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workinatdapyramid · 10 months ago

Text

headaches galore

dad!quinn hughes x f!reader

warnings: swearing, headaches, uncharacteristic quinn??, fluff

word count: 4.1k

“There’s something wrong with Daddy.” A frail, worried voice nips through your train of thought, halting your movements as you shut the door to the washing machine.

When you spin around, you’re face to face with Freya. She’s still in her pyjamas, clutching a matted teddy in her hand as the legs of it trailed along the floor. Her eyes are wide, mouth tipping down at the ends as her other hand curled under her chin. She was standing in the doorway of the laundry room, jaw clenching and unclenching as she waited for your reply.

Truth be told, as soon as she’d voiced her worries, about a million things ran through your mind. You’d paused, making sure to gather yourself in the face of your daughter, who was obviously displaying her upset to the extent you now weren’t allowed to show.

You didn’t want your own anxiety to leak through and send her into a panic, because the last thing you needed (if Quinn really wasn’t okay) was a hysterical child and an ill husband on your hands.

So you took a deep breath, trying to calm your thumping heart, and made for Freya, allowing her to clasp her hand in yours, and kneeled in front of her.

If Quinn’s sluggish mood had anything to do with it, you guessed he’d had an oncoming headache all morning and that it had hit; he’d spent the last hour on the sofa, watching and interacting with Freya as Harry Potter played softly in the background.

“What’s happened?” You asked her, smoothing her dark waves in your palm as your eyes sought a pair of feet hanging off the sofa, only just in your line of view from where you were.

“I was playing with my Legos and asked if he wanted to play too, and he didn’t answer.” She worried, catching her bottom lip with her teeth and fidgeting from side to side as she refused to completely make eye contact with you.

You knew she was going to be a worrier when she grew up.

You offered a reassuring smile, picking her up as you climbed to your feet. Her head immediately swung in the direction of the front room, fingers going up to anxiously play with her lip. You caught the action, gently pulling her hand away before she worked herself up too much, “Is he sleeping?” You whispered, taking her down the corridor in the direction of the living room.

Quite early on, when Freya had learnt to walk and talk, you and Quinn had quickly had to devise a way of dealing with her small anxieties, and the one that you both seemed to naturally fall upon was asking her questions to encourage her to see things for what they were.

She nodded, her eyes flicking to yours. You could see the telltale signs of tears beginning to well up in her eyes, though she tried to hide it from you.

You smiled back at her, “I think Daddy might just have a headache–”

“What’s a headache?” Freya quizzed, her brows furrowing apprehensively as she clutched the teddy closer to her chest.

“A headache is when your head or face hurts.” You whispered, making your way to the front of the sofa, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, just a few feet away from Quinn.

Like you’d assumed, he was fast asleep, a leg slung over the edge of the sofa and his arms folded uncomfortably under his head. His neck was perched at an awkward angle, and you cringed, knowing when you woke him up he’d probably be in even more pain than he was at first.

You kept Freya in one arm, and knelt down in front of him. His cheeks were flushed red, and his mouth was parted slightly, chest slowly rising and falling with each breath he took.

“Is he okay?” Freya whispered terribly, climbing out of your arms and sitting in front of his face.

“He’s fine, honey.” You paused, hesitating to wake him up just yet, “If you look closely, you can see his chest moving, can’t you?”

She looked briefly at Quinn, then turned back and nodded at you, restless as she pushed herself to her feet.

“That’s how you know he’s okay.” You whispered.

You knew if you didn’t wake him up right now, Freya would only fret even more, so you leant forwards, very aware of her keen eyes as they followed your hand to gently touch his forehead.

He was scorching. No wonder he’d only thrown on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts today.

You felt a slight resistance, his head unconsciously leaning towards the coolness offered by your hand, and trailed your touch up to his hair, softly carding your fingers through. You didn’t know if it was a coincidence or a choice on his behalf, but you’d noticed he’d rarely cut his hair past his ears since he’d met you. It always seemed to curl down his neck nowadays; locks draped across his forehead when he laid down.

You thought it was rather breathtaking.

Freya seemed to settle a little, one of her small hands delicately resting on his forearm. You almost wanted to laugh – that she’d copied your actions and applied them to his arm instead, but there was a lingering worry that her anxiety would only increase with her age. It was always there.

“Daddy?” She whispered, as his eyelashes fluttered slightly, his breathing becoming ever so shallower as he came to. “Are you awake?”

The first thing he did when he opened his eyes was look straight at you, a slight edge of confusion on his face. His eyes seemed to automatically squint, as though he was attempting to block out the pain, and just one glance at him confirmed your suspicions.

Something in your chest panged, and it was then that he turned his attention to the little lady eagerly anticipating his affections, and a small smile broke onto his face, “I’m awake, sweetheart. Did I fall asleep?” He pushed himself up, groaning as he righted himself from the awkward angles he’d placed himself in, and you took the opportunity to go into the kitchen.

You filled up a glass of cold water and took some painkillers from the cupboard and made your way back into the front room.

“–you want to play Legos with me?” Freya was back at the upturned box in the middle of the room, her previous distress seemingly forgotten as she rooted through the tub, the awful grating noise sounding from across the room.

You took a seat next to Quinn, and interrupted him before he could answer, “I’ll play with you instead. I think we should let Dad rest for a bit.” You interjected, passing him the water and pills.

You knew that no matter what state he was in, whether it be sickness, flu, broken bones or injured limbs, he’d never be able to say no to Freya when she asked him for anything. This seemed to be one of those times you’d have to make him rest if he wanted to feel better.

Thank you, he mouthed gratefully.

You shook your head, patting his thigh. Don’t worry about it.

If this happened five years ago, things would be a little different: you’d both be curled up on the sofa, something for you to watch on the TV in the background. Usually Quinn would be draped on you, your fingers twirling his hair as he was lulled into a sleep. It was part of his cure.

Now, however, things had been undoubtedly different since Freya had arrived. You couldn’t ignore the world and snooze on the sofa together – there was a little one running around that took instant priority, but as much as you loved Freya (to smithereens), you couldn’t help but feel a little like you were neglecting Quinn instead of making sure he was properly alright.

Nevertheless, when you sat on the floor, your back to the sofa – feeling the cushions dip against your back as a hand wove itself in your own hair, that guilt eased up a little.

Freya was interested in her Lego for about five minutes, you following her lead as she voiced creatures and made up her own little narrative, before she quickly lost interest, her eyes becoming transfixed on the Harry Potter film playing in the background. She stopped playing, her actions becoming slower as she became distracted by the people on screen, and after a while of her sitting with her jaw open, taking in what was in front of her, she stood up and walked over to the corner of the room.

You watched, smiling behind your hand, as she dragged her beanbag chair into the centre of the room, plopping down on it without a care in the world. She seemed to have forgotten you were playing with her, but truthfully you didn’t mind.

She was nearly five, and she was already quite determined for her age. You knew that beanbag chair was pretty heavy for her to lift; she’d occasionally made a performance of dragging it along the carpet, huffing and puffing and pretending to wipe a layer of sweat off her forehead as you and Quinn giggled to yourselves.

It was a sharp tug on your hair that startled you out of your own head, and you lent your head back against the cushion of the sofa, your smile broadening as Quinn pressed a quick kiss to your forehead.

He shuffled backwards on the sofa, opening up the space for you to lie down now that Freya had settled, and you eagerly climbed up, your back soon pressed to the cushion as Quinn settled himself on top of you, sighing in relief.

“How are you feeling?” You whispered, one hand immediately moving up to play with his hair as the other trailed to his back, rubbing across the material of his shirt. It was a grey Under Armour one, one that hugged his torso nicely, giving you a good look at the expanse of his back.

“Better now.” He whispered, “Missed you.”

A warmth emanated in your chest, and you melted into him, “Missed you too.”

“Was she okay earlier? She looked a bit wobbly when I woke up.” He adjusted himself so he was looking at you, and you shook your head.

Something in his expression dropped, and your hand travelled to his face, carefully tracing a thumb over his cheekbone, drawing his attention from Freya to you. He was biting the inside of his cheek, eyes concerned.

“She was a bit scared when you didn’t wake up. She found me in the laundry room and I had to explain that you were fine.”

Immediately you saw the guilt pool in his eyes as he turned back to the beanbag chair. You couldn’t see her over the back of it, but there were stray wisps of brown curls standing up from where Quinn had tied her hair up earlier.

“I should have just taken some painkillers.” He muttered.

“You would have gone to sleep anyway.”

He sighed, defeated. He knew you were right – there was no point in arguing.

You took a breath, pulling his mind away from the conversation before even he ended up in his own pit of agitation – inevitably, that he was the one that had caused Freya’s anxiety (you suspected she was so anxious because she’d been raised in a post-lockdown world where only now people were returning back to normal) – and focused back on the bags under his eyes.

“Speaking of sleep…” You trailed off, and Quinn brightened slightly, readjusting himself so his back was pressed to the back of the sofa, one leg slung over your waist and his face hidden in your neck. It gave you a bit of breathing room, but it also meant he could see Freya.

You wrapped an arm over his shoulders, pulling him closer, and you felt him press a tired kiss to the side of your neck.

Your attention turned back to the film, only when you looked over at Freya, her face was poking out from the side of her bean bag chair, eyes carefully watching you and Quinn. You could see the mischievous, slightly longing, glint in her eye before she’d even made the conscious decision to move herself, and you let out a breath of laughter as she came bounding towards you two, Quinn cracking his eyes open at the banging of footfalls.

“I love you, please can I cuddle?” She asked sweetly, and you felt Quinn squeeze you a little harder, trying to reign in the urge to just keep her locked in both your arms for the rest of her life.

You don’t know how it’d happened, but whenever she asked for things, she always started with an ‘I love you’. The first time she’d done it, you could barely restrain yourself around Quinn, because, my word, you guys created that little bundle of adorable cuteness. It still hadn’t really changed, only this time Quinn was less subtle in his hints.

Her face lit up, Quinn’s eyes looking back at you through her as she excitedly – yet gently – climbed on top of you. Quinn pushed himself further towards the back of the sofa, you shuffling towards the edge, as she slotted perfectly between you both. Her head was where Quinn’s had previously been, and she was sandwiched pretty comfortably between you both. You placed a hand on her head – she was still watching Harry Potter – and looked over the top of her to Quinn, who was grinning ear to ear. When he caught your gaze, he winked, and you rolled your eyes.

‘I want another’ he pointed comically at Freya, careful not to catch her eye with his movements.

He was beginning to get predictable, but you wouldn’t choose to have it any other way.

___

You’d put Freya to bed a little over an hour ago, and had only just managed to get settled into bed; your bedside light on as you read your book. The rest of the house was dark, save for the bathroom light that stayed on through the night just in case, and Quinn was trying to sleep next to you.

He’d been shuffling for a while, unable to get comfy – until he froze, the sudden stillness catching your eye.

“What?” You asked tensely, unsure as to whether or not he was shocked over something or panicked.

He waited a second before answering, “Can you hear that?” He whispered.

You held your breath. At first you couldn’t hear anything, but then came the faint sound of small footsteps across the landing, and the light streaming from the bathroom was blocked.

In its place was a sleepy girl, once again clutching her teddy to her chest. Her hair was wild and scruffy, and instead of opting to sleep in pyjamas for the night, she’d chosen to wear a pirate costume instead – she wore a pair of baggy red and white shorts, with a white t shirt and black vest top, the pocket complete with a skull and crossbones.

You thought she looked utterly adorable – and not at all menacing, no matter how many times she’d brandished a plastic sword in your face in an attempt to avoid being put to bed. You and Quinn had had to take turns trying to get her in because neither of you could keep a straight face for too long.

Now, however, neither of you wore a smile.

“Are you okay, baby?” Quinn asked first, being closest to the door.

She shook her head, rubbing her eyes as she made her way over to him, “My hair hurts.” She explained, pulling an uncomfortable face.

Your curiosity peaked, and you put your book back on the bedside table, watching as Quinn frowned, lifting her onto the bed with undeniable ease.

“Your hair?” He echoed, looking at you with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

You met his gaze, trying not to smile, “Can you show us where it hurts?” You asked, turning back to her, “We’ll see if we can help, won’t we?” You looked back at Quinn, a stern look in your eye as you saw the corners of his mouth begin to tilt upwards.

He was still trying to digest the fact that her hair hurt.

Freya was oblivious, nodding eagerly as she placed a hand to the sides of her head, right over the top of her temples.

“Do you know what you need to solve that?” You asked rhetorically, slowly lifting the covers up, catching the way Quinn’s face fell out of the corner of your eye. He doesn’t particularly enjoy sharing the bed with a four year old that has a habit of kicking in the night, “Cuddles.”

Freya giggled, finding the exact answer she was hoping to hear (you knew you played right into her hands, but how were you supposed to say no to that face?), as she wriggled under the covers, once more placed between you both.

“If you’re not feeling any better in five minutes, just let us know, okay?” Quinn asked softly, as you reached to turn off your light.

You felt her nod beside you.

It was quiet. For a few minutes.

“Daddy?” She whispered, and you fought the urge to laugh. You kept your eyes shut, hoping she’d see you were still asleep and keep bothering Quinn.

“Yes?”

“I love you, please can you do the face-thing?”

You knew as soon as she’d said those three words that Quinn was done for. There was no way he’d never not say break and give her what she wanted when she asked like that.

“Of course I can.” He replied, shuffling closer as Freya rolled onto her back, an arm nearly thwacking you in the face in the process. At the brush of contact you allowed your eyes to open, slyly watching as Freya laid on her back, hands by her sides with her eyes shut as Quinn dutifully and earnestly began stroking his fingers across her face.

He delicately traced her eyebrows, her forehead unintentionally crumpling at the sensation, eliciting a light chuckle from yourself and Quinn, the sound catching his attention as he glanced over at you accusingly.

He didn’t waver in maintaining Freya’s service, his touch going to her cheekbones, ones that almost mirrored his perfectly, even at her young age, and then across the bridge of her nose, before repeating the entire cycle without complaint.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scene, something twisting in your gut as you observed Quinn and Freya together, the way he didn’t falter in his movements even though you knew for certain that his arm must have begun to ache from his diligent work.

He was such a good dad it almost brought you to tears thinking about it — because you knew he threw his heart and soul into the role because he wasn’t around as often as he’d like to be, a sad fact that Freya had gotten used to over the years.

You guessed that’s why she had such a special attachment to him, why a lot of her anxieties revolved around him. She was a pretty proactive personality, even though she was too young to realise that herself, and if she couldn’t see Quinn, she worried he wasn’t okay.

The first time you’d clocked the pattern was when he’d left in a three week roadie and she’d become hysterical to the point of being inconsolable after he’d taken a puck to the cheek and had to skate off the ice, clutching his face — no matter how quick you’d been to cover her eyes when the replay was shown, she managed to see the drip of blood onto the ice. How she’d understood what it meant at three was astounding to say the least.

When the camera didn’t show him for the last ten minutes of the match, you’d had to resort to turning it off (even though there was a chance he’d be called for post-game interviews) and waiting rather impatiently for him to call when he was free, in the hope Freya would calm herself before going to sleep.

It was then that Quinn had resorted to tapping his helmet three times after he’d gotten injured in play — it was the only way he could reassure Freya (and yourself) that he was okay.

After a few minutes, you both heard and saw her chest rise and fall, a little slower than before. Her breathing pattern had changed and her head had slumped a little in your direction, mouth falling open.

Quinn smirked that half-awkward way, looking at you proudly. The action had you rolling your eyes fondly, a hint of a smile on your face as he carefully slipped his arms under Freya’s body, carrying her back to her own room with an ease that had your toes tingling.

You watched the door, eagerly anticipating his arrival once more, and when he’d gently shut it behind him, careful not to let the handle click too loudly, he smiled mischievously, jumping onto your side of the bed with the uncharacteristic giddiness of a teenager.

You lifted the covers up, welcoming him back into the warmth, “You’re so soft with her.” You whispered, going slightly cross eyed as he positioned himself on top of you, arms caging in your head as his forehead pressed to yours.

The cheeky twinkle in his eye wasn’t lost on you, nor was the way every inch of him seemed to be pressed directly against you.

“Of course I am, she’s my firstborn.” He answered simply, lifting his forehead from you to pull back and press a charged kiss on your lips.

“Firstborn?” You tilted your head, resisting the urge to smile at his obvious meaning, one hand going to cradle his forearm and the other brushing his hair from his face so your view of him was unobstructed.

Although you couldn’t see the change in colour that splattered his cheeks, you knew he was blushing purely because of the way he shrugged and turned his head away from you pointedly.

“Never say never, you know?” He mumbled.

He was right, in a sense. You had talked about the possibility of having more children, but you’d insisted it wasn’t something to plan just yet because there was absolutely no way you were having two children under five.

That was four years ago, and Freya was going to be five in four months — another fact that wasn’t lost on you.

There was also the unavoidable matter of Quinn and his habit of getting himself broody. It didn’t take much, mostly it was Freya and whenever she did something heartachingly precious and he just couldn’t contain his love for her, and sometimes it was as easy as a video of a baby flashing up on his phone or even a teammate taking their kid into work.

Or any child on the ice for that matter.

You hummed in agreement, “I do know.”

He raised his brows, trying not to get too hopeful at your wording, “Does that mean…”

“Not right now, but I think we should talk about it in the morning.” You replied, his smile infectious as he rolled off you, pretending to pump the air with his fists in triumph.

“Really?” He turned back to you, and you rolled your eyes at his giddiness.

“Really.”

“Oh my God, I’m so excited.” He breathed, dragging a hand down the side of his face, “My heart is beating so fast.”

You laughed, turning on your side to face him, “Headache cured then?”

At this, his head snapped back to your face, a caught, almost panicky glint in his eye as his smile dropped fractionally, “I never said that.” He sounded almost offended, wincing for show.

You knew it was a lie – his energy levels were significantly higher than they had been earlier, and you could tell just by the way his eyes were fully open and lacking that telltale squint and weariness of the world around him that he was back to normal.

“Oh?” You teased, “Because I don’t think I believe you.”

“You don’t have to believe me to still be able to cuddle me.”

“Jesus Christ, Quinn–” You laughed, not complaining or uttering a single protest of any kind as he wrapped a secure arm over your waist, pulling you closer to him, the duvet going straight over both your heads.

“You love it.” He insisted.

You sighed, “I do, I love it.”

“And you love me, too.”

You hesitated, pretending to think about it, until his fingers went to pinch your side, eliciting your laughter, “I really do.”

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