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writingwithciara · 3 months

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Love Or Something Like It ~Quinn Hughes~

summary: quinn's girlfriend sucks but y/n's boyfriend is the best

word count: 3.2k

pairing: quinn hughes x roommate!reader, brief elias pettersson x reader

notes: another quinn x roommate fic. not set in the same universe as the last one. italics are the past. was supposed to post this on valentines day but did not have access to my laptop

masterlist

quinn and y/n were best friends. had been since they were younger. after she finished her schooling at the university of michigan, she followed quinn to vancouver, per his request.

he needed her nearby and somehow, knowing his best friend was there, made him play so much better.

although they hadn't seen each other in person for months, everything easily went back to normal. it was as if the distance was never a problem.

things were easy, until they weren't.

quinn had gotten himself a girlfriend the third month y/n had been living with him. rebecca was only nice to y/n when they were with other people but when they were alone, she would get angry and threaten y/n with anything she could think of.

it was very clear she was jealous. but why did she have to be? y/n wasn't as pretty as rebecca, a fact that she pointed out whenever they were alone, and she didn't want to be with quinn. she had her own boyfriend back in michigan. one she loved with her whole heart, despite all the red flags he gave off.

it hurt quinn to think that y/n wasn't being treated the way she deserved. he knew he had to do something to fix it. and since valentines day was coming up, he thought it'd be perfect to set y/n up on a blind date & rebecca agreed, offering up tons of suggestions. but quinn already had the perfect person in mind.

so, on valentine's day of 2023, y/n was sitting in a fancy restaurant with quinn and rebecca while they waited for the mystery man to show up.

"hey. sorry i'm late."

y/n looked up when she heard the voice. she had heard it many times before at canucks events. elias pettersson stood before her. his bright blue eyes staring back at her with a smile that didn't seem to want to leave his face.

"no worries." y/n smiled up at him as he took the seat across from her. she may have had a boyfriend but in the moment, her only though was how good elias looked tonight.

as they ate, y/n & elias got lost in their own little world. quinn tried not to notice it but the more she laughed, the more distracted quinn got. he didn't think he was jealous until later that night when rebecca brought it up.

"if you're so into her, why did you set her up with your teammate? better yet, why are you dating me?"

"becca, please can we not do this right now?"

"why not, quinn? it's the perfect time to address these feelings. i've been holding mine in since we met. every time you brought her up in conversations, it made me feel small. you're my boyfriend. you're supposed to love me, not her."

"my love for you is completely different than my love for her."

"so you admit that you love her?"

"of course i do. she's been my best friend since we were 8 years old. i've got nothing but love for her." quinn took a step closer to his girlfriend. "but i'm not in love with her. that's the difference here."

"are you trying to convince me or yourself?" rebecca grabbed her bag and walked to the door. "call me when you get it right, hughes."

and just like that, rebecca was gone.

quinn had tried multiple times to call her and tell her he only wanted to be with her, but only received her voicemail each time.

over the next few weeks, y/n spent more and more time with elias. she was almost never home anymore and quinn was alone 90% of the time. he would drive to practice alone and he would watch as y/n slowly transitioned herself from a hughes fan to a pettersson fan.

she started wearing elias' jersey instead of quinn's and it created an unfamiliar pain in his chest the more it became evident.

when y/n found out her boyfriend had cheated on her, she didn't run to quinn. she ran straight to elias instead, breaking quinn's heart.

he realized that the unfamiliar sting in his chest was jealousy. quinn didn't want to see y/n with anyone but himself but unfortunately for him, he was a little late to the realization.

one night while quinn was at home, y/n was over at elias' place. she came home with a big smile on her face that night & quinn knew why, but he asked anyway.

"what's got you so smiley tonight?"

"elias made me dinner and asked me to be his girlfriend."

and there was that stinging feeling right where it didn't need to be. only it was 10 times worse this time. he was hopelessly in love with her & had no idea how to deal with it.

it wasn't until the beginning of february 2024 that quinn had hope again.

he and y/n were washing the dishes together when she rubbed her eye with her forearm. some of the suds came off on her cheek and as quinn went to wipe them away, her breath hitched and her cheeks were turning red.

"here, let me get that for you." he wiped the suds away and smiled. "there, all gone."

"gee, thanks quinn." y/n flicked some water at him, causing the soap suds to go everywhere. the look in quinn's eyes was enough of a warning for her. she took off out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

"you've got nowhere to run now, y/n." quinn smirked evilly, moving closer to y/n until her back was pressed against the wall. y/n swallowed the lump in her throat before looking at his lips. this only caused quinn to lean down and whisper in her ear. "gotcha." he wiped the suds on her face and smiled. when he looked down at her, she was staring at his lips. "what's on your mind?" he teased.

"n-nothing." she quickly looked away and moved away from the wall. she headed back into the kitchen to finish the dishes. quinn took a moment by himself before joining her.

"so, valentines day is coming up in a few days. you and elias have anything huge planned?"

"he won't tell me." y/n washed the last plate and handed it to quinn. he dried it and put it in it's place before turning back to y/n.

"does he know you hate surprises?"

"i don't hate them, quinn." y/n shook her head.

"you don't like secrets and those are practically the same thing."

"i guess so." y/n turned to quinn. "but elias has been off lately. did anything happen at practice?"

"no. why?"

"i don't know why he's acting this way."

"what way?"

"dodgy? i think that's the word to describe it." y/n sighed. "he's not seeing someone else...is he?" the sadness in y/n's voice made quinn's heart break.

"no. of course not. elias is a good guy. you just gotta talk to him and see what's going on."

"i'll try." y/n walked to her bedroom but before she entered, she turned to quinn. "hey. are you still dating rebecca?"

"no. she, um, broke up with me. almost a year ago."

"good." she looked up at him and backtracked her comment. "i mean, not good as in it's good she broke up with you. i meant good as in it's good that she's gone. she was terrible."

"yeah she really was. and i'm sorry again for what she did and said to you."

"it's not your fault, quinn."

"it kind of is. if i hadn't been dating her to cover up the fact that i was jealous- nevermind." he caught himself before he revealed too much.

"jealous of what? you can't just leave the comment there. who were you jealous of?"

"nobody. just forget i said anything." quinn smiled at his roommate. "good night."

y/n stood in her doorway with a puzzled look on her face. why did every guy in her life have to keep a secret from her.

y/n shook her head and went into her own room. she called jack because he was the only she knew who wouldn't keep a secret from her.

"hey. what's up y/n?"

"jack, i need some information and i know you'll give it to me because you are the only one i know who never hides things from me."

"well, i can definitely give you information. but it also depends on what it is. i might not know what you're asking about."

"fair point. but it's about quinn and i know you know all about your brother."

"yeah i do. what's the information you need?"

"5 minutes ago, he said he was only dating rebecca because he was jealous but he wouldn't tell me why he was jealous or what he was jealous of."

"he's jealous of you and elias." jack responded with no hesitation, causing y/n to gasp a little louder than expected.

"but he was dating rebecca before i started dating elias. how could he be jealous?"

"maybe jealous wasn't the word he meant to use. he probably was trying to say he was only dating her because he was trying to get over how he felt about you." jack thought for a second. "or maybe he was jealous of you and that michigan douchebag you were dating when you moved to vancouver."

"that's a little more logical. but he doesn't love me, jack. and even if he did, it wouldn't matter. i'm dating elias and i love him. not quinn."

unbeknownst to y/n, quinn had come out of his room and had heard her say she didn't love him. the last few pieces of his heart shattered and he suddenly couldn't breath.

before he made any noise, he made his way back to his room, collapsing against the door. why did he have to love his best friend? his very not single best friend.

for the next 2 days, quinn would avoid y/n at all costs. he would wake up super early and leave the apartment before he saw her & he wouldn't even acknowledge her at practice or at games.

it was breaking her heart but it wasn't known why it was affecting her so badly.

on valentines day, elias had set up a romantic picnic for her in his backyard. she appreciated it but her mind was stuck on the way quinn was treating her lately. and elias wasn't blind or stupid. he could tell she was hurting.

"hey, love. are you alright?"

"i'm fine." y/n smiled and sipped her champagne. "why do you ask?"

"because i know you're not fine. i can see the far away look you have in your eye. you're deep in thought about something and i can tell it's hurting you. and i love you so please tell me what's going on with you. i just want to make you feel better."

"quinn has been my best friend forever but this past year alone, i've been feeling him pulling away and i don't know why." she sighed. "do you think he's tired of having me in his life?"

"what? no that's impossible. who could get tired of having you in their life? and quinn is the very last person who would want to do that to you. he cares about you, a lot."

"i know that's how it's supposed to feel but lately, things have been different. if he cared about me at all, he wouldn't be avoiding me whenever he had the opportunity to do it."

it was elias' turn to sigh. "it's because he's finally realizing he's in love with you. he has been for a while."

"no he hasn't. why does everyone keep saying that?"

"because it's true." elias took his girlfriends hand and smiled. "and i don't blame him. you make everyone fall in love with you like it's the easiest thing to do. and you don't even know the effect you have on us. you should've heard the way quinn talked about you the night he asked me to take you out on that date for valentines day. i already knew you and i had already said yes but he kept saying all these really nice things about you. things a best friend wouldn't say. i'm telling you, y/n. quinn is in love with you." elias sighed. "and i think you love him too."

"well, of course i do. he's my best friend." y/n smiled. "but that doesn't matter. i love you, elias. and that should be what matters here."

"i love you enough to know that being with quinn is what you need." by now, it was obvious they both had tears in their eyes.

"why do you have to be the sweetest human being on this planet?"

"well, i am swedish." he smiled and held her close. "you're always going to be the best girlfriend i've ever had. and not just because you're the only one i've had. you're always going to hold the crown."

"so does this mean we're breaking up?"

"yes. but i still love you. always will." he held her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "now, let's get you home so you can tell quinn."

back at the apartment, quinn was trying to put something together to express every emotion he was feeling. after he had everything put together, there was a knock on the door.

he opened it and rebecca walked in. she looked around the apartment then back at quinn.

"well this isn't what i was expecting when i came here." she smiled. "but it's thoughtful, quinn. can't believe you went through all of this for me."

"actually, i-" he didn't have time to tell her it was for y/n before rebecca was pulling him in for a kiss.

"seriously?" y/n was standing in the doorway, watching the whole thing unfold. rebecca pulled away from quinn rather harshly at the sound of y/n's voice.

"y/n, this isn't-"

"i'm ruining a romantic moment. i'm sorry. i'll leave."

"you're right. you are and you should. bye." rebecca waved and y/n turned to walk back out.

"no, y/n wait!" quinn called out to her then turned to rebecca. "you need to go."

"what are you talking about?"

"this wasn't for you, rebecca. it would've been if you hadn't broken up with me a year ago. but it's not now."

"then who's it for?" rebecca searched quinn's face for a sign before her eyes landed on y/n, who was halfway out the door. "seriously? for her? thought you said you weren't in love with her."

"yeah well maybe i am now!"

y/n stopped in her tracks and turned back around.

"what?" y/n and rebecca responded.

"yeah. and maybe i always have been. it may have been a subconscious act and maybe that's why i always needed her to be close by. we can't help who we love and you can't be mad at y/n for the way that i feel. she did nothing wrong."

"she's done nothing but come between us since the moment we started dating, quinn."

"just leave, rebecca."

"no. i think i'll go. elias is waiting for me downstairs anyway." y/n turned around and walked out of he building. she got halfway down the street before it started raining.

a car sped past her and she knew it was rebecca just by the way the car aggressively sped through a puddle and nearly splashed her.

"oh tonight could not get any worse!" she shouted in frustration, kicking at a rock in her path.

"y/n, wait!" quinn shouted as he ran up to her.

"quinn, i'm not really in the mood to talk right now."

"then just listen to me. i'll do all the talking."

"fine. but can we go home? i'm freezing."

"of course." they both stayed silent as they headed back to their apartment. quinn wanted to say everything he was feeling but he wanted to wait until y/n was in a better mood. he knew she hated wet clothes so as soon as they walked through the door, he was rushing to his room to get her a tshirt and a pair of sweatpants. she accepted them without a word and went to the bathroom to change.

when she came out, the smell of hot chocolate filled her nostrils and it brought her a sense of joy. only quinn would be this thoughtful when she was mad at him.

she walked into the living room and sat down, silently taking the mug quinn offered her. she took a sip and smiled. that's when quinn knew he was doing good.

"okay. i'm ready to listen." y/n held the mug close and looked at him. his hair was still wet from the rain and she suddenly found herself wanting to run her fingers through the mess.

"okay. um, first off, rebecca and i are most definitely not together. just want to clarify that. and all of this," he glanced up at y/n & gestured around the apartment. "i set it all up for you. i know you're dating elias and you probably got something super romantic for valentines day but i wanted to do something for you too, even if it's only platonic between us. and im fine with that because you're my best friend and im sorry for rebecca and im sorry for ignoring you. it was a bad move on my part. but i heard you talking to jack the other night and you told him you didn't love me so i figured you'd want some space."

"elias and i broke up." y/n set her mug on the coffee table and stared down at her hands. "but it's okay. he's still a really good friend and that makes me happy."

"why'd you guys break up?"

"he could tell i was hurting and he kinda figured out how i feel about you."

"and how's that?"

"i didn't think i loved you until he pointed it out. but now it all makes sense. i was so eager to leave my life in michigan just to move out here to be closer to you & now i know why. i also know why it was weird seeing you with rebecca. it felt unnatural because deep down, i knew you and i were supposed to be together. we've been together our whole lives but never in a million years did i think there was a reason we were so attached to each other." y/n glanced over to find quinn staring at her already. "i do love you, quinn. and i know you love me too."

"i do. i definitely do." he smiled and moved closer. "i always will. and i'm willing to wait for you, however long it takes."

"you're perfect, quinn. i love you so much." she moved forward and threw her arms around him. he held her close and pulled her sideways onto his lap to make her more comfortable. "how about we go on a real date next saturday?"

"that sounds perfect." he looked at her and it took all of his willpower to not kiss her. she didn't care. her hands went to his cheeks and her lips attached to his.

it was a perfect moment for the both of them and neither of them cared about the world around them. as far as they were concerned, it was just the two of them for the rest of their lives.

taglist: @worldlxvlys @fearfam69691

#quinn hughes #nhl #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes x reader

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fallinallincurls · 3 months

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in picture frames, in all my dreams, you’re the one i want

this is my entry for @wyattjohnston 's winter fic exchange 2k24!! i wrote this fic for the lovely @laurenairay and i hope you love it so much! i had the best time writing this one (which means there will probably be more brock fics in the future). and shoutout to @tonyspep for bouncing ideas around with me as always!

i also made a playlist for this fic as well if you'd like to check it out!

hope you enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated! xx

word count: 3.8k+

~~~~~

This was not supposed to happen. You were supposed to be on a plane back to Minnesota right now so you would be home in time for Christmas. But when you arrived at the airport earlier, the board of departures were full of canceled flights including yours. And when you brought your dilemma to the customer service desk, they informed you that all flights out of Vancouver were either booked or canceled through the 26th. The day after Christmas.

That’s how you ended up where you are now. Frantically knocking on your best friend’s front door and trying to hold back the overwhelming urge to cry.

“Come on, come on, come on.” You mutter to yourself, knocking one more time in hopes that the one person you want to see right now will answer.

At that very moment, the door swings open to reveal a cozy but sleepy looking Brock. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweats with an old Canucks t-shirt. His blonde hair is tousled but still somehow looks perfect and his blue eyes light up at the sight of you. You love seeing him like this, so soft and relaxed. The Brock that the media and fans don’t know, but you do.

“Uh, hi. Again.” You say quietly while offering a watery smile.

“Y/N?” Brock asks, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. You don’t blame him, it is only six in the morning. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you going home today?”

“Well yeah, but the insane snow storm had other plans. My flight was canceled and I can’t get anything until after Christmas. So I’m kind of stuck here.”

“A week of me wasn’t enough for you?” He teases, that familiar smile brightening up his face. You just shrug in response, your lips just barely tipping up at his playfulness.

Without saying another word, Brock pulls you into his arms for the tightest hug. It takes everything in you not to sob against his sturdy chest as the warmth and comfort he always carries surrounds you.

“I’m going to miss Christmas.” The terrifying admission tumbles from your lips as tears start falling. You’ve never missed a Christmas at home with your family and you can’t imagine spending the magical day stranded halfway across the continent.

“No, you’re not.” Brock murmurs, smoothing your hair down as he holds you. The small gesture immediately makes you feel more at ease. It’s something only he knows that will help calm you down when you’re upset. Before you protest, Brock makes a split second decision. “You’re going to spend Christmas here, with me. We’re going to celebrate Christmas together. And you can stay here since all the hotels are probably booked or mad expensive, it’s just easier.”

It takes a moment for Brock’s words to register in your mind, but when they do, your heart swells. Of course he would welcome you in for a holiday that you weren’t supposed to spend with him. He would do anything for you and he’s been that way since you were kids. But right now, you’re more grateful than ever for his kindness.

“Are you sure? I was only supposed to visit you for a week.” You ask faintly, voicing the only worry that surfaced at his suggestion.

When the University of Minnesota, the school that you’re currently a professor at, announced the dates of winter break, you immediately booked a flight out to Vancouver to spend some much needed time with your best friend. It’s tough to see Brock during the season because classes are also in session and schedules almost never line up. But you weren’t letting this opportunity pass by. The past week has been spent catching up and doing everything that was physically possible together. You couldn’t have been happier you made the trip until the debacle this morning put a damper on the unbelievable happiness you’ve been feeling since you arrived in Vancouver.

“And the weather said a week wasn’t long enough.” Brock says, his tone of voice telling you there was no room for arguments. “I won’t let you spend Christmas alone so we’re doing this, okay? Plus, I don’t think Coolie and Milo will mind having you around for a few more days. You know how much they love you.”

“The dogs aren’t the only ones who love me.” Brock smiles at your playful comment and can’t help but chuckle at the truth of the oblivious statement. The full extent of his feelings for you that he’s been hiding for years is unknown to everyone but himself. And maybe Quinn and Petey. But he won’t admit how he feels about you until he knows the moment’s right, until maybe there’s a chance you feel the same way.

So he shrugs nonchalantly and lets a laugh slip past his lips while ignoring the way his heart races just from looking at you. Before he can say anything in response, you’re surging forward to hug him again.

“Thank you so much, really. It means the world to me. You have no idea.”

“You know I’d do anything for you.” Brock admits, honesty seeping through each word. “Besides, spending Christmas with you just made my holiday a lot more exciting.”

“Please,” You roll your eyes in response, but the softest smile blossoms across your lips and the insane amount of anxiety that was consuming you a few minutes ago has already started to dissipate.

“C’mon,” Brock starts, pulling you through the door and over the threshold of his apartment. “You’re probably exhausted so let’s get you a nap and we’ll go from there.”

There’s no resistance as he leads you to his bedroom, hands you one of his t-shirts and tells you it’ll all be okay. Before you know it, you’re under the blankets, wrapped up in the warmth and coziness of Brock’s bed, drifting off to a much needed sleep.

When you wake up a few hours later, well rested and feeling much better, you find yourself squished between two large dogs. A giggle slips past your lips at the sight.

“Hey guys!” You exclaim, not wasting a second to give both Coolie and Milo some pets. “Lucky you, I’ll be here for a couple more days which means you’ll get plenty of extra snacks.”

“No, they won’t!” Brock calls from somewhere in the apartment, making a laugh bubble up in your throat. Even if your Christmas isn’t going to go as you had planned, you’re glad that you’ll be spending it with your favorite person in the world.

The dogs race ahead of you to find Brock as you start making your way down the hallway. Although you’ve spent a decent amount of time in Brock’s apartment over your weeklong visit, you take a few extra seconds to look over the collection of pictures he has hanging on the wall throughout the hallway. Photos of him with his family, smiling with teammates, namely Petey and Quinn who you know have become his best friends, views from his many trips to different places around the world and of course, snapshots of you and him together.

A smile blossoms on your face as you look over the memories frozen in time in each photo, laughing to yourself at the ridiculous ones Brock has hanging up that feature his teammates and you. But just before you’re about to head down the stairs to find him, one picture catches your eye. You don’t know how you missed it over the last week, but you must have.

Because staring back at you are little versions of you and Brock, flashing big, beaming grins at the camera in front of the sign to the summer camp you both attended for years. That’s how the two of you met and you remember looking forward to the summer just because it meant seeing and spending time with Brock. Even though you both lived in Minnesota, it wasn’t until you were older that you were able to communicate outside penpal letters sent in the mail and the ninety days you spent together on the campground where you both formed memories that will last a lifetime.

You couldn’t have been more than seven in the photo and it’s clear that both of you are happier than ever. That feeling is still present today whenever you’re with Brock, it’s nestled deep within your heart like it belongs there forever and you’ve carried it around for most of your life. It only took you years after he already had moved to Vancouver to realize that happiness can often be mistaken for love.

Shoving those thoughts away, you bound down the stairs to meet your best friend again. There’s a new pep in your step as you’re determined to make the most of every second this Christmas even if it’s not what you expected. You’re here with Brock which is all you could ask for.

A gentle smile is already on your lips when you get to the bottom floor, but you halt almost immediately when you see the scene in front of you. Coolie and Milo are wearing the cutest doggie holiday sweaters and Brock is softly grinning while leaning against the kitchen counter which is full of a wide variety of baking ingredients. And when your eyes look over the living room, you notice a box labeled “ornaments” sitting atop the coffee table, undoubtedly full of all of the beautiful ornaments that were carefully hanging from the branches of Brock’s Christmas tree just hours ago.

“What is-”

“I told you we were celebrating Christmas and we’re going to do it the right way.” Brock simply explains, blue eyes twinkling with joy and you see a flicker of nervousness there too. Like he isn’t sure if you like the gesture.

“Brock,” You breathe out, his name just above a whisper.

“I know you love decorating the tree on Christmas Eve so I just took down the ornaments so we can do it together. And your family always bakes cookies the night before Christmas too and I surprisingly already had most of what we needed for the recipes.”

There aren’t enough words to properly show the gratitude, the love, that’s swelling in your chest so you just cross the room and wrap your arms around him in the tightest embrace. Brock immediately responds, pulling you even closer to him, and for a moment everything feels right.

“Thank you,” The words are quiet, but Brock hears them and presses a delicate kiss to the top of your head. You pray he doesn’t feel the way your heart skips a beat at the sweet action and he must not because he pulls away with a big smile and a hint of mischief mixed with something else you can’t quite place evident in his eyes.

“Of course, you deserve nothing less. What do you want to do first?” He asks, ready to jump into either activity. But it’s right then that everything clicks.

“Wait, you went out in the snow to get the rest of the ingredients we needed?”

“Well, yeah, it’s not too bad. Compared to the snow we used to get at home, this is like nothing.”

“But it’s cold! And how did you get the recipes for my favorite Christmas cookies without-” You trail off, the realization setting in at the same moment Brock speaks up to confirm your suspicions.

“I called your mom. She was more than happy to share the recipes with me when I explained what I was up to. That was the easiest part actually!”

If you weren’t already head over heels in love with him already, this moment would’ve sealed the deal. You can’t believe he went through all this trouble just to make the holiday special when you weren’t even supposed to be here in the first place. Nothing but adoration rushes through your veins and you can feel the blush creeping into your cheeks. Without hesitating, you lean up to kiss his cheek as yet another silent thank you and his skin almost immediately turns pink.

“Alright, let’s do this, yeah?” He asks, distracting you from his reaction to the little gesture the two of you have been doing since you were younger and pulling you into the kitchen. It doesn’t take long for Christmas music to be turned on, filling the air with even more of a festive feeling. Brock makes sure your apron is tied on, just like you do for his, and then you’re off baking. You teach Brock all the techniques you’ve learned over the years from making these recipes and you get the pleasure of seeing him so free and happy.

You want to see him like this for the rest of your life. A big smile on his face, eyes crinkled in happiness and no sign of any stress hanging over him.

“What are we going to do with all these cookies?” The question falls off your lips after Brock slides the last batch into the oven.

“Easy. You’ll take some back home with you so your mom can see how much of an awesome job I did and the rest I’ll give to the team. A lot of them won’t say no to homemade cookies even if it’s the middle of the season.”

“If you say so,” You giggle, not being able to picture his teammates willingly accepting Christmas cookies when they’re in the middle of the best season the team has had in a long time. But you don’t argue, just set aside the best looking cookies that you and Brock decorated for Quinn and Petey, and sneak one to Coolie and Milo too, before getting the kitchen back in order.

After everything is cleaned up so the kitchen doesn’t look like a total disaster anymore and you both enjoy the takeout that Brock ordered for dinner, no time is wasted in moving to the living room to decorate the Christmas tree.

“Okay, where do we start?” You contemplate, gently placing your full mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table while surveying the tree glittering in the corner of the room.

“I forgot how seriously you take decorating for the holidays.” Brock chuckles, opening the box that he put all the ornaments back in earlier. He didn’t really forget, in fact, he missed it more than anything. That’s more than half the reason he spent so much time taking every single bauble off the tree. Yes, he wanted to make sure Christmas was as magical for you as it would’ve been back home, but he also selfishly wanted to share this moment with you too.

And he’d be lying if he said his heart isn’t full to brim right now with what he knows is love. Not that you can tell or would ever know that.

“The tree is serious business!” You exclaim with a chuckle, watching as Brock carefully starts removing ornaments from the box one at a time. He hands you a simple, but gorgeous blue ball to hang up first.

Slowly, but surely, the two of you decorate the tree with the wide variety of ornaments Brock has. He tells you the stories behind the ones his teammates have gifted him, shares the laughter with you when he stumbles across one that has a picture of him as a toddler in the picture frame and recounts the memories of family or solo vacations whenever he hands you one that was clearly bought at a tourist shop. There’s a soft smile on Brock’s face that never disappears and you swear he keeps sneaking glances at you.

The tree becomes more festive as each decoration once again finds a home on its branches and not for the first time today, you forget that this isn’t where you were meant to be for the holiday. But you’re kind of grateful for the snowstorm now. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gotten to do any of this with the man who you’ve wanted for years.

“It’s done!” You cheer with excitement when you place the last ornament on the tree. “We did a pretty good job. Don’t you think?” Stepping back to admire the beautiful work you both did, your shoulder bumps Brock’s and that familiar shock of warmth floods through your veins at the brief contact.

“It’s the best Christmas tree I’ve ever seen.” Brock responds playfully, but there's a faint tone of seriousness evident in his voice. His eyes are glistening in the glow of the lights and you can’t deny how perfect he looks so cozy and joyful like this.

A few seconds later, without you realizing, Brock slips away to put the box away until it was time to take all the holiday decorations down in a few weeks. But to his surprise, there is one last ornament sitting in the box that was somehow forgotten.

“Y/N,” Brock laughs, picking up the decoration. “We forgot one.”

“No way! What is it?” Nothing but curiosity and excitement is evident in your voice. You cross the room to Brock and lean into his side to see what the mystery ornament is.

And when you get a glimpse, your breath is stolen away. Because in Brock’s hand is a small photo of a grinning little boy and girl sitting together at a picnic table inside a picture frame made of colored popsicle sticks. The two words “best friends” are written in black marker across the bottom of the frame in a neat, but childish looking style of handwriting.

Recognition washes over you instantly.

“I made that,” You start, almost stunned as you look between the homemade ornament and Brock’s face.

“You did. Like decades ago.” Brock chuckles, the sound fills the room with happiness and light. He still remembers the day you gave him this little gift. It was the last day of summer camp and before you both said goodbye with a promise to see each other soon, you gave him the gift. For only being nine years old at the time, Brock thought it was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for him. Plus, that way he had a little piece of you back home too.

Since then, he’s cherished this adorable, homemade ornament like nothing else. It always seemed a little silly to him, to hold onto a childhood craft, but seeing your reaction right now tells him it means just as much to you as it does to him.

“And you still have it. You kept it all this time?”

“Of course I did.”

“Why?” The question is gentle, but full of genuine interest. There’s a beat of comfortable silence as Brock battles with his thoughts for a moment. He knows this is it. This is the moment he finally tells you how he feels. All of the nerves and worries he had about confessing how his heart beats just for you falls away in mere seconds.

Your brows furrow at the strange look on his face. His blue eyes are full of an emotion you can’t place and the softest smile graces his lips. But more than anything, there’s a trace of clarity on display across his features. His gaze flicks down to your lips a few times before he speaks.

“Because you’re my best friend.” Brock whispers, each word carrying more weight than ever before. “But I don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.” He admits, a weight lifting off his shoulders as the words hang in the air for a moment.

He doesn’t have to say anything else because you know what it is right then. He is in love. With you.

“And you’re my best friend, but I want us to be more too.” Brock’s face practically lights up at your response, knowing that you feel the same way he does. It almost feels like a dream that after years, he doesn’t have to wonder anymore if you have fallen for him too.

“Can I kiss you?” Brock asks with a gentle voice as one hand settles on your hip before pulling you in closer. “We did somehow end up under the mistletoe.” He points up to where the collection of leaves are hanging in the entryway you’re both standing under. You can’t help but laugh at the sight and nothing but pure elation fills your heart.

“Yes, please.”

He cradles your cheek with one hand while the other stays on your hip, keeping you pressed against his body. You can’t help the smile that blossoms on your face before his lips catch yours in the softest, most passionate kiss you’ve ever experienced. The rough feel of his scruff against your smooth skin makes you giggle a little bit, which Brock responds to by deepening the kiss even more.

It’s absolutely perfect. You’ve dreamt of this exact moment more times than you’d like to admit, but it’s everything and more. And by the way Brock is holding you, it’s obvious he’s been waiting for this too.

When he reluctantly pulls away a few seconds later, there’s a new glimmer that you’ve never seen before in his bright blue eyes. He looks like the human form of sunshine right now and you can’t take it. You reach up to brush a lock of blonde hair back off of Brock’s forehead. He gives your hip a reassuring squeeze, a reminder that this is in fact real.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Brock murmurs, his smile just mere centimeters away from yours.

“I think I do.”

And without hesitation, you lean in to kiss him again. Once because it’s been a long night, twice because it’ll be alright, three times because you waited your whole life.

Before any fears or worries can creep in and ruin the moment, Brock wraps you up in a tight hug. Your head rests against his chest where you can hear his steady heartbeat.

“We’ll figure everything out. I promise.” He says calmly, somehow knowing what your next thought is going to be. “But it’s Christmas Eve and I don’t want to do anything else but enjoy being here with you.”

“I’ve never been so grateful for a snowstorm in my life.” You laugh, pure bliss humming through your body.

“Me either. Who would’ve thought that’s all it would’ve taken for this to finally happen?”

Later that night, when you’re snuggled up with Brock on the couch watching Home Alone while Coolie and Milo sleep nearby, you realize that you did in fact get to spend Christmas at home even though you didn’t make it back to Minnesota. Because Brock is home. Just being in his arms brings you the same kind of comfort and love you cherish so deeply.

Almost as if he can sense that you’re getting lost in your thoughts, Brock raises a brow in silent question when you look up at him. You just smile in response before leaning up to kiss his cheek which earns you a sweet grin.

“Merry Christmas, Brock.”

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.” Brock murmurs softly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “So happy my Christmas wish came true this year.”

#brock boeser #the winter fic exchange 2k24 #brock boeser fic #brock boeser fics #brock boeser x reader #brock boeser blurb #brock boeser blurbs #brock boeser imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #vancouver canucks #brock boeser fluff #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 1 year

Text

a/n: this one actively broke my heart while writing it and i hope i did the topic justice. title came from a song on @pyotrkochetkov ‘s barzy playlist and i just knew i had to write something angsty for it. a bunch more happy and smutty long fics and headcanons are coming! seriously, let me know what you thought of this one - much heavier and angstier than i usually write 😬 ignore any inconsistencies, i’m not an expert on this particular medical procedure or professional hockey team travel

word count: 7k

tw: miscarriage, subsequent emotions

summary: on a mini trip to vancouver to watch andrei play, you suffer the worst loss of your life. andrei is your rock throughout the ordeal

Vancouver is a fun city - maybe not as fun as Raleigh or New York, but fun nevertheless - and you’re excited that part of the Canes’ Western road trip fell close to Thanksgiving weekend so you could join in for a bit of it without having to miss too much time at work. Part of your goal this season, your first married to Andrei, is to see him play in every arena. You’ve managed a few of the east coast arenas so far, but this is your first time out west. Nykki joined you too, so it’s like a mini-girls’ trip rolled into a ‘supporting our men’ trip.

The team’s there before you and Nykki get to Vancouver, having already played in Seattle two days before. It’s actually been slightly more than a week since you’ve seen Andrei in person and you miss him a lot. You’ve been with him for four years now, so you’re used to the travel and not seeing him for chunks of time, but this week feels extra hard. Luckily, after this little West Coast swing, Andrei will be home for a good chunk of time - the quirks of the NHL schedule are always insane to you.

You and Nykki get dinner before the game, discussing her wedding plans. It’s scheduled for early August, but time is already flying. You’re a bridesmaid, but you’ve been pushing off picking a dress, knowing that it’s not going to fit you by the time the wedding happens. Your fingers curl carefully against your stomach, hidden by the table and the bulk of your sweater, your little secret.

Butterflies roll in your stomach, excitement mingling with nerves, knowing that you’re going to tell Andrei the news after the game tonight. It’s so early in your marriage, and you’re definitely freaking out a little bit, but the idea of a little baby that looks like Andrei is enough to help the excitement win out.

“Martin wants to do Bali for the honeymoon,” Nykki tells you while you find your way to your seats. You bought tickets for the lower bowl, wanting to be in the middle of the crowd and all the excitement. The Canucks fans are already a little rowdy, with warmups halfway over. There’s a few Canes jerseys smattered through the crowd, but it’s certainly an uneven match.

You sip at your overly large Coke, your stomach turning a little. Dinner isn’t sitting right with you, but it’s manageable for now. “Bali’s nice, I mean, so I’ve heard. But what’s the weather like in August?”

Nykki points at you, her other fingers wrapped around her beer can. “That’s what I said! I thought it would be unbearably hot and humid, but apparently it’s gorgeous - 86 and barely any rain,” she grins. “I promised he could be in charge of the honeymoon, so I think we’re going to Bali.”

“Well,” you smirk back, “there are worse places to spend two weeks with your gorgeous NHL player husband, Nyk.”

She laughs and takes a sip of her beer, eyes twinkling. “You have a point there. How about you and Andrei? What are the big summer vacation plans?”

You pause, thinking of an answer because you’re anticipating having a newborn this summer, so a vacation isn’t likely to happen. Andrei’s been floating the idea of a mini European tour - hitting Rome and Paris for a few days each before heading to Russia for a little bit to visit family. But you haven’t really committed to plans since it’s only November and you have plenty of time. “We haven’t really talked about it,” you answer Nykki truthfully. “Drei’s been focused on the season and I’ve been busy with work. He doesn’t like to plan anything before the end of the regular season anyway.”

“Superstition,” Nykki sing-songs, putting her beer in the cup holder as she stands for the anthems. You get to your feet, pulling off your baseball hat and holding it over your heart, humming along with both anthems. You shift your weight from foot to foot, stretching out your lower back a little.

The puck drops and the game starts - Andrei’s almost immediately put in the penalty box, complaining and shouting at the ref the entire time he skates over. His hands fly in the air as he gestures, but his passion isn’t moving the ref at all and he takes his seat in the box, slumping down. You laugh, shaking your head affectionately. He’s a sweetheart off-ice, but on the ice, Andrei is a borderline criminal. He’s leading the team in penalty minutes and you’ve definitely heard plenty about how he doesn’t deserve it.

The game clock ticks down, Andrei’s released from the box and immediately scores on a breakaway. You and Nykki jump from your seats, screaming and cheering with the Canes up one to nothing. The Vancouver fans around you glare and chirp, but you and Nykki just laugh, giving back as good as you get.

It’s pure fun to be supporting the visiting team and you and Nykki thoroughly enjoy yourselves, dancing to the music and gossiping during TV timeouts and slower moments. Nykki gets another beer and you refill your soda, your stomach still acting up. The popcorn Nykki gets is too salty and you end up joining the crowd when they start throwing their own snacks at the refs. It’s a penalty called on the Canucks, which is good news for you, but the crowds enthusiasm is infectious.

The fans of the Canadian teams are definitely a little more intense and vocal with their displeasure with the refs, you’ve noticed. A particularly obscene chant breaks out when Brady dances around one of the Canucks’ defensemen to set up a powerplay goal for Brent Burns.

You and Nykki throw your arms up and cheer, screaming yourselves silly. Your stomach cramps a little and it puts a damper on the celebration and also serves as a reminder that you really need to see a GI doctor to determine if you’re actually lactose intolerant or if you have a gluten allergy. You grimace and sit back down, clenching your stomach a little, which seems to help. The rest of the second period flies by and the boys are up two to one.

The people around you start to shuffle off to get more food or go to the bathroom, now that the second intermission has started. You finish the rest of your soda and shift in your seat. Nykki looks over at you curiously. “You okay? You seem like you’re kind of uncomfortable,” she says, twisting her hair back into a ponytail.

“I’m fine,” you hum. “My back is killing me though. I must’ve tweaked it on the flight over.”

“You want an Advil?” Nykki’s already shaking around her purse and you can hear things rattling around.

“Let me go refill my drink, pee, and then yeah, I’ll take an Advil,” you reply, holding the reusable cup to your chest and getting out of your seat. Nykki pulls her knees to the side and you scoot past her, stopping when she makes a little noise. “What?”

“Babe, I think you need a tampon too,” she whispers, gesturing to the back of your jeans.

Your eyebrows draw together. You’re not getting your period anymore. “Tamp-?” The word catches in your throat and your eyes go wide. Your mind spins as the pieces start clicking into place and, as if to serve as the final kick in the ass sign, your lower stomach twists unpleasantly with a sharp cramp. Tears fill your eyes and you reach down to grab Nykki’s hand. “Um, surprise, I’m pregnant, but maybe see should go to the hospital or an urgent care?”

Half a dozen emotions cross Nykki’s face before it settles on shock, but all you can focus on now is the persistent cramping in your stomach. The cramping that’s been bothering you all day and you ignored, thinking nothing of it. God, you’re a terrible mother already.

“Okay, okay,” Nykki jumps to her feet, squeezing your fingers and dragging you out of the row and up the stairs to the main concourse. Her other hand is gripping her phone tightly and she’s jabbing at it with her thumb. “I’m calling an Uber. The hospital is like a ten minute drive.”

You nod, feeling numb as Nykki drags you along, your feet stumbling to keep up as you dart around the people waiting in lines for the bathroom and for food. How could your whole night - your whole life - have just taken a complete one-eighty in the matter of minutes. The cold Vancouver air hits your face like a slap, shocking some feeling back into your body. You wish it hadn’t.

The cramping is worse, the feeling between your legs - blood - like free bleeding during your period, but worse, so much worse.

Your stomach lurches and you rip your hand from Nykki’s grasp, bending at the waist and vomiting into a bush next to the entrance to the arena. “Oh, it’s going to be okay. Let it out,” Nykki’s voice is soothing and she rubs a hand in between your shoulder blades while your stomach seizes and you vomit again, spitting into the dirt.

Tears streak down your cheeks and your throat burns now. “I want Andrei,” you whisper, heart clenching with grief.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” Nykki guides you towards the rideshare pick-up area, where a four-door sedan is already waiting. “I’ll get a hold of him somehow, but let’s take care of you first, okay?”

You let her bundle you into the backseat of the car and swallow back your tears, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes hard enough to see starbursts. Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you try to calm down, you don’t know what’s happening for sure. Even though it feels very much like the end of something, you have to find a little piece of hope to keep yourself sane. The driver catches your eye in the rear view mirror as he pulls out of the arena parking lot, his mouth twisted down in a concerned frown even as his eyes are slightly judgmental. He’s driving you from a hockey game to a hospital - god knows what he’s thinking about you.

Nykki squeezes your knee and smiles gently at you, even as she’s typing on her phone with her other hand. “It’s still intermission, no one’s going to have their phone on them, but I’m trying to see if I can get through to one of the trainers or something. Just stay calm and we’ll figure it out,” she’s no-nonsense and you’re so grateful for her taking control of the situation.

Your lower back complains as the driver hits a pothole and another leak of fluid rushes between your legs. The drive is too long and too short all at once and before you know it, you’re being admitted to the Vancouver General Hospital emergency room and deposited on a bed, a curtain drawn around you. A nurse with warm, sympathetic eyes and a kind smile does your intake, her lips twisting to to side as you’re answering her questions.

“I just found out a few days ago,” you whisper, starting your fingers together. “I haven’t even told my husband.”

“Mrs. Svechnikov,” the nurse pats your arm comfortingly, “we really don’t know anything for sure until we get an ultrasound. Try not to put added stress on your body.”

You don’t even bother correcting her about your last name, the Russian name sounding strange in her Canadian accent. Nykki comes behind the curtain, clutching her phone. “There’s about ten minutes left in the third,” she says. “I can’t get ahold of anyone, but I’ll keep trying.”

“We’re going to get an OB down here and check everything out, okay?” The nurse says kindly, but brusquely, and then disappears back into the main emergency room. You roll your neck so your cheek is resting on your shoulder and a few tears leak out of your eyes.

“You didn’t leave any messages or anything for Andrei, right?” You ask. “I don’t want him to see and freak out.”

Nykki brushes your hair off your forehead and shakes her head. “No, I left a few messages for Martin to call me as soon as he could. I figure I’ll get to Andrei that way. Do you need anything?”

“Just Andrei,” you hiccup a sob, pressing a shaking hand to your mouth. Your other hand hovers over your stomach, afraid to touch it. The bleeding hasn’t stopped, so despite what the nurse said, you know it’s a miscarriage. Your stomach rolls and you press your lips together tightly so you don’t vomit.

“I’ll get him here as fast as I can,” Nykki reassures you. While you wait for the OB, she absently braids your hair back from your face, tying it off in an efficient, utilitarian French braid down your back. She talks as she works, trying to distract you, and you’re grateful for her efforts even if they don’t work. All you can think about is the little life that had been growing in you just a few hours ago. Your heart lurches painfully when you realize Andrei’s going to find out about the pregnancy and the loss all at once.

The OB is a middle-aged Black woman with a slight Canadian accent who introduces herself as Doctor Hayes and she doesn’t sugarcoat the news, which you appreciate. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Svechnikov,” she sighs, looking very much like she hates this part of her job. “But you are actively miscarrying right now. We’re going to admit you overnight for monitoring and will reevaluate in the morning.”

Your entire body goes cold at her words and you grip Nykki’s hand - you hadn’t let her leave your side, terrified to be alone. A cramp rips through your lower body and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. “What-“ your voice is hoarse and you clear your throat, trying again, “what, um, are the next steps?”

Doctor Hayes rests her hands on the guard railing on your bed. “Well, we’ll have you on a hydration IV throughout the night while we monitor the miscarriage. There may be a need for a D and C, to make sure it’s complete and there’s no tissue left behind.” Your face blanches as she talks. “But all of that will depend on what happens tonight.”

“Thank you,” you murmur and she pats your hand gently, sympathetically, as she leaves. You can hear her giving the nurse instructions and you slump back against the pillows, completely drained.

Nykki checks her Apple Watch and grimaces. “It’s Martin. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Be gentle with Andrei, okay?” You reply, desperately wanting him at your side, but also wanting to protect him from this heartbreak a little longer.

She’s back in a few minutes, after the nurse has started you on an IV. “Martin’s going to bring him over,” she says, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t tell him why you were here, just that you started to not feel well during the second,” she says. “It sounded like Andrei was halfway out the door before Martin could finish his sentence.”

You nod faintly. That sounds like Andrei. “I hope they don’t get slammed by Rod for leaving…” You twist your wedding rings around your finger, the diamonds catching the fluorescent lighting.

“They won’t,” Nykki says firmly. “He’d have to be a real bastard to punish Andrei for coming to the hospital for you. Besides, someone should’ve been available to get Andrei here earlier! It’s ridiculous.”

“Let him have an extra hour of normalcy,” you sigh, shifting on the bed, sore and uncomfortable.

You’re moved into a private room and given a hospital gown that bares your entire back and ass. A giant pad that’s probably as big as a damn puppy pee pad is wedged in between your legs to contain the bleeding and the IV is tugging unpleasantly at your skin. Nykki’s waiting downstairs to bring Andrei directly to you and you hope he’s here soon because now that you’re alone, the reality of the situation is sinking in and your chest is starting to feel tight. You turn your head and try to bury your face in the pillow, but you catch a whiff of the lingering Tom Ford Lost Cherry perfume you’d applied earlier mixed with antiseptic and sterile hospital smell and your brain briefly registers that it’s a shame, because you really love this perfume and now you’ll never be able to wear it again. Your heart thumps painfully in your chest, a reminder that you’re losing more and more of your baby with each passing second.

You hear him before you see him, the pounding of his footsteps echoing through the hallways. He’s running down the hall, that much is clear, and when you look over at the door, you catch the blur of Andrei skipping completely past your room before he doubles back and skids to a stop in the doorway.

He looks terrible - hair still damp with sweat, the red mark across his forehead from his helmet is still prominent, and he looks like he got dressed in the dark - or an extreme hurry - in a pair of basketball shorts and his button down with the buttons done up all wrong. But it’s the look of complete panic in his eyes that scares you the most. Andrei never looks that panicked.

“Solnyshka,” he breathes, his shoulders dropping from around his ears. In three long strides he’s at your side, holding your hand, and you finally feel like you can breathe.

“Hi,” you whisper before bursting into tears.

“Hi,” he replies softly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. His grip is almost painful, but you welcome it as you hiccup. “What’s going on, solnyshka?”

Insanely, the only words that come out of your mouth are, “your shirt is buttoned wrong.”

Andrei looks surprised, “what?” he asks absently as his gaze flickers down to his shirt. He shakes his head, “I rush. Solnyshka,” his voice is high and nervous, “what is going on? Neci didn’t know anything. Just that you’re here, in hospital.”

“I…Andrei, I’m so sorry,” the words rush out of your mouth on a flood of fresh tears. “I was pregnant and now I’m not. I lost the baby.”

You’re not even sure if Andrei can even understand you, you’re crying so hard. But one glance at his face and the completely shattered expression it wears, and you know he understood you. His fingers tighten around yours and he’s shaking his head, hair falling forward over his forehead.

“What? I don’t - a baby?” He rubs at his forehead with his other hand, eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “When did you - why didn’t -“

He can’t seem to get a full sentence out and it only makes you cry harder, your entire body hurting with the effort. You know what he’s asking though.

“Last week,” you manage. “The day after you left. I was going to tell you tonight, but…” You trail off, shrugging one shoulder.

Andrei’s head hangs, chin to chest, and he makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “I’m so sorry, milaya,” he says, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

The worst of your tears are drying up and you shake your head. “It’s not…I had Nyk. I hate that you had to find out like this. Baby and then no baby, all at once,” your voice cracks and you trace the little embroidered A.S. on his cuff, barely able to look at him.

Your husband sighs and drops his head so he can rest his forehead against yours. He smells like sweat and fear and Old Spice and your throat clogs with emotion again. “I thought…” he breathes. “I hear hospital and I think the worst. I thought the worst.”

This is the worst, you think. The worst possible thing. But you know what he means, that he thought something even more awful had happened to you, that he was worried he lost you because he didn’t know there was something else to lose.

Andrei’s lips brush against your cheek, soft and delicate, the rasp of his stubble a stark contrast. You sit like that, foreheads touching, for who knows how long. Andrei doesn’t cry, but his chest hitches and you think he might, maybe, when it all sinks in. You’re all cried out and now there’s just bone-deep exhaustion.

“i’m tired,” you murmur, the words getting lost between you.

Andrei nods against your forehead and pulls back, looking like it takes him a huge effort to sit back up. He cups your cheek and his thumb strokes a careful arc over your cheekbone. You lean into the familiar gesture, comforted. “Sleep, okay? I’ll…I have to call Rod. Get my stuff. I’ll take care of everything,” his voice is steady, but his eyes are clouded.

You nod, your eyelids already closing. Andrei gets up and brushes his lips over your forehead, murmuring that he loves you. Once he’s outside the room, you can hear him talking quietly to Nykki and Martin, but your grief and exhaustion pull you under before you can really concentrate on what he’s saying.

Sleep doesn’t last and you’re awake again after a few hours. You blink awake blearily, confused for a second before everything comes rushing back. Andrei’s scrunched up in a chair in the corner, his chin propped up on the palm of his hand, eyes shut. He changed in the time since he left, now dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt. His legs are kicked out in front of him, a pair of white sneakers on his feet. You don’t want to wake him, but when you shift, a sharp pain pierces your side and you gasp loudly before biting down hard on your tongue to muffle the noise. It doesn’t work and Andrei’s eyes fly open, his entire body jerking.

“Hey,” he’s at your side in a second, “what hurts? I call a nurse?” His accent is thick with sleep and worry.

You shake your head, the pain subsiding. “I’m fine.” And you are, the worst of the cramps are gone, leaving just a vague soreness and uncomfortable tightness in your chest and stomach. “You should’ve gone back to the hotel.”

“And leave you?” Andrei looks at you like you’re crazy. He shakes his head. “I got my bag and Nykki brought yours back. Do you want anything?”

“No,” you reach for his hand and lace your fingers together. “I just want to go home.”

He nods, looking exhausted. “Me too. I spoke to Rod, if you’re discharged later today then you come with us on the plane. If not, I stay and come home with you when you’re ready,” his lips quirk up at the corner when you start to protest. “Is decided, solnyshka. I’m not leaving your side.”

“But…” you trail off, all the arguments that you can think of fading when you realize that you don’t want to be separated from Andrei, not right now. “Okay,” you whisper.

“Good,” he chuckles under his breath. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“No arguments from me,” you reply dryly, rolling your head so your cheek is on the pillow and you can look directly at him. “Why don’t you try and sleep some more? I’m not going anywhere.”

His jaw tightens a bit. “Can’t sleep,” he replies, even though you had just seen him asleep. “If the doctor comes, I want to be awake.”

You nod again, sore and tired, and Andrei just sits with you quietly for a while before you think to ask, “how was the game?”

He snorts. “We won, but who cares?” It’s such an unexpected answer - Andrei’s never not cared about winning a game - and it startles you into silence.

A nurse comes in a few minutes later, saving you from having to find an answer. She introduces herself as Kayla and speaks in a soft, but firm tone. You’re starting to recognize the undercurrent of apology and sympathy in the nurses and doctors’ tones and you’re beginning to hate it. Andrei doesn’t let go of your hand while she checks your vitals and puts another bag of saline on the IV pole. “The OB will be in soon to do another ultrasound and see if you need a D and C,” Kayla says gently. “But everything else looks good. You won’t be staying another night and I would guess that you’ll be out of here by early afternoon at the latest, either way.”

You nod robotically, not really absorbing what she’s saying. By this afternoon, everything will be over and you’ll for sure, 100% not be pregnant anymore. It’s a gut punch, even though you knew this was coming. Andrei asks the nurse a few more questions before she leaves, but you don’t really listen, focusing on a small stain on a ceiling tile. It looks like nothing at all, just a blob of brown, but the more you stare at it, the more your vision unfocuses, the more it starts to look like one of those stereotypical ultrasound blobs.

You don’t even realize that you’re crying again until Andrei wipes the tears from your cheeks. “Try and sleep again,” he murmurs, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “I think you’ll need strength.”

“Can you get me some water?” You ask, running your hands over the braid Nykki had done. It’s so messy and it feels like she fixed it a million years ago, but it was only four or five hours. It feels like another lifetime, sitting in the arena and joking around with her. From halfway through second intermission to a hospital room at 2 a.m. Certainly not how you were picturing the end of your trip to Vancouver.

You think you must fall asleep again because the next thing you know, there’s sun coming through the window and Andrei’s at your side again, his large hand resting on the top of your head, cradling the crown. Unfamiliar doctors and nurses are in the room and they all speak to you and Andrei, but the only words you hear are “incomplete miscarriage” and “quick procedure” before you’re being shuffled off to an operating room. It all happens too fast for you to even be scared and the last thing you remember before the anesthesia is Andrei by your ear, whispering in Russian to you, the spicy scent of his deodorant filling your senses.

Andrei’s there again, when you wake up, eyes looking red and face drawn. You’re barely conscious, but the sigh of relief he exhales permeates the fog. His hand is warm in yours and you manage a weak smile at him. “Hey there handsome,” you croak and he laughs weakly. “Miss me?”

“You…” Andrei coughs, “I love you very much.”

“Love you,” your words slur a bit. “I wanna go home.”

“Soon, solnyshka,” Andrei promises, stroking your hair. “Soon.” He’s still stroking your hair when you fall asleep again.

When you wake up again, the overwhelming sense of emptiness is what you notice first. Then Andrei comes into focus again, his weight of his head resting on your leg, his hand on your hip. You’re not sure if he’s awake or not, but you gently run your fingers through his hair and he looks over at you, shifting.

“Hi,” he murmurs, dark circles under his eyes.

“Hi,” you rasp back, fingers still working through his hair.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore, tired,” you hesitate, “empty.”

“Yeah,” Andrei’s reply is barely an exhale. “Doctor said we can go, once they give you the all-clear.”

You nod, chewing at your lower lip. “Andrei,” you choke his name, the words coming out like broken glass, “we don’t have a baby anymore.”

“I know,” Andrei replies simply, sitting up all the way and leaning forward to gather you into his arms. You go to him easily, moving carefully and ignoring the pull of your protesting muscles, and bury your face against his chest. He’s in the same black t-shirt and he smells stale now, like he needs a shower desperately, but under that he just smells like Andrei, like home, and you cry into his chest, the fabric growing wet under your face. He just holds you, his arms a strong cage around your back, his hands running up and down your back. Everything in your body hurts, but nothing more than your heart.

Throughout the next few hours, when you’re given a clean bill of health, instructions to take it easy and abstain from sex or using a tampon for three weeks, and discharged, Andrei is a rock. He’s right at your side, helping you get dressed in the soft joggers you were using as pajama pants and an oversized hoodie. He laces up your sneakers for you and carries all the bags out to the waiting Uber. You were discharged in time to make the team flight home, but after hearing Andrei on the phone before the doctor came in for your exam, you kind of suspect that he may have pressed Rod to change the travel plans. You can’t even start to think about what he’s done for you, exhaustion seeping to your bones.

No one says anything to you when Andrei ushers you onto the plane, but Neci gives you a small smile and squeezes your hand when you walk past him. You return the smile, feeling awful that Nykki has to fly home on her own. She’s been texting, checking in on you, and you haven’t answered yet, too distracted to deal with even holding your phone. Andrei bundles you into a seat near the back of the plane and wraps his jacket around you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Anything for you, solnyshka,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Try and sleep, long flight. I have the pain pills, if you need, okay?”

You nod against his shoulder and wrap his jacket tighter around your body, tucking your hands up into the sleeves. Andrei rests his palm on your knee and before the plane even takes off, you’re asleep.

It’s a long flight back to Raleigh and you don’t sleep the entire way, but after a solid three hour nap, you wake up feeling better. Andrei’s asleep when you wake up, his head dropped back against the headrest, his mouth open slightly. He finally looks relaxed and peaceful and you’re grateful, so grateful, for him.

Your whole body still hurts, but your legs are starting the cramp up, so you carefully shimmy out of your seat to stretch in the aisle. Brady and Jarvy wave at you from a few rows up and you wave back, wondering what they know, if they know anything. No one really tries to talk to you, so you assume Andrei told them that you had some kind of medical emergency. Legs feeling better, you settle back into your seat, finally pulling out your phone and connecting to the in-flight wifi so you can text Nykki.

She reassures you that none of the other guys know what happened and that if you need anything when you’re back in Raleigh to let her know. You’re blessed to have such a good friend in her and you thank her, thinking that maybe in a few days you’ll see if she’ll bring Gigi over for some puppy cuddles.

Andrei wakes up about and hour before you land and he gulps back half of a water bottle before he even says anything. Then he tips his head close to yours and whispers, “how are you feeling? Any pain?”

“No,” you whisper back, “I’m okay. Just sore. It’s like being drained after a really bad period. I feel better after my nap.”

“Good,” he pushes the half-empty water bottle into your hands. “Drink.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease, the moment of lightness making you feel a little better. You sip at it slowly, starting to get a little nauseous. Andrei wraps his arm around your shoulder and you lean against him, drawing comfort from his solid warmth.

When you land, Andrei guides you off the plane, his palm reassuring against your lower back. It’s easy to let him take the lead and to not think about anything. He’s got both of your bags and you don’t even put up a fuss when he refuses to let you carry even your purse. You’re just too tired.

Andrei’s car is parked fairly close and you don’t have to walk very far. You lower yourself into the front seat of the Lamborghini, muttering, “I hate this car.” Your stomach gives a protest of pain from having to climb into the car.

“I know,” Andrei laughs a little, loosening up. His string of ugly sports cars is a long running topic of conversation. The last one was orange, the one before that a strange green. This one is electric purple and it’s hideous. His terrible taste in car colors is his only red flag. “Next one will be red.”

“Why couldn’t this one have been red?” You ask, breathing deeply to stave off the nausea. You sink back against the seat and Andrei pulls out of the parking spot. He’s driving must slower than usual and is taking extreme care with navigating the roads.

“This one was only 75 made,” he explains again. “It’s a collectors item.”

“It’s still ugly,” you tease, a smile playing at your lips.

He reaches over and takes your hand, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. “I love you so much, moya solnyshka, and I’m so…proud of your strength.”

Andrei doesn’t look at you when he says it, but his voice gets thick and he swallows roughly. He continues, “it hurts to know there would’ve been a baby in the summer.” So he did the math, you think. “But, this is maybe the wrong thing to say, but I’m glad I didn’t know before.”

It’s not really the right thing to say to you in the moment, but you can’t blame him. You sniff and nod. “I know. I almost wish I hadn’t known either. It was only a week, but I was so attached to…to the idea of our baby.”

“When you’re ready,” Andrei says slowly, turning to look at you while you’re stopped at a red light, “you tell me and I’ll give you a baby. When you’re ready.”

You nod, unable to even think about trying for a baby right now, but Andrei’s words and his earnest expression make your heart melt. You love him so, so much. “When I’m ready,” you repeat, squeezing his fingers.

When you get home, Andrei runs you a shower and joins you after a minute, soaping up your hair and scrubbing down your body gently. You don’t speak while he works and his touch is nothing but chaste. He’s careful around your stomach and between your legs, impossibly gentle with those huge hands of his. You stand under the spray while he gives his own body and hair a quick wash, the heat of the shower starting to make you a little lightheaded. Right before it gets to the point where you think you’re going to have to say something, Andrei flips the water off and reaches out of the stall for a huge, fluffy towel, wrapping you up in it and rubbing his hands up and down your arms to keep you warm. He grabs another towel and wraps it around his waist, gripping your elbow and guiding you back to the bedroom.

You rummage in his drawers for oversized clothes, not wanting anything constrictive on your body. Once you’re comfortable in an old pair of Andrei’s grey sweats and a threadbare Duke t-shirt, you crawl under the covers and curl up on your side. “Join me?” You ask, looking up at Andrei. He nods, silently climbing into bed behind you and gently scooting you closer to him. The warmth of his body is comforting against your back and he wraps his arms loosely under your breasts, avoiding your stomach. Andrei buried his face in your hair and you let a few silent tears leak out of your eyes.

What did you do to deserve this wonderful man?

With Andrei’s arms around you and your heart heavy in your chest, you fall asleep again, but it’s unsatisfying. After a few hours, you need food even though you’re still nauseous. Andrei makes himself a sandwich and warms up a can of chicken soup for you and you eat in bed, a rerun of The Nanny on TV. Andrei doesn’t really get the show - the humor is too specific - but he does like to point out all the outfits that Fran wear and he thinks you can pull off. It’s a nice distraction.

You take the next few days off of work, just to recover, but Andrei isn’t as lucky. You’re mostly fine physically except some lingering soreness, most of your problems are mental. After talking about it on the way home, neither you not Andrei has really brought up the miscarriage.

Two days after the miscarriage, the team is playing at home and Andrei’s right there in the middle of it all. You don’t watch the game, still too raw to watch hockey after what happened in Vancouver, so it’s a little shocking when he comes home with a blackened right eye and a cut across his nose and part of his cheek. “What happened?” You yelp upon seeing him, getting carefully to your feet and reaching up to lightly touch the side of his face.

Andrei grunts. “Distracted, got hit,” he winces when he moves his face.

You feel awful, knowing he was distracted because he was worrying about you. “Luckily it didn’t need stitches,” you say softly. “Can’t have anything ruining that pretty face,” you tease him lightly.

He gives you a tight smile and his gaze flickers down to your stomach, covered in an oversized sweatshirt. You catch his look and brush your thumb over the edge of his jaw. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me so much,” you say. “I’m tough. I’m strong.”

“I know,” Andrei sighs, dropping a kiss to your forehead. He hesitates, wanting to say more, and you wait. “At the game,” he says slowly, “Burnsie, Staalsy, they had their kids there. I couldn’t help…I was picturing…”

Oh.

Your heart cracks right over the scabs that had been forming the past two days and fresh pain floods your veins. “Drei…” you’re not even sure what to say to him. You knew he was sad, but you hadn’t really thought about how deep his feelings went.

He smiles sadly at you. “Today, it hit me,” he says, twisting his lips. “We lost a baby.”

“Yeah,” you reply, throat tight. “We did.”

Andrei pulls you close, twisting his hand in the end of your ponytail. “I wasn’t expecting it to hurt like this, when I didn’t even know for very long,” he murmurs and you can feel a few tears drip onto the top of your head. You wrap your arms around his waist tighter.

“I don’t think that matters,” you mumble. “It hurts no matter how long you knew about it.”

You can feel Andrei’s head turn, his cheek pressing against the top of your head. You just stand there in his arms, holding tightly to the only other person that’s feeling the same pain as you. The longer Andrei holds you, the more you feel your fragile heart mending itself, the steady beat of his heart a constant under your cheek.

After that, things slowly start getting back to normal. You’re physically healed and cleared to resume normal activities. Andrei’s not so distracted during games. You can go hours, days without thinking about the baby that’s gone.

Andrei mentions it, off-hand, about a month after you get home from Vancouver, after he’s back from another quick road trip. “We could’ve been telling our families about the baby at Christmas,” he’s clearly been thinking about it.

You nod, a little startled by his comment. “Probably, yeah. Or we would’ve told them already, too excited to keep a secret,” you smile a little to yourself, thinking about how Andrei almost spoiled his proposal twice before he actually popped the question because he was so excited.

He grins at you, dimple popping, and pushes a slim box across the table at you. “Early Christmas present,” he says, answering your unasked question.

Looking at him suspiciously, you pop the lid on the jewelry box, finding a thin gold chain bracelet with two delicate charms on it - the common blue and white Greek mati to ward off the evil eye and a little horizontal cross attached at each end to the chain. You trace your fingers over the chain and look up at Andrei.

“A little luck?” He says, lifting one shoulder. “I saw it in a store window, in Long Island, before we played. Made me think of you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, getting out of your seat to kiss him softly. You trace your tongue over his lower lip and desire stirs in your stomach, something foreign after the last few weeks, but oh so familiar. You’re not quite ready to have sex yet, but it’s a good reminder that you will one day soon. “It’s perfect.” You hold out your wrist and Andrei clasps the bracelet on.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says, reminding you of the promise he made in the car.

“Whenever I’m ready,” you repeat, crawling onto his lap and letting him hold you. The thought of getting pregnant again doesn’t make your chest feel quite as tight anymore, doesn’t get the panic alarms ringing in your head. Andrei’s been so patient and gentle, making everything just a little bit easier to bear.

Every day just reminds you that as long as Andrei’s by your side, you can handle anything life throws at you.

He kisses the side of your head and holds you close, chasing the shadows of grief away.

#andrei svechnikov imagine #andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov x you

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sunflower-lilac42 · 3 months

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chloe at all-stars before the fic

- her number is 11 (hehe)

- she is obviously her brothers celebrity captain

- when they’re all coming out she’s got a pep in her step as dave announces her team, “and so not only is this the first time having two brothers be co-captains but also their celebrity coach is their sister, award winning singer and songwriter, chloe hughes!”

- a lot of her fans are there and cheering her on as well, “hi everyone!”

- jack and quinn are talking and she leans over to them, “you do realize everyone can hear you right now?”

- this is going on while tate is making their pick and all you can hear is her laughing at her best friend

- before they pick nikita, chloe has some words to say, “for the record i think our team should’ve been team petey featuring the hughes’ but that’s just me.”

- quinn slapped her arm, “what? petey’s left out”

- she obviously makes the first pick, “anyways with our first pick of the evening, we are going with, from the tampa bay lightning, nikita kucherov!”

- I think she was more excited about getting all of quinn’s teammates then either jack and quinn

- during their second/third pick, chloe grins at her older brother, “are you playing d or center, quinny?”

- “we proudly select, no offense to any of the goalies here, but my favorite goaltender of all time, thatcher demko!”

- all the canucks players and jesper give her a hug when they go up

- “team pettersson feat. the hughes siblings needs 10 more minutes, please.”

- “chloe what seems to be the issue over here? are you guys arguing?”

- “yeah it’s like I’m at home. no um, there’s too many good hockey players and all three of these guys up here know I know my hockey stuff so they’re letting me have a say.”

- she loves all of her brothers teammates so she’s so glad she was able to get them drafted to her team

- jesper is one of her favorites from the devils so she’s all giddy when she gets to see him

- she lets petey get brock and then is sad when they have to send him back, “brock this wasn’t my idea okay, I would’ve picked you a lot earlier if I could”

- she gives him heart hands as he skates away

- when they can pick again she pushes the three out of the way, “from the vancouver canucks, i am very proud to select brock boeser!”

- when brock comes back he takes chloe’s mic and looks at quinn, “at least chloe stood up for me”

- the arena is finding the hughes banter funny and the girlies at home are eating her and the players interactions up

- when tate picks elias, chloe looks over at her, “you ruined my plan!”

- “hey he was on my team first!”

- “chloe how are you feeling about your guys’ team”

- “oh we’re in heaven right now. i’ve got my brothers, i’ve got my canucks, and not to mention all of the other great guys on this team. oh yeah, we know who we’re picking! who wants to- petey you do it.”

- jack’s interview is so sweet, “um drafting a team with my brother and my sister is pretty unreal, I mean I was really surprised when not only she said she was going to be here but um then we found out she was gonna be on our team, it was pretty cool. and it was nice to draft with her especially since she’s got that hockey knowledge so yeah. i love her and yeah it was just pretty cool to be there with the two of them”

- he slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side

- quinns interview was the same, obviously having to mention her as well, “like jack said, it’s pretty cool being up here with, chlo and um it’s not every day that we get to see each other.”

- after that she snuck off to stand with tate as they did their joint interview

- “I noticed you guys are pretty close, we heard you two talking and saw you guys waving to each other”

- tate: “yeah we met- oh I don’t even remember when we met it was so long ago. I think she had come out to record something with me and yeah. she’s one of my best friends and I’m glad I wasn’t the only girl up here tonight”

- chloe: “like tate said, she’s one of my best friends and sorry I’m gonna take a moment to brag about her” she looked over at the other four, specifically frank cuz she knew him, “sorry guys! she’s amazing, her songs and everything. I don’t think I regret going out to see her”

- when frank pulls out the card with her face she almost screams, but controls it a little, “frankie!!”

- they know each other because of trevor so obviously they hug when he makes his way over there

- at the end they talk to her again, “so how do you feel being up here and drafting a team with your brothers?”

- chloe gets so emotional, “it’s really really cool. I love them so much and since they started in the nhl and I started my music I don’t get to see them much so being here is amazing for me. a lot of people don’t know that I’m their sister and know a lot about hockey so it’s nice when we get to show them that. they’re amazing hockey players, lukey too. oh I wish lukey was here, we miss you luke! anyways it’s so great to see how far they’ve come in the past years, I’m really proud of them”

- “how are you feeling about this team?”

- “oh I love my team, are you kidding? with frank here now, I almost feel like I just started a group chat and texted all of them asking if they wanted to come play hockey with me.”

- “what do you love about this team?”

- “I love that it looks scarily similar to my fantasy hockey team… just kidding my fantasy hockey team has pasta, and connor, and bedsy, and oh sorry am I bragging? just kidding I just love the fact that it looks like a winning team. like look at these guys”

- she joins the two for a couple of interviews and then the three of them go out for dinner

- when they are playing, she’s in the bench cheering them on ofc, taking pictures with all of the guys

- she takes a picture of her and frank and sends it to trevor

- she performs at intermission with tate

- they perform exes, greedy, and all-american bitch (no swearing of course)

- trevor watches the game just to see her perform :)

#sunnyluneicebound #trevor x chloe #chloe hughes #tz11 #trevor zegras #quinn hughes #jack hughes #hockey #nhl #vancouver canucks

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theemporium · 2 months

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I loveeee ur quinn fic with all my heart, its so so good. I think ur blog has solely turned me into a fan of his.

Idk why I've been thinking this but (make fun of me as much as you please) I can't get Quinn dating an actress out of my head. Like he's seen almost everything she's been in and has been crushing on her for such a long time.

Then he attends a Devils game to watch his brothers play and SHES THERE WATCHING and when she slips away to get a drink he builds up the confidence to talk to her and ask her out and they go out and she really likes him and so they date secretly for a few months they get to know each other, they talk and talk while she's away filming or he gets home from practice, she's so smitten by him and they fall in love, she meets his family and all that but idk I'm very shit at explaining but I needed to get it off my chest.

omg, babe, first of all, i would never make fun of you!! this is very cute, don't feel embarrassed by it at all!

BUT THIS COULD BE SO CUTE

imagining maybe they meet when devils make playoffs so quinn is there to watch his brothers' game. and he is trying to act all cool and normal and then the boy becomes a bit of an awkward, flustered mess but she finds it endearing

maybe she even thinks he's cute and plays the whole 'oh i'm a bit lost, can you explain it to me?' card, even though she knows how the game works. maybe she's a passive fan. but it helps him calm down a little and he knows what she is doing which just makes him fall even more in love with her

and the irony that jack and luke spend all summer joking about how quinn probably made a fool of himself in front of her or how he fumbled his only chance with his celebrity crush, but little do they know he has been texting her all summer😭

and them keeping their relationship a secret until she shows up at a canucks game with a hughes jersey on and just hard launches their relationship?? iconic

but also imagining the fact it would be so easy for them to have wee dates in between their hectic schedules because maybe her show/movie is filming in vancouver🥹so their off days are usually just spent soaking up each other's presence in one of their apartments🥲

#cece answers #quinn.thots

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thomasschabot · 1 year

Text

here comes your man

elias pettersson x director!fem!reader

great loves come around only once in a lifetime, and if you’re lucky enough they come back

word count: 3.6k

warnings: cursing, light allusion to sexual activity, alcohol consumption

a/n: this is my piece for @selfindulgentpoorlywritten in @antoineroussel’s winter fic exchange!! i hope you like it andi, i had a blast creating this angsty little world that eventually gets wrapped up with a hopeful little bow 🤍 as always, a million hugs and kisses go out to demi for organizing another majorly successful event!!!! props to @matthewtkachuk i guess for proofreading 0.5 seconds before i posted (love u b xx)

⭑⭒⭑

He’s impossible to forget, no matter how much you want to.

Elias Pettersson was the love of your life from the moment you laid eyes on him. It was a normal day, filled with redoing shots and redoing their blocking over and over because athletes are notoriously horrible listeners, until he came in and rocked your world as soon as he stepped in front of the camera to introduce herself. All kind eyes and confident smirks, Elias shook your hand and invited you to get drinks after finishing up so the pair of you could get to know each other better, seeing as you’ll also be following up north in a few weeks to shoot another promotional piece. The night had ended well into the morning, and you were inseparable from that moment on. Everyone around you was pleasantly surprised, knowing how much it took for you to let people in, but something about Elias just made you feel safe.

Things progressed quickly, but naturally, and eventually you moved in with him because his salary allowed for a much more prolific and comfortable lifestyle. You fit together naturally, like two sides of the same coin, and you loved him with every fibre of your being. Elias reciprocated, protecting you fiercely from overbearing Canucks fans and doing everything he could to show just how much he cared. Moments where hockey didn’t take precedence were rare, but he made them so special every single one was impossible to forget. Brock and Nils did their best to keep teasing from the team and other family members to a minimum but neither of you minded much — you were so in sync and had each other to get through whatever was going to get thrown at you.

Everything changed after the Canucks failed to make the playoffs for three consecutive years, though you understood why to a point. While the situation had been hard on you, watching him dissolve into a frustrated mess, it was excruciating on Elias — after all, he was the face of a rapidly sinking franchise. You did all you could to support him through the ups and down, taking time off work when he needed extra care and making sure he didn’t do anything that could cause too much stress and decrease the value of his sparse point production. Elias wasn’t shy about letting you know much he wanted to be back on top, picking fights when you would return from all-day shoots and giving you the cold shoulder for days when he returned from lost road trips. Despite his pain and hostility, you thought the pair of you were working through the issues, and you had been waiting for the perfect time to do the conventional and pop the question to your love.

The plan disintegrated after Elias left, crumbled like dust in the wind. You had been away on a promotional shoot with the rest of the team to hopefully quell discontented fans, with only him and a handful of Canucks staying in Vancouver to focus on recovering fully from their injuries before scattering to every corner of the world. No one had alerted you to his strange behavior, his recession into himself — whether it had been intentional or not you’re still not sure. When you entered the condo upon your return to the city there was nothing but silence and darkness instead of Elias’s laughter and excitement bouncing off the walls. He didn’t leave a note — just packed a bag and left. You tried to call him, but the number was out of service, and no one in his family responded to your panicked messages in haphazard Swedish. Elias’s close friends in Vancouver provided no details, and you were forced to live in a paid-off unit that used to belong to the one solid person in your life but now belongs to you. You assume he came back to the city at the start of the season, but you begged for a transfer to another department and no longer work on the sports media side of the firm, so you’ve got no way to be sure since you vowed to never engage in hockey again.

Time certainly hasn’t made it easier, despite your friends endearing statistics to prove the common saying, and you spend hours every day reliving what you once had. He’s everywhere — travel mug in your office from when he used to slip away from training to eat lunch with you and the commercials you did with him over the years replaying on television so you can never escape him and the love you’ve lost. He’s still in the apartment you once shared, trinkets and books and clothes left for you to pack up and donate. Elias Pettersson made it difficult for you to move on, no matter how desperately you want to.

⭒⭑⭒

“I call dibs on the left side!” Elias shouts, pushing past you and running full speed into the hotel room. It’s All-Star Weekend, and you’ve joined your boyfriend in sunny Southern California, ready to soak up some rays when not inside the chilly arena. You needed a break from work after months of near constant shoots, and Elias was all too willing to enjoy more time by your side, even if he technically had a job to do.

You frown, upset with him for picking the side you always sleep on. “But I always sleep on the left,” you whine, before realizing you sound like a child. Instead, you square your shoulders and enter the room while doing the best you can do pretend like it doesn’t bother you.

Elias laughs when he sees you, bright and bubbly in stark contrast to your broodiness. “Oh baby,” he coos, closing the distance between your bodies and wrapping his toned arms around your waist, “I just want to be able to protect you, stay between you and the door. These young guys are like dogs and I don’t trust them.”

His concern is endearing, and you’ve never been great at staying angry with Elias. Any and all negative emotions vanish the moment he kisses you. It’s tender, loving, but with a gentle buzz of electricity humming underneath to let you know her his intentions. You’d risk your life a thousand times over if it meant you got to kiss Elias whenever you wanted.

“Okay,” you sigh breathily when he finally pulls away, breathless and moving to deadbolt the door, as if preparing for a night with no distractions whatsoever.

“Okay?”

You look at him confused, as if he couldn’t have possibly forgotten what made you upset in the first place. “You can sleep on the left side of the bed, but only if I get to be the big spoon while we watch our show.”

Elias smiles. “That’s my girl.”

⭑⭒⭑

You’d do anything to have him call dibs on part of the room right now.

Instead, you open your hotel room door to find two double beds placed a perfect distance apart. You’re bunking with Emily, your new assistant, and while she’s friendly enough and the two of you get along well, she’s not the one you want to be sharing a hotel room with in Wisconsin in the middle of January. She isn’t the one you want to brush your teeth with and make small talk about the upcoming shoot with.

There’s no real reason for you to slam your duffel on the floor beside the bed left to you, but you do. Elias isn’t here, isn’t coming back, and you need to get the fuck over yourself. Knowing doesn’t make it any easier, and when you face plant into the stiff mattress and let out a gravelly scream Emily gets incredibly concerned. She’s noticed you’ve been off since arriving at the hotel — it wouldn’t take anyone remotely close to you to realize something’s got you down in a major way.

“What’s the matter?” she asks tentatively, worried her words might set you off further. “The idiots we’re going to film over the next couple of days stressing you out?”

Emily doesn’t see you roll your eyes because they’re tucked so close to the blanket it’s suffocating, but you can’t help it. Of course she’d think your issue was the job you both came here to do — she didn’t know Elias besides him being a superstar athlete or the fact you once loved him so much it made it difficult to breathe when he was around. You remind yourself it isn’t her fault and manage to muster up a response.

“It’s nothing, I swear. Sorry for making you think there was an issue, especially about the shoot. I’m excited to do it.”

There’s no way she bought the lousy excuse, but Emily is also smart enough to leave well enough alone. If she hears you sobbing in the shower she doesn’t mention it. When you eventually step out of the bathroom and walk towards the left bed Emily gave you without a fight, you can’t help but notice she doesn’t watch television to unwind. Instead, she’s set up a puzzle on the small coffee table in the room and is working in complete silence. It was something you did with Elias as a sort of grounding exercise, to distract you both from the horrors of the real world, and you’re confused why it isn’t common practice.. The silence in the room suddenly makes your ears ring and you cover them in an attempt to block out the pain and loneliness the sound represents because Elias isn’t ever going to pressure you into watching some fishing show ever again.

She isn’t clueless and refuses to believe there isn’t something seriously wrong with you when you refuse to even look in her direction. “Okay, what the hell is going on? If you don’t want to room with me just say so. They’re other crew members I can stay with, and they’ll probably be much nicer than you.”

“No,” you sigh, so exhausted by the weight of your emotions, “I don’t have an issue with bunking with you. This is just the first time I’ve had to stay in a hotel since breaking up with my boyfriend, and we spent a lot of time together in rooms pretty much identical to this one over the years. I guess I’m struggling more than I thought.”

Emily nods like she understands, and while you don’t think she really gets the gravity of your confession, it’s nice to know someone is there for you. When she asks about him and what he was like you laugh — how do you encompass Elias Pettersson into a single sentence? The task seems impossible but Emily is patient, letting you talk as much as you want. Once the words run out and you’ve cried enough tears to fill a swimming pool the two of you turn out the lights and try to sleep. There’s still an Elias sized hole in your soul, but having someone not skirt around her in conversation because they’re afraid to see your face fall is refreshing.

⭒⭑⭒

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

You close your mouth, open it, and close it again, but no sound comes out. Elias is standing on the doorstep in a sharp all-black suit, red pocket square contrasting the darkness and knocking the breath out of your lungs. He had insisted on getting ready for your firm’s yearly charity gala separately, to ‘keep the mystery alive’, and you’re glad he left early this afternoon to get ready at Brock’s. If he hadn’t, neither of you would have made it to the event

“Shut up,” you grumble, pulling him inside and kissing him with the fire of a thousand suns. “You look like a classical sculpture.”

Elias giggles, runs a hand through his hair to tousle it to perfection, and reconnects your lips. “Me? This old thing? You’re the real smokeshow here, baby.”

The deep green long-sleeve dress you found in the back of your closest pales in comparison to what he’s wearing, but the way Elias is eyeing you makes it seem as though you’re wearing a tiara gifted personally by the Queen. A warmth creeps up the back of your neck and wraps around to your cheeks, fueling the fire for Elias to continue to marvel at you.

“Come on, you,” you sigh, looping an arm around Elias’s waist and leading him out the door. “We were supposed to pick up my boss nearly fifteen minutes ago.”

He doesn’t speak, knows you’re right, and follows you willingly. Elas does the driving, always has, and when he opens up your door he steals another quick kiss. Your laughter bounces off the roof of the car the entire way to the next destination.

⭑⭒⭑

The knock doesn’t belong to Elias. There’s no plan for him to accompany you to the gala this year. Hell, you don’t even know if he’s in the country. The Canucks schedule no longer takes up space in your mind given the split, and you don’t really even know if it’s technically hockey season anymore. You know all that, and yet you can’t stop yourself from hoping Elias will be on the other side of the door when you open it. He isn’t — it’s your friend James, looking incredibly dapper in a tuxedo that must be from his high school prom but somehow still fits. A corsage rests gingerly in his hand, and you could cry at the sight of it. The small bouquet is made of lilies and baby’s breath, known by everyone as Elias’s favourite flowers because they remind him of home.

“I thought you might want a piece of him with you tonight, even though it hurts a lot,” he says tenderly, and slips it onto your wrist. Tears well in your eyes, but they’re mostly the happy kind. Of course you wanted Elias with you, in any capacity you could get though your romance has long since gone cold, and the fact James didn’t hesitate to make it happen makes you cherish him more. Before his hand can leave yours you raise them both towards your face, placing a chaste kiss to the back of his in thanks.

He’s patient as you lock up and opens the car door for you like a true gentleman. Though you adore James Taylor and would probably follow him to war if he asked, he isn’t the person you want beside you. Your heart and soul yearns for Elias in a way no one else will ever understand. It’s sort of ridiculous that you’re still hoping because there’s been no contact for nearly ten months, but you’re a hopeless romantic at heart and want him to come back so badly. James doesn’t pretend to share your pain, which you’re incredibly thankful for, and is the only person in your life who isn’t pressuring you to get past the monumental loss that was Elias leaving.

“I miss him so much,” you sigh when the car stops at a red light.

There’s a beat of silence before he responds, as if he’s letting you feel just how much you miss your long-lost love at this very moment. “I know, kiddo. I know.” When you turn to face him, James offers a smile and turns the radio up a little louder. It takes a moment for the sound to reach your ears, but when it does you begin to cry again.

Through the crackling speakers of the old truck is the song you and Elias shared your first kiss to. It had happened on the make-shift dance floor of the wrap party for the third shoot the pair of you collaborated on , in front of everyone, but it had been absolutely perfect. You still remember the cheering from Quinn and a couple other teammates he brought along, and your friends’ fond smiles because they were relieved you finally let your guard down enough to love somebody. Time eclipses you, and you’re thrown back to that night for the rest of the song. You’re a little shaken up when the car jerks into park at the event space, and James gives you a moment to compose yourself before he leads you inside and stays close the rest of the night, always there to cheer you up when the loneliness begins to hover a little too close.

⭒⭑⭒

The years pass, torturously slow at first but then at a rapid-fire pace, and the pain of losing Elias turns into a dull ache that only flares occasionally. A passion project that started in your living room turned you away from sports related content and into the world of the silver screen, relocating you to Los Angeles and into one of the most in-demand directors for action movies that manage to still pack a gut-wrenching punch. Rarely do you have a spare moment to think these days, and almost never do you let the thoughts drift to your ex-boyfriend.

It’s been nearly five years since he walked out, smashed your life to smithereens without a second thought, and while you’ve healed from the trauma of it all there’s still the occasional moment where something reminds you of Elias and it makes it hard to breathe. Tonight, it’s the sight of a hockey game on the television of the dive bar you frequently haunt when you’re home for more than forty-eight hours. Shallow puff of air float through your mouth as you look for him on the screen, realizing that it’s a stupid idea because Vancouver isn’t even playing. You then remember how much fun you had watching Elias’s games, and you curse him for taking something joyous away from you. Another round of drinks is ordered, the bartender eyeing you wearily but complying, and you wallow in silence for longer than you’ll ever admit to anyone.

Hours pass and midnight is rapidly approaching. While you don’t have an early morning, not having to be at a table read until the late afternoon, you know you can’t hold your liquor the way you could when you were younger and staying out much later is going to cause more hassle than it’s worth.

“Could I trouble you for one more and the bill?”

It’s getting increasingly loud in the dive, and you have to yell to be heard. However, it still isn’t working, and the bar staff can’t seem to understand what it is you want. Damn them for making you spend more time here. You clear your throat, about to try again, when a voice you never thought you’d hear again speaks from behind.

“Combine her tab with mine and close it out, if that isn’t too much to ask?”

The hairs along the nape of your neck bristle. “I can pay for my own drinks, thank you very much.” You refuse to turn around, knowing that if you do your resolve will crumble. Anger is the primary emotion when you think about Elias, but you also miss him so goddamn much. Never getting any closure makes things tricky.

A chuckle fans out behind you. “Never said you couldn’t. I do, however, think it’s the very least I could do for you.”

It’s true, and you let him know it. Still facing away from him, you don’t utter another word, even after the final drinks are brought around and everything is squared away. Elias doesn’t push you, knows your stony resolve still after all the time away. The silence is deafening as you wait for him to finish his beer before downing your cocktail. Not a word is uttered between the two of you, but the air is slowly losing its tension.

Eventually you turn towards him, haphazard and full of spite, though it’s lowering considerably. You hate the way he destroyed your life when he left, and you hate the way looking at him in the dim makes your heart soften considerably.

“I hate you.”

“You should.”

“Are you going to apologize?” you ask, unsure why it wasn’t the first thing out of his mouth.

Elias cocks a brow. “Will it make anything better?”

“I suppose not.”

Silence. It isn’t uncomfortable, but it isn’t like it used to be either, and you aren’t exactly sure what to do next. Elias decides for you. “I’d like to maybe work towards being friends again,” he speaks cautiously, as if he’s terrified of your reaction. “I don’t know many people in the city, or in southern California for that matter, and seeing the occasional friendly face would help out a lot.”

He explains that he was traded to Los Angeles in the off-season, and that though he knew you were around sometimes he didn’t want to reach out after all the pain you experienced because of him. You like that he doesn’t try to apologize or make excuses, just acknowledges he did a horrible thing and is content to sit with the consequences for the rest of his life.

You consider his proposal, thoroughly mull it over in your head, but you can’t find any logical reason to turn Elias down. Your parents taught you to give everyone a second chance, and it seems like you’ll be in complete control of whatever happens.

“We can do that. Just slowly.”

A nod of understanding comes from him, and with that he stands from the bar stool he’s occupied for the last little while. “I’ll see you around then. I kept my old number for convenience, so just give me a call when you’re ready.”

You nod, mimicking Elias’s previous action, and offer a short wave as he retreats into the busying street. Los Angeles is a city that comes alive in the night, and you can’t help but wonder if the universe sent Elias to you for a second chance because it knew just how much you still loved him. Maybe you find yourself hoping this proposed friendship drifts back to the way things were, but you’ll never tell a soul.

⭑⭒⭑

enjoy this fic? give it a reblog :) <3

#elias pettersson imagine #elias pettersson x reader #elias pettersson fic #vancouver canucks imagine #vancouver canucks fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #by the skin of my teeth this isn't late!!!! taking it as a win

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cellythefloshie · 10 months

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;; Alone With You Dedicated to @miracleonice87 for @wyattjohnston summer fic exchange 2k23

Summary: Anthony Beauvillier was traded to the Vancouver Canucks, and it not only shocks the fans, but those closest to him. Forced to leave his closest friend and roommate, Mat Barzal, behind, Anthony and Mat are left to navigate the next stages of their career alone. Estelle Beauvillier, has come to New York for school, but has found herself in an awkward position when Mat seeks her friendship during his time of loss. On the West Coast, Anthony struggles to find his place on the Canucks roster, but Mat's sister Danielle is determined to make Vancouver feel like home. Kinks & TW: Will be added at the beginning of the applicable chapters. ABOUT THE OCs: Estelle Beauvillier. FC: Daisy Edgar Jones. Baby sister to Anthony Beauvillier moved to New York to attend university. She was only able to convince her parents to let her do so because Anthony was playing for the Islanders. Daniellie "Dani" Barzal. FC: Madelyn Cline. Sister to Mat Barzal, he contacts her after the news of Anthony's trade drops with a favour: help his friend settle into the new city. She welcomes him in with open arms. Total Word Count: 23K+ A/N: Now, Miracle, I'm not sure how familiar you are with me, my work, or my blog, but the people who do know me for 1 thing: I often get carried away. And it happened again. I swear this was just meant to be a story who focused on Mat OR Tito, BUT I really couldn't decide. SO here we are, you get to enjoy the best of both worlds. I did my best to touch on everything you asked for from a little bit of angst to smut (it really wouldn't be a fic from me without smut) with some creative liberties and I really do hope you enjoy!

Listen to their playlist while you read.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ - ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴅᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ - ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ - ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜱᴏ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ - 18+ ᴄʜᴀᴛᴘᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀ - ꜰɪɴᴇ ʟɪɴᴇ - 18+ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪᴠᴇ - ɪ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ

#anthony beauvillier #mat barzal #nhl fanfiction #nhl rpf #nhl imagine #hockey rpf #hockey smut #hockey imagines #miracleonice87 #summer fic exchange 2k23 #table of contents #aesthetic

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comphy-and-cozy · 2 years

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You Got What I Need - Brock Boeser

Pairing: Brock Boeser x Reader (f)

Summary: When Brock says something horrible in the midst of an argument, you take off and leave him alone to face the consequences of his actions. Will he be able to win you back, or are you gone forever? Chronicling the aftermath of a fight, featuring big brother Anders Lee.

Word Count: 5.5K

Author’s Note: I had so much fun writing my first fic for @antoineroussel’s fic exchange, I had to do it again as a pinch hitter 😜 This was written for @dazeddobson - this may be a little bit (read: a lot) self-indulgent and contrived but hey, it’s our world and these boys are just living in it, right? I tried to cater to multiple of your likes/asks! Hope you enjoy, beautiful!

Warnings: Angst, language, alcohol use, references to sex/adult themes, brief hockey violence, a little bit of toxic masculinity. Also included: some protective Islanders to make you feel nice and soft.

When Elias answered his door, seeing you with red eyes and a duffel bag was the last thing he was expecting. No, scratch that; having you collapse into his arms, choking out a sob, was the last thing he was expecting.

As soon as the initial shock wore off, he was holding you, hushing you quietly as you let your tears out, spluttering out nonsensical words as you tried to explain what happened not even an hour prior.

You and Brock had spent the afternoon at the dog park, bundling up in the cold January air in Vancouver, carting Coolie and Milo for a day to frolic in the snow. When you got home, rosy-cheeked but feeling warmth in your heart, you got a group FaceTime from your sister, Alexis, with your brother, Anders, to inform you of some big news: She was pregnant with a baby girl.

Of course, you and Brock were over the moon for your sister and her husband, knowing that they were both looking to start their family, and you were already excited about the idea of being a cool aunt. Anders promised to outfit her in Islanders gear, to which Brock jokingly said he’d be battling to make her a Canucks fan instead.

After some happy tears and many congratulations, you finally hung up the call. Brock smiled, beaming at you. “I’m really excited for them. I’m gonna be an uncle!”

“That you are, baby,” you smiled.

He grinned, hand moving to poke you in the stomach. “I can’t wait til we start a family and have little Boeser babies of our own.”

You laughed, lighthearted as you said, “We’ve got plenty of time before that, Brock.”

His face fell. “What do you mean ‘plenty of time’?”

The smile on your face faded too, and you realized the serious turn this conversation was about to take, unable to brace yourself. “I just… I’m not ready for kids yet, Brock.”

“Well, yeah, we’re gonna move to Minnesota first, buy a house, settle down. And then we get married, and then the babies come,” he said matter-of-factly.

You hesitated, and Brock noticed. You saw the hurt in his eyes as he watched you search for the right words.

“Yeah, B, eventually,” you said, emphasizing the ‘eventually’. “But not right now.”

“But — I thought we talked about this. We’re ready.”

“No, Brock, you are ready.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. The frustration in his voice was evident, rising steadily along with yours.

“It’s not that I don’t love you or don’t want to commit to you, I’m just not there quite yet,” you explained.

“Well, it sure sounds like you don’t want to commit to me,” Brock snapped, your words hurting his heart. “How am I supposed to plan a future with someone who won’t even move with me? It’s not like it’s a big deal. You are literally from Minnesota, too.”

“Because it’s not that simple, Brock! That’s a huge ask — for me to pack up and leave my friends and my job and my entire life here, regardless of who’s waiting for me in Minnesota. Why don’t you understand that?” you tried to explain, pleading with him to step into your shoes.

“I would do it for you,” he said coldly.

You scoffed. “We’ve hardly spent any time in New York since we started dating.”

“We could!”

“No, Brock, we go where your career leads us, when it leads us. Which is fine with me, because you’re doing what you love, and I know what I signed up for by being with you – obviously, I know what it’s like to have a professional athlete in the family. All I’m saying is it’d be nice if we could do some things for me when it’s not all hockey, hockey, hockey,” you said.

“Are you fucking serious?” Brock’s eyes were blazing now. “Do you see this? All of this? I do all of it for you, Y/N!”

“Sure, that’s why we spend so much time in New York,” you retorted, your tone scathing.

Brock scoffed, running a hand through his hair. His cheeks were tinged pink, heated from the argument, as he laughed darkly to himself. “How could I be so stupid thinking you’re the one?”

At his words, you swore you could feel your blood boil. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Brock?”

Brock’s eyes were dark, but not in the way you were used to, in the way that meant he’d have you moaning his name shortly; instead, they were hurt, angry, and betrayed. He looked at you, and you barely noticed the moment of hesitation in his eyes before he spat, “I’m just not sure if you’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with anymore.”

He closed his mouth immediately, regretting the words as soon as they tumbled out. Your eyebrows raised, in shock at his words, feeling the deep slash in your heart as they settled in. Staring at him for a moment, you gave him the opportunity to follow up, to say something else to soften the blow, but he didn’t take it, instead glaring back at you angrily, an angry flush in his cheeks.

Turning on your heel, you left him standing in his own silence, moving to the bedroom to pack a bag. Instead of stopping you like you expected, he just watched you walk out the front door, not glancing back once.

The next morning Brock groaned as he stretched himself awake, rolling over to press a kiss to your temple, but was met with the snoozing bodies of Milo and Coolie instead. Blinking, Brock lifted his head to see the rest of the bed was empty, cold from the absence of your body.

It was in that moment that the memory of the day before came flooding back, and he closed his eyes, the regret sinking deeply into his soul as he remembered the things he said. He had taken the evening to cool off, thinking that you two just needed some time apart before you’d come back and talk things through.

His heart hurt at the notion that you still hadn’t come home, and he had to admit he said some nasty things, but what worried him the most was the validity of them. Was there truth behind the statement he made? Did he not want to spend his life with you? You had been right; you two were at such different parts of your life, so it only made sense you were looking for different things. Was it really unfair to ask you to change that?

Brock checked his phone, hoping to see a message or missed call from you, but was met with nothing, other than a text from Elias letting him know you were with him and safe. Sighing, he glanced at the clock, realizing he needed to head to the rink soon for practice; he’d deal with what he was going to say to you later.

After a grueling practice, Brock caught up with Elias to hear what had happened after you left. Understandably, Elias was pissed.

“Dude, I can’t believe you fucking said that to her,” the Swede shook his head angrily as he packed up his bag.

“I know, man, I just…” Brock trailed off, absentmindedly fiddling with the label on his Gatorade bottle.

“Did you mean it?”

“Did I mean what?”

“What you said. That you don’t want a future with her,” Elias said, watching him intently.

Brock sighed. “I don’t know, man. I mean, I love her so much, I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything. But she’s right. We’re at different points in our lives, and we both want different things. I’m ready to settle down, start a family.”

“How’s that gonna go when you don’t have someone to settle down with? That takes time, you know, and apparently you’re running out of that.” Elias raised an eyebrow. Fuck, he had a point.

“Well, how am I supposed to feel, knowing that she’s not willing to commit to me?” Brock’s defenses were up, not yet ready to admit that he was wrong.

“Dude, she packed up her entire life and moved with you to Vancouver,” Elias pointed out dryly.

“Well, true, but —”

“All she wants is to spend a little more time closer to home when you have the time. It’s not that much to ask, bro. She’s given you everything.”

Well, shit. Elias was right again. “Fuck, man. I fucked up.”

“Ya sure did, Boes. She’s still at my house. You should swing by and talk to her,” Elias suggested, and Brock agreed, getting into his own car to follow him to his house.

When he pulled in the driveway, your car was gone. He and Elias both took to calling out for you, but to no avail. Figuring you must have gone home, Brock turned around and headed back to the apartment you shared together.

It was when your car wasn’t in that driveway either that he started to worry. Heart rate speeding up, he fumbled with his key and pushed through the door, frantically hoping and desperately wishing that at this point your car had been stolen, because at least it’d be better than the alternative —

Tearing through the house, Brock called for you. Milo padded out, confused as to why his dad was acting so funny, and it was when he looked down at Milo that he realized something was missing.

Coolie.

Brock’s heart sank. It couldn’t be — you couldn’t have —

He flew up the stairs to the bedroom, furiously tugging open the dresser drawers to find them empty. Throwing open the closet door, he found your half empty, the hangers hanging neatly on the rack. Barely a single trace of you left in the home you’d made together, gone like you’d never been there at all.

“Fuck,” Brock cursed. He was sure his heart was about to explode, hardly refusing to believe that it — you — were gone.

In that same instance, Brock realized that he had a phone that could contact you. Hands shaking, he clicked on your contact, his favorite photo of you on the beach from a vacation to Mexico a few years ago. His heart nearly thumped out of his chest as he waited to hear your voice on the line, hardly able to handle the anticipation as he listened to ring after ring after ring. When he heard the automated message, he hung up and chucked his phone on the bed, slamming his fist against the wall.

Eyes closed, Brock rested his head against his hand, trying to regain his breath before he figured out what to do. When he opened them, he realized he had put a hole through the wall. Fuck.

He tried calling once, twice, three more times, before he realized you were probably purposely ignoring him, and he sat on the edge of the bed as the realization sank in that you were actually gone. Suddenly, it was like he could see how much of you was in him, in this house, in the life that you had built together. How could he ever see a future without you?

Brock was distraught, beside himself, without any idea where to turn or where you even went. How was he supposed to get you back? As he contemplated his options, a worse thought entered his brain: What if he couldn’t? How was he supposed to live without you?

A week had gone by, and Brock still had received no word from you, only a single post on your Instagram story of the Empire State building, letting him know that you had gone to New York, presumably to stay with your brother. Since you left, he’d also been having one of his worst stretches of his career, consistently missing chances and giving away pucks, letting his opponent’s rookie deke him in a glaringly obvious move that almost had him benched for the rest of the game. Not only was he hurting at home, but now it was affecting his work, too.

He tried texting, tried calling, even messaging on Instagram, with no response. Not even a ‘read’ notification to prove that you were giving him the cold shoulder (though he knew you were). He wasn’t going to even attempt calling Anders – he wasn’t that stupid – but he did call Alexis, desperately begging her to have you call him. She said she’d pass along his message, but she didn’t think it’d do any good. She was right.

Brock knew he had fucked up, but what hurt the most is that he didn’t even have the opportunity to apologize or explain himself, and now you were in this limbo where he didn’t really know what to call you. Was it over for good? All signs pointed to yes, considering every trace of you was gone from the house, but he couldn’t help but hope — hope that you’d give him the chance to talk it out and at least end it to his face. He just had to figure out how to get to you.

It was a Friday night, and after practice, he was off for the night. He wandered around the house listlessly, with the home feeling empty and cold and nothing like a home without you in it.

He had finally found you, the girl of his dreams, but he just couldn’t get things right. How could he have fucked up so royally, letting his emotions get the best of him in the heat of the moment? With just a few simple words, Brock was sure he’d ruined his life. Kicking at a tuft in the carpet, he went into his dresser drawer, ignoring the empty drawers next to his, and pulled out the ring box that he’d been hiding and saving for the right time.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he opened the box and looked at the ring, the diamond glinting in the light, imagining how pretty it would look on your finger. He had an entire folder on his phone dedicated to the comments you’d make here and there about other girls’ rings, taking note of what you liked and didn’t like, until he pulled the trigger and bought one that was perfect for you. With a sigh, he carefully returned the ring box to its hiding spot, and moved to break out his guitar, strumming lightly.

He had a whole proposal planned, was going to sweep you off your feet before asking you to make him the happiest man in the world and be his forever. He knew how much your music meant to you, and had made an entire playlist of all your favorite songs to listen to whenever he missed you — needless to say, it had been playing on repeat since you left, only making the ache in his heart swell harder.

Brock’s fingers found their place on the strings, playing the familiar tune he had been practicing for months. He strummed the chords of “10,” envisioning the look on your face when he’d surprise you, playing your favorite song, before getting down on one knee.

As the song played, he could have actually kicked himself. In another world, he’d laugh at the irony of the song — your song — and how it painfully juxtaposed the situation he was in now.

I never had it so easy She taught me how to be She’s a keeper And I ain’t goin’ nowhere

She’s fire, a messiah She ain’t a ten, she’s higher And I don’t wanna waste no time She’s flawless, I’m in awe She ain’t a ten, she’s more My eyes never wander, there’s no need to explore She’s everything that I’ve Been looking for

She’s the one I’ve waited for

Brock swallowed the lump in his throat, bitterness resting on his tongue. He’d never forgive himself if he lost you forever because of a few stupid words — words he didn’t even mean. He looked at his phone one last time, hoping for a text he knew wasn’t there, and then he made up his mind.

He stood up, grabbing his duffel bag that he usually brought on road trips — a gift from you for Christmas one year, embroidered with his initials — and shoved some clothes in, not really paying much attention to what he was packing. He sent a quick text to Elias, giving Milo a scratch behind the ears, and then he was in his car on his way to the airport.

He had to see you, to try one last time.

When you left, you knew you may have been a bit melodramatic, but leaving was the only option that felt right; you didn’t feel comfortable in your own home anymore, not after the words that Brock had cut your heart with. So, you called Anders, who, of course, welcomed you with open arms.

He’d picked you up from the airport, listening with an expressionless face as you told him what happened. Naturally, playing the role of your protective older brother, he offered to murder Brock and hide the body, and you laughed as you declined, citing that it might make his job a little difficult to do in prison. Really, you weren’t sure what was next, only that you needed some time to think and to let your heart heal from Brock’s words.

In the same vein, Anders and his teammates were excited to have you in town, surrounding you with love and laughter from the minute you set foot on the Island. Though it didn’t fill the gap in your heart, the warmth was a soothing comfort that you desperately needed.

When Mat asked you to hang out, you accepted instantly. Did you know he had a crush on you? Yeah. And was there a mutual attraction there? Maybe. But he knew, and you knew, that even if you were spending time with him, maybe even flirting with him a little, that that was all it could be for now, both because of Anders and Brock. You weren’t sure what your relationship status was, but you didn’t think you were single — at least, not yet. Still, it was nice to feel wanted and appreciated, and it didn’t hurt that Mat was sweet and kind and caring. And maybe it felt a little bit satisfying to know that someone was interested in a future with you, even if you really only wanted a future with one person.

Brock’s nerves were out of control as he drove to Anders’ home, getting halfway there before he realized that hadn’t looked in a mirror all day and had no idea what he even looked like, so he made a pit stop at the nearest supermarket to freshen up.

As he was leaving the restroom, he fell upon a familiar face: Noah Dobson. Noah greeted him with a quick hug and a short smile, and in that moment Brock knew that he knew.

“Hey, man, it’s good to see you. What’re you doing here?” Noah asked, though Brock also suspected that he knew the answer to that, too.

“I just… I have to see Y/N,” Brock explained. “Do you… do you know where she is?”

Noah shifted on his feet, casting his eyes down. “Yeah, I think she’s… out tonight.”

“Out? Out where?”

Noah hesitated, and Brock nodded silently to let him know he was ready to hear whatever he was going to say next. “She’s out with Mat. I’m sorry, man.”

“Mat? Mat Barzal?”

“Yeah. She’s been spending a lot of time with him since… since she got here. She doesn’t seem good though, dude. Whatever happened between you two fucked her up.”

Brock cursed, running a hand over his face in frustration. It broke his heart to hear that you, too, were hurting, maybe just as bad as him, though he couldn’t decide what was worse: you being in pain, or you being over it already.

“Yeah, man, I know, I fucked up big time.”

“Yeah…” Noah trailed off awkwardly. “Well, good luck, dude.”

With a nod of thanks, Brock walked back out to his rental car. He could drive to Anders’, waiting awkwardly with your menacing big brother who probably wouldn’t hesitate to murder him, or he could wait it out. It wasn’t a difficult decision to make.

Brock drove around aimlessly, not sure where he was going. Part of him hoped he’d run into you and Mat, and the other part of him never wanted to see his face with yours ever. What were you even doing with Mat anyways? What did Noah mean by “spending time together”? Were you two fucking? Was it more — already? Would it be cheating if it was? Fuck, he just had to get to you.

Eventually, he decided to get out and walk around as a way to help relieve some of the pent up energy and kill some time before he thought you might be home. He wandered the streets, taking in the sights and sounds of Long Island.

Then, he heard your voice. Your laugh, actually. A rush of excitement flooded through him, oddly mixed with a deep fear that resided low in his gut. He looked up right as you were walking out of the restaurant, laughing at something Mat had said. He was laughing, too, and Brock’s blood started to boil when he noticed Mat’s hand resting on your lower back.

It also happened at that same moment that the coffee he had grabbed slipped out of his hand, spilling all over the sidewalk, and of course, attracting the attention of you and your date.

“B-Brock?” you called, as he hastily attempted to clean up the mess he had made, trying to act nonchalant.

He stood up, clearing his throat, attempting to act casual even though he knew how fucking crazy he looked flying all the way here to see you, unnanounced. “Hi. You, um, you look really nice.”

Brock could see the hesitation in your eyes, clearly having an inner battle with yourself about what to do next. You folded your arms, not wanting to accept his compliment. “What are you doing here?”

He sighed, the entire speech he had prepared flying out the window as his heart softened seeing you in front of him. “I had to come see you, baby. I need you to know I’m so sorry for what I said. I know I fucked up, and you have every right to hate me, but please just hear me out.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s left to say? You made your feelings pretty clear, Brock.”

“No, baby, please —“

“I’m sorry you came all this way, but I think you should leave.”

“Y/N, please, I love you,” he begged, desperately searching for the words that would convey how he felt. “Please. I can’t do this without you.”

“Brock,” you said, your tone final, though he could’ve sworn he heard a waver in your voice. “Please leave. Go home.”

With that, you turned on your heel, walking the other direction with Mat. Brock stood, dumbfounded, numb, frozen to his spot, as he watched you walk away from him forever.

Brock took a breath to calm his nerves — it was more than just the usual pregame jitters; this time, he knew you’d be in the stands watching him. Or, watching Mat. Or maybe both? He didn’t know.

Once he had left New York, at your request, he was completely distraught. He returned to Vancouver hopeless, depressed, and a complete shell of himself, certain he had lost you forever. Elias came to check up on him the next day, discovering him asleep on the bathroom floor at 2pm, surrounded by empty bottles of Tanqueray.

Elias had heaved Brock up, forcing him into the shower and getting him some food and a Gatorade to replenish his system. He winced upon hearing Brock retching in the shower, and knew in that moment this was so much worse than he feared.

“Come on, buddy, I got you,” Elias grunted, helping Brock out of the shower, into some sweatpants, and onto the couch. “What happened, man?”

Brock recanted the whole horrible story, feeling his heart shattering all over again as he replayed the image of you turning away from him. He was sure he’d be haunted by that vision for the rest of his life, never able to forgive himself.

“We’re gonna get through this, okay, brother?”

As Brock skated out onto the ice, he felt the familiar adrenaline rush through him, though this time for a different reason than normal. He swore he could feel your eyes on him, and as he skated through warmups, his eyes darted around to find the familiar warmth of yours. It wasn’t until he was about to skate off to head back into the locker room that he finally spotted you, eyes gazing at him. He offered a soft smile, which you returned.

After the incident, Elias had helped Brock to get back on his feet, bringing him to practice and, between him and several other guys, checking up on him regularly. What Brock didn’t know, though, was that Elias had (somehow) recruited Anders, and the two were working overtime trying to convince you to talk to Brock when the Canucks visited New York two weeks later.

Somehow, by some miracle, it worked, though Elias never knew that it was actually Mat who talked you into seeing Brock. You begrudgingly agreed to talk, less because you were ready to see him, and more because you knew that you owed it to him to hear him out. The arrangement was that you’d meet with him after the game was over, because you didn’t want to distract him from playing with his full focus. Joke was on you, though, because he could do nothing but play out every possible scenario in his head, completely distracting him from the game itself.

Still, the game was underway, and Brock was able to get himself out of his head enough to focus each shift, sort of. Right from the get go, it was a chippy game — or at least, it was for Brock. It seemed every Islander on the ice had it out for him, checking him and slamming him into the boards whenever they had the chance. He couldn’t help but notice that he was being attacked more than anyone else, and he had to admit, he admired their tenacity.

At the start of the second period, the Canucks were up by one, until the Isles scored to tie up the game, equalized by none other than Mat fucking Barzal. Brock grimaced watching the celebration, his eyes immediately darting to you, his heart sinking as he watched you cheering with elation.

You continued to watch the game, torn between watching Mat, and the rest of your Isles, and Brock. As the Canucks entered the Isles’ zone, you watched Elias set up a play, winding up to take a shot, when all of a sudden your eyes were directed to a commotion on the opposite side of the goal. Gloves were flying, and there was a tangle of blue and green as you realized what was happening; Tito – Tito! – had dropped his gloves in favor of landing a solid punch to Brock’s face, delivering a beat down, keeping the advantage from the get go. The two men wrestled their way to the ground, punches flying.

Eventually, the two were broken up, and the adoration in your heart you felt for Tito was quickly shrouded by fear and worry as you watched the trainers run over to Brock, blood dripping freely onto the ice. He was escorted off, leaving for the rest of the game — which, at that point only had 5 minutes left anyways.

Somehow, someway, the Isles ended up winning the game, 3-2, but you could hardly be bothered as you raced down to the locker room, flashing your visitor’s badge from Anders. You waited impatiently, anxious, for the guys to wrap up their post-game scrum before you were allowed in, seeing Brock with a butterfly bandage on his cheek and a tissue sticking out of his nose to stop the bleeding.

You couldn’t help but giggle a little at the sight, relieved that he was awake and seemed to be doing fine, and then he caught sight of you, his heart leaping through his chest.

“Hi,” you offered shyly.

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice normal.

“How’re you doing?” you asked.

“Oh, I’m good, Beau got me pretty good but I’ll survive,” Brock responded, smiling a little and wincing slightly at the movement. “Have to say, those guys sure love you. Was a little nervous your brother was going to take off his skate and slit my throat.”

With a dry chuckle, you hummed, your heart fluttering at their display of loyalty throughout the game. You made a mental note to thank Tito, the unlikeliest of fighters.

“How are you?” his question pulled you out of your musings, and when you looked at him he was glancing at you anxiously.

You weren’t sure your voice would speak at this point, but you tried anyway, croaking out a quiet, “I’m good.”

He cleared his throat, attempting to swallow his nerves as the room cleared out. “You want to talk?”

You nodded. “I think I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for shutting you out like that when you came here to talk; I was just surprised to see you and didn’t know how to react. I know me leaving like that was… maybe a little dramatic. I just needed some time… time to think.”

“Oh, no,” Brock shook his head. “I shouldn’t have surprised you unannounced like that in the first place. It’s my fault.”

You bit your lip, falling silent, not sure what else to say.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, for everything. I said some really stupid shit that I didn’t mean, and I know that doesn’t change the fact that I said it, but I just need you to know that I love you more than anything in this world, and this time away from you has only made me positive that you’re the one I want to spend my life with,” Brock said, all in one breath. “I’d wait fifteen years for you if that’s what you needed.”

You looked up at him, suddenly shy at his outpouring of emotion. It was redeeming and wonderful and sweet, all at once.

He took another breath, saying slowly, “But I understand that I fucked it up, and I’ll spend the rest of my life waiting for you.”

“Brock,” you spoke finally, your voice small. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, his eyes cast down as he gestured behind you. “You’ve found the one. You should go be with him. I’m happy for you, Y/N. I really am. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, was for you to be happy, even if it wasn’t by me.”

“Mat? Brock, he’s not the one,” you said, resisting the urge to giggle at his dramatic speech.

“He- he’s not?”

“No, Brock, he never was. We’re just friends,” you explained. .”Do you really think my brother would let me date Mat Barzal?”

Brock shrugged, realizing that maybe he’d made a few assumptions along the way. Then, taking a deep breath, you added, “It’s always been you.”

The silence hung in the air for what felt like an eternity as Brock stared at you. Were you really saying what he thought you were saying?

“Brock, what you said really hurt me, because you’re the only person I want a future with, so hearing that you didn’t want that was… tough,” you continued. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t still love you.”

“Oh, baby, I love you too,” Brock sighed, relief flooding through him at hearing those words from your lips. He stood up quickly to pull you into his arms, wrapping themselves tightly around you. As you returned his embrace, you could feel him shaking slightly, and you realized he was crying.

“B, why are you —”

“I just love you so fucking much, baby.”

“You are an idiot, but I love you for it,” you grinned, and the next thing you knew, he was kissing you like he’d never kissed you before. His lips pressed firmly against yours, like he was trying to pour every emotion he had for you into the kiss, holding you close to him.

Brock’s hands slid from their place on your back, one trailing up to cup your face, the other taking hold of your hip, as he softly ran his tongue along your lip before slipping it into your mouth. You sighed against him, the mood instantly changed.

“Back to the hotel?” you asked against his lips, and he chuckled, nodding in agreement.

“Unfortunately I don’t think I’m allowed to fuck you in the visitor’s locker room.”

#brock boeser fic #brock boeser fanfic #brock boeser blurb #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser x reader #brock boeser x y/n #hockey fic #hockey blurb #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #vancouver canucks fic

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stereax · 4 months

Note

whos your favorite player on every team?

Ooh, this is a fun one! Under the cut :) Also not gonna use former Devils, and gonna try to stay away from just naming the most known player on each team... we'll see.

Anaheim Ducks: Lukas Dostal is doing a damn good job tending that net. I'm super excited to see where he goes!

Arizona Coyotes: Of course, our pride king Travis Dermott!

Boston Bruins: Look. I said I was gonna not name the most known players. But you can't expect me not to name a goalie for the Bruins! Impossible! I'm gonna give the edge to Jeremy Swayman.

Buffalo Sabres: Probably Jeff Skinner, honestly. Most cursed man in hockey. Does that make me old?

Calgary Flames: I don't follow the Flames much but I do really like Cody Taylor.

Carolina Hurricanes: Pyotr Kochetkov is, in my opinion, the only Cane with rights.

Chicago Blackhawks: All Star Jason Dickinson just seems like a funny dude. Well, for having to play for Chicago...

Colorado Avalanche: I am forgiving Ross Colton for that really shitty shift against the Devils because he's holding Woody's hand and they're cute. But I'm watching you, mister.

Columbus Blue Jackets: Alexandre Texier. He's French! And played in Switzerland last year! And is suffering!

Dallas Stars: Thomas Harley is carrying half my fantasy teams and he seems like such a fun dude!

Detroit Red Wings: Jake Walman, hitting the griddy, and getting a bobblehead after it.

Edmonton Oilers: I am not immune to Ryan McLeod propaganda. Just look at his smile!

Florida Panthers: Sam Reinhart, the highest-paid Panther, has no goals and one assist in his last six games and his ice time is declining. Where are the Sabres fans who told me how much they would miss him? When I hear of all the positive qualities the team lacked in the past, I think of Reinhart - lol nah that's just the Reino copypasta. Love him!

Los Angeles Kings: Long Distance Girlfriend Kevin Fiala and his hysterical wife!

Minnesota Wild: Mats Zuccarello is very short. This is always fun. Especially because his stick is very long. Also fun.

Montreal Canadiens: Juraj Slafkovsky is not only worryingly homoerotic with every single Slav he meets, he is also trying valiantly to overcome the bust narrative, and he's silly and goofy! What more do you want?

Nashville Predators: Roman Josi. I am not immune to a good-looking Swiss man.

New Jersey Devils: All of them. I'm in a Dougie Hamilton mood right now, though. (Aka, I miss him :'( )

New York Islanders: The Real Sebastian Aho, simply because it's funny there's two of them. Also, this one is prettier.

New York Rangers: There's a fic out there that makes me somewhat like Braden Schneider.

Ottawa Senators: I'm saluting Jacob Bernard-Docker for his services to my fantasy teams.

Philadelphia Flyers: The image of Known USNTDP Member Cam York fielding calls from Zegras on how to take care of his platonic soulmate is truly peak.

Pittsburgh Penguins: The Other Smitty, Reilly Smith. I am predictable. I have a type.

San Jose Sharks: Anthony Duclair! And his many sons on the team.

Seattle Kraken: Kailer Yamamoto. I just like him because he's short, okay? He also seems to have a very fun character, which I admire.

St. Louis Blues: Colton Parayko, for no other reason than it's a very good hockey name.

Tampa Bay Lightning: Brayden Point is another of those players that just eternally carries my fantasy teams.

Toronto Maple Leafs: I think Calle Jarnkrok is eternally underrated. And I'm right.

Vancouver Canucks: Stanley Cup Champion Teddy Blueger. He deserves it.

Vegas Golden Knights: I simply believe that if one does not at least admire Jack Eichel for his dedication to being a bitch and ruining all the narratives, one does not exist to me.

Washington Capitals: They have Dylan Strome from the fics! It just takes some time, little girl you're in the middle of the ride, everything everything will be just fine, everything everything will be alright alright...

Winnipeg Jets: Nino Niederreiter. God, I hope he finds a home some day. I hope it could be Winnipeg.

#stereanswers #sterechats :)

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seedlessmuffins · 6 months

Text

tagged by my beloved @divorcecourtdad so thank you jay!

what got you hooked on hockey?

i was born and raised in vancouver so i've been a fan of this loser team since i was born, courtesy of my canucks fan dad and my canucks fan grandfather, and i also played hockey as a kid

2. your first ever fandom friend

in general? probably my dad! i've talked hockey with him my whole life. online probably @swaggypsyduck, but i have been working on converting all my footy friends to hockey friends so now i talk hockey with lots of people here (shout out to han, gen, yi, hala, and ciene who let me convince them into following hockey teams and watching games

3. the jersey you would most like to own

hughes or demko black skate jersey they are sooo sick!! or honestly any of the canucks special event jerseys, the diwali, black history month, pride, and chinese new year jerseys are all so stunning (but sooo expensive

4. your player (you only get one so choose wisely)

elias pettersson my baby i've been following him since 2016 i have his jersey i love him so much

5. a pairing that deserves more fic

pricey & luongo (there was definitely something happening with team canada at the olympics)

quinn & petey (they're sooo couple)

6. your favourite on-ice moment

watched live:

"this could be an interesting start"

"what a game for elias pettersson! 5 points, tied it late, beats the tender in the shootout!"

"miraculous play in the back of the goal crease and a standing ovation at rogers arena!"

watched on tv:

"connor bedard! overtime winner! sends canada to the semis!"

"they slayed the dragon! 5:22 into overtime, and the canucks move on to the second round"

"sidney crosby! the golden goal! and canada has won olympic gold!"

"the shift"

7. link someone else's art/fic/etc that you love & think everyone should check out

i think this is my favourite fic of all time, summer to your heart

8. link something you made & are proud of & want people to see

my quinn hughes webweave i think is pretty cool and my hockey tactico thoughts i was pretty proud of as well!

tagging @swaggyswinub @cryingforcrocodiles and @cherishlaluna to do if you want!

#k talks hockey #ask games!#jay 🏔️

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2-fast-2-curious · 1 year

Note

Nonnie could I request a Elias Pettersson or Nils Höglander audio please 🥹

Let's go with Höglander

[M4F] Sleepless and Steamy

[Script Fill] [Mild MSub to MDom] [Sister's Friend] [Catch Her in the Shower] [Watching] [Masturbating] [Getting Caught] [Kissing] [On Your Bed] [Missionary] [Doggy Style] [Spanking] [Dirty Talk] [Rape] [Voyeur] [Accent]

#nils hoglander #vancouver canucks #nhl fic #nhl hockey #hockeyblr #hockey players #hockey smut #nhl fan fiction #nhl fanfiction #nhl players #hockey #ice hockey #christine recommends audios

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appalamutte · 1 year

Text

drafted up a rough nhl bitty idea over the summer that i’ve worked on here and there, and honestly i can’t stop thinking about the fictional baltimore team i created for that fic

Luca DiPietro, a Baltimore native, filed an application for starting a franchise in the city when rumors were floating around that Buffalo was in the process of obtaining its own. He’d been a long-time lover of the sport, growing up skating with neighborhood kids and taking his own family up to New York to see the Rangers every once in a while. It was a dream to have a team right there in the city, though, and DiPietro fought with the NHL for months for them to agree to tack a third expansion team on with Buffalo and Vancouver.

In the end, it paid off. 1970 saw the addition of three new teams: the Buffalo Sabres, the Vancouver Canucks, and the Baltimore Nationals, raising the total count of teams from twelve to fifteen.

The Nationals quickly grew in popularity in the area. No longer did fans have to travel to Philadelphia to see a game. Tickets all but sold out for the first-ever home opener in the 1970-1971 season, and they continued to sell out all throughout the season and onward. The team wasn’t good or anything, barely more than a bunch of rookies, but they were spirited and passionate and young.

In the 1971-1972 season, the Nationals handed a massive upset over the Canadiens—the previous Stanley Cup Champions—in the first round of playoffs, shocking the league all over. The stadium was bleeding black and gold (team colors based on George Calvert’s family crest, who was the founder of the Maryland colony), and even though the Nationals were kicked out by the Rangers in the next round, the city celebrated for weeks. It was one of the first times an expansion team delivered such a massive and unexpected victory, especially in the playoffs. The momentum of that win carried well into the next season, leading the Nationals once again to the second round of playoffs.

In 1974, the NHL expanded into Washington, D.C. with the Washington Capitals, which immediately started turning heads. Talk went around about a rivalry forming, given the two cities’ close proximity and the fact the Nationals fanbase was effectively halved and given to the Capitals.

Though nothing came about (then). The teams actually liked each other, at least in terms of sports and fandoms. When the Capitals first traveled up to Baltimore and played the Nationals, the stadium was a bright mix of black and gold and red and white and blue. Both sides cheered when the other side scored, because both teams had fans on both sides.

Then the name change was forced in 1975. The league argued that it was confusing to have the Capitals and the Nationals so close together, and despite Baltimore having the name first, it only made sense for Washington to keep the patriotic name.

So over the summer, Baltimore had to rebrand. They were changed from the Nationals to the Harbors, they changed their colors to black, red, and white, their head coach at the time retired and so they had to change coaches. It all left a sour taste in Baltimore’s mouth, especially when the team recorded one of their worst seasons in 1975-1976, second only to their inaugural 1970-1971 season.

Some speculate this is where the Baltimore/Washington rivalry began. Others speculate it was when Washington beat Baltimore in every single game they played against one another in 1976-1977. A few say it started when Washington fans virtually destroyed the lobby of the arena after Baltimore knocked them out of the playoffs in 1979.

It started somehow and it grew to be the most brutal rivalry in the entire league, arguably out of all the major four leagues on the continent. It was deep seeded and vicious. It was stronger than the Canadiens/Maple Leafs rivalry, the Pens/Flyers rivalry, the Rangers/Islanders rivalry.

Where Capitals/Harbors games used to be friendly and collective, they were now hostile and rough. Players fought easily, more often, the ice was chippy, the fans were combative and dirty. In 1985, a man wearing a Harbors jersey in Washington was pushed around by a group of Capitals fans, ending in a fight that left two arrested and three with injuries bad enough to be hospitalized for the night. In 1987, a couple of Harbors fans harassed a family wearing Capitals jerseys to the point that the franchise was sued for not having proper security, as the family felt their lives were in danger for the entirety of the first period (they ended up leaving during intermission).

In 1991, the league had to step in and threaten both franchises of being disbanded if they couldn’t control the fans. No one knew how to do so, so it ended up that between 1991-1995, the teams didn’t play each other unless they were in neutral territory (usually Philadelphia).

The rivalry did eventually die down throughout the 90s, though even to this day games are stiff and tense.

In 1997, the Harbors had their third and final name change due to a change of ownership. Luca DiPietro had to sell the franchise to a businessman from out west because his health was deteriorating and he wasn’t sure how much longer he had. For a few months, it was unsure whether or not the Harbors were to even stay in Baltimore at all; however, the new owner—a tech entrepreneur from Seattle—relocated to Maryland and changed the franchise to the Baltimore Crabbers, in honor of Maryland’s history in crabbing.

Fans were hesitant and vocal about their disappointment, though in 1999 Baltimore won it’s first ever Stanley Cup in franchise history, beating the Dallas Stars in game six, and suddenly everyone thought the new brand and name was lucky.

Especially when the Crabbers won the Cup again in 2000, and 2004. Out of nowhere and in the matter of five seasons, the team went from a bottom 16 team to a solid playoffs contestant and serious contender for the cup. This was in no part only thanks to the new leadership, but also to the roster’s multiple heavy hitters: Anthony Bagshaw, a center from Mississauga who averaged roughly 55 goals a season at his prime; Gordey Sokolov, a winger from St. Petersburg, Russia who scored more PPG than anyone else in the league in both 1999 and 2000; Matthew Quinn, a goalie from Rochester who still holds the record for most shutouts in franchise history to this day; and Henri Bourassa, a defenseman from Quebec City who won the James Norris Memorial Trophy four years straight from 2001-2004.

The four were close, but that wasn’t always the case.

Quinn was the first on the roster in 1994 and had only one season as a rookie before the starting goalie retired due to injury. He was immediately promoted to starting goalie, even when Baltimore secured a trade for Minnesota’s starting goalie, because his SV% was beyond-good (better than Minneosta’s) and his young age was only a bonus. He floundered though, missing saves left and right, letting pucks seemingly slide right in. This was all only exasperated when Bagshaw joined the team that same season.

Quinn and Bagshaw both played in the OHL and were rivals. Like, they hated each other. Both on rivaling teams in the OHL, both at the top of their respective teams. When the two were on the ice together it was noticeable—tangible, even—that there was bad blood between them. Bagshaw hated Quinn because Quinn was a pain in the ass to score on, and Quinn hated Bagshaw because when he was able to score, he was such a “goddamn arrogant fucking asshole” about it.

It was a cruel trick of fate the two ended up on the same team. (Not me shipping my own original characters when they don’t even end up together in canon my mind.)

Their bad blood was noticeable even on NHL ice, even when they were on the same team. They worked out their differences though, mainly due to the veterans forcing them to room together on roadies all season long and sit beside each other every single time the team ate out. Eventually, they became friends, maybe even best friends, realizing that both were good players and the hatred didn’t make sense when they weren’t competing against one another anymore. They continued to room together the season after that, and after that. Quinn introduced Bagshaw to his future-wife when they were playing in Buffalo (she was a childhood friend of Quinn’s), and Bagshaw was the one who practically took care of Quinn when he broke his shoulder and missed out on half of the 2002-2003 season.

Then Sokolov came along in 1996, drafted straight from Russia, and instantly there was on-ice chemistry between him and Bagshaw. Their line just clicked in a rare way and they were able to be the best-performing line in the entire league within two seasons. No matter who the other winger was, Bagshaw and Sokolov would dominate the ice and the puck together. Coupled that with Quinn’s goaltending and the Crabbers were a force to be reckoned with.

Bourassa joined the team in 1998 from the QMJHL. He was a quiet kid with a meek personality, tall and broad and taking up space against his will, though when he was on the ice he was a mastermind of receiving turnovers and shifting play out of their defensive zone. He was also a hell of a checker and, funnily enough, hated fighting despite his critical body hits. Bagshaw immediately took him under his wing, therefore pulling Bourassa into the group with Quinn and Sokolov (against his will again, though he never regretted it once he got to know them).

They were dubbed by fans—and later, the media—as the Fantastic Four (corny, I know). They were inseparable and unstoppable, always together on and off the ice, leading Baltimore to the cup all three times and being the faces of the franchise for the eleven years they were together. They were in each other’s weddings, celebrated holidays together, took a trip to Hawaii together with their families in the 2005 off season. They were even up there as one of the longest-tenured quartet of players for a single franchise, all until Sokolov was unexpectedly traded to the Kings in 2009.

With that, everything changed. After Sokolov, Bourassa—the youngest of the four—suffered a career-ending injury to his knee in a playoff game against New Jersey in 2012 and retired that summer. Bagshaw played his final season in 2014-2015, retiring to pursue a career in broadcasting. Quinn was the first to join the team and the last to leave it, retiring just a season later due to his age and wanting to finally have time with his family. Sokolov retired right after the 2017-2018 season, marking the complete end to their era.

It was a heartbreaking time for Crabber fans, seeing the greats move on, though that didn’t change much for the team. The Crabbers were still up there as one of the elites, maybe not serious contenders for the cup but still solid playoff teams.

Luca DiPietro, the starter of it all, died in 2000, and the following year the Crabbers started construction on a brand new arena in his honor. It sits right off the Baltimore Harbor and is named after him—the Luca DiPietro Dome, dubbed by fans as the “DiPi-Dome” and sometimes also as “Harbor View.”

The Crabbers progressed all the way to the Stanley Cup Finals in 2017, the year right after Quinn retired (and the season right before Bitty joins), being beaten by the Penguins. It’s the furthest they’ve made it since their 2004 Cup win, and it’s with the most promising roster of players since the Fantastic Four’s prime days. The media has a field day with the headlines, the fans apply pressure for them to win it in 2018, the players feel the effect of it all in a more grueling and demanding off-season training.

Where is Bitty in all this? He starts playing competitive, full-contact hockey much earlier on with the Atlanta Fire, he goes to Samwell on a full-ride scholarship (though Jack doesn’t go, so they haven’t met yet), and he leads the Wellies to winning the Frozen Four in both his junior and senior years. The Crabbers scout him all throughout his sophomore and junior years, offer him a two-year contract effective as soon as he graduates, and sign him in the spring of 2016.

He joins the roster in the fall of 2017, right in the thick of the pressure for the Crabbers to win the Stanley Cup again, and falls right in with a whole new group of players (more to come on that later).

#this is literally just 2k words of my fictional nhl team’s lore #but i'm like very attached to it and the history and the team #this is also a love letter to the Quinniebag shippers. i just know they would’ve ruled the online hockey fandom in the 2000s #lmao i don’t even know what to tag this as though #omgcp? since it's for an omgcp fic?#my writing #nhl bitty au #there we go

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