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captain-huggy-bear · 16 days ago

Text

The Missing Puck

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Little hurt/comfort because Quinn isn't perfect, but he has good intentions and it's a fluffy end

Summary: It's the Hughes Bowl...and you're missing your usual warmup puck from Quinn. You think he's forgotten, he most definitely has not, but he didn't think this through. Fuck.

Notes: Sequel to The Collection

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

Writing Masterlist

Another home game for Vancouver meant another puck ready and waiting for you fresh from the ice. Or it should have.

You were waiting glass side for the teams to come out for warmups, today the Canucks would go face to face with the Devils and like always you are both excited for Quinn to get to see his entire family and sad that at least one of the Hughes brothers has to lose tonight's game. You expect to see Quinn make a beeline for you like he always does with a puck to throw over the glass for you. When it doesn't come and he skates past you with a smile to go warm up you just assume he'll pick one up for you nearer the end of warm ups, not too bothered at first by the missing puck that should have already been in your hands. Even fans around you gave you a look, so familiar with the ritual that was Quinn Hughes giving his girl a puck.

When the puck fails to come at the end of warm ups, when you watch him skate off the ice at the end of warmups without passing you your puck, the puck he's given you every single day since the very first game you attended, you try to justify it as he's distracted. The Hughes' Bowl, as people called it, was a high stress time for Quinn, the desire to win competing with the desire for his brothers' to win, mixed with concern that either of his brothers might get hurt by his own teammates. It was natural for him to be a bit distracted, for him to forget. It was just a puck.

You try not to let it ruin your night, to not distract you from the game, but you can't help it. You just feel...sad, forgotten. Quinn has never forgotten to get you a puck. In the 135 games that you've watched, he has never forgotten to get you a puck. Even when it's an away game you can't come to he's always come back with a puck from each, a thought about you that he's had written on each, sometimes arriving back to the apartment with 6 or 7 pucks in tow.

You try your best to watch the game, cheering when either the Canucks and Quinn score or Jack or Luke do, you can't really help but support your boyfriend's brothers, even if you want Quinn to ultimately win the game. Still, your cheers are definitely lack lustre and there's a heavy feeling in your chest that just won't disappear.

Even the Canucks' win doesn't make the feeling disappear and you berate yourself all the way to locker rooms about it. it's so silly to be worked up over a puck of all things, you've got over a hundred of them, what's one less? It's not like he forgot your birthday or left you at an event, forgetting to take you home. It's silly that you feel so upset about something so...so unimportant, or that's what you tell yourself anyway.

Deep down you know it's not silly to be upset about it. This was a ritual, a special thing that the two of you had been doing long before you were official. He'd never forgotten to give you a puck before and the idea that there would be a gap, a game missing from your collection? A day missing from the story you'd been cataloguing in bits of vulcanised rubber? It wasn't silly to feel forgotten. It wasn't silly to be happy for Quinn's win while deep down feeling like he'd let you down.

He actually hates it. Watching the way your face falls when he simply skates past you with a smile during warmups, he hates the way you stay right up at the glass the entire time, biting your lip, like he might remember in a minute...As if he ever even forgot.

It's hard for him to focus on the game, to be perfectly honest, for the first time in a while he can't keep from searching for you in the crowd. He can't help but hate the glimpses he gets, the way you cheer half-heartedly after his goal, the way your shoulders are slumped. He feels like an asshole and maybe he could have planned this whole thing better? Maybe he should have given you two pucks rather than waiting, waiting, waiting to give you the one...he just hopes that you forgive him for the torture he's put you through and forgive him for being a complete and utter idiot about it.

He really didn't consider that by planning to give you the puck after the game you'd feel forgotten, he didn't consider that he'd always given you a puck at the start of warmups, never at the end, never after and certainly not after an entire game. Yeah, he was an asshole and he thinks he'll be lucky if you give him the answer he wants tonight. It makes anxiety buzz so hard in his stomach that he feels sick for most of the 2nd and 3rd periods.

He doesn't waste time getting off the ice once the game is through and he doesn't even get out of most of his gear in the locker room, just his skates, gloves and bucket. He's rushing as he picks up the puck he scored with that night, but tries to calm his shaking hands when their rookie, Sasson, passes him a metallic gold pen to write across the puck's surface. There's both a deep need to be quick, to find you as soon as possible, and a deep need to do this correctly, to take his time. Not write a scrawling mess across it that you won't even be able to read.

He almost walks out the locker room without the final piece to the whole thing, but it's Kiefer that tosses him the little black box from his things before he embarrasses himself even more than he already has that night. He barely hears the good lucks from the rest of the guys, so focused on what he needs to do and trying to salvage this whole situation.

You look so small in the hallway outside, arms crossed over your chest as if you're trying to protect yourself from the world, eyes downcast to the ground. You feel small, a heavy weight of disappointment on your shoulders that doesn't ease much when you hear footsteps across the carpet and look up to see Quinn rushing towards you.

He's still in most of his gear, hair tousled and messy, moistened from sweat. His cheeks are flushed red and he's practically stumbling over his words the moment you're in ear shot, rushing towards you like a runaway train.

"I'm so sorry, this is not how this was supposed to go and I completely didn't think about how you'd feel an-" He's talking so fast that you're simply filling in the blanks, of course he's apologising for forgetting the puck and the one in his hand is clearly one from after the game. It shouldn't disappoint you more, it should make you feel better, that he's remembered now, even if later on in the day.

"It's okay, Quinn...it's just a puck..." You try to reassuring him, but he's shaking his head. Quinn's eyes go wide at the realisation that you think he forgot when he most certainly did not and he is not having you think he forgot when this was all part of the plan, a fucking stupid plan, but a plan nonetheless.

"That's not...I didn't forget the puck, I promise, I didn't forget the puck, baby." He sounds so absolutely desperate, so horrified that you believe him. Even, if it confuses you even more.

"But...but you always give me the puck at the start of warm ups?"

"I know...I...I thought if I did this after the game it would be better and I could have it all prepared, but I didn't really think about the fact you'd be expecting it at warms ups and I'm fucking inconsiderate asshole..." Half of what he has to say is a rambling mess that you can't really comprehend, so you latch onto the last thing he says that rockets your anxiety through the roof because giving you a puck later in the day is certainly not something which makes him an asshole even if it set your anxiety off and made you sad.

"Quinn, you're not an asshole, it's okay!"

"No, not it's not! Because...because I've messed this up so bad and if you don't want to say yes I completely get it..." Quinn almost looks ready to cry and he feels like it, in his head he's catastrophising. You're going to say no because he was too big of an idiot to think about the routine he'd made with you, the expectation you would have, the anxiety he would be putting you through for 3 hours.

You stop for a minute, processing his words as he stares at you horrified, scared, worried, all of the above and every synonym for them under the sun. The silence is so dreadfully loud and broken by the softest whisper of your voice, "Say yes?"

Quinn's scared, certain he's going to have a heart attack in that moment but still he forces his hands to move, toss the puck in his hands lightly to you and watch as you twist it right side up.

He has to stop himself from rambling further as he gets down on one knee in front of you, shaking hands opening up the little black box Kiefer had given him. The ring inside is perfect for you, the right gem, the perfect colour, the correct metal and shape. The epitome of someone knowing exactly what you'd find most desirable in a ring, but you're not looking at it, your eyes are fixed on the puck in your hands.

It's the usual beat up puck, although not a warmup puck this time but an official game puck, a goal scoring puck. Across the surface in gold lettering Quinn's handwriting stands out. The date is scrawled across the surface and underneath? Oh, underneath might be the most beautiful sentence you've ever read in your life and you can't help but feel tears well up in your eyes as you read them.

'Will you marry me?'

It all makes sense now. His rambling on about you not saying yes, his insistence that he'd messed up. He's scared, you can understand it now. That this absolutely amazing, wonderful man, thinks that something as simple as not giving a puck to you earlier is going to make you say no. When in reality very few things could ever stop you from saying yes, saying yes felt as natural as breathing.

"Give me a pen..." Your voice is wobbly and quiet as you request a pen, puck shaking in your hands as you look up at him and he's certain you're going to say no to him, so certain he takes a moment to process what you've asked for. Blinking at you blankly.

"Pen?"

"Give me a pen, Quinn." You reiterate until he seems to process your words and then he is scrambling, fumbling around as if he even has pockets in his gear which he doesn't. He almost drops the ring in the process and it is so utterly endearing to see how absolutely he wants to make this right and please you, as endearing as it is heart wrenching that he seems to think you'd ever say no.

He stumbles around, forgetting he's left the pen in the locker room, cursing this whole mess until Jack is leaning over his shoulder dangling it between two fingers with a soft smile. Luke just stood off to the side behind him. He supposes it would be par for the course for his brothers to be present for his imminent rejection and humiliation. Better them than anyone else.

He passes you the pen with shaking hands and can't take his eyes off you as you write something underneath his own words.

When you toss it back to him he's so certain that he's going to see a big no underneath that it takes him a minute of staring to actually comprehend what he's seeing, the puck shaking in his hands. Your handwriting lays so neatly underneath his, but its the unfathomable word that hits him with warmth and a bright spark of happiness straight to the chest.

'Yes -`♡´-'

Quinn's eyes pan up to you slowly, wide and bright as his lips part in shock. Glancing back down and up again as if he has to read the word a few more times to just make sure.

"Of course I'll marry you, you absolute idiot...why would I not?" You're smiling at him through the tears that slip down your cheeks, happy tears this time, not the disappointed ones you had supressed earlier in the evening. These tears are a combination of every feeling of affection and love you have for Quinn and the hopes you have too.

"Be..because I...I mess it all up..." He looks so utterly startled, so taken off guard and it hurts that he can't understand why one mistake wasn't really the end of it all. He's overthought the whole thing, just like you did. Two peas in a proverbial stressed out pod.

"Quinn," You close the remaining distance between the two of you, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks softly. Palms pressing against scratchy stubble as he looks down at you so softly, "I love you...messing up a little bit isn't going to change that, not when your intentions were so so sweet, baby..."

"So...you'll marry me?"

"I'll marry you." You confirm, grinning up at him as his mind works so hard behind green eyes. Little by little the doubt, confusion, starts to fade away to joy, to love, the way it should be after a proposal.

"You're going to marry me." You nod your head in confirmation, thumbs brushing across his cheeks in soothing circles, "We're getting married."

"Just put the ring on her, you idiot!" Luke calls from behind Quinn's shoulder and your gaze shifts to see the younger man grinning at the two of you, hands in his pockets and shaking his head. Jack is grinning equally as hard, the two brothers watching their older brother lose that calm, capable edge he always seems have. Both knowing they're never going to let him live this down. Ever.

"Shit!" He fumbles for the box, passing you the puck as his hands shake as he takes your left hand in his and slips the ring on your finger. It fits perfectly and it's beautiful, truly, what you imagined your engagement ring would one day look like.

He can't really comprehend it, that it's the ring he's given you on your finger, that he hasn't completely fucked this up. That you're going to be his wife.

It's you that pulls him close, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. It's so soft and sweet that he isn't really sure what to do with himself for a moment and just stares down into your eyes.

"I love you, Quinn Hughes." You mumble against his lips, you're still grasping the puck in your right hand, even now. If anything your grip on the physical memory of this moment has grown tighter, scared it might fly away if you don't grasp it tightly.

"I love you too...thanks for saying yes." He sounds a little dumb, endearingly dumb.

"Quinn!" You lean back with a laugh, but don't get vary far before Quinn's arms are wrapping tight around your waist and pulling you back into his body. The closeness is appreciated not just because of the giddy high you're riding but because of how much distance there had been in the confusion of the day and Quinn's proposal.

"Am I not supposed to say that?" He grins down at you for the first time that night and it's the first moment where it feels real. He just asked you to marry him and you said yes. You're going to be Mrs Hughes.

"You generally don't thank your fiancé for agreeing to marry you, no. But you're welcome." You smile into the kiss he presses to your lips, losing yourself in the scratch of his stubble across your cheeks and the soft but firm press of his lips against yours. You let yourself just enjoy the feel of Quinn's hands gripping your hips and forget for a moment that you're in a corridor, a public space with your fiancé's brothers stood nearby.

"So drinks?" You're pulled away from the moment by the sound of Jack's voice chipping in. You pull back from the kiss, forehead pressing into Quinn's chest with a groan as he snaps at his brother lightly.

"Jack!"

"What we've got to celebrate right? Quinny can go get all cleaned up and then we'll go to a bar and celebrate this one becoming our new sister!" When you look up Jack and Luke have matching grins on their faces, cheeks pulled so high you're certain their faces must be hurting. Jack's grin is the more mischievous of the two, no doubting wondering how drunk he can get Quinn tonight, no doubt planning on using the special occasion to get Quinn to break from his health kick this season.

"Ugh, I forgot I'd be getting you two in this deal...can I change my mind?" You pretend to be put out, pouting at the two boys who you'll end up calling your brothers in short order.

You and Quinn turn to face them, Quinn tucking you under his arm and close to his side. He smiles down at you with what can only be called loving stubbornness.

"Not on my life, baby, you're stuck with me and stuck with Tweedledee and Tweedledum, sorry!"

"Hey!" "We're great!" The two protest and in that moment it all feels like the first day of the rest of your life. The man you love giving you his name in the sweetest and most chaotic way possible. The two men in front of you becoming your brothers in name not just actions. The moment when it is cemented firmly that you're not going anywhere and neither is Quinn. That you're stuck with each other.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

When you get back to the apartment that night, after a few drinks, Quinn avoiding being drawn into unruly behaviour by Jack, Quinn watches from the bed as you pull the familiar and now incredibly full box of hockey pucks out of the closet and place the new entry right on top. He smiles as you pat it gently before putting the box back away where you'll reach for it when he's away on his next roadie.

Watching you in that moment Quinn thinks he's the luckiest guy in the world to get the girl who still said yes even as he stumbled through a proposal that should have been perfect, but was far from it.

A girl that forgave him for a missing puck.

#huggy bear writes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes/reader #quinn hughes #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #may this bring you joy after that devils game we all just watched

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