really liked. what i really would like to see is lena. i'm really intrigued by her and i know this isn't her story but i would like to see something from her perspective since this effects her too. i loved her reunions with each of her brothers and jim and ellen.

Right Where You Left Me

Hey lovelies ✨

Chapter 4 is finally here! Not gonna lie, this one’s a bit heavier and slower, but I really wanted to take my time building up all the feels and the backstory before things get even more intense.

Thanks so much for sticking with me through this slow burn!

Enjoy the read!

Themes/Warnings: Hannah Elise Hughes x William Nylander, grief and loss, coma, emotional struggle, hospital setting, mention of divorce, some grammar mistakes as I’m not a native speaker

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04

Chapter 4: A Life Moved On

The hospital room was quiet, with just your and Jack’s steady breathing filling the still air. You sat up in the bed, propped against pillows, trying to make sense of the past few hours — the doctors’ hurried visits, the overwhelming flood of information, and the dizzying realization that five years had slipped by without you.

Jack stood by the window, arms crossed, the light catching the edges of his face. He hadn’t said much since you woke up, just that gentle, familiar smile tugging at his lips — the same boyish grin you remembered from childhood, the one that always made you laugh even when things were hard. It was a smile full of warmth and a little sadness, like he was trying to hold together too many feelings all at once.

It’s him. Your little brother. But he’s not quite the Jack you remember. He looks older—not in a way that hits you all at once, but in quiet details you can’t ignore. His jaw is sharper, his shoulders broader, and there are faint lines on his face you’ve never seen before. His hair is longer, swept back like he’s stopped bothering to keep it neat. He’s more grown-up, more solid—like the boy you knew has somehow stepped aside for a man you barely recognize. And it stings, realizing he’s changed without you there to see it.

You catch yourself wondering about the others. Does William still flash that crooked grin when he’s teasing? Has Luke grown into his curls, or do they still bounce like they used to? Does Quinn smell the same—like cedar and lemons, his quiet signature? Is your mom’s hair starting to silver at the temples, or is she still the same? And your dad—does his hug still hold that steady, comforting weight, like the world’s still okay no matter what?

You want to believe some things never change. But you’re not sure anymore.

You cleared your throat. “Jack… how is everyone? How are they all doing?”

He turned toward you, his smile softening even more. “They’re... good. They’re managing.”

You studied him carefully. There was no hesitation in his voice, but something about the way he avoided looking you directly in the eyes made your chest tighten.

“Tell me about Luke,” you said, eager for something normal, something solid. “I want to know everything.”

Jack’s grin widened, and for a moment, the old Jack was back — the loud, cocky, frat-boy hockey player you teased endlessly.

“Luke’s on the Devils now. Playing with me. It’s pretty wild, honestly,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Brothers on the same team? It rarely happens. I’m happy I can actually be there for him.”

A dull ache bloomed in your chest, the reality of all the missed years and memories settling over you like a heavy blanket.

“Your first few years were rough, huh?” you asked softly, your voice almost a whisper.

Jack nodded, his eyes clouding over for a moment, like he was reliving it all. “Yeah. The league’s... brutal. You only saw the beginning, Eli. But those first few seasons? I was barely holding on. Pressure from every side, your accident hanging over me like a shadow. I didn’t know if I could do it. Sometimes it still feels like a fever dream I can’t quite wake up from.” His voice cracked just a little.

You reached out without thinking, and he took your hand gently. His smile softened, warm and familiar. Without hesitation, he sat on the edge of your bed and wrapped his fingers around yours. Jack had always loved touch—always needed it to feel connected—and after everything, after waking up from five years in a coma, you felt a quiet relief knowing that at least this hadn’t changed.

“But Luke...” Jack’s smile shifted, a bit lighter, but still tired. “He’s killing it. Loving the league. He’s living with me now, though honestly, he drives me crazy El. He leaves socks everywhere and still eats the grossest stuff. Clearly doesn’t care about the elite athlete diet.”

You laughed quietly, sharing a warm smile. “That’s Lukey through and through.”

Jack shook his head, laughing softly with you. “I call him a gremlin sometimes. Last Christmas, I got him a sweater that said, ‘Protein shakes aren’t meals, and socks belong in the hamper.’ Thought maybe it’d guilt him into being less of a disaster. Didn’t work. He wore it proudly and left three pairs of socks under the tree. He’s still just Lukey. Same chaos, same heart.”

His voice softened as his eyes settled on you. He reached over, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the way he used to when you were both younger. That familiar, easy gesture made your throat tighten.

“He’s going to lose it when he sees you, Eli bug,” he said, and just like yours, his eyes turned a little watery.

Your chest ached in that bittersweet way only family can make you feel—full of love, nostalgia, and a quiet knot of nerves. You were so ready to see him, to feel that familiar energy again… but a small part of you still wondered: would it all feel the same?

“And Quinn?” you asked, your heart picking up pace. You weren’t sure if it was hope, nerves, or both. Talking was easier than letting yourself feel everything all at once.

Jack gave you a proud smile. “Quinn’s a captain now. Can you believe it? The youngest in the Vancouver Canucks history!”

You chuckled, trying to play it cool. “Well, he had plenty of practice bossing around hockey players—with you and Luke as his test subjects.”

The joke landed, but the warmth in your chest said more than words could. Hearing that your oldest brother was thriving…it meant everything. If anyone deserved that title, it was Quinn.

“And what about his love life? Has he finally settled down?”

Jack bursts out laughing. “Settle down? No way. Quinn’s still a total mess. Ever since you went into that coma, he’s been bugging me for advice.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “Which is hilarious, because I’m about as qualified to give love advice as a squirrel is to drive a car.”

“That figures, pretty boy. You were always terrible at that stuff. You were a ladies’ man, sure, but you knew how to have fun with them—not how to keep them.”

Jack whips his head around, that ridiculously big, cocky smile already stretching across his face.

“What now?!” you say, surprised but laughing.

He leans in, grinning like a maniac. “You called me pretty boy.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, I did, you idiot! You're pretty Jacky, and you know it.”

His grin spreads even wider—practically gleaming. “No one’s called me that in five years, HanHan. It’s good to be back in business. Luke and Quinn better watch out—time for them to remember who runs this family.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re nuts.”

Jack winks. “Nuts, sure—but also the family’s prince charming. Honestly, those boys don’t give my good looks enough credit.”

You burst out laughing. “Poor thing, it must be torture having an ego that big and no one constantly feeding it.”

Jack folds his arms, smirking like he just won an invisible award. “Anyway, now that you’re back, I’m handing your emotional support sibling title right back. I’m wiped out. Quinn’s been moaning for years about wanting to settle down, but dude’s the problem. He just doesn’t get it.”

“Oh yeah? Since when did you become Mr. Relationship Expert?”

“After five years of listening to Quinn screw up his shitty love life, I’ve got a pretty good idea where he’s going wrong. I’m no expert, but damn, the guy needs therapy—or maybe just you yelling at him. Honestly, therapy might be easier. You get pretty scary when you’re in your element, Eli.”

You laughed, a soft, genuine sound that made Jack’s eyes light up. His hand stayed wrapped around yours, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles across your skin.

“Anyway, enough about Mr. Loverboy,”Jack chuckled.“Mom and Dad are still in Michigan, still obsessed with hockey. Mom landed a role with the women’s Olympic development team, and Dad’s finally retired. Now he just watches our games and spends his days on the golf course.”

Your chest tightened again, but this time with a comforting relief. “It’s good to know they’re okay. Makes me happy.”

Then you cleared your throat, heart pounding, and finally asked the question that had been on your mind the moment you opened your eyes. “And William?” you whispered, barely daring to speak.

Jack’s face shifted, his smile fading just a bit.

“He’s holding up, but it wasn’t easy,” Jack said, his voice quieter now, weighed down with something deeper. “Honestly, he was really broken for a long time—just like the rest of us. But losing you hit him in a way no one else could understand. He blamed himself... for a long, long time.”

Jack cleared his throat before he continued. “But he fought through it. His family, his friends and us didn’t let him fall apart. Steph made sure there was always warm food in his fridge. Auston stuck by him so he wouldn’t be alone, and when he moved out, Alex moved right in. We made sure he was included—every birthday, every family dinner. Mom never missed a week without calling him.”

Jack looked down briefly, then met your eyes again. His grip on your hand tightened, just slightly. “He can’t wait to see you,” he said softly. “He booked the first flight he could. You know he always heads back to Sweden in the off-season... He’s coming as fast as he can, but it’ll still be a couple of days.”

You nod slowly, your heart heavy, stretched between gratitude and something too deep to name. Everything feels surreal—like you’ve slipped through time and landed somewhere you don’t fully recognize. For you, it was just yesterday—his hand in yours, his voice low and familiar in your ear. You can still feel the warmth of that moment, still hear the way he said your name. But for him… it’s been five years.

You don’t know what his life looks like now. What scars he carries. What versions of himself were built in your absence. The thought of it makes your chest ache in a way that feels older than your body. You have so many questions—too many to ask. So many fears crawling beneath your skin. What if he’s different? What if you are?

But for now, you bury the panic. You shove the grief and guilt down into the dark, and you hold on to the one thing that still feels real:

You just want to see him. Look into those blue eyes and know that he’s there. Feel his hands on your skin, his arms around you. Rest your head on his chest and breathe in something familiar. Pretend, for just a little while, that time didn’t win.

Jack glanced away for a moment, then back again—his eyes glassy, his shoulders trembling like he was holding something in and losing the fight.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, voice low and cracking.

You tilted your head. “For what?”

“For all the time you missed. For not being here more. I should’ve come more, Eli. I should’ve—” He swallowed hard, words slipping through guilt.

You give his hand a firm, reassuring squeeze.

“Oh, Jacky.” Your voice was soft but steady. “I was basically sleeping for five years. Nothing you did or didn’t do could’ve changed that. And you’re here now—that’s what matters.”

He let out a shaky breath, and a single tear traced down his cheek before he quickly wiped it away. He cleared his throat like he hated being caught in the act of feeling too much.

“Damn it, pretty boy,” you teased gently. “You even cry handsomely.”

He snorted, half-laughing through his sandness. “Yeah, well… lethal face card, remember?”

“Come here, you ridiculous Adonis.”

You didn’t wait—you just opened your arms and tugged him close, your fingers curling around his shoulders like they used to when he was small. He didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second. Jack climbed into the narrow hospital bed beside you without a word, awkward limbs and all, and pressed his face into your shoulder like he used to when thunder rattled the windows and he’d sneak into your room, scared and too proud to admit it.

He clung to you—tight, desperate. Like if he let go, something might break in him for good.

You held him just as tightly. One arm wrapped around his back, the other stroking slowly through his hair. He was trembling—quiet, choked sobs rising from somewhere deep, from a place only siblings ever seem to reach in each other.

So you did what you always did. You hummed his lullaby. The one he made you sing a hundred times too many. The one that always made him pretend he wasn’t listening, even as he leaned closer.

And right then, the world outside faded. He wasn’t the tough, 24-year-old hockey star everyone else saw. He wasn’t the charming “pretty boy” with the lethal face card.

He was just Jack. Your Jack. Curled up in your arms like a kid again. Safe. Small. Loved.

And he let himself fall apart—because you were finally there to catch him.

—

You’d heard the footsteps before you saw them. A dozen rushed steps down the sterile hallway, muffled by rubber soles and panic. The door burst open, and there they were.

Luke was first.

He crashed into the room like a storm—wild-eyed and breathless. His curls were longer now, a mess under his backwards cap, and his shoulders had broadened in a way that didn’t belong to the teenage boy you remembered. He was tall. So tall he had to duck slightly to get through the doorway. All shoulders and muscle and momentum. His voice cracked into the air before you could even breathe.

And then—like a dam giving way—he dropped his bag, crossed the room in three giant steps, and pulled you into the tightest hug you’d ever felt.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “Holy shit, Eli. You’re here. You’re really here.”

You felt him trembling against you, his arms locked around your back like he was afraid you'd vanish if he let go. He pulled back for a moment, cupping your face in both hands, scanning you like he didn’t quite trust his own eyes. He was trying not to cry. And failing miserably.

“You look older,” you whispered.

He let out a shaky laugh, already crying. “So do you, HanHan. Not gonna lie, this hospital gown is not doing you any favors.”

You chuckled and tugged him back into a hug. He squeezed tighter, practically suffocating you, and then—suddenly—pulled you into a full-standing hug, lifting you off the bed like you weighed nothing. That’s when you really felt it—how much taller he was now. How big. How grown.

You smiled into his hoodie, tears sliding freely down your face. “You’re huge.”

He snorted. “Yeah, well… pro athlete and stuff. You know?!”

You rolled your eyes at the cocky answer. Living with Jack had clearly rubbed off on him. You made a quiet mental note to humble him later. This family could only handle one cocky bastard, and Jack had that role down to perfection.

Then, in the doorway behind Luke, you spotted another figure.

Quinn.

He didn’t rush. He moved slowly, his posture stiff, like every step toward you was heavier than the last. His expression was unreadable, but you could feel it—the crack forming just beneath the surface. Quinn had always been the composed one. The protector. The eldest son.

He stopped a few feet away, fists clenched at his sides.

You looked at him. Really looked.

He hadn’t changed much—not physically. Still clean lines, still quiet eyes. But there was more weight in his stare now. Like the years had pressed down on him and he’d just… let them. He looked at you like you were a ghost. A miracle.

“Hey,” you said softly, untangling yourself from Luke’s arms.

Quinn opened his mouth, but no sound came.

Then he closed the distance in one motion. He wrapped you in a fierce, bone-crushing hug, his arms shaking around you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and then his whole body just collapsed against yours. A slow, silent surrender.

You felt the first sob before you heard it.

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “I’m so sorry, Eli…”

“Oh, Quinny,” you whispered, holding him tighter. “You didn’t do anything. You don’t have to say sorry, you silly boy.”

Your fingers slipped into his chestnut waves, rubbing his back with one hand and petting his head with the other, the way you used to when you were kids and he couldn’t sleep after watching a scary movie. The way only you could comfort him.

He nodded into your shoulder, not letting go. And neither did you.

Because this was Quinn. The one who made pancakes for you at midnight. The one who stood between you and the world. The one who never cried—until now.

Then, the door creaked open again.

Your parents stepped in.

Together.

Your dad’s arm was wrapped tight around your mom’s shoulders. And your mom—your always-stylish, always-composed, effortlessly cool mom—was a mess. Her hands were clutched together, trembling. Her lips were tight. Her mascara had run halfway down her cheeks. Your dad looked like a man trying not to fall apart—his jaw locked, eyes wide, locked on you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You stood in the middle of your brothers, still wrapped in Quinn’s arms, when your mom saw you—and just crumbled.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she breathed. “My girl. My baby girl.”

She rushed forward, gently pulling you from your brother’s arms, and pressed kiss after kiss to your forehead, cheeks, hair—anywhere she could reach.

“Oh, baby,” she cried. “My baby. My girl. You’re awake. You’re here.”

Your dad followed behind her, slower, quieter. When he reached you, he placed both hands gently on your face, then pressed his forehead to yours.

“Eli,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “My God.”

You’d never seen him cry like that. Not once in your life. He kissed your hair, your temple, your cheekbone, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

You let them hold you. Just stood there like a little girl again, letting your parents wrap you in the kind of warmth that only they could give.

Then—just as the room began to quiet, as your parents’ touch softened and your brothers held you like you might slip away again—

Jack’s voice cut through the room.

“Okay, okay,” he said, stepping forward with his hands up in mock surrender. “How about a family hug before I start feeling left out?”

Everyone turned to him—still crying, still sniffling—but already shifting, reaching, laughing through the tears.

And just like that, it happened.

Arms wrapped around arms. Heads bumped. Bodies tangled.

Luke’s laugh turned into a hiccup. Your mom buried her face in your hair again. Quinn let out one of those tight, watery chuckles that sounded like a release. Even your dad—stoic, steady—wrapped an arm around Jack and pulled him into the chaos.

It was messy. Loud. Too many arms, too many feelings. And absolutely perfect.

You were in the middle of it—pressed into your family like a heartbeat—and you didn’t even care that you couldn’t breathe properly.

Then Jack’s voice piped up again, muffled somewhere behind you.

“By the way,” he said, “Eli called me a pretty boy yesterday. Just putting that out there. For, you know, historical record.”

A chorus of groans filled the room.

Your dad rolled his eyes. Luke groaned louder than anyone. Your mom laughed through her tears and gave Jack a swat on the arm—the same way she used to when he got too full of himself. Quinn muttered, “Seriously, Eli? Feeding his ego right after waking up from a coma?”

“You can’t deny it, Quinn. He is pretty. He cried and still looked good. Only models pull that off.”

Jack beamed. “Oh, this is a new high. I’m a model now, guys.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, snorting. “Yeah, well, you’re still the most annoying person I’ve ever loved.”

“I think I can live with that, Eli bug.”

Laughter rippled through the room again. Someone pulled you into a hug. Someone kissed your hair. You were home.

—

The hospital room feels too warm—summer showed up early in Toronto this year. You tug at the soft cotton dress your mom brought, the fabric light against your skin, its faded floral print offering a small kind of comfort in a place that’s never felt like home. You run your fingers through your hair, catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. There’s something like hope stirring in your chest. Today, finally, you get to leave. To go back to William. Back to your bed. To Banksy and Pablo curled at your feet, their quiet breathing the kind of peace you’ve dreamed of every night since you woke up.

You peek into the hallway, looking for your family. You expect smiles, maybe even a gentle escort, but the corridor is quiet except for a low voice coming from around the corner.

Luke’s voice.

You step closer, heart fluttering with relief — until you hear what he’s saying.

“This is not a good plan, man. We’re going to a hotel right now, but we have to explain why she can’t come back to your apartment. She knows we have keys.”

You freeze. Your breath catches. The words don’t quite sink in, but the tone — the hesitation, the tension — sets off alarms in your chest.

“No, I didn’t tell her...” Luke’s voice is tight, strained, trembling with something fierce. “Look, I don’t want to break her heart. She doesn’t know you divorced her while she was in a coma... and married someone else just a few months ago.”

The words hit you like a gunshot. Divorce? Married someone else? What the hell is Luke talking about?

“What do you want me to say, Will?” Luke snaps, voice rough and bitter. “Oh, sorry sis, I know you just woke up after five years in a coma, but yeah, we figured it’d be super helpful to drop the news that your husband’s got a new wife now. And we were all at their damn wedding, supporting him like it was the right thing to do. Sorry if that’s news to you. Sorry we all thought you were as good as dead.”

You stare at the wall, feeling it close in, breath shallow and quick. The ground beneath you feels like it’s crumbling away, piece by piece. Divorced. Married again.

While you were fighting for your life.

While you were unconscious.

The shock doesn’t come in one big wave. It’s slower, colder—like the heat has been drained from your body and everything inside you has gone still.

You blink. Then again. Like maybe the world will make sense the next time your eyes open. It doesn’t.

William... married someone else. Your family knew. And no one told you.

The house you built together isn’t yours anymore. Your bed. Your kitchen. Your dogs. Someone else is living your life.

You try to breathe, but something tightens in your chest. You lean against the wall, suddenly lightheaded.

You remember his voice—soft and steady—telling you he’d wait forever. That he didn’t care how long it took. That you were it for him. You remember how safe you felt with him. How sure.

And now he’s gone.

No. Not just gone. He left. He moved on.

And everyone let him.

You feel like a fool. Worse than that, you feel erased. Like you died and no one bothered to grieve.

Tears burn your eyes, but they don’t fall. You just stand there, frozen.

You can’t stay.

You don’t think—you just move. Out of the hallway. Down the stairs. Through the sliding glass doors and into the warm blur of summer air. The sun is too bright, the sidewalk too loud. It all feels far away.

You raise your hand for a taxi without knowing where you’re going. The driver looks at you in the mirror, waiting.

Your voice barely comes out. “Can you take me to North York? I’ll tell you the address on the way.”

You sit back, still shaking, staring out the window. The city flies past but you can’t follow it. All you can do is hold onto one thought:

I need to see Steph.

—

You stand on Steph’s porch, your breath hitching, the sharp heat of the Toronto afternoon clinging to your skin. The air buzzes faintly — bees drifting lazily between blooms — but the world itself feels unnaturally still. Like it's holding its breath with you.

The taxi had barely stopped before you climbed out. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

Beside the front steps, the garden spills over in color and memory — roses, lavender, foxglove. The ones you and Steph had planted years ago, long before life had found ways to unmake itself. You remember the day like it happened this morning: both of you in tank tops and cutoffs, knees in the dirt, hands stained and laughing so hard your stomachs hurt. Steph argued that lavender would bring peace to the house. You swore it wouldn’t survive a Toronto winter.

William had watched from the porch, barefoot, a popsicle melting down his wrist, pretending to be unimpressed. “I’ll never understand why you two would rather dig holes in the ground than jump in the pool,” he’d called, tossing a tennis ball to Mitch.

You’d looked up at him, your hair stuck to your damp forehead, and smiled like he was the only thing in the world that made sense.

That memory used to feel golden. Now it tastes like ash and betrayal.

The front door opens before you can lift your hand to knock.

Steph stands in the doorway, barefoot, hair in a messy bun, wearing one of Mitch’s oversized T-shirts.

She doesn’t move. She just stares at you like her brain is trying to catch up with her eyes.

You manage a breath, part sob, part exhale. “Hey...”

But before you can say another word, she screams and slams the door in your face.

You flinch. Just stand there, stunned. You’d come here desperate for something solid, something familiar — and you’d forgotten what it must look like to her. She didn’t know. You never called. No warning. You just showed up, alive and broken.

Of course she thought you were dead. Or worse — something between.

You knock again, softer this time.

The door creaks open, slower now. Steph peers out, her eyes wide, scared in a way you’ve never seen. “…Are you a ghost?” she whispers.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaky but real, and shake your head. “No,” you murmur. “I woke up two days ago.”

For a heartbeat, she just stares at you — as if you’ve cracked open a fault line in the world. Then, without a word, she reaches for your wrist and pulls you into her arms.

You don’t fight it. You sink into her, bury your face into the soft cotton of her shoulder, breathing her in like oxygen. Her hand comes up to cradle the back of your head like she’s anchoring you there, keeping you from floating off into whatever terrible place you’ve been these past few years.

You want to stay like this. You want to fall apart completely. But your pride won’t let you—not yet. You step back, wiping your face with your hand.

“I—I left the hospital,” you manage. “I didn’t have anything. No wallet. No phone. I just... I didn’t know where else to go. Could you—can you pay the cab?”

Steph blinks like she’s waking up from a dream. “Oh my God, yes. Of course.” She brushes a strand of hair behind your ear gently. “Just wait here.”

She runs to the street, taps her phone to the cab’s card reader, and thanks the driver softly for getting you here safely. When she comes back, her face is flushed — with shock, with love, with something wordless.

She studies your face, like she suddenly sees everything. “Oh honey,” she breathes. “You know.”

That’s all she says. That’s all she needs to.

Because it’s written across your face — the grief, the disbelief, the deep, breath-stealing hurt of betrayal. She sees it. She feels it. She doesn’t ask how or why or what happened.

She just opens her arms again.

And this time, you let go.

You fall into her chest, your body shaking as the tears come hard and fast. It feels like you’re still in that hospital hallway, like those words—your husband has a new wife—are still echoing in your head, and you don’t know how to hold yourself up under them.

You don’t know how long you stand there. It doesn’t matter.

Eventually, Steph presses her cheek to your hair, sways a little like she’s rocking you without even realizing it, and whispers, “Come in, Eli.”

You step inside Stephanie’s house, the door clicking softly shut behind you. The air is warm, thick with the comforting scent of roses and lavender drifting in on a gentle breeze. The windows are open, and so is the back porch door, letting summer spill freely into the room. It feels familiar—like stepping into a memory.

Your eyes drift to the couch, where a tiny figure stirs. A baby boy lies curled beneath a soft blanket, his chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm. He has Mitch’s thick dark brown hair and the same gentle crease between his brows, the same pout on his lips when he sleeps. For a long moment, you just stare, frozen in place.

Stephanie follows your gaze and gives a small, tired smile. “That’s Miles,” she says softly. “Miles Daniel Marner. Just a few months old. I had him not long after... well, after William got married again.”

“So you and Mitch… you guys are…?” you manage to whisper, your voice brittle.

“Yeah, we got married in 2023, Eli.” Her eyes glisten, a flicker of sadness hidden beneath the smile.

“Wow. That’s good. I’m happy for you guys,” you say, forcing a smile even though your chest tightens with a strange ache. You’ve always believed there was no more perfect match than Mitch and Steph. And yet, somewhere deep inside, a quiet grief settles — maybe because you planned to be there on her wedding day, to share that moment, to stand beside your best friend. Maybe because you missed her pregnancy, her journey into motherhood. Or maybe because, for once, you want to be selfish and feel the loss of time you can never get back.

Your eyes blink rapidly, unable to look away from the infant. You try to piece together the timeline, the years you lost pressing in around you like a weight. The baby, so new and perfect—and here you are, stepping out of a past that no longer exists.

Stephanie moves closer, her fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear with the same gentle affection she always showed. “Can I get you something? Water? Juice? Coffee? Anything?”

Your throat feels dry, your voice barely a whisper. “Could you… let my family know I’m here? Tell them I’m safe, but I’m not ready to talk to them yet.”

Without hesitation, Stephanie nods and pulls out her phone, fingers already typing. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

You take a deep, uneven breath, gripping the fabric of your dress as you steel yourself for what’s next. After a brief pause, you ask the question that has burned inside you since you left the hospital. “Stephanie… I need to know. What happened? While I was... gone. The last five years.”

Her face darken with the weight of memories. She breathes slowly, steadying herself before she speaks.

“After your accident…well…William… he was shattered. I’ve never seen him like that before. It was like he lost a part of himself.” Her voice wavers. “I tried to be there for him, but it was so hard. He shut most of us out.”

Steph doesn’t continue right away.

Instead, she lowers herself onto the arm of the couch and, with practiced tenderness, lifts Miles into her arms. Her hand lingers on his back, almost like she’s holding onto a piece of calm. Her fingers tremble slightly, but when she speaks, her voice is steady—measured and honest.

“It was bad, Eli.”

You stay silent.

“After the accident… William fell into this really dark place. Completely shut down. He stopped eating, barely slept. At first, Mitch and I tried to stay with him, but it was like he wasn’t there. He wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t even look at us—just sat in silence, lost. Some days, he’d spend hours at your bedside and never say a word. Just… staring. Like if he looked long enough, maybe you’d wake up.”

You press a hand against your chest. It hurts to imagine. It hurts even more to know you weren’t really gone, just unreachable. Frozen in time while everything around you crumbled.

“There was a stretch,” Steph says softly, “when we thought we might lose him too.”

Your head jerks up. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes meet yours — steady, serious. “Auston found him one night. It was the anniversary of your accident. Will was in the kitchen… and there was a knife on the counter. Aus said maybe it was just for food. But the look in William’s eyes? Scared the hell out of him.”

The air leaves your lungs all at once. The room blurs slightly at the edges. You don’t want to hear this—you can’t picture William like that.

Steph’s voice softens, almost like she’s slipping into a memory. “After that night, we made a plan. Took shifts. Mitch, Auston, his mom—even his sisters flew in. Someone was always with him. We just… couldn’t leave him alone.”

She lets out a quiet breath, her gaze distant. “And it helped. Not right away, but little by little… he started to come back. Piece by piece, he found his way through it.”

“And after that…” your voice is raw, unsteady, “he divorced me.”

Steph flinches. “Yeah. It wasn’t immediate. It took a while. Years, actually. His mom said he kept hoping. But the doctors weren’t giving him hope anymore.”

You close your eyes.

“He stopped visiting you for a bit,” she continues, voice quieter now. “He said it was too painful. Said he couldn’t keep grieving someone who wasn’t allowed to die.”

The words land like a blow — sharp, deep, quiet. You feel something crack in your chest, an invisible fracture splitting wider.

“And her new wife?” you ask, not looking at her.

Part of you never wants to hear about this woman — but another part aches to know everything. It’s a strange, maddening feeling you can’t shake.

Steph exhales slowly. The baby stirs, sighs, but stays asleep.

“Her name’s Lena. And honestly? She’s not who I expected.” Steph’s voice tightens, a flicker of frustration slipping through. “She’s… too polished. Too perfect. The kind of person who only speaks if she’s sure it sounds beautiful. Like she’s playing a part.” She crinkles her nose, a hint of contempt curling her lips. “She’s a former model, Swedish and works in fashion. They met at some charity for trauma recovery.”

“Trauma recovery?”

Steph lets out a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah. She lost her fiancé, apparently. William was drawn to her — like they shared the same language: grief and guilt.”

She shakes her head again, but now with disapproval. “Around her, William isn’t... himself. Everyone else seems to like her — they’re polite, they smile — but me? I’m not buying it.”

Steph leans in a bit, her voice soft like she’s letting you in on something personal. “Showed up in all black at their wedding, by the way. Thought it’d be funny. Almost wore a veil too, but Mitch talked me out of it.”

A sad laugh bubbles up from your throat.

You love her for standing up for you — for both of you. Even if it’s messy, even if it hurts. Somehow, that fierce loyalty feels like a lifeline.

A quiet falls, deep and still.

You can’t tell if your tears are hot or cold anymore. They just are, slipping silently down your face as you stare at your best friend, this baby, this house filled with a life that passed you by.

“I missed everything,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. “Every single moment.”

Without hesitation, Steph wraps one arm around you, holding you gently but firmly, while cradling little Miles in her other. You lean into her carefully, conscious of the tiny life resting against her chest.

Steph shifts Miles slightly and, with a soft smile, lifts him toward you. “Here, Eli. Hold him.”

You blink, caught off guard for a moment, but still gently take Miles into your arms. Warmth radiating from his tiny body. At first glance, Miles looks just like Mitch—the same dark hair, the same peaceful expression. But as you look closer, you notice the delicate curve of his nose, the shape of his ears—little features that belong to Stephanie.

Your heart twists with a strange mix of joy and sadness as you hold this tiny life, so full of promise, so full of meaning.

“You didn’t choose this,” Steph murmurs, her voice tender. “You didn’t leave us. The world just… kept going, Eli. I know it’s hard, but you still have so much time.”

She chuckles softly and adds, “Sure, you missed my wedding and all that, and yeah, you didn’t get to hold my hair while I was throwing up in the first trimester like we joked about—but hey, you’re here now.”

You manage a small laugh, the heaviness easing just a little.

Steph’s eyes glisten as she leans in, gently resting her forehead against yours. Her voice is barely a whisper, but it wraps around you like a blanket.

“It breaks my heart that you missed all of it,” she says, her breath shaky. “But you’re here, Eli. You’re holding Miles. You can still be the godmother we always dreamed about, remember? The one who spoils him rotten and teaches him how to sneak cookies before dinner.”

You let out a soft, watery laugh.

“You’ll be there when he takes his first steps. When he says his first word. You’ll be the one he runs to with scraped knees and messy drawings. You haven’t lost everything, Eli. There’s still so much waiting for you. So much life left to live.”

You pull back slightly, eyes meeting hers. “But it’s so hard not to look back.”

She brushes your hair away from your face. “I know. But you can’t live in the past. You have a future too, Eli. And there’s so much good waiting for you. Right here, right now.”

#this fic is really good #william nylander x reader #toronto maple leafs #fanfiction

134 notes · View notes