verycoolusername1

[verycoolusername1]

The Teacher's Always Right

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Your students badger you about your relationship status and you let slip you're dating a hockey player who plays for the Vancouver Canucks. They don't believe you, you're petty enough to arrange a school trip to Rogers Arena just to prove your point.

Notes: Very self-indulgent of me as someone who teaches teenagers for a living and regularly gets questioned on my relationship status. They really do bully you (affectionately).

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

Writing Masterlist

You're in the middle of teaching your high schoolers about the fur trade in colonial Canada, mid-speech, arms spread wide as you gesture to your powerpoint when a teenage voice interrupts you.

"Miss, are you married?" It's David, sat at the back, legs stretched out as far as he can reach them. He's ironically enough wearing a Canucks jersey, specifically Number 43...a very, very familiar number to you. As is the question. In your years of teaching this isn't the first time you've been interrupted to be questioned on your relationship status, in fact it happens multiple times a year. Each set of students eager to know why you're a miss and if you'll be a mrs soon and are going to be leaving them to have a baby. When you were single, the questions were usually why?

"No." You've gotten rather good at deflecting or at least not letting slip the reality of your relationship, usually finding out you're not single is enough for them, but there's something about David's attitude that screams persistant curiosity. It makes you wonder why you bother teaching your subject at all when he's more curious about your love life than History itself

"Do you have boyfriend?"

"Yes, does this have anything to do with British colonisation or the fur trade or....?" You lean back on your desk, board pen landing gently on the surface, knowing that you're not going to be free of this conversation for at least another 2 minutes.

"What's your boyfriend do?" You breathe a deep sigh and look around the room, you don't want to get into who your boyfriend is. It's not like its a well known fact that you're dating the captain of the Vancouver Canucks and you try to keep it that way. Not because you're ashamed but because its your private life, school and home, those are as separate as you can make them. It would be impossible to do that if everyone was talking about your relationship, although you know eventually it'll become more public.

Stacy from one of the desk by the windows chimes in this time, curiosity peaked, dragging her away from her current hobby of staring out the window in boredom, "C'mon, miss, it can't be that bad? What? Is he like unemployed or something?" She says while chewing loudly on a wad of gum.

"Gum in the bin, Stacy." Her chewing stops and she slumps as she stomps her way to your classroom bin, spitting the gum in with a roll of her eyes.

"So? Is he unemployed?" You decide to answer the question, only because Stacy actually did what you said this time. You hated gum in the classroom, mostly because it always ended up on the bottom of your shoes and made them stick to the floor as you walked. You wouldn't mind it so much if they could all just throw it away normally.

"No. He's got a job, a good job." A really good job, a ridiculously good job actually. You didn't talk money with Quinn much, but the reality was that he made an amount in a year that you would never make in a life time as a teacher.

"Sooo???" David interjects, leaning forward now in his seat, clearly not happy enough to just know your boyfriend isn't some unemployed bum.

"He's a hockey player."

"Like beer league?"

"No. Like NHL." You watch your classes faces in what feels like slow motion, the series of disbelieving looks, wide eyes and raised eyebrows that are quickly followed by a chorus of objections and claims that you can't be telling the truth.

"Nah, no way! You're not here, teaching us, and dating a guy who makes millions, nah." It's actually frustrating, it shouldn't be. You've literally had students throw tables at you and yet, the idea that they think you are a liar is what makes you frustrated. Is it really that hard to believe that you enjoy your job and don't want to scrounge off of your pro-athlete boyfriend? Or that hard to believe that you managed to snag a pro-athlete in the first place?

"You don't believe me?"

"Nah, like if you are, he's gotta be in some really bad team in the US." You're already formulating a plan to prove to your students that you're not lying and not dating a shit NHL player. Sure, the plan involves a lot more work for you, but the idea is in your head and you can't help but think that it'll be worth it.

"He's a Canuck." You smirk a little, knowing the mention of the local team would get a response. Most of the kids you teach go to at least one game a year or watch it on TV. Some have even seen you at the games, but you always sit in the stands like a regular fan. Mostly because Quinn can't really talk to you anyway when he's locked into a game. You'd serve as more of a distraction if you sat front and centre every game.

"No, no way!" David stands, slamming his hands on his desk, "You're lying!" Half the class echo his claims that you must be lying and it makes you even more determined to prove them wrong. Do you really need to prove to a bunch of teenagers that you're dating an NHL player? No, do you want to? Absolutely.

"Fine, don't believe me, but i'm not lying. I'm dating a Vancouver Canuck."

It takes a little to get them all back on track with the lesson but you manage it. Although you're just as distracted. The moment the bell goes to signal lunch break and your classroom empties, you're on your phone calling your boyfriend, even though you know he's probably in the middle of practice.

He answers on the second ring, the sound of the rink in the background loud and clear as pucks hit the sideboards and skates scratch up the ice.

"Hey, baby, everything okay?" It's unusual for you to call him in the work day and you can hear the worry in his voice, even if he'll pretend he's not worried at seeing your name pop up when you should be working.

"Hey, I'm fine, don't worry...but...you know how you love me?" You fiddle with a little wooden bear that sits on your desk. Quinn bought you it after finding out your favourite animals were any type of bear, it's left ear is broken off and it's got a little bit of red paint where it fell on a floor one time, but you love it anyway.

"Uh huh?" The worry in his voice gives out to amusement at realising you're after something. On his end Quinn is stood at the bench watching the guys run drills, Tocc giving him a look as if to say 'hurry up'.

"And you know how you want to always make me happy?" He smiles at the faux innocent voice you put on, as if he'd deny you anything.

"What do you need me to do, baby?" There's zero hesitation, typical Quinn really, if you want something you've got it, if you need him to do something he's agreeing before all the terms are laid out. He's lucky you don't abuse that sort of power really, he'd spoil you completely if you let him.

"I need you to help me organise a school trip to see you guys practice and meet you all, so that I can prove to my students that I am actually dating an NHL player because they're calling me a liar and I will not be called a liar by teenagers who gaslight me all the time!" The faux innocent voice gives way to your rapid ramble, annoyance riding your tone as you pace across the front of your classroom.

You're greeted firstly by his loud and genuine laugh, so loud that it makes you pull the phone away from your ear. It takes a solid minute for Quinn to stop laughing, and he can see the looks he's getting from the ice, Brock throws him a questioning eyebrow raise, Petey perks his head up at the sound of his captain actually laughing that hard.

It's the dead silence on your end that makes him stop, "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yes! They're telling me i'm lying and I will not be called a liar!"

"Okay, so let me get this straight." He runs a hand through his hair, before leaning against the side of the bench, "Your students don't believe you're dating a canuck, so you need me to help you organise a school trip-"

"For free!" You interrupt, knowing you won't get permission for a trip that costs the school anything more than a few buses and fuel costs, school funding being what it is.

"For free, to prove that you're dating me?" There are easier ways, Quinn thinks, to prove this. Like, him posting a picture of you together on the internet or him kissing you in front of the arena at a game, but it's kind of cute how much you're affronted by your students calling you a liar. It also sounds way more fun.

"Yup, is that...is that too much to ask? I'm being silly aren't I?" He hears it in your tone, the way you seem to start second guessing yourself, can hear you tapping a fingernail against your desk, probably messing with the little bear figurine he got you all those years ago.

"A little silly, but for you? I think I can pull some strings, honey."

You know Quinn will say yes to most things you ask, but you hadn't actually expected him to agree this time. It had felt too big, too much. Your normal requests were small, something like asking if he could get you a doughnut on his way home or could he put the dishes in the dishwasher.

"You serious?"

"Yeah, i'm serious." It takes a beat before your almost squealing in delight down the phone at him, the realisation that he's actually saying yes hitting and he can't help but laugh even as he pulls the phone away from his ear.

"I love you! Have I told you that today?" Your voice is sweet and happy, brighter than it was before. It makes him want to always say yes to you, the way you light up like a christmas tree.

"Mmm, not since 6am this morning."

"Well, I love you and you are the absolute best boyfriend I've ever had and I will never take you for granted."

He can see Tocc motioning him over, telling him without words that its time for the call to end and get back to being captain. Part of him just wants to keep talking with you, rare as it is to get to do during a working day, but he has responsibilities just like you do.

"I have to go, baby, I have practice...but we'll talk about this later, okay?"

He knows his evening is going to be spent planning out what you want this trip to look like before he goes away and tries to make it happen, but he doesn't mind. Anything to make his baby happy. Even if that is trying to prove a bunch of teenagers wrong.

Between the two of you it takes about 2 months to organise the trip. A lot of that time simply spent getting risk assessments done, approval from your administration sorted and organising parental consent. It also takes you getting the sports teacher on side because it was becoming difficult to find a justification as a History teacher for why you wanted to take kids to meet some hockey players. By the time you've organised it, most of your students have forgotten your claims. You have not forgotten their belief that you are a liar, however.

"I can't believe you managed to get us a trip to Rogers Arena! To meet the Canucks! Best teacher ever!" The hockey boys in your class are especially stoked, many of them playing in junior teams and following the Canucks closely as their team of choice. David is no exception to that rule, arriving to the school bus in so many bits of Vancouver merchandise that you're unsure how he's managing to walk weighed down as he is.

"I told you, my boyfriend plays for them." You remind him, ticking him off the register of kids and ushering him up into the bus.

"Miss, we all know that's not true." He turns to you just as he's about to dispear to find his seat. The scepticism written all over his face.

It makes you shake your head, waiting for the moment the puck drops.

The entire ride to the stadium features your students making fun of you for saying your boyfriend was a canuck, you let it slide simply because you're looking forward to seeing them eat their words. They think its funny right now, but you know you're getting the last and final laugh.

You're met at the entrance by, surprisingly, Tocc, who greets you with a warm hug, "Hey, how you doing?"

"I'm good, thank you for having us, Tocc." You like Tocc, he's a good coach and you like that he cares about how the guys are as people not just how they perform. You also can see how much Quinn appreciates him as coach, so you have a soft spot for the scary looking guy.

"No problem," You can feel the weight of 50 eyes on you, all varying shades of disbelief as they realise you seem a little too familiar when interacting with the Head Coach and its only the beginning. You can't help but smile simply because they're starting to realise that maybe they fucked up. Maybe their doubt was misplaced, maybe you actually were telling the truth all along.

"Are Quinn and the guys on the rink or in the locker room?"

"Rink, easier to fit all the kids, but we've got to get them booted up first." The famililarity with which you refer to Quinn and the guys, does not go past David and Stacy both of whom share a look that screams 'don't tell me that she actually knows them...'.

It takes a bit of time to get all 50 kids in skates, although at least 20 of them bring their own, as do you. You're not much of a skater, but dating Quinn meant you couldn't avoid him buying you a decent pair for family skate and the few times he manages to drag you on the ice each year.

You're about to put your own on when Quinn makes his way over to you clearly having just come off the ice, guards on his skates and hair messy from his helmet. He waves briefly at some of the kids before reaching you, taking your skates in hand without hesitation.

"Y'know I can do it myself, right?"

"When have I ever let you do your own skates? Besides, I thought you wanted the last laugh?" He nods his head in the direction of your students who stand gaping at the Captain of the Vancouver Canucks putting your foot in a skate and putting said skate between his thighs to help him tighten the laces with care. Not something one does for a strange teacher they don't know.

"I'm really enjoying myself already. The whole ride they were giving me all sorts of hell about it, and now I can see their little brains working hard to figure out if I was actually telling the truth or not."

You watch Quinn work, finishing tying off your first skate before reaching for the other, his hands are sure on your calf as he slips your foot into it. "The guys are looking forward to it, think this might be their favourite practice of the year. You might be their favourite WAG now."

"All I had to do was bring a bunch of teenagers to the rink to get them to love me?" Quinn stops mid lace pull, smirk firmly in place as he looks at you from underneath his eyelashes.

"Y'know they loved you already, right? Pretty sure Petey is your number one fan."

"That's because I bribe him with sweets." Specifically his favourite sour candy which makes his eyes water. The more sour the better.

Quinn huffs out a laugh, tying off your laces before patting your foot and setting it back on the ground. His hands reach out to help you to your feet and linger on yours a little longer than is strictly necessary.

"You ready for this?"

"Can't back out now, so I guess I have to be." There's a slight bubbling of nerves under your skin, the sense that your students might not think this is cool and instead think that you're undeserving of your relationship, but you shrug it off. After all, they're kids, their opinion on your relationship is genuinely not important.

"See you on the rink?"

"See you there." You watch him walk away and try to ignore the buzz of chatter you can hear from students, commenting on the fact that Quinn did your skates for you.

You get them registered, orderly and help them file onto the rink, the less sure of the bunch buddied up with someone who had more experience skating to avoid 50 kids bowling each other over on the ice. You did not want to deal with a pile of kids flat on the ice after knocking each other over, the paper work would be ridiculous.

You stand back and just watch. The clear awe on their faces as they step out onto the ice, the large rink impressive any day let alone for kids who had never stepped foot on a rink that size. It makes you smile, knowing you're contributing to their memories, providing something great even if it all started out of petty spite. Even if they don't believe you, you feel good knowing they're getting to enjoy this experience.

You skate nearer to the front, Brock and Petey giving you a bright smile and wave, a variety of nods of recognition from the others. Little things that once again tell your students you know these men better than they expected you to.

"Hey, guys. Welcome to Rogers Arena, it's great to have you here," Quinn starts the introduction, smoothly sliding forward on his skates and gesturing to the line of players as he proceeds to introduce each them by name and position, before finally getting to himself, "And i'm Quinn Hughes, Captain of the team,"

"And Norris trophy winner" You chime in, arms crossed as you watch your boyfriend do what he's best at. He's good with fans especially kids, even if he's terrible with the after game reporters.

He turns to you with a bright grin, "Hi, baby," You can see the twinkle in his eye as he drops the petname, you know he does it on purpose to get the reaction that he does from your students as a wave of muttering and murmuring goes through the little crowd.

"Hi, honey, thanks for having us." You throw it right back, more sickly sweet than you'd usually be, playing up to your little audience who practically gasp.

"Anything for my girl."

"No fucking way!" "What the hell?!" You watch each face drop, mouths open, eyes wide. Watch David as he swears loudly face aghast, almost horrified at the realisation that he might have been making fun of Quinn Hughes' girlfriend the entire time he'd been calling his teacher a liar.

"Language, David!" You tell him off even as you smirk, watching the murmurs die off as Quinn and Boeser talk the kids through skating techniques and how best to shoot the puck, the different techniques and ways to hit the puck with the stick. Half of it makes little sense to you but its nice to watch how the kids get engaged, how Quinn takes over a leadership and teaching role.

You mostly take a step back throughout, watching your students learn from Quinn and the guys, but every now and then Quinn finds you under the pretense of fixing your stance or giving you a tip or piece of advice.

Like now, as his hands reach out, fixing how you hold the hockey stick, foot kicking yours just slightly further apart to adjust your stance.

"So, think they believe you now?" You look over at your students, the joy they're having learning hockey from some of the best, but also at the looks they keep sending your way. You're certain they've learnt their lesson, the teacher is always right, at least when it comes to her own love life.

"I think I am offically the coolest teacher in school, so thanks for that." You reach up and kiss Quinn on the cheek, quick and chaste, nothing inappropriate considering you're both at work and surrounded by kids, but it's enough to make his cheeks flush red.

He rubs the back of his neck with that boyish smile of his and it makes you want to kiss him all over again, "Well, I couldn't have a bunch of teenagers calling my girlfriend a liar."

You're so stuck in the moment with him that you don't notice David and his friends until they're upon you and calling out to Quinn. The picture of respect when talking to who might just be their new favourite NHL star.

"Hey, Mr Hughes?" Conveniently half the kids surrounding you are the ones who claimed you must have been dating some beer league level player or some guy from the Chicago Blackhawks.

"You can call me Quinn, Mr Hughes is my dad. What's up, dude?"

"So when are we going to be calling teach Mrs Hughes?" It's your turn to flush, face warming harshly as Quinn's practically asked when he's proposing to you by a spotty 15 year old.

"David!" You might never be able to call your future child David at this rate, far too familiar with calling the name in admonishment. Definitely no David's in your future. Add that name to the list of names you can't use.

David looks at you with a wide grin, braces on full display. "What? I'm tryin' a help you get that bank!" It's actually mortifying, you thank your lucky stars that Quinn knows you're not actually after his money because if a 15 year old were to ruin your relationship you might actually become a super villain.

"I do not need a 15 year old wingman!"

"Baby, it's alright." Quinn wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side as if that will sooth the embarrassment of having a 15 year old try to help you get a rich husband, "Uh, to answer your question, it won't be too long now, bud."

"So, like 6 months? A year? Next week?"

"Oh my god..." You turn your face into Quinn's shoulder, your groan muffled by his jersey. You're certain you might actually pass away from embarrassment, even if deep down there's a little thrill in your stomach that Quinn basically just said he's going to propose to you sooner rather than later.

"I gotta keep it a secret, sorry, man! Gotta keep Mrs Hughes on her toes." Your toes curl at the way he calls you Mrs Hughes, a small smile on your face hidden by his jersey.

A little back and forth is exchanged before David and his friends decide their bored and skate off towards Boeser who's going over the finer points of 'get to the net' and 'just shoot the puck'.

You mumble into Quinn's shoulder as his hands run up and down your back in soothing strokes, "Are you really ganging up on me with a bunch of teenagers?"

"Hey, I just told you that I want to marry you and you're mad at me?" He's not serious though, grinning as pushes you back to look at him. It's adorable, the pout on your face as you glare up at him for making fun of you. Although, you're always adorable to him, so maybe he's biased,

"Correction, you told a 15 year old that you wanted to marry me."

"Okay, okay, I see the problem." He shakes his head solemnly, hands on your shoulders as he lowers his voice just a touch, "Baby, just so you know I want to marry you."

"Okay."

"Okay?" You watch as he stands, mouth agape at your casual response. You're sure he was expecting you to giggle or squeal, but you're determined to mess with him a little.

"That's...nice to know?" You grin at him even as internally you're screaming because your boyfriend wants to marry you and you definitely want to marry him.

"You're such a fucking nerd."

"You're dating a teacher, that's like my whole thing. I'm a professional nerd."

"Yeah... it's cute. It's why I want to marry you."

"Quinn!" You shove him away with a laugh. Maybe your students won't be embarrassing you anymore, but you think you might have a lifetime of Quinn doing it instead. Somehow that doesn't seem like the worst idea.

[verycoolusername1]

Engine is on

[verycoolusername1]

HO HO HO! COLE CAUFIELD

— event masterlist !

pairing: fem!reader x cole caufield

summary: cole draws the short straw and has to dress as santa claus for the team party

warnings: mentions of kids + habs players

wc: 1.32k

notes: fic nine of my twelve days of christmas! sort of inspire by how jeremy swayman would dress up for linus ullmarks kids. i just know cole would be so engaged with those kids, pretending like he hates it but he's actually having fun being dressed as santa

The party was already in full swing by the time you and Cole arrived, the low hum of conversation layered over bursts of laughter and the occasional shriek of children playing tag around the towering Christmas tree in the center of the room. The festive energy in Nick and Caitlin’s home was contagious — the twinkling light, the faint scent of cinnamon and pine, and the gleaming smiles of the players and their families made the room feel alive.

Cole, beside you, was decidedly less enthused.

“I’m just saying,” he muttered, his hand resting lightly on your back as you navigated through the crowd. “It’s not fair that just because we don’t have kids, I automatically have to be Santa this year.”

“That’s not the only reason and you know it. You were the one who lost the bet.” you pointed out with a grin, enjoying his simmering annoyance far more than you should. “Besides, you make a cute Santa.”

He shot you a flat look, though the corner of his mouth twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. “Santa’s supposed to be, like, jolly and old. Not…” He gestured vaguely to himself. “Whatever I am.”

“Grumpy and young?” you teased, leaning into him. “Don’t worry. I’m sure the kids will love you.”

His response was a low grumble as you slipped into the guest room where the Santa costume was laid out, along with a fat suit to help Cole mimic the jolly old man's build.

“Get changed, Claus,” you said, giving him a playful nudge.

With a dramatic sigh, Cole began to change into the suit. You could hear him muttering something under his breath about “team spirit” and “ridiculous traditions,” but you knew he’d go through with it. That was just Cole — he’d complain all he wanted, but in the end, he always showed up.

A couple of minutes later, after struggling to pull the red garments on, Cole had become Santa Claus. The red suit hung awkwardly on him, and the faux beard was slightly askew, revealing the shadow of his jawline. His hair, always a little too wild to fully cooperate, stuck out from under the Santa hat. And yet, somehow, he made it work — or maybe that was just the biased opinion of someone who was hopelessly in love with him.

“Ho, ho, ho,” he deadpanned, his voice as flat as the look he was giving you.

“Perfect,” you said, grinning as you adjusted the beard slightly. “You’ll have the kids lining up in no time.”

Sure enough, as soon as he stepped into the main room, the children noticed Santa’s arrival. A collective gasp rippled through the group, followed by excited shrieks and a mad dash toward Cole. A wave of tiny hands tugged at his sleeve and bounced around him like he was a celebrity.

To his credit, Cole softened almost instantly. His shoulders dropped, and though he still looked a little awkward in the suit, a patient smile replaced the scowl. He sank into the oversized armchair that had been prepped for Santa, leaning back with a sigh.

One by one, the kids lined up to share their Christmas wishes. One girl asked for a Barbie dreamhouse; a little boy rambled enthusiastically about a remote-controlled dinosaur; and Hudson Matheson earnestly requested a new puppy even though you could both see Mike and Emily mouthing “NO” from across the room.

You leaned against the doorway, trying to contain your grin. There was something inexplicably heart-melting about watching Cole interact with the kids. He wasn’t trying too hard — just enough to make them feel heard and special.

At one point, David Savard’s young boy piped up, “Santa, you’re kinda short.”

The room fell silent for a split second before a ripple of chuckles from the adults broke the tension. Cole’s head turned slowly toward you, his expression deadpan, though his eyes held a glimmer of amusement. You could practically hear the sarcastic remark forming in his head, but instead, he leaned down toward the boy.

“Short?” he asked, lowering his voice like he was letting the boy in on a big secret. “That’s just because the North Pole has less gravity. Makes us all a little taller up there. But when I come down here, I, uh, shrink a bit.”

His brow furrowed as he tried to process this information. After a moment, he nodded, satisfied with the answer. You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing as Cole shot you a quick, triumphant smirk.

The questions about the North Pole kept coming. “How do reindeer fly?” asked one little girl with bright pigtails. “Is it true elves don’t sleep?” asked another. Cole handled each inquiry with surprising ease, weaving a tapestry of whimsical explanations about reindeer protein shakes and elves who take “snow naps” instead of sleeping.

The more you watched, the harder it became to ignore the growing warmth in your chest. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, simply watching your boyfriend interact with the kids, but eventually, Nick sidled up next to you, nudging you lightly with his elbow.

“Gotta admit,” he said, grinning as he watched Cole answer yet another question, “he’s better at this than I thought he’d be.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, he’s pretty great.”

Nick raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You’re totally swooning right now.”

You didn’t bother denying it. How could you, when Cole was sitting there, surrounded by a crowd of giggling kids, wearing a Santa suit that somehow made him even more endearing?

Eventually, Nick stepped in to relieve Cole of his duties, telling the kids that Santa had to get back to the North Pole to work on the gifts they’d requested. Cole waved goodbye, returning hugs to the tots who came and hugged his hip. You slipped out of the room shortly after Cole did, going back to the spare room he used as a change room. When you entered, Cole was slumped down on the bed, the fake beard askew and the Santa hat sitting crooked on his head. You approached him, grinning as he peeled off the beard and ran a hand through his mussed hair.

“Well?” he asked, his voice tired but still laced with a faint hint of amusement. “How’d I do?”

“Adorable,” you said, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “You might’ve just saved Christmas.”

Cole groaned dramatically, though the corners of his mouth curved upward. “Great. From now on, I’m Santa every year, huh?”

You laughed, sitting beside him. “Oh, absolutely. You’re a natural.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his lips twitching as if suppressing a grin. “You know, you were staring at me pretty hard back there. Almost like you were… enjoying the whole Santa look a little too much.”

Heat crept up your neck. “What? No. That’s—”

“Oh, no need to be embarrassed,” he cut you off, leaning back with an exaggerated stretch. “If you’re into jolly old men in red suits, who am I to judge?”

“Actually,” you said, the corners of your mouth lifting, “I’m more into what’s under the suit.”

His eyes fully opened now, the exhaustion replaced with something sharper, warmer, as his gaze fixed on yours. “Yeah?” he murmured, his voice dropping just slightly, invitingly.

You leaned closer, one hand settling on his thigh, the grin on your face softening into something more intimate. “Yeah,” you replied, your tone leaving no room for argument. “Grumpy, young, and ridiculously good with kids? That’s the real magic.”

He looked at you for a beat, his amusement softening into something warmer. “You really know how to make a guy feel special,” he teased, but his hand slid up to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Even when he’s wearing a fat suit.”

You laughed and leaned into his touch, the festive sounds of the party fading into the background. “Merry Christmas, Cole.”

He grinned, tilting his forehead to yours. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

[verycoolusername1]

[verycoolusername1]

Somebody Who Will

Summary: In which you get the best present of all this holiday season... even if it can't fit under the tree

Track 2 of fruitcake - buy me presents

A/N: missed writing for my babyyy

I never done secret Santa before so idrk how it's done- so I'm apologizing beforehand.

Working for the devils was amazing as it always is well if you exclude the absolute chaos that happens when you're hanging out with the team.

Seeing Cap every day was definitely a plus. Did you have a crush on your co-worker who you definitely shouldn't have a crush on? Yes.

Did you tell one of his best friends about said crush on your fellow co-worker? Also yes.

Jack nudged your side, getting your attention.

"Did you hear Nico? We're doing secret Santa today." Jack told you. "I just hope I don't get Luke again."

You laughed beside him. "What a nightmare that was."

"Haha very funny." Jack rolled his eyes.

You put your hand in the bowl and picked up a piece of paper, Jack did the same as well.

Your eyes widened when you saw the name on yours, Nico.

"Shit," You cursed. "Hey Jack can we switch?" You whispered.

Jack only chucked. "Hm sorry dude, mine is actually a good one. Who did you get? Was it Nico?"

Jack laughed louder when you didn't reply. "Oh my god is it actually?"

You huffed. "Don't get too happy, only gonna make my feelings for him worse than it already is."

"Well we have two weeks till the Christmas party, I'm sure you'll find a gift and a way to tell him." He reassured you.

You shrugged. "Yeah yeah, whatever you say hughes."

"I mean I can help you... but only if you get good photos of me on the ice today." Jack looked at you, seriously.

You rolled your eyes. "So more girls can swoon over you? No way."

"Fine help me with mine, and I'll maybe set you up with Nico, I got Dawson." Jack confessed.

"See now we're getting somewhere, this can work." You grinned. "And hm I'll throw in the photos for free."

Jack hugged you tight. "You're the best!"

"I know, you never tell me enough."

The next two weeks have been a blur, suddenly you were about to go to the Christmas party in a couple of minutes, gift in hand.

When you first walked into the party you were heavily greeted by some of the wags and of course, Jack.

"Have you talked to Nico yet? Did you confess your undying love for him?" Jack immediately laughed.

You swatted your hand at him in embarrassment as the wags gave knowing looks, some smirking.

"He's... he's joking guys." You tried to tell them.

One of them chuckled. "Don't think I ever seen Jack joke about this." The wags began agreeing.

You groaned internally, it was one thing when Jack was saying it but the wags as well? You were doomed.

"Oh hey is that Nico over there? On the balcony." Jack pointed out.

You snapped your head immediately, ignoring the chuckles and saw that Jack was in fact right.

"I-I'll be right back." You begin to walk off, the wags and Jack(who is somehow the loudest) cheering you on.

You opened the door, signaling your arrival. Nico's shoulder relaxed when he saw it was you.

"Hey." He smiled softly.

You moved closer to him. "Hey. I got you a little something."

You gave him the gift which he immediately accepted. You awaited his reaction as he unwrapped the gift. A photo of the two of you in a photoframe(that you definitely didn't steal from Jack).

"Wow..." Nico was at a lost of words.

It was a silly photo really, Jack took it one night. You smiled big at the camera while Nico was too busy looking at you, trapped in a love sick gaze.

"This is amazing." Nico looked at you. "Thank you."

"Oh it's not a big deal, kinda had to get you something." You shrugged it off to ignore your racing heart.

Nico chuckled softly at your reaction, clearly amused.

"So what's with the bow?" You chuckled, gesturing to his hair where it was stuck... oddly.

"Jack made me do it." Nico mutters. "Said I would make a good present for you? I did get an actual present for you though, it's kinda big."

You are grinning, biting back a smile. "Well you still look cute if that means anything."

Nico pulled you closer in his embrace. "Oh yeah?"

You nodded. "Definitely."

You take the bow off his head. "I like you better without it though."

You looked back to see Nico with a slight flush appearing on his face.

"You truly think that?" Nico asked, vulnerability evident in his tone.

You nod slowly, smiling. "Of course, I would be a fool if I didn't."

"I love you Y/n." Nico's hand traces your hip lightly. "Just wanted you to know."

You sighed. "I love you too Nico, no need to worry about it."

You leaned into his touch, the two of you staying like that for a while as the night whisked you two away in your own little world.

[verycoolusername1]

Practically Ancient

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Insecurities, comparison

Summary: You end up down a rabbit hole of instagram comments and profiles and can't help but compare yourself to all the women who would gladly date your boyfriend. You can't help but wonder why he's even with you.

Notes: Reader is described as not having a flat stomach and being a little older than Quinn, this is quite self-indulgent so sorry if you can't relate :/

Song that totally fits this vibe by the way - Burden by Citizen Soldier

It starts as almost all insecurities do with a instagram post and a series of comments. You really shouldn't look up anything to do with Quinn or the Canucks, you know this. But, the curiosity every now and again wins out, today being a key example.

The Canucks page posted a still from a recent post-game interview with Quinn, the one where he looks ruggedly dishevelled, hair strands falling across his face. To make it worse he actually has a little smirky smile on his face, the rarest kind for those not close to him to see. You love it, of course you do, he's so handsome and he's yours, you save the picture to your phone immediately...but the comments reiterate your own thoughts.

It shouldn't be a problem all these random fans commenting on how handsome he is, that he's a total smash not a pass. It's not like he's dating them or that he even cares about some random women on the internet but...you can't help but look at some of their profiles, can't help but compare yourself. They're all younger than you, all taller or slimmer or with clearer skin. Some of them are models, some of them are athletes in their own right and it makes you feel inadequate, not good enough. While the majority of comments are just about Quinn or saying how lucky you are, nice enough comments, it doesn't help that interspersed is the odd comment about how he could do better than you, his current girlfriend, or that you were really punching above your weight to have bagged him.

You sigh heavily as you force yourself to stop reading comments, throwing your phone to the other end of the sofa where it'll surely get lost in the pillows. Your eyes flick to Quinn who's emptying the dishwasher, plates clattering as they slide against each other. He looks cozy, handsome in that effortless way he does with his big hoodie swallowing him. Normally it would make you smile, today it just makes you frown.

"I don't get it..." You call out. Quinn immediately turns all his attention to you, putting down the spatula he'd been about to put away. Feet padding nearer as he stands over the back of the sofa, hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"What, baby?"

"I'm practically a cougar, i'm ancient, one foot in the grave..." He frowns down at you, confused by the topic of conversation and by your instance that you're ancient when you're not even 27 yet.

"You're a year older than me." His fingers drift from behind your ear, trailing a gentle caress over your jaw as his eyes flitter over your features. Taking in the frown, the sad downturn of your mouth. He's not sure what's brought it on, but he knows he hates it.

"A year and 10 months, that's almost 2 years." When you turn 27, he'll be 25 still...weren't girls usually the younger of the pair? Usually the guy was older? Was it weird that you were dating him?

"My point stands. What's the problem?"

"Well, you could...you could have any woman you wanted, some young model who doesn't have grey hairs already coming in and and doesn't think that a good night out is a book and a blanket." You avoid his eyes, looking at a particularly dusty corner of the ceiling.

"Baby..." He pulls aways, only to come around the side of the sofa, to sit next to you so close your legs are pressed together, his hand reaching out to rest on your thigh, rubbing soothing circles.

"And, I'm not leggy, my stomach isn't flat, I don't have perfect skin and I snort when I laugh too hard...I just...I don't get it."

God, it breaks his heart. The doubt he can see in you, the way your leg is bouncing anxiously under his hand, the bite you're taking out of your bottom lip. It happens sometimes. He knows it does, you've always had the odd bout of insecurity and he counts himself lucky that you always talk it out with him, but he hates it. In Quinn's mind you have nothing to be insecure about.

"I love you." He says it like it's the simplest thing in the world. 'I love you', that's why, that should be enough. But, there's something in your brain right in that moment that can't comprehend it. You understand why you love him, but why would he love you?

"But...why?"

"Do you...do you seriously not see why I love you?" He looks horrified, like you've just told him his childhood dog had died or that he's not being signed to the Canucks next year. You shake your head, tears starting to well a little in your eyes, "Oh, baby...guess, I haven't been doing my boyfriend duties well enough, huh? C'mere." Quinn pulls you into his lap, practically folds you into him, arms tight around your hips and back, fingers toying with the ends of your hair as you press your cheek into his shoulder.

There's a rocking to the hold as he talks, a soothing sort of motion side to side as his voice warms you and puts to bed any doubts you might have. As he starts to list everything he loves about you, as if once he's started he simply can't stop.

"I love how kind you are, that you'll stop to help anyone who needs it or let someone out in traffic even if it makes you late." His fingers brush the back of your neck, soothing circles that loosen some of the tightness you're holding there. "I love that we can sit in silence with our books and our blankets and that you don't want to go partying all the time and that you get that I just want quiet too..."

How many times has he come home from a game or had a rest day where he just wants quiet, where he wants the calm? How many times have you effortlessly provided that? How many people would? He knew most girlfriends probably would have dragged him out of the apartment, demanded he do something more with them on his only day free. Not you, you just wanted to be around him, didn't matter if you were going out for dinner or sitting in front of the television or just curling up in bed.

"I love how your nose scrunches when you're confused by something, especially when it's directed at the refs" He can list 101 times that a bad call has been made in one of his games where you've made that face, like they're idiots for calling a penalty. It was especially obvious that time Boeser got called for tripping, the memory makes him smile, "and I love your grey hairs because it makes me think about how one day we're both going to be old, grey, but happy and together..." His fingers twist thorough your hair, the few tiny strands of silver shining in the light. They're barely there, barely obvious, but they remind him that you're growing together.

"I love your face, it's the one I look for in the crowds during warm ups and I love that you struggle to reach things in stores because it gives me a way to be helpful."

"Quinn..." Your eyes are tearing up for a different reason entirely now, pulling back to look at him as he smiles at you, hands cupping your cheeks and thumbs brushing against the softness of them.

"I'm not done, baby... I love that you steal any jersey I come home with and I love that your stomach isn't flat, that you feel like a fucking cloud to cuddle." He wipes away a rogue tear that escapes, tracing a track down your cheek as your heart fills with love for him, for this man who never lets you suffer alone or second guess yourself.

"I love that you're close with my family, that you have your own group chat with Jack and Luke, even if it means you make fun of me together." He huffs out a laugh, the amount of times you've planned a prank or some sort joke on him with his brothers... "I love that you think to leave the rink before me and get something for us for dinner and I love that you know how to make me feel better when i've had a shit game. But most of all? I love loving you, I love being able to be your person and seeing the most amazing person I know smile because I did something."

In Quinn's mind he has two purposes in life; Hockey and you, providing you with anything and everything you could ever need. The idea that he'd failed to meet your need for reassurance, that you'd doubted his love for you stung, felt like a loss, a failure.

"You're making me cry...Quinn..." God, you love him, the way he holds you tighter, the way he wants to meet your every need and want, the care he takes to validate your feelings and his desire to fix any problem.

There's a comfortable silence in which you press kisses to his shoulder, breathing in his cologne, as he continues to rock you gently from side to side, lips pressing into the crown of your head.

Your tears aren't sad now, they're the sort of tears that come from an aching love for someone, a depth of emotion you'd never felt until Quinn. You know he's it for you. You know in that moment that he's ruined you for any man who comes after and you hope you never have to experience life without him.

"You should know every single day that I love you and why I love you...and if you don't i'm not working hard enough, baby...I'd do anything for you."

"Anything?"

"Anything, i'd even give up hockey." He means it to. If you asked him to retired tomorrow, he'd do it if it made you happy, it scares him a little...that someone who used to be a stranger means that much to him.

"No..." The idea that he'd give up the one thing he's loved his entire life for you...it strikes you then, that he means it. He loves you just as much as you love him and maybe he has options but you're the option he's picking, wholeheartedly and without reservation.

"Yeah, but I know you'd never ask me to and I love that about you too, sweetheart."

There's another short silence, this one heavier as he considers how to word his next question.

"...Did...did I do something to make you doubt how much I love you? You can tell me if I did." There's a reticence there, almost a fear that he's the cause and it hurts to see that your own insecurities have made him doubt himself at all.

You sigh heavily, pressing a kiss to his cheek that lingers a moment before admitting the reality of the situation, "It's not you, I just...I got in my head a little...you know I always see those instagram posts and comments about how handsome you are and how...how you have always these options and I..." Quinn presses his forehead to yours, noses brushing as he catches your eye and holds it, face serious, eyes unblinking as if that would make you truly understand what he's about to say.

"You are my only option. You. You now, you tomorrow, more you, you when your hair is a mess, you when you're sick and gross...you when you're actually ancient..." You lightly slap his shoulder, even as the two of you laugh in each other's personal space, Quinn purposefully rubbing the tip of his nose against yours, "I don't want anyone else, I don't even notice other people anymore. The guys' point out a girl and I just think how she's not you."

"I love you, Quinn...I love so much."

"I know" You hit him again as he pulls back to laugh loudly before pulling you close again. "I love you too. Always."

[verycoolusername1]

despise it actually

[verycoolusername1]

All fanfiction authors have praise kinks in the form of comments and likes

[verycoolusername1]

But I'm So Blue

Summary: In which you see Jamie with a woman and you get the wrong idea...

Track 4 of fruitcake - cindy lou who

A/N: Cindy Lou Who breaks my heart every time I listen to it but fear not this has a happy ending!

And my first jamie imagine, so happy he made a full recovery :)

There's another upload for fruitcake later today and for those that have sent in requests, I haven't forgotten about them I swear!!!

You've only been talking to Jamie for a couple of weeks. The two of you never had a chance to meet up due to his conflicting schedule and for you to not live in the US.

Jamie was on holiday break now, so he was able to come to Canada to see his family and finally go out with you.

Your heart raced as you saw his name pop up on your phone, a short text.

Jamie: Just landed :))

You smiled at the text and turned your phone off. Who knew waiting in line at a coffee shop could be so time consuming.

You decided to let Jamie settle in and hang out with his family for the day before you two go out. Being on a plane for hours is bound to make someone extra tired.

You got your coffee and went on to do your errands for the rest of the day, spending your day off not doing the one time you wanted to do: rest.

You laid in bed as the night light up the sky, feeling bored you decided to text Jamie.

You: how has your day been?

Jamie immediately texted you back, you chuckled at the fact before reading the message.

Jamie: it's been good! Always nice to see the fam :)

You smiled softly at Jamie's text, he began to type leaving you wonder what he's gonna say next.

Jamie: wanna go out for coffee tomorrow? I'd love to see you in person.

Your breath hitched at the text, your heart racing as you struggled to come up with a response.

You: I would love to! How does 9am sound?

Jamie: Sounds good!

You smiled softly as you turned your phone off before drifting to sleep, excited for what to come.

You woke up several hours with a huge grin on your face, today was the day and you couldn't help feeling like you won a golden ticket.

You got dressed and was out the door in seconds.

You reached the coffee restaurant and you felt your heart shatter in two, you saw Jamie with someone... a woman. You couldn't see her face as Jamie laughed to whatever she was saying.

Jamie saw you and his eyes light up which definitely did not match the fire burning in yours.

You began to walk off before Jamie ran out of the restaurant after you.

"Wait Y/n, where are you going?" Jamie asked.

"Oh really you don't know what I saw in there?" You turned around and laughed sarcastically.

Jamie looked at you in confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You could have told me you were seeing someone else! I mean really jamie!" You exaggerated.

"Y/N let me explain, it's not what you think." Jamie tried to reassure you.

"Oh really tell me then Jamie, go ahead!" You were fuming.

"That woman... that you saw me with. She's my mom." Jamie explained.

Jamie opens his phone and showed you a photo of the two of them, you immediately relaxed and you grew embarrassed.

"Oh... I-I'm sorry-" "No you don't have to apologize, just a little misunderstanding. You had every right to get mad at me. I'm sorry for not telling you about my mom."

You nodded slowly. "Right."

Jamie smiled softly as he held your arms. "So we're good?"

You smiled. "Yeah, yeah, we're good."

Jamie pulled you in a hug. "God, you look even better in person."

You laugh softly in his embrace. "Can we go on that date now?"

Jamie grins. "Yeah, yeah, we can."

[verycoolusername1]

christmas time so you know what that means

[verycoolusername1]

Last-Minute Miracle.

Pairing ~ Hughes Brothers x Reader

Word Count ~ 1.4k words

Authorial Note ~ My very belated HHH fic. I hope you all enjoy and reblogs are so, so appreciated!

TW ~ Nothing! Just heaps of lovely fluff! More of a focus on Quinn, maybe one or two name mix ups!

Lights glow in the windows of small town buildings. A picturesque town preparing, snow blankets the streets and holiday decorations bring a magical glow to the town square. Iridescent string lights hung, illuminating the window of the town's most beloved bakery, Holy & Hearth.

Enclosed inside the brick walls of the century old building Y/N, the owner, a normally calm and joyus young woman was now buried under overwhelming pressure. Y/N, a passionate baker, has always taken pride in creating the perfect Christmas treats for the town's annual holiday festival and festive season. Procuring the delicacies was a lone burden she shouldered, after her father's passing she took the brave step up to run the bakery that was previously his, her grandfather's before that and his grandfather's prior to that. This generational Christmas tradition was enormous for her family, but more specifically, her.

This year, thing were falling apart. Crumbling spectacularly, Y/N's assistant and best friend had recently gotten back from a trip visiting cousins in Michigan, a bustling state with a large city. A far cry from the small snowy town, its glistening lights and joyous atmosphere seemingly freezing everyone in it's bubble in time. When she returned though, it was with a nasty dose of viral tonsillitis.

"I'm sorry Y/N!" She choked out horsely over the phone, and you could tell how remorseful the friend truly was. This was the first year the two would run the event together, months of angst and painstaking late hours sampling recipes was the lead up to tonight.

The festival started tomorrow at ten. Y/N looked at the clock, she had a little under twelve hours. How could she do this alone-

Her friend's voice crackled through the phone, "I think I have some people who can help.."

.`~> <~`.

It had plagued Y/N's mind until three o'clock. Since she put the phone down she hadn't wasted a second, not even to really breathe. All of the recipes had been pinned to the cork board on the wall, sticky notes littered the pages with quantities of each treat needed. Numbers changed as orders came roaring in each one making the situation feel even more unfathomable, specially orders for the preschool, church and hockey team all piled in. Around that time three young men stepped into the shop, shrugging snow off of their jackets as the small bell chimed letting Y/N know of their arrival.

"Hi! I am so sorry.. but we are closed currently." Y/N looked at the three, dusting her flour covered hands onto the already messy front of her apron. She locked eyes with the what appeared to be the oldest, beautiful chocolate eyes and perfect dimples.

The tallest of the three, who was stood slightly behind the others shyly spoke, "Our cousin sent us.. she said she was the assistant."

Recognition crossed Y/N's face, these were the cousins that her friend went to visit. Quite frankly, the first thought across the young bakers mind was how on earth do you win the genetic lottery.. all of them did.

It was outrageous.

"She sent you to help?" Y/N asked skeptically, without causing major offense, "You don't seem the type.. if that makes sense."

Dimples stepped forward, "I can understand why it looks that way but we owe our cousin a favour and she said that you would need all the help you could get."

"Well she certainly is correct in that statement." Y/N sighed, looking down to where her phone was practically buzzing off the desk with orders.

The three men glanced around the bakery, taking in the flurry of activity and the clear signs of Y/N’s exhaustion. Flour dusted every surface, and the warm scent of sugar and spice lingered in the air despite the chaos.

"I'm Quinn.. these are my brothers Jack and Luke." Y/N now vaguely recognized the three from photos she had seen in her friends house. After a quick introduction, the three boys stepped forward further into the bakery. “We’re quick learners, and we’re here for as long as you need. Just tell us what to do.”

The tallest of the group, who Y/N now knew as Luke, nodded. “I’ve worked in a kitchen before. Nothing big, but I can handle a mixer or wash dishes if you need it. I've helped with team dinners."

Team Dinners? Maybe he plays collegiate?

The third, who’d been quietly assessing the situation with sharp blue eyes, gave a small smile. “I’m Jack. I’ll definitely be the most useful."

"My gut is telling me there isn't an ounce of truth in that statement." Y/N smiled back at the blue eyed boy, a cheeky smile adorning his lips.

Y/N stared at them for a moment, her initial skepticism softening. She didn’t have much choice, and at this point, she’d take any help she could get. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.” She gestured toward the corkboard, laden with recipes and sticky notes. “Here’s the game plan. We’ve got to tackle these orders first. Then, we need to prepare for the festival tomorrow morning. Can you handle a crash course in Christmas baking?”

Jack grinned. “Lead the way, boss.”

Y/N turned around and gave him a look that very clearly said, don't start.

.`~> <~`.

For the next few hours, the bakery became a whirlwind of activity. Y/N quickly discovered that Luke had a knack for organization, swiftly sorting ingredients and keeping the workspace tidy. Quinn had steady hands perfect for decorating intricate cookies, and Jack's charm proved invaluable when a few last-minute customers knocked on the locked door, pleading for small orders.

“Alright,” Y/N called out, her voice cutting through the hum of the mixer and the clatter of trays. “How’s the gingerbread station coming along?”

“Almost done,” Luke replied, carefully sliding a tray of perfectly shaped gingerbread men into the oven. “You weren’t kidding about these being popular.”

Quinn, hunched over a tray of cooled cookies, piped delicate snowflake patterns with surprising precision. “Do we have enough frosting? I’m flying through it over here.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light for the first time all night. “You’re doing great. I’ll whip up another batch.”

Jack emerged from the front of the shop, his hands full of empty coffee cups. “I made a deal with the diner across the street. They’ll keep us supplied with coffee if we give them a tray of those chocolate crinkle cookies.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’re bartering baked goods now?”

“Gotta keep the team caffeinated,” he said with a wink.

"You mean yourself." Quinn glared, "Since when do you do something that doesn't aid you."

Y/N snorted, nose tipped down into her coffee mug as the steam rose around her face. Her eyes danced with humour when she looked back up at Jack who look utterly displeased.

By the time dawn broke, the bakery had transformed. Rows of festive treats filled the display cases, from meticulously decorated sugar cookies to golden loaves of spiced bread. The air buzzed with the scent of cinnamon and peppermint, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride—and relief.

The three men, now dusted in flour and clearly exhausted, leaned against the counter, surveying their work.

“Not bad for a bunch of amateurs,” Y/N said, offering a tired smile.

Jack crossed his arms, dimples flashing. “Does this mean we pass the crash course?”

“You’ve earned extra credit,” she replied, "Only cause you got coffee though."

The festival that day was a resounding success. Holy & Hearth became the heart of the celebration, its booth drawing a steady stream of delighted townsfolk. Children’s eyes widened at the sight of glittering cookies, and parents murmured their appreciation for the bakery’s dedication to tradition.

Y/N stood behind the counter, handing out treats with a genuine smile. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see the trio of cousins. Jack held a cup of hot cocoa, Luke carried a plate of leftover cookies, and Quinn's grin was as warm as ever.

“Thought you might need a break,” Jack said, holding out the cocoa.

Y/N accepted it gratefully. “I couldn’t have done this without you guys.”

“We couldn’t let you face it alone,” Luke said, his voice sincere.

As the town square lit up with the glow of the Christmas tree, Y/N felt a deep sense of gratitude. The festival wasn’t just a continuation of her family’s tradition—it was a reminder of the magic of community and the unexpected ways people could come together.

And as Quinn's dimpled smile lingered in her mind, she realized this Christmas might bring more than just sweet memories.

Reblogs are appreciated!

[verycoolusername1]

SANTA DOESN'T KNOW YOU LIKE I DO quinn hughes x teacher!reader

summary: when your students ask you if you know santa claus, you accidentally promise them a surprise visit

love language: acts of service genre: fluff, established relationship, fem!reader wc: roughly 1.9k

a/n: hi quinn girlies… i hope i did us you guys justice

You like to believe you keep all your promises. At least you try hard to. But this time, you bit off way more than you could chew and damn, broken promises taste terrible. It's like handing out candy canes to your students, assuring them it will be cherry or raspberry, only to hear sounds of disgust when the flavour is revealed to be regular old mint.

Today you were introducing Christmas as the last part of your holiday curriculum. You had gone over the other cultural and religious holidays with picture books, videos, and invited parents to demonstrate any traditions. When your second-grade students curiously wanted to debate the existence of Santa Claus, you froze.

Nobody wants to be the asshole who ruins the magic of Christmas, especially not this close to the holiday break.

You read the last page of today's book and softly closed the cover. "Will Santa come to our classroom?" a voice perked up. A pair of hopeful eyes attached to a head of curly pigtails looked up at you. The students around her murmured before you could begin to answer.

"Oh, no, Santa visits you at home to leave you presents if you celebrate Christmas," you explained. "I've never met Santa, remember? He comes at night and you can leave him some..."

"Milk and cookies!" the class responded. At least they were listening while you read the book.

"But Miss, you can stay up really late 'cause you're a grown-up and ask him really nicely to see us," another student pleaded in a voice muffled by the candy cane sticking out of his mouth. Huh, that's an argument you hadn't heard before.

“I will try really hard, everyone,” you conceded. The class cheered in response but you had your fingers crossed that their overactive minds would forget. Besides, your version of ‘asking Santa’ was to forge a letter from the North Pole attached to a box of holiday treats as an apology from Saint Nick himself.

You were wrong about your students forgetting. At pick-up time, the same bright-eyed girl with the pigtails retold the story to her mother. “Mommy, Miss promised Santa would come see us in class!"

You gave a sheepish smile and shrugged at the mother who returned the expression. In passing, she whispers a wish of good luck to you. Great, now if you don't deliver, the burden will be passed onto many parents to explain your shortcomings and you will become the poster teacher for unfulfilled promises. No pressure!

⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆

A logical argument from a six-year-old was how you wound up scheming to ask Quinn for the biggest favour of your life. It was early in the evening when you arrived home after reviewing future lesson plans for the following day. You stopped at the grocery store for some festive flowers and a treat to distract him from the inevitable weight of childlike joy you were asking him to carry, not unlike the insurmountable pressure he carries as captain.

Quinn peeked his head out from behind the refrigerator door at the sound of you dropping your keys in a decorative dish. “Hey, sweets, how was the day?” he asked, abandoning his search for a snack in favour of helping you shrug off your coat. Even in your state of anxiousness, you couldn’t resist Quinn's empathetic nature.

You plastered a content look on your face and replied, "It was good. Talked a lot about Christmas and Santa Claus," Quinn chuckled in response and gestured for you to continue. “They think I know him. Like, personally know him.”

"Your students are so imaginative," he commented, reaching forward to pull you closer to him. You hadn't even noticed the distance, blaming it on the tension in your posture. "Pretty flowers." he murmured, chastely kissing your temple. You surge forward to put them in a vase but Quinn's hands beat yours to the bouquet.

The sound of running water is tuned out, no match for the swirling blizzard in your head. It's not that you were afraid of Quinn's rejection, rather, you didn't want to ask too much of him. It was your classroom, your students, your job. He would never ask you to put on a costume and run around Rogers Arena to make the fans happy. But it was obvious that he loves you best when he is doing something for you. His attentiveness makes your heart swell and his bashfulness when you thank him is adorable.

It was now or never... You breathe in before blurting out the sentence you rehearsed on your drive home: "You should dress up as Santa for my students!"

Quinn blinked at you once. Again. One more time for good measure. You completely blindsided him with the request and words simply weren't forming in his brain. His nimble fingers carded through his hair and you internally cringed at the stress you were placing on your overworked boyfriend. He furrowed his eyebrows and turned away from you looking straight ahead through the window.

"I'm so sorry, babe, I know you probably can't do it and it's not fair to just spring this on you but you're always the first person I think of when I need—" waving your hand in front of his face you continued, "Quinn, are you even listening?"

"Do you think I'm a medium or a large? If I upsize I can stuff the suit or something," Quinn questioned nonchalantly.

"Are you serious?! You're actually going to do it?" The excitement was evident in your voice.

"Of course, sweetheart. I can do it, so I will. Plus, my favourite girl asked me to." he responded casually.

I can do it, so I will. A simple statement that assured you of your high place on his list of priorities. You aren't shocked per se that he agreed. You've asked Quinn for things in a far more casual way and vice versa but a flush of insecurity washed over you when he stilled moments ago, your mind putting you into a preemptive state of disappointment. This swift agreement was comforting in a way you couldn't express to him.

You reach forward to cup his face in your hands. “The beard is gonna be sooo itchy," you comment.

Quinn chuckled, pointing to the hair along his cheeks. "Can't be much worse than this one."

The two of you easily fell into your nighttime routine, whipping up a dish for dinner that you both craved and sharing the meal side by side at the kitchen island. Your conversation blended into yawns, pushing you to gather your dishes, rinse off what you can, and run the dishwasher. Quinn worked in tandem with you, wiping the counter and flicking off the kitchen lights when everything was clean.

You leaned against his shoulder after you finished brushing your teeth. Lifting your head, you pressed a gentle kiss to the open space. "I love you. Not just for this, for everything you do for me."

"I love you, too. C'mon, let's get to bed Mrs. Claus," Quinn couldn't help the laughter bubbling from his chest and past his lips. You rolled your eyes at him in the mirror and followed as he pulled your hand towards your shared bed.

You drifted off into a cozy sleep by counting reindeer.

⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆

Each day your students pestered you about the conversation you had with Santa. When would he come, would he bring any elves, were they on the Naughty or Nice list... It was never-ending. You couldn't imagine what would have happened if Quinn hadn't saved your career with this favour. Dramatic? Maybe, but these kids are your pride and joy, despite being several years your junior, their opinions carry a heavy weight.

The last hour of the school day was approaching and you were purposely saving the surprise for the end in anticipation of their excitement overpowering the ability to focus all day. Now, at least they were forced to take their charged energy home for their parents to deal with. All. break. long.

“Okay everyone, I have to tell you something but I need everyone to listen closely. Can we do that?” you asked with an assertive voice. Your students knew you meant business, quickly turning away from their colouring sheets and nodding at you.

“Since we aren’t going to see each other until after the new year, I wanted to bring someone special to see you,” a smile stretched along your face when you heard the distinct chime of jingle bells outside your door and the soft gasps of realization from your students.

You stood up and walked to the door, opening it wide enough for your students to see Santa waltz into the classroom. "Ho, ho, ho!" Quinn chanted in his best Santa impression.

An ear-splitting shout of “Santa!” erupted from the carpet of children as they sat up straighter, craning their necks to take him in.

The costume was spot on and Quinn even fulfilled his promise of stuffing the suit to mimic Santa’s fuller figure. With one hand grasped on the leather belt hanging from his hips and the other carrying a small red sack, he turned to address the crowd forming around him. "Kids, I hope you've all been nice this year!"

Quinn entertains them with a story about the North Pole and Santa's workshop of elves who work hard to help him with the gifts. He tells them about the reindeers that pull the sleigh, how important kindness is during the holiday season, and how even after the break is over they can still be on their best behaviour. You assume he threw that in specifically for you as their teacher. The clock inches closer to the final bell so you take over Quinn's storytelling to share warm wishes with your students and bid them goodbye for the rest of the month.

“Way to get in character there,” you whispered, looping your arm through his as you both waved goodbye to the bustling classroom. Each student was gifted a loot bag with candies and colourful stickers on the way out.

The door shut with a soft click just as Quinn leaned forward to capture your lips in his, but you pushed against his shoulders with a frown. "I have a boyfriend, Santa," you whispered with faux offence.

“Right. To hell with this thing," he gruffed, pulling the white beard off his face quickly enough to prevent the elastic from slapping against his chin. As the itchy accessory fell to the floor and the red hat followed, he cupped your cheeks to pull you closer.

Quinn met your lips with a searingly tender grip, a kiss that made it seem like you had all the time in the world to be wrapped up in each other. His hair is flat from being captive to his costume so you run your fingers through the strands, gently detangling them. A gentle tug to his roots elicited a slight groan from him, a sound you cherished.

You mouthed words of thanks against his lips and he pulled back to take in his up-close view of your face. Adoration swirled in his eyes as his lips slowly quirked upward, a shy and gentle smile growing on his face. You pressed a peck to the corner of his mouth before wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling his broad body against your own.

You angled yourself to whisper into his ear, a smile curling onto your face.

“Aren’t you glad they don’t think I’m friends with the Easter Bunny, too?”

"Very glad."

a/n pt 2 cause i can’t shut up: i wonder if fic readers know how hard it is to write for new ppl like AHHHH tell me i did quinn justice pls REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED! <3

[verycoolusername1]

mein liebling part 1 | nico hischier x fem!reader

❤︎‬ summary: nico and y/n meet at a local coffee shop.

❤︎‬ pairing: nico hischier x reader

❤︎‬ content: meet cute

❤︎‬ word count: 1.2k

❤︎‬ warnings: none

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

y/n l/n stepped into black swan, a cozy, dimly lit space with exposed brick walls and soft jazz playing in the background. the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and the low murmur of conversation created a comfortable hum that made it feel like the world outside didn’t exist. this café had become a second home these past seven years in new jersey.

it had been a whirlwind first day at rutgers—her new beginning as a phd student. she had spent hours going over complex equations, diagrams, and research proposals, and by the end of it, her mind was buzzing with a blend of excitement and exhaustion. as much as she loved biology, the sheer volume of information in her new field was overwhelming. it was the perfect mix of challenge and opportunity, though, and that was what made her unstoppable. she thrived on it.

y/n sat down at her usual table, setting her bag on the ground next to her. it had been a pretty long day, meeting her professors, her mentors, the other people in her program. lots and lots of people, lots and lots of names.

her laptop was open in front of her, the blue light radiating of the screen with an almost taunting glow. she had one tab open, her email inbox. the one at the very top was from her high school biology teacher.

y/n l/n,

i heard you started your phd. congratulations! that’s such a big step and i’m proud of you for making it this far. i know high school wasn’t exactly easy for you. just keep going. it’s important for there to be more women in science.

if you’re interested, i have your old-

her reading was interrupted by the barista shouting her name. “y/n? pumpkin spice latte?”

she stood up and walked over to the counter. when she reached to grab her drink, she felt a hand brush hers. she looked up and almost fainted.

looking back at her was a face she was very familiar with. when she went back home to visit, she’d seen him. he’d been this larger than life figure on ice. he was tall, with tousled dark hair and the kind of smoldering intensity that made y/n’s heart beat just a little faster—especially because she knew exactly who he was. of course she knew who he was, why wouldn’t she know the captain of her dad’s favorite team? why wouldn’t she recognize nico hischier?

“you look shocked.”

her breath caught in her throat. she was staring, and she knew it. stop it, y/n. stop it.

“a little bit.”

“how come?”

“what are you doing here?”

“well, i live in newark and i like coffee”

the way he talked was just so enchanting for y/n. that deep timbre, the accent, oh that accent. he could say anything and she would fold. her phone’s terms and conditions, the instructions for her washing machine. anything would sound the word of god coming from his mouth.

“sorry for bumping into you.” her voice was slightly higher than usual, strained from the embarrassment she felt. she quickly tried to regain her composure. her fingers tightened around the cup, her white nails sparkling under the café’s lights.

“no harm done,” he replied smoothly, his tone casual but with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “i’m nico,” he added, offering his hand with a grin.

“y/n.” she shook his hand. it was a good, firm handshake. the kind her father said a boy needed for him to approve.

they stood in the slight silence of the moment, the sound of the café's chatter filling in the gaps between them. his hand was still holding hers, neither of them breaking the handshake. they walked back to y/n’s table, nico sitting across from her.

“so,” nico began, propping his chin up on his hand, “what brings you to black swan today? aside from, you know, the need for caffeine?”

y/n’s brow furrowed slightly as she eyed him. the question was simple enough, but it felt oddly probing. she was used to conversations with purpose—her work, her research, her path forward in academia. but nico seemed to want to know about… her.

“just here to work on… on phd stuff.”

"phd, huh?" nico raised an eyebrow. "in what?"

"biomedical engineering," she said, trying not to sound too smug about it, though she couldn’t help the proud edge in her voice. "at rutgers. started today."

“nice, beauty and brains.”

y/n blinked, a slight flush creeping up her neck. you are not freaking out. you are not freaking out. you are refined. you are 25. you are highly educated. her father and brother would never let her live this down if she made a scene.

“what’s your specialty?”

“my specialty?”

“aren’t you supposed to have a field of focus?”

“oh yes, i do. pharmacology.”

“which is?”

“the study and creation of medicines.”

“that sounds fascinating," nico replied, his smile widening. "but complicated, yeah. i’m more of a simple guy when it comes to science. the only thing I know about pharmacology is what’s in the little bottles I take when I’m injured.”

y/n chuckled, her nerves slowly dissipating. her walls slowly came down with each word nico said.

“most people are like that,” she replied, leaning back slightly. “but it’s really about understanding how the body reacts to specific compounds. you’d be surprised how much it can affect everything from recovery to overall performance.”

“sounds like you know your stuff,” nico said, clearly intrigued.

“seven years of college will do that.”

“what made you choose it?”

“my mom… um…. she was pretty sick when i was young. she’s not here anymore.”

“i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have asked.”

“you didn’t know. it’s fine.”

nico nodded, his expression thoughtful. “well, it sounds like you’re doing some real-world work. that’s awesome.”

y/n felt a rare moment of connection, one that she hadn’t expected in such a casual setting. as the minutes passed, the initial awkwardness began to dissipate, replaced by a flow of conversation. nico didn’t seem like the type to be intimidated by her intellect, nor did he treat her as just another fan on the street. they talked for what felt like hours, with y/n explaining the intricacies of pharmacology and nico sharing stories about his family back in switzerland, his voice warm and engaging.

finally, y/n glanced at the clock on the wall. she hadn’t even realized how much time had passed. tt was getting late, and she had an early day tomorrow. she reluctantly stood up, glancing at nico, who had been engrossed in their conversation.

“i should probably get going,” she said, offering a small smile. “i have work to do.”

nico stood up with her, his smile soft. “it was really nice meeting you. maybe we can do this again sometime.”

her heart gave an unexpected lurch. he idea of meeting him again felt almost too surreal, but she found herself nodding.

“sure,” she said, voice steady but her insides fluttering. “i’d like that.”

“gute nacht und süsse träume, y/n.”

“what does that mean?”

“good night and sweet dreams.”

tags: @verycoolusername1 @tomskookie @dream-girl06 @skepvids @devilinpradaheels @lolatokki

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[verycoolusername1]

win

A/N: okay.. I couldn’t come up with a title for this. Sue me.

Warnings: dad!quinn, rose is your daughters name (: all fluffy . short lil Drabble

summary: during one of your husbands hockey games, you and your daughter decided to surprise him!

As you gently placed the noise-canceling headphones over Rose's delicate ears, a soft babble escaped her lips. You gave her a boop on the nose before opening the door, her eyes fleeting around the unfamiliar place.

She was dressed in a little “daddy’s number one fan” onsie with denim shorts on and cute little bows in her hair.

A warm smile spread across your face as you stepped into the arena, the atmosphere wrapping around you like a blanket.

It’s been months since you’ve gone to a game, mostly because of Rose. You hadn’t even known you missed it so much until now. With your husbands jersey over your shoulders, you made your way into your front row seats, holding your daughter close to your chest and bouncing her on your lap.

It was then that you heard music play, and the time for warm ups began.

The opposing team began to skate out onto the other side of the ice, before the canucks did the same thing, all of them scattering around the ice.

Then, you saw your husbands number amongst them, a large grin making its way onto your face. You heard his name being announced, being introduced on the Jumbotron.

You glanced down at your daughter, pointing to the large screen on the ceiling. “Who’s that? Who’s that? Is that daddy?” You asked her, her eyes looking up at it curiously before letting out a little gummy smile when she saw her dad’s face show up.

She let out a babble, almost sounding like “dada.” You smiled down at her, nodding at her while laughing. “Yeah! Yeah, it is!” You cooed at her, turning to look back at the ice.

You noticed one of his good friends and teammate, Elias Petterson, point his stick in your direction, Quinn now looking at you, eyes widening.

In an instant, he was in front of you, a smile visible on his face as he stood there behind the dasherboard.

You stood up, placing your daughter on your hip as you showed her Quinn. He gave her a wave, smiling at the both of you.

Her babbles became more excited, reaching her little hands out, placing them on the plastic. He did the same with his glove, saying an estatic “hi!” to her, despite the crowd drowning out the noise.

You smiled at the interaction, watching him glance behind him, knowing he’d have to leave to go actually warm up soon.

He looked back at you, taking his hand away from the glass, sending you a smile and waving goodbye to her as he skated backwards, watching her raise her tiny fingers back at him in an attempt to wave.

He smiled at it, turning around but not before sending one last glance to the both of you, new goal in his mind.

Win, for the both of you.

[verycoolusername1]

( drabble ) lips

pairing : boyfriend!quinn x fem!reader wc. 813

genre : fluff warnings : mentions of cuts

summary : quinn comes back home after a game with an injury you weren’t expecting

「 author’s note 」 i had a few hc in mind about his lip injury😵‍💫 ( it looks sm better now im glad for him ❤️‍🩹 )

the familiar sound of keys jingling at the door pulled your attention away from the book in your hands. you glanced at the clock—just past 11 pm. the canucks had unfortunately lost a hard-fought game, and you had been anxiously awaiting quinn’s return. he always looked exhausted after a loss, ready to sink into the couch and talk about the highs and lows of the night.

as the door opened, you rose to greet him, a smile already on your face. but it faltered the moment you saw him. his lip. his poor top lip was split and swollen, the redness stark against his pale skin.

“quinn! what happened?” you gasped, rushing to him.

“it’s nothing,” he replied with a shrug, attempting a smile that only made you wince. “took a stick to the face. happens all the time.”

your eyes widened. “nothing? quinn, that looks awful!”

he dropped his hockey bag by the door and kicked off his shoes, waving a dismissive hand. “really, it’s fine. it’s just a cut.”

“just a—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head in exasperation. you grabbed his hand, leading him to sit on the couch. “let me look at it.”

“i’m okay,” he said gently, his free hand landing on top of yours to stop your fussing. his eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth tugged upward slightly. “i promise, babe. it looks worse than it feels.”

you sighed, still not convinced. “are you sure? did you disinfect it? does it hurt when you—”

“y/n, i’m fine,” quinn interrupted, chuckling softly despite the way his lip stretched uncomfortably. “i swear. but i really need a shower.”

you reluctantly let him go, watching him disappear into the bathroom. the sound of running water filled the apartment, but your worry lingered. quinn was always brushing off injuries, but that didn’t mean they didn’t hurt.

after his shower, he emerged looking refreshed, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. he dropped onto the bed, his body heavy with exhaustion. you tucked yourself beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek to avoid his injured lip.

“goodnight, angel,” he murmured sleepily.

“goodnight, q,” you whispered, still worrying as you watched him drift off.

⊹₊⟡⋆

the next morning, you were in the kitchen making coffee when quinn shuffled in, still looking half-asleep. he sat at the table, resting his chin on his hand as you placed a plate of toast and eggs in front of him.

you turned to grab your own plate, but when you looked back, quinn was just staring at his food, poking at it with his fork.

“not hungry?” you asked, frowning.

“no, i am,” he said, his voice muffled. “it’s just… my lip.”

you tilted your head, studying him. his top lip looked even more swollen than last night, the cut more pronounced now that it had started to scab. your heart twisted at the sight.

“babe, you should’ve told me it was this bad,” you said, your voice laced with concern.

he gave you a sheepish look. “didn’t think it’d swell up this much.”

you sighed, scooping up his untouched plate. “i’ll make you something easier to eat.”

“y/n, you don’t have to—”

“shh. just let me take care of you, okay?” you interrupted, flashing him a small smile.

in no time, you whipped up a bowl of oatmeal, making sure it was soft enough not to hurt his lip. you set it in front of him, watching as he hesitantly took a bite.

“better?” you asked.

“yeah,” he admitted, his voice warm with gratitude. “thanks, baby.”

you leaned against the counter, a thought crossing your mind. “i’m going to pick up some disinfectant. that cut needs to heal properly.”

before he could argue, you were already grabbing your coat and heading out the door.

when you returned, quinn was on the couch, scrolling through his phone. you handed him the small bottle of disinfectant, sitting beside him.

“alright, let’s take care of this,” you said, gently tilting his face toward you.

he winced slightly as you dabbed the solution onto his lip, your touch as careful as possible. “you’re spoiling me,” he teased, though his eyes shone with appreciation.

“someone has to, since you won’t take care of yourself,” you quipped, a playful smile on your lips.

when you were done, you leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to the uninjured corner of his mouth.

“thank you,” he murmured, his voice soft.

“you don’t have to thank me,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “just promise me you’ll be more careful.”

he chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “i’ll try. for you.”

and for the rest of the day, you made it your mission to ensure he was comfortable, supported, and, most importantly, reminded of just how much he was loved—even with a swollen, battle-scarred lip.

© amourquinn

[verycoolusername1]

@handalapls is Mohammed Ayesh's blog. He's currently inside Gaza working tirelessly to verify fundraisers. Do I have to explain how exhausting that is? He's in constant danger every single day, and still goes out of his way to help others as best he can. He also has to care for his family, including his little brother Yasser, who is hard of hearing and has a cochlear implant

The implant requires charging, which is difficult due to the destruction and inavailability of power sources in many parts of Gaza, and it's also starting to malfunction, as they're unable to care for it properly, again, due to the living conditions they are in. Trying to repair the device or get a new one would be extremely expensive, and they cannot afford it. This means that Yasser is having a lot of trouble expressing himself, since he's also been unable to have the speech therapy sessions he used to have, which made communication easier for him

Mohammad's fundraiser is destined to collect money to repair Yasser's hearing device, fund his speech therapy in the future, and help his entire family rebuild their lives. In a post on his blog, he's expressed wanting to close the fundraiser before the end of the year, and he has yet to reach his goal. As of today, his campaign sits at £35,320/£60,000. Please share his campaign, and donate to it if you can. The smallest act can make a big difference for him and his family. Mohammed spends so much effort trying to help those around him, it's only fair we should do our best to help him too

As stated previously, Mohammed is a vetter, and a friend of el-shab-hussein

[verycoolusername1]

you DON’T need to know where your favorite celebrity/artist/athlete lives, who they’re dating, where they go grocery shopping, what they are doing at any given moment when they are off camera actually. just an fyi