dearstvckyx

[dearstvckyx]

Praying to whatever is in heaven Please, send me a felon - Matt Rempe

While visiting your brothers Jack and Luke Hughes in Jersey, you attend the Devils vs. Rangers game. You watch Matt Rempe get into a brutal fight with Bastian and can’t help but be drawn to the intimidating Rangers enforcer. After the game, while waiting in the tunnel, Matt spots you and strikes up a flirtatious conversation, charmed by your wit and beauty. Despite your brothers being in the next room, you give him your number. - The Neighbourhood , Female Robbery

Matt Rempe x Hughes!Reader

Warnings: Blood, mentions of violence (hockey fight), flirty tension, forbidden crush/lovers.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The chill in the Prudential Center stung faintly against your skin, but you barely noticed.

You were too focused on the game.

The crowd roared around you, a sea of red and blue clashing as the Rangers took on the Devils.

You were there for family, sitting comfortably in the seats that had been set aside for the Hughes clan. You were visiting Jack and Luke for a few days, making a last-minute trip to Jersey to see your brothers play in person for once.

But someone else had caught your attention.

Your eyes kept flicking toward him.

Matt Rempe.

Six-foot-seven of pure intimidation. Towering over nearly every other player, moving with the kind of raw, unyielding power that made the entire arena hold its breath.

You’d noticed him before—he wasn’t exactly easy to miss.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was impossible to ignore.

The game had been heated from the start—scrappy and fast, neither team giving an inch. But it all unraveled after one of the Devils players, Bastian, kept chirping at Rempe.

It was subtle at first—taunting words thrown between plays. A shove here, a slash there.

And then Bastian threw a cheap shot—catching Rempe on the wrist with his stick, hard and deliberate.

The refs didn’t see it.

But Matt did.

And that was all it took.

Rempe spun around with fire in his eyes, grabbing Bastian by the jersey, fists already flying before anyone could even blink.

The crowd roared as they went at it, gloves on the ice, helmets askew.

Matt didn’t just fight.

He commanded the fight.

Every punch was heavy, sharp, and precise. The Devils player landed a few hard hits too, making Matt’s bottom lip split open, blood streaking faintly down his chin.

But Matt didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

Didn’t back down.

It took two refs to finally pull him off.

Both Matt and Bastian were bleeding, scowling, and breathing hard as they were forced off the ice.

And despite yourself, despite the brutal fight you’d just witnessed, you felt the heat crawl up your neck.

Because the sight of him—blood on his face, chest heaving, eyes still dark with adrenaline—made your stomach flip.

You hated how attractive you found it.

And you really hated the fact that you couldn’t look away.

⸻

After the game, you met up with your brothers in the tunnel.

Jack greeted you with a tired smile, tugging you into a loose side hug while Luke ruffled your hair.

“Hey, kid,” Jack muttered. “What’d you think? You get bored or what?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, totally. Snooze fest.”

Luke grinned. “You mean until Rempire turned it into a UFC match?” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

You tried to play it cool, shrugging lightly. “Eh, I’ve seen worse.”

You could feel the flush rising on your cheeks, but neither of your brothers noticed.

Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We’re gonna check in on Bastian. He’s probably still getting stitched up. You coming with or want us to drop you off?”

You glanced at them.

You didn’t really care about Bastian.

But they were your ride, and you didn’t exactly feel like Ubering across Jersey.

“Yeah, I’ll come,” you muttered.

And that’s how you ended up sitting on a wooden crate in the hallway, scrolling mindlessly through your phone while your brothers checked in on their teammate.

You weren’t paying attention.

At least, not until you heard his voice.

“You just waiting around or hiding from someone?”

Your head snapped up.

And there he was.

Matt Rempe.

His lip was still split, a faint smear of blood lingering on the corner of his mouth. There was a thin butterfly bandage just above his brow where he’d caught a nasty hit.

But he was smiling.

Soft, crooked, and lazy.

Like the fight hadn’t even fazed him.

You blinked once, caught off guard by the sheer size of him as he towered over you, hands shoved casually into his hoodie pocket.

You scrambled slightly for a response. “Uh… neither?”

His lips quirked, amused. “Yeah?”

You tilted your head slightly, still sitting on the crate, legs lazily swinging as you smirked faintly. “I’m just so popular. Can’t let my adoring fans find me.”

His grin widened slightly. “Right. Of course.”

You felt your stomach flip at the low rasp of his voice—slow and unhurried, laced with that subtle Western Canadian drawl.

But it was his eyes that really got you.

Dark, but not sharp.

Warm, despite the blood still drying on his face.

And they were on you.

Only you.

“So,” he said, glancing toward the locker room door your brothers had disappeared behind, “you here for the Devils or just keeping them company?”

You smiled faintly. “Company. I’m with the Hughes brothers.”

His brows lifted slightly.

“No shit?” He let out a low, amused chuckle. “You’re their sister?”

You smirked. “The one and only.”

His gaze lingered on you, a slow sweep from your eyes to your mouth before meeting your gaze again.

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” he muttered, his voice low and smooth.

You arched a brow. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

He smirked faintly, leaning just a little closer.

“Because you’re way too pretty to be one of them.”

Your breath caught slightly.

But you didn’t break eye contact.

Instead, you held his gaze, the corner of your lips tugging into a playful smirk.

“Smooth,” you teased softly.

His grin widened. “I try.”

There was a brief pause—just long enough for the tension to settle thick between you.

And then he casually pulled his phone from his hoodie pocket, unlocking it with one hand.

“Hey,” he murmured, his tone softer but deliberate, holding it out to you. “You should put your number in.”

You blinked once, briefly surprised by how direct he was.

But then you took his phone without a word, typing in your name and number before handing it back.

He glanced at the screen, smirking faintly. “Hughes, huh?”

You crossed your arms loosely over your chest, flashing him a playful grin.

“Don’t forget it.”

He chuckled lowly, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

“Oh, I won’t.”

He took a slow step backward, eyes still locked with yours.

But before he turned to leave, he flashed you a crooked grin, his lip still faintly swollen but no less charming.

“Hey,” he muttered softly. “Next time you’re in town… maybe you sit on my side of the ice.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you sitting there—cheeks flushed, lips parted slightly, and stomach flipping as you stared after him.

And for the first time all night, you weren’t in a rush to leave.

[dearstvckyx]

you know you got all my attention - Smii7y

Jaren (Smii7y) has been crushing on you since high school, but you’ve always been off-limits because you’re Matt’s (Blarg) little sister. Tired of waiting, you decide to push Jaren by flirting with Droid at Big Puffer’s birthday party, making sure he notices. Fueled by jealousy, Jaren follows you into the restroom, locks the door, and makes it very clear that you’ve always had his full attention—and that he doesn’t want you giving it to anyone else. - The Neighbourhood , Single

Smii7y x Blargs Sister!Reader , slight elasticdroid x Blarg’s Sister!Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, protective behavior, slight possessiveness, suggestive tension.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

Jaren had always noticed you.

Since high school.

It started with innocent glances during lunch breaks and shared jokes at Matt’s house whenever he brought you along to hang out with the boys.

Because you were Matt’s little sister—the one who always lingered by the door before leaving, holding his gaze a little too long. The one who laughed just a little too sweetly at his jokes.

And damn it, you were off-limits.

Or at least, that’s what Jaren had been telling himself for years.

But no matter how much he tried to shove it down—the lingering crush, the constant ache of wanting—it only got worse.

Especially tonight.

You were currently sitting on the couch at Big Puffer’s birthday party, laughing at something Grizzy said, looking far too pretty in the dim lighting.

Your legs were tucked beneath you, drink in hand, eyes sparkling with amusement as you leaned a little too close to Droid.

Jaren knew he had no right to be irritated.

But he was.

Because he knew exactly what you were doing.

You weren’t subtle about it.

Not tonight.

The dress you were wearing clung to your curves in all the right places—the neckline just low enough to catch his eyes every time you leaned forward.

The casual touches—the light graze of your fingers on Droid’s arm, the way you let yourself laugh just a little louder when one of the other guys said something stupid—it was all deliberate.

And Jaren knew it.

Because you’d been doing it all night.

Hell, you’d been doing it for weeks.

The playful, lingering smiles. The teasing comments. The way you seemed to gravitate toward him in conversation but were just as quick to dance with someone else.

You were doing everything to get his attention.

And it was working.

He hated it.

Because every time you leaned into Droid with that coy smile, every time you let your fingers linger on his wrist or pressed closer to him, Jaren’s grip on his drink tightened.

And he didn’t say a word.

Even though he could feel the heat crawling beneath his skin—the sharp pull of jealousy twisting in his chest.

It wasn’t until you dragged Droid onto the dance floor, your fingers lacing through his, that he finally snapped.

He watched the way your body moved against Droid’s—the way you laughed a little too sweetly when Droid leaned closer, his hands lingering low on your waist.

Jaren’s jaw clenched.

His fingers curled tightly around the glass in his hand, knuckles white, heartbeat slamming against his ribs.

And then your eyes flicked toward him.

You didn’t look away.

You stared right at him with the softest, coyest smile tugging at your lips—just subtle enough to be challenging.

You were daring him.

And that was enough.

He slammed the rest of his drink back, the burn of alcohol barely registering as he set the glass down harder than necessary.

He watched as you excused yourself from the dance floor, flashing Droid that playful smile of yours before slipping away toward the restroom.

And he was already following before he even realized it.

He didn’t care who saw.

He didn’t care if Matt found out.

He didn’t care about anything else.

He only cared about you.

⸻

You barely had time to steady your breath before the restroom door swung open behind you.

And then, with a quiet but deliberate click, the lock slid into place.

Your eyes widened slightly, meeting Jaren’s gaze through the mirror.

He was leaning against the door, one hand still resting on the lock, his fingers curling into a loose fist.

His eyes were darker than usual—clouded with something unreadable.

And he didn’t say a word.

The heat rolling off him made your breath catch.

Slowly, you turned to face him, your back pressed lightly against the sink, pulse pounding in your throat.

You could feel the weight of his stare—the way his eyes slowly trailed over you, taking in the flush on your cheeks, the slight hitch in your breath.

And then he stepped forward.

Close.

Too close.

So close you could feel the warmth of his breath ghost against your skin.

And when he finally spoke, his voice was low, gravel-rough and deliberate.

“You know you’ve got all my attention,” he muttered.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He reached out slowly, fingers trailing over your wrist, his touch featherlight but deliberate.

“So don’t be flirting…” he murmured softly, his voice low and rough.

Another step forward.

“Or dancing…”

His knuckles brushed along your jawline, the roughness of his fingertips sending a shiver down your spine.

“…with anyone but me.”

Your lips parted slightly, breath faltering as your back pressed softly against the cold tile wall.

You blinked slowly, heat spreading beneath your skin, heartbeat hammering against your chest.

“Jaren…” you breathed softly.

But he didn’t let you finish.

His fingers curled beneath your jaw, lightly tilting your chin upward.

And with a barely-there smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, he leaned in—so close his lips were almost brushing yours.

But he didn’t kiss you.

Not yet.

Instead, he hovered—his breath warm against your skin, his breath warm against your skin, his lips just close enough to make your pulse stutter.

“Mine,” he muttered softly against your lips, his voice low and possessive—a quiet, heated promise.

And you didn’t argue.

Because you were his.

And you always had been.

[dearstvckyx]

If you wouldn't take the help? - Quinn Hughes

After a crushing 7-0 loss to the Golden Knights, Quinn Hughes spirals, putting immense pressure on himself and shutting everyone out. When his teammates and coaches fail to get through to him, they call his childhood best friend (the reader) and fly her out from Michigan. She confronts Quinn, reminding him that he can’t become a better player or person if he won’t take the help being offered. He finally lets his guard down, breaking down in her arms. - The Neighbourhood , How

Quinn Hughes x Reader , ft. Canucks players

Warnings: Angst, emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of anxiety, self-imposed pressure.

Note// I got carried away….

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The locker room was suffocating.

The air was thick with the stench of sweat and defeat—the kind of defeat that clung to the walls and weighed heavily on everyone’s shoulders.

7-0.

Seven. Nothing.

To Vegas.

It was humiliating.

The Canucks had been completely outplayed. Every shift felt like an uphill battle. The mistakes piled up, one after the other. Turnovers. Bad reads. Missed coverage.

And Quinn Hughes felt every single one of them like a weight on his chest.

He sat on the bench long after the game ended, his skates still on, staring blankly at the floor. The rest of the team had already begun to file out—some hitting the showers, others slumping into their stalls in bitter silence.

But Quinn didn’t move.

He just sat there, his elbows on his knees, his head bowed, fingers tangled in his damp hair.

His chest felt tight. His throat burned. His vision blurred slightly from how hard he was blinking.

His hands curled into fists.

It was my fault.

He knew it wasn’t entirely true. He knew they lost as a team. But in his head, the errors—the ones that led to the goals—were his. The misstep on the blue line. The puck he should have cleared. The coverage he lost track of.

If I had just played better…

The self-loathing festered.

And it didn’t stop.

⸻

The next few days were rough.

Quinn was quieter than usual at practice. More withdrawn. More irritable.

The boys noticed immediately.

Tyler Myers gaze lingered on Quinn when he didn’t so much as crack a smile during a chirp-filled drill. Petey gave him wary glances when he noticed Quinn staying late on the ice by himself. Brock tried to get him to go out for dinner after practice, but Quinn just shook his head.

The boys didn’t miss the way he was pulling away.

By the time the next game came around, Quinn was gripping his stick so tightly his knuckles were white. He was trying to play perfectly—too perfectly. Overthinking every pass. Second-guessing every zone entry.

And it made everything worse.

When he sat back down on the bench, after missing 3 passes, he slammed his stick hard against the boards, cursing under his breath.

None of them had ever seen him this rattled.

When the game ended, Quinn left without saying a word.

And that’s when the guys decided enough was enough.

They tried to talk to him—first as teammates, then as friends. Tyler sat with him after practice, offering words of advice that Quinn barely acknowledged. Petey tried to lighten the mood in the locker room, hoping to at least get him to crack a smile. Brock gave him space but kept a watchful eye.

Even Tocchet tried pulling him aside in his office.

But nothing worked.

No matter what anyone said, no matter how much they tried to be there for him, Quinn kept waving them off.

Kept brushing them aside.

Kept saying he was fine.

But he wasn’t.

And when it became clear that Quinn wouldn’t take the help they were offering, the boys made one final call.

To you.

⸻

You barely had time to process it.

You were sitting on your couch in Michigan when your phone rang. The moment you saw Brock’s name flash on the screen, you knew something was wrong.

And before you could even ask, he was already explaining everything—the game, the weight Quinn was carrying, the way he was shutting everyone out.

You didn’t even hesitate.

The next morning, you were on a plane to Vancouver.

⸻

Quinn had no idea you were coming.

He didn’t expect the knock at his apartment door late that night. He figured it was one of the guys. Maybe Brock, checking in again.

So when he swung the door open and saw you standing there, he blinked, stunned.

For the first time in days, he truly didn’t have the words.

“Hey, Q,” you said softly, offering a small smile.

He stared at you for a beat too long.

And then, before you could even say another word, he reached for you.

Without thinking. Without hesitation.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you against him.

And you let out a soft breath against his chest as he clung to you tighter than he probably meant to.

You felt his heart pounding faintly against your cheek, too fast, too unsteady.

For half a second, he didn’t move.

But then you felt it—the slight tremble in his arms.

And you realized he was barely holding it together.

Your arms tightened around him.

“Let me in?” you whispered softly against his collarbone.

Without a word, he stepped back and let you inside.

⸻

You sat cross-legged on the couch while he sat stiffly on the opposite end, his hands running restlessly over his knees.

He was still wearing his hoodie from practice, but his hair was still slightly damp from a recent shower. You could see the faint redness around his eyes—the barely-there evidence of the frustration and exhaustion clinging to him.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

You just watched him.

Watched the way his fingers curled and uncurled. The slight bounce of his knee. The tension in his shoulders.

And finally, softly, you broke the silence.

“You’re shutting them out.”

Quinn’s hands stilled.

“You’re shutting everyone out.”

His eyes flicked to yours for half a second before he shook his head slightly.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

You stared at him.

“No, you’re not,” you said softly.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, the muscle in his jaw clenching slightly.

You slowly uncrossed your legs, shifting closer, resting a gentle hand over his.

“Quinn,” you whispered. “How do you expect to be a better player… a better person… if you wouldn’t take the help?”

His fingers twitched slightly beneath yours.

And for a second, you thought he was going to brush you off again.

But instead—his face just crumpled.

The tension in his jaw loosened. His shoulders dropped slightly.

And then, without a word, he exhaled shakily, slumping forward.

Your breath caught softly when he leaned into you. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, and you felt his breath hitch unevenly against your collarbone.

Your arms slipped around him immediately, holding him tightly against you.

And for the first time in weeks—he let himself break.

You felt his grip tighten around your waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of your hoodie. His breaths were uneven, shaky, shallow against your neck.

You didn’t say anything.

You just held him.

Your fingers slowly ran through his hair, the way you had when you were kids—the familiar motion easing the tension from his shoulders, loosening the knot in his chest.

After a long moment, you felt him exhale softly, his breath warm against your skin.

You shifted slightly, gently nudging him back just enough to meet his eyes.

And the moment you saw them—red-rimmed, glassy, and vulnerable—you felt your chest tighten.

Your hand slowly slid up to his face, your thumb brushing softly along his cheekbone.

And you saw it—the way his breath caught slightly at your touch.

The way his eyes lingered on your lips for half a second too long.

But neither of you said anything.

You just sat there—his forehead resting against yours, your breaths softly intermingling, hearts barely steadying.

For a fleeting moment, you thought he might kiss you.

You thought about closing the small space between you.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you slowly brushed his hair back from his eyes, your fingers lingering slightly longer than necessary.

And softly, barely above a whisper, you murmured,

“I’ve got you.”

And he believed you.

[dearstvckyx]

i know that you got daddy issues - max verstappen

After a devastating race where you drop from P3 to P19, your father brutally berates you in your driver’s room. Max, along with Charles and Lando, overhears and throws him out. You leave without a word, shutting yourself in your hotel room. Later, Max shows up, and you let him in. He holds you without speaking, silently offering comfort, and ends by softly telling you that he’s proud of you. - The Neighbourhood , Daddy Issues

Max Verstappen x Reader , Toxic!Dad x Reader

Warnings: Emotional abuse (verbal berating from reader’s father), angst, hurt/comfort.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The night air was heavy with humidity, sticking to the skin as the drivers trickled back toward the paddock. The adrenaline of the race still hummed through the garage, but the celebrations were muted.

Because no one could stop thinking about what happened to you.

You—Mercedes’ newest golden ticket, the one meant to fill Lewis Hamilton’s legendary seat—had gone from a podium contender to finishing a dismal P19. The fall was so sudden, so drastic, that everyone was asking the same thing: What the hell happened out there?

Max Verstappen was still in his race suit, the faint outline of his helmet straps marked on his jaw. His hair clung slightly to his damp skin as he walked alongside Charles Leclerc and Lando Norris, their faces still tense with confusion.

“I still don’t get it,” Charles muttered, shaking his head. “She was holding P3 perfectly, not even pushing too hard. And then…”

“Dropped like a stone,” Lando finished quietly. His voice was softer than usual, the playful edge gone. “No radio issue. No mechanical failure. Just… gone.”

Max stayed silent, jaw clenched. He had seen it happen from his Red Bull cockpit—the way you suddenly slowed, letting driver after driver pass you without a fight. No blocking. No defense. Like you weren’t even there.

And now, as they turned the corner down the hallway toward the driver rooms, their steps slowed.

Because they heard it before they even reached your door.

A voice. Sharp. Cold. Spitting words like venom.

“Do you have any idea how pathetic you looked out there?”

Max’s jaw tightened.

“Jesus,” Lando muttered under his breath, his eyes wide.

The three drivers slowed as they neared your room. Through the cracked door, they could see you—still in your race suit, standing stiffly by the window, your back to your father.

You were gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles were white.

“Do you know how humiliating that was? For me? For your entire team? Christ, you were a goddamn walking embarrassment.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing your breath to stay steady.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“You had the car. You had the strategy. You had a shot at the podium.” His voice grew colder, dripping with disdain. “And you threw it away. Like some—some fucking rookie.”

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood.

“P19,” he spat the words like they physically disgusted him. “Do you know how pathetic that is? I bet every single person watching thought you were a joke.”

Your throat tightened.

“You think Toto is going to keep you around if you keep driving like that? Huh? You think you’re gonna last in this sport? You think—”

“Stop,” you whispered hoarsely, barely able to breathe the word out.

But he didn’t.

He never did.

“You are never going to be Lewis. Never. You’ll be lucky if they don’t toss your sorry ass back to Formula 2.”

You flinched. The words hit harder than any crash could.

And then, your father’s voice dropped lower, cruel and cutting.

“You think Max Verstappen would have just let that happen?” he sneered. “You think he’d just roll over and let people pass him? No. You’re weak. You folded. Like you always do.”

That was the breaking point.

The sharp, traitorous sting flooded your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. You stared hard at the window, blinking rapidly, desperate to keep it together.

Your hands were trembling so badly now that you could barely keep your grip on the table.

You didn’t hear the door open.

You didn’t hear the footsteps.

But suddenly, you heard a different voice.

“Get out.”

It was low. Cold. Steady.

And terrifyingly calm.

You barely turned your head, but your breath caught sharply when you saw him.

Max Verstappen stood in the doorway, still in his Red Bull race suit, the faint outline of his helmet straps marked against his jaw. His sharp blue eyes were hard and unreadable.

Behind him were Charles Leclerc and Lando Norris, both stiff and silent, their jaws set in stone.

Your father blinked, caught off guard for half a second.

Max took a single step forward.

“Get. Out,” he said again, his voice deadly low.

Your father’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Max didn’t flinch. His voice didn’t rise.

But the way he stared your father down—stone-cold, unwavering—was terrifying in its stillness.

“You heard me,” Max said, his voice like steel. “Leave. Now.”

Your father’s jaw tightened, but when Charles and Lando both stepped forward—eyes hard, shoulders squared—he faltered.

For half a second, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes. Fear.

Without another word, your father turned sharply on his heel and stormed out.

The moment the door slammed shut, the room fell into a suffocating silence.

Charles stepped toward you cautiously, his eyes soft with concern. “Hey… you okay?”

But you didn’t answer.

You were already walking away.

Your feet moved on instinct, carrying you past Max, past Lando, past Charles—ignoring the way their voices softened as they called after you. You kept walking down the hallway, your head low, your vision blurred, your chest so tight it hurt to breathe.

You didn’t stop until you reached your hotel room.

And when you finally shut the door behind you, the weight of it all came crashing down.

Changing from your race suit to your sleep wear, still a crying mess. You sit on the hotel bed, trying to steady your uneven breathing.

And then, after a hour or so—a soft knock.

You froze.

You stared at the door, unsure if you imagined it.

Another knock. Softer this time.

You slowly pushed yourself up and crossed the room, your fingers hesitating over the handle.

You opened the door.

And there he was.

Max stood in the hallway, now changed into his Red Bull shirt and pants, his hair messy and damp. His eyes were soft now, all the earlier anger replaced with something gentler.

He didn’t say anything—he just searched your face.

And without a word, you stepped aside and let him in.

The door clicked softly behind him.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

You simply walked back toward the bed and sat down on the edge, your shoulders slumping forward slightly, suddenly too exhausted to hold yourself up.

For a moment, you just stared at the floor, blinking hard against the lump in your throat.

And then—you felt his arms around you.

Strong and steady, wrapping around you from behind.

You let out a shaky breath as his arms tightened around your waist, his chest pressed against your back. He slowly pulled you against him, his legs folding around yours, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.

Neither of you spoke.

He didn’t try to tell you it was okay. He didn’t tell you to calm down. He didn’t rush you.

He just held you.

Your hands slowly reached up, slipping over his arms, holding him in place. Your fingers lightly brushed over his skin, tracing small, aimless patterns as your breathing slowly evened out.

After a long moment, Max shifted slightly. He pressed his lips softly against your temple, lingering there for a beat longer than necessary.

And then, so softly you almost didn’t catch it, he whispered,

“I’m proud of you.”

Your eyes burned. Your breath caught in your throat.

You slowly turned in his arms until you were facing him. His eyes were so soft, so unbearably gentle.

Your voice cracked slightly. “You are?”

Max’s lips parted slightly, his expression softening further. He leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly against yours.

“Always,” he murmured. “No matter what.”

You sat quietly against Max’s chest, your head tucked beneath his chin, the soft rhythm of his breathing slowly lulling you into a calmer state. His arms were still wrapped tightly around you, as if he was afraid to let go.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

And then, his voice, soft and low, barely above a whisper, broke the silence.

“I know that you have daddy issues,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

You froze slightly, your fingers stilling where they were lightly tracing patterns against his arm.

His voice was steady but quiet, almost fragile.

“And I do too.”

Your breath hitched.

You slowly lifted your head, shifting just enough to meet his eyes. His expression was open—vulnerable in a way few people ever saw. His blue eyes were so soft, holding the weight of unspoken memories.

He didn’t have to say anything else. You knew. Everyone did. You knew about the complicated relationship he had with his father—the sharp words, the impossible standards, the suffocating expectations.

And suddenly, you felt it—that quiet understanding. That bond.

Without saying a word, you slowly leaned in, pressing your forehead against his.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, holding him close.

“I know,” you whispered softly.

And with nothing else left to say, you simply closed your eyes and let yourself fall into his arms, knowing you didn’t have to carry the weight alone.

[dearstvckyx]

I Met. A Stranger Yesterday - Mitch Marner

During practice, the Leafs notice Mitch is unusually happy. When Auston confronts him, Mitch reveals he met a girl while walking Zeus—a stranger sketching and giving away drawings. He gushes about her beauty and warmth. On their first date, the Leafs hilariously (and poorly) disguise themselves to spy and make sure she’s good for their friend. - The Neighbourhood , *NSTYNCT

Mitch Marner x Reader , Leafs Players x Mitch Marner

Warnings: None

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The sun streamed through the rink windows, casting golden streaks across the ice as the Toronto Maple Leafs wrapped up practice. The sharp slap of pucks and scrape of blades cut through the morning air, but none of the players could focus.

Because Mitch Marner wouldn’t stop smiling.

And not his usual, cheeky, about-to-do-something-stupid grin. No—this was different. Softer. Dreamier. Like his head was stuck in the clouds.

Auston Matthews leaned against the boards, squinting at him.

“Okay, is it just me or is Mitch…” he tilted his head, searching for the right words.

“Happier than usual?” Morgan Rielly finished, skating up beside him.

William Nylander slid over, eyes narrowed slightly. “If that’s even possible.”

They all watched as Mitch practically floated across the ice, zipping around defensemen with ease, barely even flinching when he took a slap shot to the shin guard. Instead, he just skated it off with a dreamy little grin.

“Okay, that’s not normal,” Willy muttered. “What the hell is going on?”

When practice ended, they made their way to the locker room, exchanging confused glances as they shed their gear.

Auston waited until Mitch plopped down on the bench, still smiling like he had a secret he couldn’t keep.

“Alright, Marner,” Auston drawled, dropping down beside him. “Spill it.”

Mitch blinked at him, clearly still lost in thought. “Spill what?”

“You’ve been skating around like you’re in a rom-com montage. What gives?”

Mitch’s grin grew slightly wider, and his eyes softened just a little.

“Oh,” he said with a dreamy shrug. “I met a stranger yesterday.”

Willy, who had been tugging off his skates, immediately whipped his head around. “You what?”

But Mitch was already talking, the words spilling out faster than he could stop them.

“I was walking Zeus near the park,” he began, eyes lighting up. “And there was this girl sitting on a bench with a sketchbook. She was just… sketching people. Strangers. And then walking up and giving them the drawings. Like it was nothing.”

Auston blinked slowly. “She was just… giving them away?”

“Yeah,” Mitch breathed, still in awe. “No charge, no signatures. Just handing them out.”

His eyes drifted slightly, lost in the memory.

“And then she saw me and Zeus,” he added softly. “And she just walked right up to me—no hesitation—and handed me this sketch.”

He fished out his phone from his bag, scrolling through his camera roll before holding it out. On the screen was a sketch—a perfect black-and-white rendering of Mitch standing with Zeus, the leash slack in his hand, and Zeus’ tongue lolling out with that goofy, wide-eyed grin. The details were sharp and precise—the slight curl of Zeus’ ears, the wind crinkling Mitch’s jacket.

“Jesus,” Morgan muttered, staring at it.

“She got everything,” Mitch murmured, still slightly in awe. “Like the way Zeus tilts his head. She didn’t even know us or me! It was like she’d seen us a hundred times before.”

Willy squinted slightly. “Wait. Did you get her number?”

Mitch blinked.

“…No.”

Auston stared at him, his jaw going slack.

“Are you serious?”

Mitch just let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly, still caught in the memory.

“I wasn’t even thinking about it,” he admitted. “I was too busy watching her give Zeus a treat.” His lips twitched slightly, and his eyes softened. “She knelt down right there in the grass and let him slobber all over her hands. Didn’t even care. Just laughed when he tried to climb into her lap.”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, still smiling.

“She had these big chocolate brown eyes—like, really warm brown. And her hair was kinda messy, but she had these random little pink and red bows clipped in. Not fancy—just mismatched ones, like she didn’t care if they matched.”

Willy shook his head in disbelief. “You met your dream girl and you didn’t even get her number?”

Mitch just grinned.

And then, three days later, fate handed him a second chance.

⸻

Somehow, he ran into you again at a café near the park—the same place you’d been sketching.

This time, he didn’t let you walk away without your number.

You weren’t sure if you expected him to call, but he did. And two days later, you were sitting across from him at a cozy restaurant, nervously stirring your drink while he talked a mile a minute about Zeus.

What neither of you knew was that half the Maple Leafs roster had conspired behind Mitch’s back.

Because across the restaurant, poorly disguised in sunglasses, oversized coats, and awful wigs, sat Auston, Willy, Morgan, and John Tavers —blatantly spying on you.

Auston peeked over his fake menu, lowering his sunglasses slightly. “Jesus,” he muttered. “He’s actually giddy. It’s disgusting.”

Willy, clutching an upside-down newspaper, made a face. “Look at him smiling like that. It’s unnatural.”

Morgan took a slow sip of water, shaking his head dramatically. “It’s like he’s glowing. This is gross.”

John, squinting through a pair of fake reading glasses, whispered, “Should we, like… signal her if she needs help?”

Auston shot him a deadpan look. “She’s dating Marner, not a serial killer.”

But none of them left.

Instead, they watched as Mitch absently reached across the table, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering a little longer than necessary.

“Oh my God,” Willy muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “He’s a goner.”

They exchanged glances when they caught the way Mitch was looking at you—like you were the only person in the room.

And when you laughed—soft and genuine—Mitch practically melted in his seat.

Auston slowly lowered his glasses. “Oh, man,” he whispered, shaking his head. “He’s done for.”

But despite the teasing, they all knew what they were seeing.

Their friend—their goofy, golden retriever-hearted friend—was head over heels.

And they were going to make damn sure he didn’t screw it up.

[dearstvckyx]

You’re always there to help me when I’m down - Lando Norris

After losing the 2024 WDC, Lando fakes being fine. When his girlfriend finds him breaking down alone, she comforts him, reminding him he’s not a failure and everyone is still proud of him. - The Neighbourhood , Compass

Lando Norris x Reader , other drivers x Reader

Warnings: Angst, emotional breakdown, mentions of alcohol, soft comfort.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The crowd roared as Max Verstappen hoisted the World Drivers’ Championship trophy high into the air, the golden light from the fireworks flashing against the metal. Confetti fell in thick waves, sticking to the champagne-soaked track. Cameras flashed relentlessly, capturing every moment of the celebration—the grins, the hugs, the triumph.

Lando stood off to the side, his hands clapping along with the crowd, his smile wide and easy. He even stepped forward, offering Max a handshake, pulling him into a hug.

“Congrats, mate,” he said, his voice steady. Sincere.

Max clapped him on the back, smiling through his exhaustion. “You were incredible this season. You pushed me harder than anyone ever has.”

Lando laughed lightly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Next year,” he joked, flashing that signature grin.

The cameras caught it—the good sportsmanship, the friendly rivalry. The perfect image of a man who had just narrowly missed out on the greatest title in motorsport but was still gracious in defeat.

What the cameras didn’t catch was the way his hand tightened into a fist in his pocket as he walked off the podium.

⸻

The celebration in Monaco was extravagant, thrown by Charles Leclerc himself, toasting not only Max’s victory but also Lando’s, and the other drivers, incredible season. The rooftop terrace was packed—drivers, WAGs, team members, and close friends, all dressed up, glasses of champagne, or hardcore drinks in hand.

Lando had been smiling the entire night. Laughing at Charles’ jokes, clinking glasses with George, accepting back pats and handshakes from anyone who crossed his path.

But you knew better.

You had seen the tightness in his jaw when Max’s name was chanted across the rooftop. You had noticed the way his eyes dimmed just slightly when people called him runner-up.

He had been fine all night. Cheerful. Gracious. And so incredibly fake.

You pressed your drink against your lips, watching him from across the room. His hand rested casually on Oscar’s shoulder as he chatted with George and Alex, his eyes crinkled with laughter. But you could see it—the faraway look just beneath the surface, the flicker of something else in his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

—

You were halfway across the room when you felt a hand brush your arm.

“Hey,” George’s voice was soft as he leaned in. His expression was careful. “Is he okay?”

You blinked, slightly thrown by his question.

“He seems… off,” Alex added, appearing at George’s side, his eyes flickering toward Lando.

Even Max Verstappen, standing by the bar, caught your eye and gave you a subtle glance that seemed to ask the same thing: Is he alright?

And that’s when you knew it wasn’t just you noticing.

You gave them a small, grateful nod, though your stomach knotted slightly.

You made your way over to Lando, slipping your hand into his. His fingers laced through yours easily, but they were slightly clammy.

“Hey,” you murmured softly, leaning into him. “You doing okay?”

Lando glanced at you, the smile on his lips unwavering. “I’m fine.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “You sure?”

He squeezed your hand. “I promise.”

But it was a lie.

And you knew it was a lie the moment he downed the rest of his drink, the way his fingers fidgeted with the rim of his glass, the way he plastered on another smile and turned back to the conversation.

You barely had a chance to press further before he kissed your temple softly. “I’m gonna head back to the hotel,” he mumbled. His voice was low, and you could smell the faint bitterness of alcohol on his breath.

You frowned. “Wait, Lando—”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, louder this time. His voice cut through the conversation, sharp enough that George, Oscar, and Alex glanced over.

You blinked, stunned, as he turned and walked away, his fists clenched at his sides.

You stood there for a moment, the warmth of your champagne glass fading in your hand. Your heart clenched in your chest, but you quickly shook it off, giving the others a weak smile as you quietly excused yourself and followed him out.

⸻

The hotel suite was dark when you entered, except for the faint glow from the bathroom light spilling into the bedroom.

You heard the sound of him before you saw him—the sharp, uneven breaths. The faintest hiccup of a broken inhale.

Your eyes adjusted, and there he was—Lando, sitting on the floor against the edge of the bed, his knees drawn up, his head in his hands. His shirt was still half-unbuttoned, his tie discarded somewhere near the door.

He was trembling slightly, and when you took a step closer, you realized why—he was crying.

“Lan…” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you knelt down in front of him.

He slowly lifted his head, his face streaked with tears. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his cheeks were flushed, either from the alcohol or the overwhelming emotions—probably both.

His voice cracked as he choked out, “I’m sorry.”

You reached for his hand, and he immediately gripped it with both of his, like he was afraid you might pull away. His knuckles were pale from how tightly he held on.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” he whispered brokenly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Hey.” You shook your head, sliding down to sit on the floor beside him. “It’s okay.”

He let out a shuddered breath, his voice fractured. “I’m not fine.”

The confession cracked your chest wide open.

You didn’t say anything. You just shifted closer, wrapping your arms around him, gently pulling him against you. His face pressed into the crook of your neck, and he clung to you with shaky hands, his fingers twisting into your shirt.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You just held him as his shoulders shook softly with each exhale, feeling his warm breath against your collarbone, hearing the slight hitch of every sob he tried to smother.

When his breathing finally evened out, you ran your fingers through his damp hair, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not a failure.”

He let out a shaky breath, but you kept going.

“You raced so well, Lando,” you murmured against his temple. “You fought harder than anyone. You came so close—and everyone saw that. Your team, your fans, your family…” You placed a soft kiss against his hairline. “Me.”

He let out a broken breath, pulling you impossibly closer, like he was trying to anchor himself.

You rubbed slow circles against his back, your voice barely a murmur.

“No one is disappointed in you,” you whispered. “You made us proud.”

His arms tightened around you, his face pressed into your neck, and you felt his warm breath shake against your skin.

Neither of you moved from the floor. You didn’t care that your legs were starting to fall asleep or that your back was aching from the angle. You just sat there, holding him.

And Lando let you.

Because he didn’t need to pretend anymore—not with you. And he knew, you will always be there for him when he’s down.

[dearstvckyx]

I Lied To Be Someone Else For You - Pezzy

Pezzy finally comes clean about lying to himself, pretending to be someone he’s not to keep the reader in his life. Fearing he’ll lose her, he admits his truth—that he doesn’t want to keep pretending, only to be loved for who he really is. Despite the hurt, she chooses to stay, holding on to the real him. The Neighbourhood , $ting

Pezzy x Reader

Warnings: Angst, emotional confession, raw vulnerability, mentions of self-doubt and emotional dishonesty, but ends with reconciliation.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

Pezzy sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. His fingers were trembling slightly, fisting into his hair, but he didn’t even notice.

He couldn’t look at her. Not yet.

Her apartment was quiet, except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the occasional sound of Sly purring. The same apartment he and Sly have stayed at almost every night—the same place where they once danced in the kitchen at midnight when he was drunk and where they hosted movie nights with his friends.

But tonight, it didn’t feel like home for him.

She stood by the window, her arms crossed over her chest. He could feel the tension rolling off her, the weight of all the words they hadn’t said pressing into the room.

“Just tell me,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “Please.”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

You owe her that much Max.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, barely recognizable.

“I lied,” he admitted, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them. “I lied to be someone else for you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Her breath caught slightly. “What… what do you mean?”

Pezzy’s throat felt raw, his chest tight. His hands curled into fists against his knees.

“I wanted to be what you needed,” he rasped. “I wanted to be good enough for you, so I… I changed.” His voice cracked slightly. “I convinced myself that it was me—that I was happy being that version of myself, the one you fell for.”

She took a slow step closer, her voice trembling. “But you weren’t?”

He shook his head, his jaw clenching. “No.”

Her hands dropped to her sides, like the weight of his confession had physically hit her.

“But you never said anything,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together.

Pezzy finally lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. His gaze was tired, red-rimmed, filled with too many emotions to name.

“I know,” he choked out. “I was scared.”

Her lip quivered, and she crossed her arms tighter over her chest, as if trying to hold herself together. “Scared of what?”

His voice cracked. “Of losing you.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away.

“I knew if I told you the truth—if you saw the real me—you’d leave,” he admitted, his voice shaking with the weight of it all. “So I kept pretending. I laughed at things I didn’t find funny, I said yes when I wanted to say no. I made myself smaller, quieter. Easier.”

Her eyes were glassy now, glistening in the dim light.

Pezzy’s voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible. “I lied so well, I started to believe it myself.”

She let out a shaky breath, and for the first time, her eyes hardened slightly. “So, what now?” she asked softly, her voice brittle, almost broken. “Are you saying this because you’re leaving?”

Pezzy’s chest tightened painfully.

No. God, fuck no.

But he didn’t know how to say it—how to ask her to still love him, the real him, the broken, messy parts he had tried to keep hidden.

When he didn’t answer right away, she turned slightly, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.

Her back was to him now, but he still saw the way her shoulders started to shake.

That was when he broke.

“No.” His voice was raw, almost pleading. He pushed off the bed, crossing the room before she could move. His hands were on her waist before she could step away, gently turning her to face him.

Her eyes were filled with tears now, and the sight of them shattered him.

He cradled her face in his hands, his thumb brushing her cheek. His voice was desperate. “I’m not leaving,” he rasped. “I don’t want to leave.”

Her lip trembled. “But you—”

“I just want to stop pretending,” he whispered. “I want you to know me. All of me. The real me. Even if he’s messy and complicated and nothing like the version I tried to be for you.” His voice cracked, his forehead dropping against hers. “I don’t want to be someone else anymore. I just want to be yours.”

She let out a shaky breath, her hands lifting slowly to his chest. For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then she gripped his shirt tightly, fingers trembling slightly. She didn’t pull away.

Pezzy pressed his lips to her forehead, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she let out a broken breath.

And slowly, she nodded.

She didn’t speak, didn’t say anything. She just curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and held on.

And for the first time in a long time, Pezzy felt like he could finally breathe.

Because she was still there—still holding him.

Even after all of it.

[dearstvckyx]

Got our names tattooed on each other just to prove to each other that we'd do what we said - Trevor Zegras (Ft. Jamie Drysdale)

After seventeen years together, Trevor and his wife reflect on the tattoos they got on their 10th wedding anniversary. A flashback reveals her initial nerves about her first tattoo, with Trevor and Jamie teasing her. In the present, Trevor still admires the ink, knowing their love—just like the tattoos—is forever. - The Neighbourhood , Baby Came Home 2 / Valentine’s

Trevor Zegras x Reader , Jamie Drysdale x platonic! Reader , Trevor Zegras x Daughter

Warnings: Mild teasing, mentions of tattoos and tattooing pain, lots of fluff. (Not a warning but this takes place in the future ft a flashback)

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂l

Trevor leaned against the kitchen counter, his eyes following his wife as she moved around the kitchen. The scent of fresh coffee and warm vanilla filled the air, the early morning sun spilling through the windows.

At the dining table, their six-year-old daughter, Erika, sat with a pile of colored pencils, her tongue peeking out in concentration as she colored in a princess dress.

“Daddy, what’s for breakfast?” she asked, swinging her little legs under the table.

Trevor smirked. “Whatever your mom’s making.”

His wife turned from the stove, raising an eyebrow. “So, nothing for you then?”

Trevor grinned and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. He pressed a lazy kiss to her shoulder. “Guess I’ll just have to survive on love.”

She rolled her eyes but leaned into him just slightly. His fingers absently traced under the hem of her tank top, brushing against the ink there—the one tattoo she swore she’d never get until ten years ago. His name, Trevor, etched just below her ribcage.

A permanent mark of them.

His hand shifted, grazing over her side, and his mind drifted back to the night it happened.

Flashback – 10 Years Ago

“You’re stalling.”

“I am not stalling,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Trevor grinned, watching her from where he sat on the leather couch inside the tattoo shop. Jamie Drysdale was next to him, shaking his head as he scrolled on his phone.

“She’s definitely stalling,” Jamie muttered.

She shot him a glare. “I’m thinking.”

Trevor chuckled, leaning forward. “Babe, we’ve been here for an hour. You picked the font, you picked the placement… you just have to actually do it.”

She gnawed on her bottom lip, eyes darting toward the tattoo chair, where the artist was setting up the needle.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “What if it looks bad?”

Trevor scoffed, reaching out to tug her hand. “It won’t.”

She hesitated, fingers fidgeting. “What if it hurts?”

Jamie snorted. “It will. But not that bad.”

Trevor squeezed her hand. “I’ll be right there.”

She glanced at him, her nerves visible, and he softened, tugging her closer so she stood between his legs. “Hey,” he murmured, his hands settling on her hips. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

She let out a breath, her body relaxing slightly.

“But,” he continued, smirking, “if I can get your name permanently on my ribs, you can totally get my first name in tiny little letters under your boob.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you mocking me?”

Trevor grinned. “Nooo.”

She sighed, but he could see the shift in her expression. The hesitation was still there, but the nerves were outweighed by something else—trust.

Trevor held her gaze, brushing a thumb against her hipbone. “I love you,” he said quietly. “Tattoo or no tattoo, that’s not gonna change.”

She bit her lip again. Then, after a long pause, she nodded. “Okay,” she exhaled. “Let’s do it.”

Trevor beamed. “That’s my girl.”

Jamie clapped dramatically. “Finally.”

She rolled her eyes but let Trevor lead her to the chair, her grip tight in his hand. He sat beside her the whole time, letting her squeeze his fingers through every second of it.

And when it was done—when her skin was slightly red, and his name was etched into her forever—Trevor kissed her deeply, whispering against her lips, “Looks perfect.”

Present Day

Trevor traced over the tattoo now, smiling to himself.

“Do you ever regret it?” he asked, breaking the silence.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, smirking. “What? Marrying you or getting your name permanently on my body?”

He grinned. “Both.”

She hummed, tilting her head as if considering it. Then, she dragged her fingers up his ribs, skimming over the ink there—her name, right next to Erika’s, the two most important girls in his life inked against his skin forever.

“Nope,” she said simply.

Trevor hummed. “Even when I drive you crazy?”

She rolled her eyes. “Especially then.”

Erika suddenly piped up, her little voice curious. “Mommy, do I have to get a tattoo when I get married?”

Trevor turned his head, amused. “Only if you marry someone as cool as me.”

His wife scoffed. “So, never?”

Erika giggled, and Trevor clutched his chest dramatically. “You’re both so mean to me.”

His wife leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “You love it.”

Trevor grinned against her mouth, murmuring, “Yeah, I really do.”

Because after seventeen years, their love was still as permanent as the ink on their skin.

[dearstvckyx]

Tell me how'd you get so heavenly? - Oscar Piastri

During the offseason, Oscar and his girlfriend spend peaceful mornings in her small French hometown. As she wakes up, he admires her beauty, teasing her with soft words that make her hide in his chest, flustered. - The Neighbourhood , Heaven

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff, mild teasing, just very cutesy.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The morning air in her small French town was crisp, drifting in through the cracked window of her apartment. The soft hum of life outside filled the space—birds singing, quiet conversations from the street below, the scent of fresh bread and coffee weaving its way inside.

Oscar was awake before her, lying on his side, watching as she slept peacefully beside him. Her cat had claimed his pillow sometime during the night, its little body curled up by his head, its purring steady and rhythmic.

He could stay like this forever.

The offseason had brought them here—away from the fast-paced chaos of racing, tucked into the quiet comfort of her hometown, where everyone knew everyone, and the biggest event of the day was the bakery running out of croissants too early.

And here she was, the most beautiful thing in the entire world, wrapped up in the morning light, breathing steadily beside him.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the daylight, before locking onto his. She blinked, still groggy, then frowned.

“Why are you staring at me, weirdo?” Her voice was laced with sleep, soft and accusing.

Oscar grinned. “No reason.”

She rolled her eyes and started to turn away, but he caught her hand, pulling her back. His voice dropped, teasing but sincere.

“Tell me, how’d you get so heavenly?”

Her breath hitched slightly, and she groaned, burying her face into his chest. “Shut up,” she mumbled against him.

Oscar chuckled, his hand running up and down her back, enjoying the way she clung to him now. “What? It’s a valid question.”

She shook her head, her lips brushing against his skin as she sighed dramatically. “You say these things just to mess with me.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Maybe. But I also mean them.”

She huffed, but he could feel the warmth of her smile against his skin.

The world outside carried on—birds, voices, breakfast scents—but in that moment, in their little pocket of quiet, it was just them.

And Oscar wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[dearstvckyx]

I've been callin' you "friend", I might need to give it up - Christian Pulisic

After confessing, she’s ignored by Christian—until their friends force them to talk. He admits he loves her too but was scared. They finally kiss, giving in to their feelings. - The Neighbourhood , The Beach

Christian Pulisic x Reader

Warnings: Mild angst, emotional tension, brief avoidance/ignoring, but ends with a happy resolution.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

Christian had been avoiding her.

It had been three days since she admitted it—since the words had slipped past her lips, raw and vulnerable.

“I love you, Christian.”

And all he had done was stare at her, wide-eyed and frozen, before turning around and walking away.

No response. No explanation. Just silence from the United States captain.

Now, sitting at a bar with her friends, she stirred her drink mindlessly, trying to act like she wasn’t completely unraveling inside.

“Okay, this is depressing,” her friend Sophie sighed, nudging her. “You need to talk to him.”

She scoffed, taking a sip of her drink. “No thanks. I think the whole ignoring me for three days thing got the message across.”

Sophie exchanged a glance with her other friend, Maddie, who smirked mischievously. “Well, that’s too bad,” Maddie said. “Because he’s here.”

Her stomach dropped. “What?”

But before she could even turn around, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on,” a familiar voice said.

She looked up to see Weston McKennie grinning down at her. And standing behind him? Christian—shuffling awkwardly, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

She tensed. “Weston, what are you—”

“You two need to talk,” Weston said simply, ignoring her protests. Then, before she could react, he physically lifted her out of her seat, ignoring her yelp, and shoved her toward Christian.

Maddie and Sophie gave her an encouraging thumbs-up as Weston clapped Christian on the back. “Don’t be an idiot,” he muttered before walking off.

Now, it was just the two of them.

She folded her arms, masking her hurt with irritation. “So, what? You finally decided to acknowledge my existence?”

Christian winced, running a hand through his hair. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah, you do.”

He exhaled. “I know.”

Silence.

Then, his voice softened. “I didn’t walk away because I don’t feel the same way.”

Her breath caught. “Then why?”

Christian hesitated, then met her eyes—his gaze conflicted, unsure, scared. “Because you’re my best friend,” he admitted. “And I thought… if I let myself love you back, and I lost you, I wouldn’t survive it.”

Her chest tightened.

“And I’ve been calling you friend, but I might need to give it up.”

Her voice was quiet. “You love me?”

Christian swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I do.”

And that was all it took.

She surged forward, grabbing his face and pressing her lips to his, all the pain, all the waiting, all the feelings crashing into that single kiss.

Christian melted into her instantly, his hands finding her waist, holding on like he never wanted to let go.

When they finally pulled away, she rested her forehead against his, breathless. “That took you long enough.”

He let out a shaky laugh, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It did.”

[dearstvckyx]

Hoping She’ll Find She’s Not Alone - Nico Hischier

After a tough loss, Nico breaks down, but his fiancée reminds him he’s not alone. Letting go, he finds comfort in her unwavering support - The Neighbourhood , W.D.Y.W.F.M

Nico Hischier x Fiancé!Reader

Warnings: Sad

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The apartment was dark when Nico got home.

She had left a light on in the living room—just enough to guide him inside—but the space still felt heavy, suffocated by the weight of the loss.

It had been a brutal game. A close one. One where he had given everything, pushed until his legs burned, only to come up short in the end. And as captain, the loss felt like it sat squarely on his shoulders, crushing him beneath its weight.

He dropped his bag by the door and toed off his shoes, running a hand down his face. Every part of him ached—his body, his heart, his pride. He wanted to shower, to forget, to disappear into sleep and pretend tonight never happened.

But then, he saw her.

She was curled up on the couch, waiting for him, eyes soft with understanding the second they met his. No questions, no forced words. Just quiet comfort.

“Hey,” she said gently, sitting up.

Nico exhaled heavily, walking over and sinking onto the couch beside her, his shoulders slumping forward. “Hey.”

She reached for his hand, fingers threading through his, grounding him. “Rough night?”

He let out a humorless laugh. “You could say that.”

Silence settled between them. She didn’t push, didn’t demand he talk about it. She just sat there, present and patient, waiting for him to decide what he needed.

His grip on her hand tightened. “I should’ve been better,” he muttered, voice low and strained.

She frowned. “Nico—”

“I should’ve—” He broke off, shaking his head. His jaw clenched, emotions bubbling beneath the surface, fighting to break through. “I let everyone down.”

Her chest ached at the way he said it—like he truly believed it, like the loss was his alone to bear.

She shifted closer, her free hand reaching up to cup his face, forcing him to look at her. “You didn’t let anyone down.”

Nico scoffed, but she didn’t let him look away.

“You gave everything tonight,” she continued, voice steady. “I saw you. Every shift, every play. You left it all out there, Nico.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“That doesn’t mean you failed.” Her thumb brushed against his cheek. “You carry so much on your shoulders, but you don’t have to carry it alone.”

His breath caught.

The words from the song they had played in the car a few days ago floated into his mind, sinking deep.

Not alone.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “It just—” His voice wavered. “It just fucking sucks.”

She nodded, pulling him into her arms without hesitation. “I know.”

And that was all it took.

Nico let out a shaky breath, his body finally surrendering to the exhaustion, the frustration, the hurt. His arms wrapped around her tightly, his face burying into the crook of her neck as he let himself feel it. The loss, the pressure, the disappointment.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t try to hide it.

She held him, running her fingers through his hair, whispering soft reassurances, letting him lean on her the way she knew he so desperately needed.

Minutes passed—maybe more—before his breathing evened out, before the tension in his body slowly started to fade.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Better?”

Nico sighed, nodding slightly. “Yeah.”

“Good.” She smiled softly. “Because I’m not going anywhere, you know. No matter how bad the losses feel, no matter how much weight you think you have to carry—I’ll be here.”

His chest tightened again, but this time, it wasn’t from pain. It was from love.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her back into him. “Thank you,” he murmured against her skin.

She pressed a kiss to his temple. “Always.”

Because no matter how heavy the burden felt, he would never have to bear it alone.

[dearstvckyx]

Are We Too Young For This? - Gavi

At 19, Gavi and his girlfriend face an unexpected pregnancy, fearing they’re too young for this. His mother is disappointed but ultimately supports them, reminding them they’re not alone. - The Neighbourhood , Softcore

Gavi x GF!Reader

Warnings: Teen Pregnancy(?)

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The bathroom felt too small, too quiet, too suffocating. She gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white as she stared at the test in her shaking hands. Two pink lines.

Pregnant.

Her stomach twisted violently, a mix of fear and disbelief crashing over her in waves. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not now. Not when she and Gavi were barely figuring out adulthood themselves. They were just kids—nineteen, barely twenty.

A shaky breath left her lips. “Are we too young for this?” She asked herself.

The question sat heavily in the air, unanswered.

She didn’t know how long she stood there before she heard the front door open. Footsteps—quick and familiar—echoed down the hall, and then, his voice.

“Amor?” Gavi called, his tone laced with confusion. “Why didn’t you answer my texts?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Then, he stepped into the doorway, his brown eyes locking onto hers immediately. His brows furrowed at her expression—pale face, wide eyes, hands gripping something so tightly that her fingers shook.

His gaze dropped to the test in her hands.

His breath hitched. “No jodas…”

Silence.

Then, his voice—quieter, disbelieving. “Are you serious?”

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Yeah.”

Gavi’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He took a step back like he needed more space, like the air had just been knocked out of his lungs.

Pregnant.

He was going to be a father. His heart pounded in his chest. This wasn’t something they had ever talked about, at least not seriously. They were still kids themselves—he was only nineteen, still trying to make a name for himself in football, still trying to figure out life.

He ran a hand through his hair, his breathing uneven. “I—” He stopped, trying to collect his thoughts. “Fuck.”

Tears welled in her eyes at his reaction, at the panic on his face that mirrored her own. “I know,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do, Pablo.”

His head snapped up at her voice, at the vulnerability in it. For as scared as he was, he could only imagine what she felt. She was the one actually carrying this—literally, emotionally, everything.

His hands instinctively reached for hers, squeezing them gently even though his own were trembling. “Hey, look at me,” he said softly. When she did, he exhaled, nodding as if convincing himself at the same time. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Her voice wavered. “But we’re so young.”

“I know.”

“What if we’re not ready?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if—”

“Cariño.” His voice was firmer now, steady despite the storm inside him. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

She searched his face, looking for doubt, but found none. Just fear—fear that mirrored her own—but also determination.

Then, reality crashed in. His mother.

Her breath hitched. “Your mom is going to kill us.”

Gavi froze. “Mierda.”

—

She had been right.

Gavi’s mother, had barely spoken since they broke the news to her. Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable, and that was somehow worse than if she had been outright angry.

Gavi sat beside her on the couch, hands clasped together, bouncing his leg restlessly. She sat stiffly next to him, waiting for his mother to say something—anything.

Finally, his mother inhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “¿Cómo ha pasado esto, Pablo?”

Gavi winced at her tone. “Mom…”

“No, en serio.” She shook her head. “You’re nineteen. You barely know how to take care of yourself, and now you’re going to take care of a baby?”

Gavi tensed. “I know how serious this is.”

“Do you?” She pressed. “This isn’t just about you anymore. This is a child, Pablo. A life that depends on you.

His jaw tightened. “I know, mamá.”

His mother sighed, rubbing her temple. Then, her sharp eyes turned to the girl sitting beside him, and her expression softened just slightly. “¿Y tú, mi niña? ¿Comp te sientes?”

She swallowed hard. “Scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Her features softened even more. She exhaled slowly, then stood up, walking over to the girl who looked on the verge of tears. Without another word, she pulled her into a tight hug. That was all it took. Her walls crumbled, and the tears finally spilled over as she clung to Gavi’s mother, overwhelmed by everything—fear, relief, uncertainty.

She whispered soothing words, rubbing her back. “Shh, está bien, mi amor. I know it’s scary. I know it’s not what you planned. But you won’t do this alone, okay?”

Gavi watched, his chest tightening at the sight. He had expected yelling, disappointment, but instead, his mother was offering comfort—something he hadn’t even realized he needed, too.

After a long moment, Gavi’s mother pulled back, looking between them. “I’m disappointed,” she admitted. “But I’m not going to abandon you. This baby is coming, and we are going to make sure you’re ready for them. Entendido?”

Both of them nodded, wiping their eyes.

Gavi let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Gracias, mamá.”

Letting a sigh out, she then smacked the back of his head lightly. “Idiota. You should’ve been more careful.”

Despite everything, a small, wet laugh escaped him. “Lo sé.”

His mother shook her head, muttering under her breath before looking at the both of them seriously. “This won’t be easy. But I’ll be here. And you two need to be strong for each other, because this baby will need you.”

Gavi turned to his girl, reaching for her hand. He could still see the uncertainty in her eyes, but when he squeezed her fingers, she squeezed back.

They were young. Too young, maybe. But they weren’t alone.

And somehow, that made it a little less scary.

[dearstvckyx]

you know that she’s mine - Jack Hughes ft. Trevor Zegras

Jack Hughes loses his patience when Trevor Zegras flirts with his girlfriend, unaware she’s taken. Stepping in, Jack makes it clear: “You know that she’s mine, right?” - The Neighborhood, Baby Came Home

Jack Hughes X gf!reader , Trevor Zegras x platonic!reader

warning: none

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

Jack never had a problem with Trevor—until now.

The three of them had been friends for years, long before Jack and the reader had started dating. But their relationship wasn’t public—Jack liked it that way. He liked keeping her to himself, liked that no one speculated about their love, no fans trying to analyze their every move. It was just theirs.

But maybe keeping it quiet had its downsides. Like now.

Trevor had been talking to her all night, the easy charm in his voice making her laugh a little too much for Jack’s liking. His hand would brush against hers, he’d lean in a little too close, and Jack was watching all of it from across the room, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists.

Trevor had no idea. No idea that the girl he was shamelessly flirting with was his. Jack’s. And Trevor, being Trevor, had no boundaries when he thought someone was single.

Jack tried to ignore it. He really did. But then he heard Trevor’s voice, just loud enough to carry over the music.

“C’mon, you’re seriously telling me you don’t have a boyfriend? A girl like you?” Trevor had asked her.

Her laugh was soft, but it made Jack’s blood boil. Before she could even answer, Jack was moving, cutting through the crowd with a sharp purpose.

Trevor didn’t even see him coming.

Jack stepped right between them, his hand finding its place—where it belonged—on her waist. He looked at Trevor, eyes dark, voice low and sharp.

“You know that she’s mine, right?”

Trevor blinked, confusion flickering across his face before realization hit him like a slap.

“Wait. What?” He looked between them, the way Jack’s grip tightened on her waist, the way she leaned into him so naturally. “Dude—her?”

“Yeah. Her.”

Jack didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he turned his attention to her, his free hand gently tilting her chin up so their eyes met. He didn’t say anything, just searched her face, needing to see if she was okay, if she wanted him to step in.

Her small smile told him everything he needed to know.

Jack didn’t care if Trevor had no idea. He didn’t care if people started putting two and two together after this. He just cared that she was his, and that no one—not even Trevor Zegras—got to act like she wasn’t.

[dearstvckyx]

- The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist -

You know that she's mine (Baby Came Home)

When you let me start to love you (Leaving Tonight)

If you wouldn't take the help? (How)

It hurts but, I won't fight you (Afraid)

Everybody's watching me (Everybody's Watching Me (Uh Oh)) [sister!reader]

And now, so let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater (Sweater Weather)

Just let it go, forget it for ever and ever and ever (Let It Go)

Then we all grew up, shit got tough, shit just wasn't simple enough (Alleyways)

Hoping she'll find she's not alone (W.D.Y.W.F.M?)

She's enough for me, she's in love with me (Flawless)

Praying to whatever is in heaven, please send me a felon (Female Robbery)

Every night, I'm sick and why? (Staying Up)

Dancing through the night (A Little Death)

I met a stranger yesterday (NSTYNCT)

You wish I was yours and I hope that you're mine (Lurk)

I tried to love you, baby (Warm)

Promise you that I'll make a baby with you (Jealou$y)

I've fallen in love, I've fallen behind (1 Of Those Weaks)

Your blue eyes and those red lips (Dangerous)

Being away from her, it makes me hurt, it makes me sad (To)

Did I even ever cross your mind? (#icanteven)

I keep thinkin' 'bout you and I (U&I)

You were crazy but I miss you (T$RL)

You need to cry, baby (Cry Baby)

make you need me? (Wiped Out)

I've been callin' you "friend", I might need to give it up (The Beach)

I know that you got daddy issues, and I do too (Daddy Issues)

Got our names tattooed on each other just to prove to each other that we'd do what we said (Baby Came Home 2 / Valentines)

You know you got all my attention (Single)

I'm in the passenger seat, you're in control (Scary Love)

You've got me nervous to speak (Nervous)

Are we too young for this? (Softcore)

You're my best friend, I'll love you forever (You Get Me So High)

And you save me (Reflections)

(You) couldn't be more different than me (Stuck With Me)

Left his hometown, didn't slow down 'cause he never fell far enough (24/7)

Tell me how'd you get so heavenly? (Heaven)

You're always there to help me when I'm down (Compass)

Said "I love you" too soon (Livin’ In A Dream)

Do you remember when we were friends? (Beautiful Oblivion)

As long as I got you i’m gonna be alright (Pretty Boy)

Married to my friends (Devil’s Advocate)

You've got a heart of gold and mine is always broken (The Shining)

I lied to be someone else for you ($ting)

Hard not to fall for you, I gave you all my heart (Fallen Star)

[dearstvckyx]

Girl Dad Nico Headcanons

Summary: What kind of girl dad would Nico be? What would he teach her?

Parings: Nico Hischier x Reader / Nico Hischier x Daughter / Nico Hischier x Unborn Child / ft Jack Hughes, Jesper Bratt & Dougie Hamilton

. 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 .

Finding Out You’re Having a Girl – Nico would be so soft when he finds out. The moment the doctor says, “It’s a girl,” his face just lights up. He squeezes your hand, probably kisses your forehead, and just whispers, “A little girl?” like he can’t believe it. He spends the next few days grinning every time he thinks about it, already imagining what she’ll be like. He starts calling her “his little princess” before she’s even born.

Introducing Her to the boys – The first time he brings her to the locker room, she’s in a tiny Devils onesie with Hischier on the back, and the guys lose their minds. Jack Hughes is immediately like, “Oh my god, she’s so small,” while Dougie Hamilton is already trying to teach her how to fist bump. Jesper Bratt swears he’s her favorite uncle, even though she’s just staring at him. Nico just beams with pride, holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the world (because to him, she is).

Teaching Her to Skate – The first time he puts skates on her, she’s wobbling so much he just scoops her up and glides around the ice with her in his arms. As she gets older, he’s the most patient teacher, always there to catch her when she falls. He definitely lets her “beat” him in little races, and if she scores a goal on him, he acts like she just won the Stanley Cup.

Tea Parties – Listen, this man is all in. You walk in one day to find Nico sitting on the floor, a tiara on his head, pink feather boa around his shoulders, sipping invisible tea from a tiny cup while his daughter tells him very seriously about the royal ball. He never half-asses it—if she wants him to talk in a princess voice, you bet he’s doing it. “Why yes, Your Majesty, this tea is simply divine.”

Making Time for Her Performances – Even during the busiest parts of the season, he does everything to be at her dance recitals or school plays. If he has a game and can’t be there, he FaceTimes right after to tell her how proud he is. But if he can make it? He’s the loudest dad there, clapping like crazy, grinning ear to ear, probably recording the whole thing. He also definitely gets chirped by the guys for tearing up the first time she performs.

Matching Game Day Outfits – She has a tiny Devils jersey with his number, and on game days, she refuses to wear anything else. He takes a pre-game selfie with her every time and posts it with “My lucky charm” as the caption.

Doing Her Hair – At first, he sucks at ponytails, but he watches YouTube tutorials until he masters it. Eventually, he’s braiding her hair like a pro, and if she asks for a fancy style before school, he’s up early making sure it’s perfect.

Letting Her Paint His Nails – She asks him once during a daddy-daughter day, and from then on, it’s a tradition. He just sits there, letting her paint his nails bright pink with glitter, acting like it’s totally normal when he shows up to practice. The guys chirp him, but he just shrugs and says, “She said it’s my power color.”

Protective Dad Mode – The first time she scrapes her knee, he freaks out like it’s a season-ending injury. Later, when she gets older and mentions a boy in her class, he’s suddenly very interested in meeting him. “Is he nice to you?” (Meanwhile, Jack is in the background like “Dude, she’s seven.”)

Cuddling Her After Road Trips – No matter how late he gets home, he checks in on her first. If she stirs, she immediately mumbles “Daddy?” and reaches for him, and he just melts, scooping her up and rocking her back to sleep.

Teaching Her Swiss German – He makes sure she knows both English and Swiss German. Sometimes, he says things in Swiss German just to see her little face scrunch up in confusion, but when she starts speaking it back? Proud dad moment.

Baking Together – He is not a good baker, but when she wants to make cookies, he’s all in. The kitchen ends up a disaster, flour everywhere, and the cookies are questionably shaped—but he eats them like they’re Michelin star quality.

Letting Her “Help” With Workouts – She sits on his back while he does push-ups, giggling the whole time. Eventually, she tries to do squats next to him, and he hypes her up like she’s training for the Olympics.

Always Hyping Her Up – Whether she’s showing off a drawing, skating, or just spinning in a dress, he gasps like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. “Are you kidding? You made this?! That’s incredible.”

Her First Pair of Skates – He keeps them forever, even after she outgrows them. They sit on a shelf in his office, right next to his hockey memorabilia. ( Once Jesper, the one who got them for her, notices them in Nico’s office and just smiles at the fact his captain and friend is soft like this)

Stuffed Animal Ritual – She has a favorite stuffed animal (probably a little cow or a bear), and Nico always makes sure it’s with her when she needs it. If it ever gets lost, he drops everything to find it.

Late-Night Talks – When she has a bad day, she finds him on the couch, and he just listens. No judgment, no pressure—just her dad, reminding her he’s always there.

Surprising Her at School Lunch – On off days, he shows up at her school unannounced with her favorite food, and she acts embarrassed but secretly loves it.

Making Every Birthday Special – He wakes her up with balloons and pancakes. Every year. Even when she’s a teenager and pretends she’s too cool for it.

Keeping Her Drawings Forever – His fridge is covered in her artwork. If she ever makes something hockey-related, it immediately gets framed. (The boys hang their little drawings from her as well)

Extra:

Nico’s fingers brush over your growing bump, his touch warm and careful, like he’s holding something fragile. He lets out a small chuckle, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders as you both lay together on the couch. “I feel like it’s another girl,” he murmurs, tilting his head to look at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. You raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You sure about that, Cap?” He grins, nodding. “I just have a feeling.” His hand smooths over your belly again, his voice quieter now, almost like he’s speaking to the baby. “Another little girl to boss me around. Just imagine—two of them ganging up on me.” He lets out a dramatic sigh, but the sparkle in his eyes betrays how much he loves the idea. You laugh, resting your head against his shoulder. “You don’t want a boy this time?” He shrugs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’d love a boy too. But… I don’t know, I think I was meant to be a girl dad. Our little one already has me wrapped around her finger, what’s one more?” He pauses for a second before smirking. “Besides, I need someone else to paint my nails when she’s too busy with her friends.”

[dearstvckyx]

The Ones Who Knew - NH13 (ft. Hischier Family , Jesper Bratt)

summary: after the proposal nina hischier exposes she and two of nico’s teammates knew about it all along.

pairings: nico hischier x reader / jesper bratt x reader / hischier family x reader / jack hughes x reader /

. 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 .

The moment Nico slipped the ring onto your finger, the world seemed to explode around you. His teammates were cheering, fans were screaming, and somewhere in the chaos, Jack Hughes was loudly declaring, “ABOUT TIME!”

But before you could even process it all, a pair of strong arms wrapped around you—Katja Hischier, pulling you into the warmest, tightest hug.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “We have been waiting for this moment for so long. Welcome to the family—officially.”

Your heart clenched as you hugged her back, feeling the weight of her words settle deep in your chest. You’d always felt like a part of their family, but now? Now, it was real.

Before you could say anything, Rino Hischier stepped forward, his usual reserved demeanor softening as he placed a firm hand on Nico’s shoulder. He turned to you with a rare, proud smile.

“You make him happy,” he said simply. “That’s all we could ever ask for.”

Your fingers curled tighter around Nico’s, your emotions threatening to spill over again. “And he makes me happy.”

The moment was interrupted by a loud groan. “Finally!”

You barely had time to react before Nico’s younger brother, Luca, practically tackled you in a hug before shaking his brother’s shoulders. “Seriously, I was starting to think you’d wait until retirement to do this.”

“Hey!” Nico protested, laughing as he shoved him back.

Luca smirked. “I mean, I knew from the first time I met her that she was stuck with us forever. Guess I was right.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you teased, making Luca chuckle.

Then, just as you thought you could catch your breath, Nina burst forward, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Oh my god, do you have any idea how hard this was to keep a secret?” she blurted, grabbing your hands to stare at the ring on your finger.

Your eyes widened. “Wait… you knew?”

“Of course I knew!” she exclaimed. “Me, Jack, and Jesper were the only ones Nico told! And do you know how impossible it is to not slip when you talk to someone every day?”

Jesper Bratt appeared beside her, laughing as he threw an arm around Nico’s shoulders. “I deserve a medal for keeping my mouth shut,” he joked. “I almost slipped, like, a hundred times.”

Nico chuckled, shaking his head. “I was half-expecting Jack to ruin it somehow.”

Jesper smirked. “Oh, we all were. But lucky for you, he was too busy talking about himself to notice.”

Nina rolled her eyes before turning back to you, her expression softening. “But seriously, I’m so happy for you guys. You’ve been part of our family forever, but now it’s official. And I couldn’t imagine anyone better for my brother.”

Your heart swelled as she pulled you into a tight hug, and you let yourself sink into the moment.

Nico looked around at the people who meant the most to him—his teammates, his family, and the love of his life standing right beside him, wearing the ring he had picked out months ago.

And as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close despite the roaring crowd, he knew one thing for certain.

This? This was everything he had ever dreamed of. And the someday came true.

main story

[dearstvckyx]

High School Sweethearts - NH13 (ft. NJD players , Hischier family)

summary: the four times you and Nico talked about marriage, and the one time where the talks came true / childhood friends - high school sweethearts - husband and wife

pairings: nico hischier x reader / njd players x reader / hischier family x reader / jack hughes x reader

. 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 . ⁺ 　 . 　⁺ 　 .

1. The Playground Wedding

At seven years old, “marriage” wasn’t much more than a game. The two of you stood under the big oak tree in the schoolyard, hands clasped together as your best friend Jonas took on the role of officiant.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Jonas declared, barely holding back a snicker.

Nico’s face turned red instantly. “No kissing!” he protested, shaking his head so hard his hair flopped over his eyes.

You made a disgusted face, nodding along. “Yeah, gross!”

Jonas rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. “Fine, then just hold hands. And say ‘I do.’”

You and Nico glanced at each other, suppressing giggles before mumbling in unison:

“I do.”

“I do.”

Jonas clapped his hands together with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Okay, now you’re married! That means you have to stay together forever!”

At the time, neither of you thought much of it. Forever was just a word, and marriage was just a game. But even as you ran off to the swings afterward, hands still loosely linked, neither of you let go first.

2. Late-Night Conversations in High School

Years passed, and what was once a childhood game had become something real.

It was your senior year of high school, and the two of you had been dating since freshman year. You were lying on Nico’s bed, staring at the ceiling as music played softly in the background, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his arm.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you asked, voice quiet in the dim glow of his bedside lamp.

“With you?” Nico turned his head to look at you, a small smile playing at his lips. “Always.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you pressed on. “Do you ever think about, like… marriage?”

Nico was silent for a moment, then shifted onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. “Yeah. I mean… it’s not something I’d want to rush, but I can’t really imagine being with anyone else.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Me neither.”

He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Then maybe, someday…”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Someday.”

3. After the Draft

Nico had been drafted first overall to the New Jersey Devils, and life had changed overnight. Between training camps, media obligations, and moving to a new city, everything felt like a whirlwind. But when he had a rare free moment, he called you.

“You sound tired,” you noted, voice laced with concern.

Nico chuckled softly. “I am. But I wanted to hear your voice.”

You bit your lip, missing him more than you wanted to admit. “Is it everything you expected?”

“It’s… a lot,” he admitted. “But it’s worth it. I just wish you were here with me.”

Your heart ached. “Me too.”

There was a pause before he added, almost shyly, “You know… if you were my wife, you could come with me anywhere.”

Your breath hitched. “Nico—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted with a nervous laugh. “Not yet. But… someday, right?”

You smiled, your chest tightening with love for him. “Someday.”

4. Jack Hughes and His Big Mouth

Taking care of an injured, very drunk Jack Hughes was not how you and Nico had planned to spend your evening.

Jack was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes. “You guys are so cute. Like… stupid cute.”

You exchanged amused glances with Nico. “Thanks, Jack,” you said, adjusting the ice pack on his knee.

Jack suddenly sat up—or at least tried to, before flopping back down with a groan. “No, but like, seriously. Nico talks about marrying you all the time.”

Your eyes widened. “He does?”

Nico groaned, running a hand down his face. “Jack—”

But Jack had already passed out.

Silence filled the room until you turned to Nico, raising an eyebrow. “All the time, huh?”

Nico sighed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I mean… yeah. I do think about it. A lot.”

You felt your heart swell. “Me too.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile. “Good. Because I meant it when I said someday.”

You leaned against him, your fingers finding his. “Someday,” you echoed, squeezing his hand.

5. The Proposal

The New Jersey Devils had just won the Stanley Cup. The arena was electric—fans screaming, confetti raining down like a dream, and the sound of skates scraping against the ice as teammates embraced, shouted, and celebrated the biggest moment of their careers.

You stood at the edge of the chaos, watching Nico soak it all in. His hair was damp with sweat, his face lit up in pure joy as he hugged his teammates, lifted the Cup high above his head, and let out a triumphant yell. You had never seen him look happier, and it made your heart swell with pride.

Then, as if he could feel your eyes on him, Nico turned to you.

His smile softened, something deeper flickering in his eyes as he skated over. Without a word, he reached for your hands, his own still trembling from adrenaline, from the weight of what he was about to do.

The roaring crowd, the flashing cameras, the sea of teammates and WAGs—everything blurred into the background.

“You know how I always said ‘someday’?” he began, his voice thick with emotion.

Your breath hitched, your hands tightening around his.

Nico took a shaky breath and reached into the collar of his jersey, pulling out something that had been tucked beneath the fabric—a ring, carefully secured to a thin chain around his neck.

Your hands flew to your mouth as your heart pounded in your chest.

“I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment,” he continued, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions written all over his face. “And I realized… there’s no better moment than this. No better place. No better time.”

He let go of your hands just long enough to drop down onto one knee, right there on the ice, surrounded by his teammates, his family, the fans who had watched his journey from the start.

Your vision blurred with tears as he held the ring up to you, his blue eyes shining with nothing but love.

“You have been with me through everything—every high, every low, every dream I chased. And through it all, the only thing I was ever truly sure of was you.” He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t want to say ‘someday’ anymore. I want forever to start now. So… will you marry me?”

For a moment, all you could do was nod, too overwhelmed to form words. When you finally found your voice, it was barely more than a whisper—shaky, full of love, of certainty.

“Yes,” you breathed.

The arena erupted into cheers as Nico slipped the ring onto your finger, his hands still shaking, and then, without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, lifting you off the ice and spinning you around.

The cameras flashed, the confetti kept falling, and somewhere in the background, Jack Hughes was loudly cheering, “ABOUT TIME!” Earning a smack on the back of his head from Jesper.

But all you could focus on was the boy who had once fake-married you on a playground, who had spent years saying ‘someday,’ and who was now kissing you in front of thousands, sealing a promise that had been written in your hearts all along.

Someday had finally arrived. And it was perfect.

Extra:

The ones who knew

The drunkenness of Jack Hughes