#js20 x reader

「 SJS 」 ⋯ MACKLIN CELEBRINI ⌣ 🍇

Big spoon

The car had been moving for hours, the soft hum of the road and quiet chatter from the front slowly fading into the background. It was your first road trip together with some other friends and in the back seat, in your own little world you had taken the time to make it comfortable; jackets folded into pillows, a blanket stretched across your legs. And somehow, the best part was still him. Macklin shifted slightly behind you, careful and slow since he didn’t want to disturb you even for a second. His arm slipped around your waist again, pulling you just a little closer until your back was fully pressed to his chest. It felt natural, like that’s exactly where you were meant to be. He wasn’t saying much and you could feel it in the way his fingers rested lightly against your arm, absentmindedly tracing small patterns. His chin hovered near your shoulder, sometimes brushing against you when the car hit a small bump. “Comfortable?” he murmured quietly with a low and soft voice, meant just for you. You nodded, relaxing deeper into him. His hold tightened just a little, protective but gentle, like he was making sure you stayed right there. No big gestures, no teasing, just Macklin, keeping you close, like it was the most important thing in the world.

Small spoon

The apartment was quiet when he walked in, too quiet. You could tell right away something wasn’t right. The way his shoulders dropped, the way he didn’t even try to hide it. Macklin barely said a word, just a soft “hey” before setting his things down. No usual small smile, no teasing comment, just… tired. You didn’t push. You just reached for him and that was enough. A few minutes later, you were both in bed, the lights low, the outside world shut out completely. He’d turned slightly away from you, curling in on himself, but not to pull away. To get closer. Your arms wrapped around him carefully, pulling him back against you. He let out a quiet breath, like he’d been holding it in all day. “I should’ve done better” he murmured, his voice low, almost lost in the sheets. You held him a little tighter, your hand resting against his chest, your thumb moving slowly. He didn’t argue, didn’t brush it off, he just stayed there, letting you. His hand found yours, fingers slipping between yours like he needed something to hold onto. For once, he wasn’t trying to keep it together. Not pretending to be calm or composed. He just let himself sink into you, quiet and soft like being in your arms was the only place he could finally rest.

「 SJS 」 ⋯ WILL SMITH ⌣ 🍇

Big spoon

Everything in his room felt a little smaller than you expected; not in a bad way, just different. Old posters still on the walls, a few trophies on the shelf, and that bed that looked fine at first… until you both actually tried to fit in it. Will laughed softly when your legs kept bumping into his “Told you it wasn’t that big” he whispered, already shifting around like it was some kind of game to make it work. It took a minute of adjusting, blankets half twisted, pillows pushed everywhere. But eventually you settled, your back to his chest, his arm slipping around your waist where it felt to belong. He didn’t hesitate at all, pulling you closer with an easy confidence that made your heart feel warm. “Alright, there” he murmured, voice quieter now, right by your ear. “Perfect" His energy, always so bright and loud during the day, softened completely. His hand rested against your stomach, thumb moving absentmindedly, like he couldn’t help touching you. Every now and then, he’d press a quick kiss to the back of your shoulder, like a habit he didn’t even think about. You could feel his smile against your skin when you relaxed into him. “Don’t move” he added softly, holding you a little tighter. “I like this"

Small spoon

The movie had been playing for a while, a romcom obviously, your favorite, but neither of you were really paying attention anymore. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the screen, and the blanket over your legs had started to feel warmer than the rest of the room. Beside you, Will shifted slightly, tugging his hoodie sleeves down over his hands. “You’re not cold?” he asked, glancing at you with a small grin, like he already knew the answer. You raised an eyebrow “Are you?” He shrugged, but scooted a little closer anyway "A little” There was something playful in it but softer too, like he wasn’t entirely joking. You lifted the blanket without saying a word, opening your arms just enough. He didn’t hesitate moving right in, turning so his back pressed against your chest, settling there like it was second nature. “Yeah… that’s better” he murmured, getting comfortable almost instantly. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you. He let out a quiet breath, relaxing fully, his usual energy easing into something calmer. His hand found yours, idly playing with your fingers as he leaned back into you. “Don’t move” he added softly, a small smile forming just for himself.

「 CHI 」 ⋯ CONNOR BEDARD⌣ 🍇

Big spoon

The morning light slipped gently through the curtains, warm and quiet, but neither of you made any move to get up. The room felt still, like time hadn’t quite begun yet. You had just started to shift, thinking about getting out of bed, when an arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you right back. Connor let out a soft, sleepy sound behind you, his face resting against your shoulder. “No… stay" he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. His hold tightened just enough to keep you there, your back settling against his chest as he drew himself closer. In public, he was always more reserved, soft touches, quick little gestures. But here, it was different. His hand moved slowly over your stomach, holding you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon. You could feel his legs tangle with yours, pulling you deeper into the bed, into him. “It’s too early” he whispered, even though neither of you had checked the time. His nose brushed lightly against your neck, and a quiet breath slipped out, warm against your skin. He shifted again, getting comfortable, his arm tightening slightly as if he needed you closer. No rush, no teasing; just him, half asleep, holding you like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

Small spoon

The sun rested warm against your skin, the sounds of water and laughter blending into a soft, distant hum. You were stretched out on the chair, half asleep, half listening to your friends messing around in the pool. You barely noticed when the noise got closer, just the faint drip of water and quiet footsteps. Connor stopped beside you, hair still damp, breathing a little heavier from the water. “Hey" he said softly, like he didn’t want to interrupt too much. You looked up with a small smile, already reaching for the towel next to you. “Come here” you murmured. He hesitated for a second, like he always did when others were around but then stepped closer, letting you drape the towel over his shoulders. The moment it settled around him, he relaxed, leaning into you a little. And then a little more. Until he was fully there, sitting in front of you, his back pressed against your chest, letting himself sink into your arms. You adjusted the towel around both of you, wrapping him in closer warmth. Your arms settled around him, keeping him there, safe and close. He let out a quiet breath, his head tilting back slightly against your shoulder. "You cold?" you mumbled, and although he shook his head your hand moved gently along his arm, helping dry him off, and he didn’t pull away, just stayed there, soft and quiet, letting you take care of him.

「 NYR 」 ⋯ MATT REMPE⌣ 🍇

Big spoon

The house was still filled with soft background noise; dishes clinking in the kitchen, quiet laughter drifting in from the other room. But the living room had settled into a calm hush. Lunch had left you both warm and drowsy, that comfortable kind of full that made it hard to keep your eyes open. The couch wasn’t very big, but somehow, Matt and you made it work. He had pulled you down with him the moment you sat, barely giving you a chance to react before his arm wrapped around you, guiding you into his side. “C’mere” he’d said with an easy grin, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Now, stretched out across the couch, you were tucked right into him, your back against his chest, his arm secure around your waist. Even half-asleep, he didn’t let go. His hand rested warmly against you, his thumb moving lazily, like he needed that small bit of contact. He was quieter now, his usual playful energy softened into something slower, gentler and every so often, he’d shift just enough to pull you a little closer, like he was making sure you stayed comfortable. His chin brushed lightly against the top of your head, and you felt the faintest press of a kiss there. “Got you” he murmured, barely awake. And even with the distant voices around the house, he kept you close, like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Small spoon

The evening had been loud in the best way; music playing, his laugh filling the room, pulling you into every conversation, every joke, like he always did. Matt had barely left your side all night, his arm around you, keeping you close without even thinking about it. But now, everything has quieted down. The apartment was dim, lit only by a small lamp in the corner, and the energy from earlier had softened into something slower. You were sitting on the couch when he dropped down beside you with a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Think I’m done for the night" he muttered, his voice quieter than usual. You smiled, nudging him lightly “Yeah? Finally?” He let out a small huff of a laugh, but didn’t argue. Instead, he shifted, turning toward you in a way that felt different, less playful, more… like he needed something. “Come with me” he said, softer this time. You opened your arms without thinking, and he moved in right away, turning so his back pressed against you. It took a second to settle, he was big, a little unsure about it. But once he found his spot, he stayed there. Your arms wrapped around him, holding him close, and he let out a deep breath, like he’d been waiting for that all day. “I like it like this” he murmured, almost a little shy now. And for once, he didn’t joke, didn’t tease, he just stayed there, quiet and soft, letting you take care of him.

「 MTL 」 ⋯ ARBER XHEKAJ⌣ 🍇

Big spoon

The night felt quiet in a way you weren’t used to. No city noise, no distractions, just the soft sound of water nearby and the faint rustle of trees in the little rented cabin you got for the weekend. The air had a light chill to it, but not enough to send you back inside. You sat together on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, the sky stretching endlessly above you, scattered with stars. Arber shifted behind you, his arms naturally settling around your waist as he pulled you back against him. It felt instinctive by now, like he always needed to keep you close somehow. “Look at that” he murmured, nodding toward the sky, even though his chin rested near your shoulder. You leaned into him a little more, feeling the steady warmth of his chest through the layers. His hold adjusted almost immediately, one hand shifting slightly just to make sure you were comfortable, his grip firm but gentle. For someone who carried himself so tough, so loud and confident during the day, this side of him felt completely different. Softer. “Not cold, right?” he asked under his breath, his thumb brushing lightly along your arm beneath the blanket. You shook your head, and he gave a small hum, satisfied; though he still pulled you a little closer anyway. His cheek rested near yours, and for a while, neither of you said anything. Just breathing, just watching the stars and him holding you like that, like it was all he needed.

Small spoon

The apartment was quiet in that soft, afternoon kind of way, the kind of silence that settles in right before a game. Sunlight slipped through the blinds, warm but gentle, like everything had slowed down for a bit. Arber hadn’t even fully taken off his hoodie before letting out a tired breath, rolling his shoulders like the whole morning had finally caught up to him. “Nap?" he said simply. You smiled a little. “Yeah?” He nodded, already heading toward the bedroom. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, just him reaching back for you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You followed, and within minutes, you were both under the covers, the room dim and quiet. He turned first, settling in, but instead of pulling you in, he let you guide it. You shifted closer, wrapping your arms around him, and he relaxed into you right away. “Like this” he murmured, his voice low, already edged with sleep. His head tucked closer against your chest, one arm resting over yours, fingers loosely holding onto your hand like he didn’t want it to slip away. The tough, loud energy he carried outside was gone completely. Here, he was just warm, calm, and safe. “Wake me later' he added softly, already drifting “okay?” And he stayed there, settled between your arms, letting himself fall asleep.

「 MTL 」 ⋯ JURAJ SLAFKOVSKY⌣ 🍇

Big spoon

The plane was quiet, the soft hum of the engine blending with the dim lighting of first class as you make your way to Slovakia. Most people were already asleep, seats reclined, blankets pulled up. You’d tried to get comfortable on your own… but it didn’t last long. Juraj glanced over at you with a small grin, already shifting in his seat. “Come with me” he whispered, patting the space in front of him like it was the most natural thing in the world. It took a bit of adjusting, blankets shifting, legs brushing. But soon you were settled, your back resting against his chest, his arms wrapping around you with ease. He let out a soft, content sigh, like this was exactly where he wanted to be. “Better?” he murmured, still heavy with sleep. You nodded, smiling as his hand found yours almost immediately, fingers lacing together without a second thought. He was always like that, always needing some kind of contact. His face tucked in close behind you, his nose brushing lightly against your neck as he settled in. “We can sleep like this” he added quietly, a hint of a laugh in his voice. His arm tightened just slightly, not enough to trap you, just enough to keep you close. Every so often, he shifted, mumbling something under his breath, half joking even as sleep started to take over. But his hold never loosened, keeping you warm and close as the plane carried you both to a great summer start.

Small spoon

The door had barely clicked shut before the exhaustion showed. His hair was a mess, his shoulders heavy, and that usual loud energy was gone, replaced by something quieter, softer. Juraj kicked off his shoes with a tired sigh, looking at you like he was already halfway asleep. “Long day" he said simply, his voice low, a little worn out. You smiled gently “Come here" That was all it took. He followed you to the sofa without a word, dropping down first, then immediately reaching for you like it was second nature. “Cuddles please” he mumbled, half joking, but not really. You sat behind him, and he shifted right away, turning into you, letting your arms wrap around him. It didn’t take long before he fully melted back against your chest, his head resting there, legs stretched out lazily across the couch. “Better now" he whispered, his eyes already starting to close. Your arms stayed around him, steady and warm, and he let out a quiet, sleepy laugh “I am the small spoon today" he added, like it was something important to say. You pressed a soft kiss to his hair, and he relaxed even more, his fingers lightly holding onto your arm like he didn’t want to let go. No more talking, no more noise. Just him, safe and warm in your arms, finally letting himself rest.

The first thing everyone learned about Juraj was that he took up space.

Not just because he was tall, or because his shoulders seemed too broad for most doorways, or because he had the kind of presence that made people turn around before he even said anything. Juraj took up space because he was loud. He laughed loudly, talked loudly, cheered loudly, entered rooms like he had been shot out of a cannon and somehow expected everyone else to keep up with him. He was friendly in a way that felt almost aggressive, slinging arms around shoulders, chirping teammates from across the locker room, making random noises when he was bored, interrupting conversations just because he had a thought and needed to share it immediately.

He was explosive on the ice, too. Emotional. Fiery. The kind of player who celebrated with his whole chest, who got into scrums too easily, who threw his head back when he laughed and yelled across the bench like there weren’t cameras everywhere. He was energy in human form, all sharp edges and volume and instinct.

Which was exactly why nobody understood how he had ended up with you.

You were… quiet.

Not cold. Not rude. Not unfriendly, either. Just quiet in a way that felt natural, like you didn’t need to fill every silence to feel comfortable. You listened more than you spoke. You smiled softly instead of bursting into laughter. You moved calmly, chose your words carefully, and had the kind of composed presence that made people instinctively lower their voices around you without knowing why. You weren’t the type to jump into the middle of a group conversation or shout across a room. You didn’t demand attention. You didn’t chase it.

And somehow, Juraj Slafkovsky, human thunderstorm, was completely and hopelessly in love with you.

The first time the Canadiens saw you properly, it was after a home game in Montreal. Juraj had mentioned you before, of course, usually with the subtlety of a man who had never once been normal about anything in his life. “My girl likes this restaurant,” he would say when the guys talked about dinner. “My girl told me that movie is bad,” he would announce unprompted. “My girl says I talk too loud on the phone,” he had once said, sounding both offended and proud.

Still, none of them had expected you to be real in the way you were.

They expected someone loud, maybe. Someone who could match him. Someone who could chirp back just as hard, shove him when he got annoying, keep up with his nonstop talking. They expected a girl who walked into the family lounge like she already owned the place.

Instead, you were standing near the wall in a long coat, hands folded around the strap of your bag, talking softly to one of the staff members. You had a calm little smile on your face, your voice barely carrying over the noise of families, kids, players, and arena workers moving around after the game. You looked elegant without trying to be. Gentle, but not fragile. Reserved, but not uncomfortable.

Cole was the first one to notice Juraj notice you.

One second, Juraj was practically yelling at Kirby about a missed pass, his hair still damp from the shower, his suit jacket open, hands flying dramatically as he reenacted something from the third period. The next second, his whole face changed.

It was immediate.

His mouth shut. His shoulders relaxed. The volume of him dropped so suddenly that Kirby actually turned to see what had happened.

Then Juraj saw you glance toward him, and he smiled.

Not his usual huge, cocky, ridiculous grin. Not the grin he wore after scoring or after successfully annoying someone. This one was softer. Smaller. Almost private “Hi,” he said when he reached you.

The guys froze, because Juraj had just said “hi” like he was afraid of startling a bird.

You looked up at him and smiled, your eyes warming in a way that made his entire posture shift toward you. “Hi,” you answered.

“How was the game?” he asked, voice low, Arber’s head snapped toward Cole so quickly it was a miracle he didn’t pull something.

Cole mouthed, “What the hell?”

Juraj didn’t notice them. Or, if he did, he didn’t care. He leaned down slightly, not crowding you, but close enough that you didn’t have to raise your voice. “You okay? It was loud in there today.”

You nodded. “I’m okay. It was fun.”

“You sure?” he asked, eyes scanning your face carefully. “You looked tired before.”

“I’m just a little sleepy.” His expression softened even further. “We go home soon, yeah? I just have to talk to media for five minutes.”

“You don’t have to rush.”

“I want to,” he said simply, behind him, three of his teammates looked like they had just witnessed a magic trick, Kirby leaned closer to Cole and whispered, “Is he whispering?”

“That is not Juraj,” Cole whispered back, Arber narrowed his eyes. “Maybe she drugged him"

You heard that one, your eyes flicked past Juraj’s shoulder, amused but shy, and Juraj immediately turned around with a glare so sharp it could have cut glass “Don’t be weird,” he snapped, and there he was again, loud and familiar. “Say hi like normal people.”

Cole lifted both hands. “We didn’t do anything.”

“You were looking stupid.”

“We are stupid,” Kirby said. “But that’s not the point.” Juraj rolled his eyes, then turned back to you, and his voice dropped again like someone had lowered a dial inside him. “Sorry. They are embarrassing.”

You smiled a little. “They’re fine.”

“No, they are not.”

That made you laugh quietly, and Juraj looked so pleased with himself that Cole had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing too.

It only got worse from there.

Or better, depending on who was asked.

The more the team saw you together, the less sense you made and the more obvious it became that Juraj was an entirely different species around you. He was still himself, technically. Still loud with the guys, still dramatic, still capable of turning a simple story into a full performance with sound effects. But the second you entered the room, something in him softened.

He never grabbed you suddenly. Never threw an arm around your shoulders the way he did with teammates. Never shouted your name from across the room unless he genuinely had to. If he saw you before you saw him, he approached carefully, like he didn’t want to overwhelm you. When he touched you, it was always with a small warning first—a hand hovering near your back before settling there, fingers brushing yours before he took your hand, his head dipping toward you so he could ask, “Can I?” before kissing your forehead if other people were around.

It confused his teammates to no end.

One night, after a team dinner, Juraj was in full form. He was laughing too loudly, leaning across the table to steal fries from Cole’s plate, arguing with Arber about something completely pointless, and telling a story that involved him nearly knocking over a lamp in his apartment. He was impossible. Huge and loud and grinning, his voice bouncing off the restaurant walls.

You were sitting beside him, quiet, listening with a small smile as he spoke. Your hand rested in your lap, fingers loosely curled around a napkin. You hadn’t interrupted once. You didn’t seem annoyed, exactly, but you did look a little tired from the noise.

Kirby noticed at the same time Juraj did.

Juraj had been mid-sentence, one hand in the air, when he glanced down at you. Something in your face made him pause “Too much?” he murmured.

The table went silent, not because the question was dramatic. Because none of them had ever heard him check himself that quickly. You looked up, surprised. “No. You’re okay.” his eyebrows drew together slightly. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you said softly. Then, after a second, you added, “Maybe just a little loud.” Cole choked on his drink, Juraj didn’t even pretend to be offended. He just nodded seriously, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Okay. I be quiet.”

Arber stared at him. “You’ll what?” Juraj pointed a fry at him. “Shut up.”

“You? Quiet?”

“For her, yes.” You looked down, trying not to smile too obviously, but Juraj saw it anyway. He always saw you. That was the thing nobody understood at first. He could be in the middle of chaos, surrounded by noise he had probably created himself, and still notice the smallest change in you. If you got overwhelmed, if you got quiet in the wrong way, if your smile became polite instead of real, Juraj caught it immediately.

He didn’t always know what to do with everyone else’s emotions. He could be blunt, impulsive, too intense. But with you, he was careful. Not because he thought you were weak. Because he knew you gave the world your calm, and he wanted to be the one place where you didn’t have to spend all your energy maintaining it.

At the restaurant, he lowered his voice for the rest of the night. Not completely, because he was still Juraj and miracles had limits, but enough that the guys noticed. He leaned closer when he talked to you. He checked whether you wanted dessert before ordering. When someone across the table asked you a question and three other conversations were happening at once, Juraj noticed the way you hesitated, then turned to the table and said, “Wait, let her talk.”

The command was loud enough to make everyone stop, then he looked back at you, voice soft again. “What were you saying, baby?”

Your cheeks warmed slightly. “It wasn’t important.”

“It is important.”

That was another thing, Juraj treated everything you said like it mattered. Even when you were quiet. Especially then. If you spoke in a group, he listened like you had just given a press conference. If you mentioned wanting to try a bakery across town, he remembered. If you said a certain song annoyed you, he skipped it forever, even if he liked it. If you admitted you were nervous about meeting people, he positioned himself beside you the whole time, not hovering exactly, but steady enough that you never had to search for him.

The team teased him constantly.

At practice, Cole started calling him “inside voice” whenever you were around. Arber once pretended to faint when Juraj gently took your coat from your shoulders without making a joke. Kirby told him he looked like a golden retriever trying not to scare a cat. Juraj took all of it badly, loudly, and with several creative insults.

But he never denied it.

Not once.

One afternoon, after a brutal practice, you came to pick him up from the rink. You had texted him that you were waiting near the players’ entrance, and Juraj, still flushed from skating, practically barreled out of the locker room with his bag over one shoulder “Hey!” he shouted down the hallway at no one in particular. “Move, I have plans.”

“With your quiet little girlfriend?” Cole called after him, Juraj turned around and pointed at him. “Don’t call her little.” Cole blinked. “That was the part you took issue with?”

“She is not little. She is normal. I am big.”

“That’s actually fair,” Kirby said, Juraj ignored them and pushed through the door, but the moment he saw you waiting near the entrance, looking down at your phone with your coat buttoned up and your hair tucked behind one ear, his pace slowed. The door shut behind him. The cold air rushed in. You looked up.

His face changed again “Hi, baby,” he said, so gently it almost didn’t sound like the same man who had just shouted at half the locker room.

You smiled. “Hi.” he stopped in front of you, careful not to crowd you with his equipment bag. “You waited long?”

“No. Just a few minutes.”

“You should have stayed in the car. It’s cold.”

“I’m okay.” He frowned, already reaching for your hands. “Your fingers are cold.”

“They’re always cold.”

“I know. That is why I worry.” You let him take your hands between his, his palms warm from the lingering heat of practice. He rubbed his thumbs over your knuckles, focused, almost stern about it, like warming your hands was a responsibility he had been personally assigned. You watched him with a soft expression, and for a moment, neither of you seemed aware of the door opening behind him.

Unfortunately, his teammates were very aware of both of you.

Cole, Kirby, and Arber stepped out just in time to see Juraj bend his head and blow warm air gently over your fingers.

Cole stopped walking, Kirby made a noise that sounded like pain, Arber whispered, “No way.” Juraj’s head snapped up. “What?”

Cole pressed a hand to his chest. “That was beautiful, man.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re like a romance novel.”

“I said shut up.” You tried to pull your hands back, embarrassed, but Juraj held them a little more securely and looked down at you at once. “No, no, don’t. They are idiots. Ignore them.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you said, though you obviously were, Juraj softened. “You sure?”

You nodded, he looked back at his teammates. “Go away.” Kirby grinned. “We’re going the same direction.”

“Go different direction.”

“That’s not how parking lots work.” Juraj made an irritated sound, but he shifted his body slightly, blocking you from the worst of their teasing without making it obvious. His hand settled at your back, light and protective. Not possessive. Just there. A quiet barrier between you and the noise.

That was when Kirby started to understand.

It wasn’t that you balanced Juraj by being the opposite of him in some neat, cliché way. It wasn’t as simple as loud boy, quiet girl. It was that Juraj, who so often moved through the world like everything would make room for him, had learned to make room for you. And you, who could easily disappear into the background if people weren’t paying attention, somehow held every bit of his attention without trying.

You didn’t need to fight for space with him.

He gave it to you.

The full realization came during a team event a few weeks later. It was one of those charity nights that required suits, photos, small talk, and far too many people packed into one beautiful room. Juraj loved parts of it—the teammates, the kids, the fans, the joking around. You liked supporting him, but events like that drained you. Too much noise, too many strangers, too many people expecting you to know how to respond immediately.

You handled it well, like you always did. You smiled when introduced. You answered questions politely. You stayed close to Juraj but never clung to him. To anyone else, you looked perfectly fine.

Juraj knew better.

He noticed your hand tightening around your glass. Not shaking. Not visibly nervous. Just holding it a little too firmly. He noticed that your answers were getting shorter. He noticed that you had stopped leaning into his side and were standing very still, like you were trying to become invisible.

He was in the middle of talking to two sponsors when he paused.

“Excuse me,” he said, surprisingly polite, and turned to you. His hand touched your elbow gently. “Come with me?” You glanced at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You were talking.”

“I am done talking.” One of the sponsors laughed, probably thinking he was joking, Juraj was not joking. He guided you away from the main room, not rushing you, not making a scene. He found a quieter hallway near the side entrance, where the music was muffled and the air felt less heavy. Only then did he step in front of you, ducking his head slightly so he could see your face.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmured “I’m fine,” you said automatically “I know you are fine.” His voice was steady. Soft. “But you don’t have to be fine with me.”

That almost broke you, your eyes lowered to his tie, your fingers still wrapped too tightly around the glass. Juraj noticed and carefully took it from your hand, setting it on a nearby table. Then he held out both of his hands, palms up, waiting. Letting you choose.

After a second, you placed your hands in his “There,” he whispered. “Better?” You nodded once. “I just needed a minute.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t have to leave with me.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Juraj.”

“What?” he said, but there was no bite in it. “I want to. You think I want to talk to people more than I want to stand here with you?” You let out a quiet laugh. “You like talking to people.”

“Yes. But I love you.” The words came so easily from him. No performance. No drama. He said it like it was obvious, like it explained everything.

You looked up at him, your expression softening, and Juraj’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand “I know I am a lot,” he said after a moment, voice lower. “I know I am loud and annoying and sometimes too much. But I don’t want to be too much for you.”

“You’re not too much for me.”

His eyes searched yours “You’re different with me,” you added quietly. “But I don’t want you to think you have to change who you are.”

“I don’t change,” he said. “I just… I don’t know. I take care. With you, I take care.”

Your throat tightened a little, inside the main room, someone laughed loudly. A camera flashed near the doorway. Juraj didn’t look away from you “You make me calm,” he admitted, almost like it embarrassed him. “Not boring calm. Good calm. Like I can stop fighting everything.”

You squeezed his hands. “You don’t always have to be the loudest person in the room.” he gave you a tiny smile. “But I am very good at it.”

“You are.”

“And you love me.”

“I do.” His smile grew, but he kept himself quiet, like this moment was too delicate to ruin with teasing. He leaned down slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted. You didn’t. His lips touched your forehead, warm and gentle, and he lingered there for a second before pulling back.

Unfortunately, he had chosen the hallway directly next to the side entrance, which meant half the team had seen enough to become unbearable.

Cole appeared first, holding a tiny plate of appetizers and wearing the expression of a man who had just discovered premium gossip “Oh,” he said. “So this is where the emotional support giant went.”

Juraj closed his eyes. “Go away" Arber stepped beside Cole. “No, no. We are learning.” Kirby nodded solemnly. “It’s educational.”

You covered your mouth, hiding a smile, Juraj looked at the three of them with deep betrayal. “I hate all of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Cole said. “You’re too soft now.”

“I am not soft.” All three of them stared at him, Juraj’s hand was still holding yours carefully. His body was angled in front of you, protective without being overbearing. His voice, even while irritated, was quieter than usual because you were right beside him. He looked like a man trying to deny the sky was blue while standing under it.

Arber lifted an eyebrow, Juraj huffed. “Okay. Maybe for her.”

That made you look up at him, he looked down at you, and his expression softened again despite himself. “Only for her.”

Cole made a wounded sound. “That’s actually disgusting.”

“It’s cute,” Kirby corrected “It’s confusing,” Arber said. “But cute.”

Juraj rolled his eyes, but he didn’t let go of your hand.

From then on, the team stopped asking how the two of you had gotten together as if it were some impossible mystery. They still teased him, obviously. They were hockey players; emotional maturity only went so far. They still called him “gentle giant” when you were around and pretended to lower invisible volume knobs whenever he spoke to you. They still acted shocked every time Juraj said “please” in a soft voice or carried your bag without making a big announcement of it.

But they understood.

They understood when they saw him in the family lounge after games, sweaty and exhausted, crouching slightly so he could hear you better over the noise. They understood when he stopped mid-rant because you touched his wrist. They understood when he texted you before postgame media so you wouldn’t wonder where he was. They understood when he never mocked how quiet you were, never pushed you to be more outgoing, never treated your reserved nature like something he needed to fix.

And they understood when they saw you with him, too.

Because you loved Juraj as he was. You never tried to make him smaller. You never looked embarrassed when he laughed too loudly or told the same story with too many gestures. You just touched his arm when he got carried away, smiled when he looked at you for reassurance, and gave him the kind of peace he didn’t seem to know he needed until he had it.

One night, after a win, the team was gathered around in the lounge again. Juraj had scored, which meant he was impossible. Loud, glowing, energized, retelling his goal with so much drama that half the room had heard it twice already. You sat on one of the couches, watching him with quiet amusement, your coat folded neatly over your lap.

“And then I shoot, right?” Juraj said, using his hands to demonstrate. “But it’s not just shot, it’s like—”

“Like a normal shot,” Cole interrupted, Juraj pointed at him. “You are jealous.”

“Of what? Your volume?”

“My skill.”

“Debatable.” Juraj opened his mouth to argue, then glanced at you. You were smiling, but tired, your head resting lightly against the back of the couch.

His entire argument vanished, he turned away from Cole mid-sentence and walked over to you. “You ready to go home?” You blinked up at him. “You don’t have to leave yet. You scored.”

“So?”

“So you’re happy. Celebrate with them.”

“I celebrated.” He crouched in front of you slightly, lowering his voice. “Now I want to go home with you.” Your expression softened. “Juraj.”

“What?”

“You can stay.”

“I know.” He smiled. “I don’t want to.” Behind him, Cole whispered loudly, “Whipped.”, without turning around, Juraj raised one hand and gave him the finger.

You laughed, surprised and quiet, and Juraj grinned like that sound was better than the goal.

He stood and helped you up, careful with your coat, careful with your bag, careful with you. Not because you would break. Because you mattered. Because he knew his own strength, his own volume, his own chaos, and with you he wanted every part of himself to be gentle first.

As you walked toward the exit, his hand rested at the small of your back. The room behind you was still loud, full of laughter and teasing and someone calling after him, but Juraj didn’t look back.

He leaned down slightly, speaking only for you “You hungry?”

“A little.”

“I make you something at home?”

“You’re going to cook after a game?”

“Yes.”

“You can barely stand.”

“I am strong.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“I scored.”

“You did.” He smiled, pleased. “You saw?”

“I saw.”

“Good.” His thumb brushed lightly over your back. “I always play better when you watch.” You looked up at him. “That’s not true.”

“It is true.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No.” He bent closer, his voice dropping into that soft tone that still made his teammates stare when they heard it. “I like knowing you are there. Makes everything… quieter.”

For a second, you didn’t answer. You just looked at him, this loud, explosive, impossible boy who somehow held your heart with the gentlest hands.

Then you leaned into his side, just enough for him to feel it, Juraj smiled and adjusted instantly, slowing his steps to match yours.

Behind you, the Canadiens were still laughing, still teasing, still pretending not to understand, but Juraj understood.

You were quiet where he was loud. Careful where he was impulsive. Calm where he was fire. And somehow, instead of canceling each other out, you made space for each other to exist exactly as you were.

To everyone else, it looked impossible.

To Juraj, it was simple.

The world could have the loud version of him.

his hand had brushed yours, tips of your fingers grazing, though juraj never made the first move. no, he’d waited for you to interlink your fingers, and make a small joke when you finally crossed that bridge tentatively cemented between the two of you.

“you are eager, hey?” he’d teased, though the tips of his ears had turned pink. you’d scoffed a laugh and moved closer into his side, and that was it. juraj was addicted to your touch.

weeks turned into months, and as the two of you became more familiar, the affection became more frequent. you’d snuggle on the sofa, juraj would pepper your face in sleepy kisses during early morning wake up calls, and most importantly? you’d taken to tracing loops and swirls onto his back with your fingertips, knowing that same gesture worked to soothe you every single time. 

put simply, you've spoiled him. and now, you have to suffer the consequences of your own actions.

facing away from you, juraj is currently scrolling through his phone, making soft humming noises now and again as if to remind you that he's still there, still needing attention. and though the warmth of your boyfriend's skin beneath your fingertips is fairly pleasant, a slight stiffness begins to settle in your fingers, and you pause your motions, flexing your fingers before laying your hands on your stomach. 

juraj turns his head with a speed that’s almost startling, snapping his neck to look over at you, the stupid meme he'd been looking at on his phone all but forgotten in light of your supposed betrayal.

“ah?”

you can’t help but laugh at how affronted juraj sounds, and your clear amusement at his suffering only causes him to frown deeper. thick brows furrowed, he’s all but pouting at you now, eyes darting pointedly between your face and your hand as if demanding you connect the dots.

you’re suddenly reminded of a puppy being refused pets, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the man started nosing at your hand in a spoiled demand for you to continue petting him.

“i’m cramping,” you laugh, shaking your hand out before lightly grazing your nails over his shoulder blade. “give me a sec, would you?”

juraj shivers, lashes fluttering, and produces a satisfied hum as he settles back down. half of you is tempted to scratch at him, punish him for being greedy with little red indents across the tan skin of his back. the other half of you recognises that he’d likely enjoy that, and so you decide against it.

“five more minutes,” you stipulate. “then we swap.”

six minutes later, juraj is out cold and snoring, mouth half open and phone barely still clutched in his grasp. you press a kiss to his bare shoulder before wrapping your arms around him, clinging to him like a backpack as you settle in for the night yourself. 

alexander turcotte

alex doesn’t even realize he’s in trouble until you say it. Not Alex, not Turcs or babe—but very calmly, very deliberately: “Alexander Turcotte.” He freezes mid-sip of his drink like a kid who’s just heard their mom use their government name. Slowly, he looks at you over the rim of the cup, eyes wide and suspicious. “Okay,” he says, already laughing, “what did I do?” You just shrug, completely innocent, repeating it once more because it’s so funny watching his shoulders sag in dramatic defeat. “I’m sorry,” he says before you can even answer, grinning as he steps closer. “Whatever it was. Please don’t say my full name again. That’s terrifying.”

cole caufield

You open the takeout bag, already knowing something’s wrong before you even check. No fries. You look up slowly and say, very calmly, “Cole Caufield.” He’s mid-unboxing his own food when he freezes, eyes darting to the bag and then back to you. “Oh no,” he laughs, immediately guilty. “I forgot the fries, didn’t I?” You don’t even answer verbally—just nodding your head, and he’s already standing up, grabbing his keys. “I’ll go back,” he says quickly, grinning like he’s bargaining for his life. “I’ll get extra fries. Large ones. Whatever you want. Just—please—don’t say my full name again. That felt way worse than any penalty.”

jack rowden hughes

Jack’s chirping Luke from the other side of the room, smug grin firmly in place, when you cut in without raising your voice at all. “Jack Rowden Hughes.” The effect is immediate. Jack stops mid-sentence, blinking like he’s just been iced by something way scarier than a defenseman. Luke looks between you two, trying not to smile. “Whoa,” Jack says, holding his hands up, already laughing. “Okay, that’s unfair. You can’t use my full name like that.” You give him the look and tell him to be nice, and he sighs dramatically before ruffling Luke’s hair. “Fine,” he mutters, grinning anyway. “I’ll stop. But next time you say my government name, I’m telling your mom.”

jamie drysdale

You come home exhausted, shoes barely off before you notice the soft glow of candles down the hall and the familiar smell of your favorite food. Jamie appears in the doorway, a little shy, hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie. You smile, overwhelmed in the best way, and quietly say, “Jamie Drysdale.” He laughs softly, cheeks pink. “That bad, huh?” he asks, stepping closer and brushing his thumb over your hand. You shake your head, heart full, telling him it’s perfect—he’s perfect. He leads you toward the bathroom where the tub is already steaming with bubbles, music low, everything warm and safe. “You had a long day,” he says gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I just wanted to take care of you.”

juraj slafkovský

You jolt awake to yelling from the living room, some very intense Slovak mixed with English echoing through the apartment. Groggy and unimpressed, you shuffle out of the bedroom and say it once, flat and quiet: “Juraj Slafkovský.” He whips around like he’s been caught red-handed, eyes wide before he immediately mutes the TV and shuts the game off completely. “Oh—sorry, sorry,” he says, rushing over and pulling you gently back toward the bedroom. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, sheepish and soft now. “I’ll make you coffee, yeah? And I won’t yell anymore. Promise.”

luke warren hughes

You open the fridge already suspicious, and then you see it—your leftovers, gone. You don’t yell. You don’t even sigh. You just turn toward him and say, very clearly, “Luke Warren Hughes.” He freezes with the empty container still in his hand, eyes widening in horror. “I—I was gonna tell you,” he blurts, immediately guilty. You raise an eyebrow, and that’s all it takes. He’s already grabbing his jacket and keys. “Okay, I’ll go,” he says quickly, half-laughing. “I’ll get you more. Fresh. Hot. Better than before. Please don’t use my full name like that again—I feel like I just disappointed the whole family.”

matthew rempe

The door barely clicks shut before you’re on your feet, eyes immediately finding the split lip and the fresh stitches above his eyebrow. Your voice comes out soft but shaky when you say it—“Matthew Rempe.” He stills, shoulders dropping, all the fight draining out of him at once. “Hey,” he murmurs, stepping closer, careful, like he doesn’t want to scare you. “I’m okay. Promise.” You cup his face gently anyway, thumbs brushing over the bruises, and he leans into your touch with a sigh. “I know it looks bad,” he says quietly, forehead resting against yours, “but I’m here. I made it home. That’s what matters.”

mathew michael paul barzal

He’s pacing the kitchen, rambling a mile a minute about practice, the traffic, the ref who definitely missed a call—when you cut in softly, “Mathew Michael Paul Barzal.” He stops dead. Slowly turns to you. “Why did you say all my whole name?” he asks, trying not to laugh but already losing the battle. You just smile sweetly, arms crossed, and he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, okay,” he says, grinning. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what I’m sorry for yet, but I feel like I should be.” He steps closer, bumps his forehead to yours, and adds quietly, “Please don’t ever say my full name like that again. I swear it shuts my brain off.”

nico hischier

He thinks he’s being funny—waiting just out of sight, perfectly still, until you walk past. The second you do, he pops out with a quiet “Boo,” and you jump, heart racing. He’s way too proud of himself after it—standing there grinning like he just won something when you jump and yelp. You turn on him immediately, pointing a finger and saying, half-laughing, half-offended, “Nico Hischier.” That just makes him laugh. “Oh come on prinzessin,” he says, hands up in surrender, eyes bright. “You scare so easy.” You swat at his arm and repeat his name again, and he cracks completely, pulling you into a hug. “Okay, okay,” he chuckles into your hair. “I deserve that. But admit it—you love me anyway.”

quintin jerome hughes

You’re scrolling TikTok on the couch when you suddenly sit bolt upright, eyes wide. “No way,” you mutter, then look straight at him and say, very clearly, “Quintin Jerome Hughes!” Quinn barely has time to look confused before you shove your phone in his face—fans screaming, edits flying, the words HE GOT DRAFTED plastered across the screen. “You found out from TikTok?” he asks, stunned, laughing at the same time. Jack loses it immediately. “That’s insane,” he says, leaning over Quinn’s shoulder. Luke just grins, proud and smug. Quinn rubs his face, still smiling in disbelief. “I was gonna tell you,” he says weakly, and you just shake your head, laughing. “I cannot believe I had to learn this from strangers,” you say, and Jack adds, “Yeah, man—getting full-named for that one was deserved.”

trevor John zegras

You’re watching the clip on your phone when the front door opens, and you look up just in time to see the faint bruise blooming on his cheek. You don’t yell. You don’t panic. You just say it—soft but loaded: “Trevor John Zegras.” He winces like you actually hit him. “Okay, yeah,” he says quickly, dropping his bag. “Before you say anything—it wasn’t that bad. First fight. Kind of happened.” You cross your arms, unimpressed, and he sighs, stepping closer with a sheepish grin. “I know, I know,” he adds, quieter now. “But hey—I’m fine. Promise. And… I kinda won?”

william andrew michael junior nylander altelius

The nursery has been your favorite room in the apartment long before it’s finished.

Which is funny because, technically, there isn’t much to look at yet. A few boxes are stacked neatly against one wall, the crib is still waiting to be assembled, the rocking chair sits in the corner covered with a soft cream blanket, and the walls are completely empty. But you can already see it– you can picture your daughter growing up in here. You imagine the late nights spent rocking her in that chair, the little toys that will eventually end up scattered across the floor, tiny footsteps running toward you years from now. You can picture Juraj sitting on the floor helping her with something while trying to know what he’s doing.

For now, though, it’s just a room full of possibility. And paint fumes. Which is exactly why Juraj has decided you are absolutely not allowed inside.

“Absolutely not.”

Stopped in the doorway, you look at him with disbelief. “Absolutely not what?”

Juraj is standing in the middle of the nursery holding a paint roller, wearing old grey sweatpants and no shirt that he rides is clearly essential to his “messy house project” outfit even though his frill of being half naked near you came long before committing to paint swatches. Still there's soft pink paint streaked across his cheek, another streaked across the same forearm where it’s usually covered in bruises by the end of a game. And somehow, there’s even a few tiny spots in his hair. Which has a flutter of stupid, loving, admiration start blooming in your chest because clearly he’s enjoying himself. Or has deeply overthinking brush types, which is equally reasonable. At this moment he looks less like a professional hockey player and more like someone who has personally challenged a hardware store and lost.

“You can’t come in.”

You glance around evaluating the scene to see whether there’s actually a hazard or whether this was impromptu. “Juraj, I’m literally standing in the doorway.”

He shakes his head, ends of his hair brushing his eyelashes, acting as some kind of golden retriever enforcement. “Still too close.”

You let out a laugh, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, leaning a hand on one hip to take away some of the stiffness forcing in your lower back. From both the weight of standing and your muscles already straining to hold back a laugh. That alone makes him look at you.

“You’re standing.”

You blink. “...Yes?”

“You’ve been standing for like five minutes.”

“Because I walked here.”

He puts the roller down. “You could’ve called me.”

“From the living room?” You question, not although not actually as baffled as your posture suggests. This side of him was funny and much less surprising by now. 

“Yes.”

You stare at him mouth agape despite the fact that its almost become something you’d expected to happen from the moment you woke up most days. “Juraj!”

He gives you a completely serious look crossing his arms against his broad chest mirroring your expression. “What?”

For a second you genuinely think of how you could phrase it in the Slovak that you know so he could understand. Instead that was a bit difficult to produce urgently enough when the baby brain and your husband are forming an alliance against you. So instead you wave your hand around your tightened midsection and point at him. 

“You realize I’m pregnant, not made of glass, right?”

He lets out a quiet breath through his nose before looking down at your swollen ankles peeking out above your socks. You'd complained about them this morning while trying to squeeze into your sneakers, and he still hasn't forgotten.

"I know," he says gently. "I just also know you were rubbing your back before you even got out of bed."

“Mmm” you hum caught but not giving up. 

“Yes.”

Your eyebrows pinch a little. “Because you’re acting like I’m going to collapse if I touch a paintbrush.”

His expression softens immediately. “No. Not that.”

And that’s always what gets you. Because Juraj can be stubborn. Extremely stubborn. The kind of stubbornness that comes from years of hockey and competition and refusing to give up. But with you, it’s different. It’s not about controlling you, It’s about loving you so much that he wants to take every difficult thing away.

“You’ve spent seven months growing our daughter,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to prove you have to do anything else.”

Your face softens, feeling your body remember why he really only says no to you for good reasons. He’s never been one to hold you back. Actually when he wasn’t medically astounded about what you were doing on the daily he was the first person showing up to help you do whatever you wanted. “I just want to help.”

“I know.”

You look up importantly to those brown eyes. “I feel useless sitting around while you do everything.”

His eyebrows immediately pull together. “Useless?”

You sigh knowing it sounds stupid even though you can’t help but feel it. “Not literally. I just mean…”

You gesture vaguely at yourself. “I’m tired all the time. My back hurts. My feet are swollen. I can’t bend over without feeling like I’m fighting for my life. I can’t even put my own shoes on without needing a five-minute break.”

Juraj’s expression turns impossibly gentle. “You’re still my girl. And you are making a person. I’m here for you to boss around but I’m not going to pretend I will make you do more than that.”

Your hands play with the hem of your shirt on instinct because she’s there. “I know.”

He leans more into your space towering over you like a steady lamppost. “You are growing our daughter.”

“I know.”

Then finally. “Your body is doing more work than mine is.”

You glance from the paint roller, to the window panels he covered one by one so they could still be opened, then to the ladder he hasn’t used but clearly thought he needed urgently despite being 6 foot 4. Then back to his face.  “Debatable.”

He ignores that. “You don’t need to paint walls.”

You smile slightly. “You practiced that speech?”

“No.” He says too quickly to mean otherwise. 

“You definitely practiced that speech.”

“Maybe.”

You laugh. That’s the thing about Juraj. Even when he’s being ridiculously protective, he somehow makes it impossible to stay annoyed. He steps closer, settling his hand against your bump, so big it almost spans the curve of it now, when he starts stroking lazy , subconscious circles over the same spot while he's talking, like he's trying to soothe her whilst you’re listening.

“And besides,” he says, looking down, “she already thinks she’s helping.”

Right on cue, your daughter moves and Juraj’s entire face changes. Every single time it happens, you see the same wonder in him. Like he still can’t believe there’s actually a little person in there. His little person that patters and pushes around seeking out your attention as much as he is. “There she is,” he whispers.

You smile. Because it's impossible not to when the man you love does anything with as much care as that. “She’s been moving all morning.”

His eyes flicker up to yours again but keeping his face titled down not wanting to miss anything. Still treating everything like it's a once in a lifetime marvel. “Maybe she wants to paint.”

You shake your head when and grin distinctly amused. “See? She agrees with me.”

“No,” he says immediately. “She agrees with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what she meant.”

“Father intuition.” juraj counters, following your points like a flower reasoning with the sun. The same intuition that picked up everything you so much as glanced at, and had him refilling your water like he got an internal notification every time you did that silly thing of ‘rationing it’ so you didn’t have to waddle to the sink so often. 

“You’ve had father intuition for seven months.”

“And it’s been right every time.”

You can’t argue with that. However, before he completely bans you from the room, Juraj suddenly looks thoughtful.

“Wait.”

You immediately narrow your eyes. “What?”

He disappears for a moment and comes back holding a tiny paintbrush and a small container of pink paint. You stare and then raise an eyebrow. A very directed one. “Are you bribing me?”

“No.”

“You’re absolutely bribing me.”

“I’m compromising.”

You look at the paint sceptically. “How?”

He points toward a small wooden sign, the one the two of you decided her name will go once you finalize it, sitting on the dresser that's been so elegantly draped in plastic sheets in the middle of the room. The same one that's also being used as a bench for waffles he made 3 hours ago and a concerning amount of loose screws and bolts that seemed to have no direct place to be drilled into. “You can decorate something.”

You look at it debating your friendship with the object. “One thing?”

“One decoration.”

You faux gasp, placing a hand on your chest. “That’s all you trust me with?”

Juraj doesn't miss a beat, tilting his head making sure you understand he will provide backup answers if needed. “Yes.”

“Why does that sound like a warning?”

“Because I know you.”

You laugh. “Okay. Fine. Finee.”

He hands you the paintbrush carefully, ducking to kiss your cheek before pointing right past you to the hall. “Just stay out here.”

“Because of fumes?”

“Because of fumes.”

“You know I’m allowed to be near paint if the room is ventilated, right?” You say with your nail already clinking at the opening of the small can he gave you. 

Juraj shoots you a look that no doubt means ‘behave before i take it off you’ but he can’t find it in him to take away all of your fun when he knows you’re already being as good as you can be. Which is honestly a little weird given how much he usually likes to sit back when you're being cheeky with him. “I know.”

“Then?”

He smirks. “Then I’m still your husband and I’m still saying no.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Fine.”

He kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. Soft as ever, but making sure you have no good reason to stay and make out with him in the doorframe. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And sit down after.”

Your tongue presses behind your teeth knowing he’s still committed. “I’ll think about it.”

He openly stares at your mouth for a few seconds before shaking his head and sterning his voice again. “Please.”

You sigh. “Okay.”

Without moving from where he's standing, he reaches over and nudges the nursery door another few inches open, his arm long enough that he barely has to lean. Watching you proceed, satisfied, he heads back into the nursery smiling to himself. 

For a few minutes, you actually sit there with the tiny wooden decoration. You look at the blank space. You think about painting flowers, maybe stars. Something cute and cohesive for the room.

But then your eyes drift down to your bump. To the little girl who has been with you every second for the last seven months. And suddenly you have a different idea. A better one. Carefully set the decoration aside and lift up the edge of your shirt carefully tucking it into the crease of your newfound boobs which is suddenly very helpful for your idea.

And just like that, you paint something much more personal. Tiny pink flowers. Soft petal after soft petal. Some curved, some swirling, some attached by different sizes.  Little details carefully placed across your belly. No particular rush to recreate one-for-one types you’d seen, which would be much harder from the angle you were holding the brush and seeing from, but rather a vibe. Soft, flowy, quiet almost in a peaceful beauty kind of way. A little garden for your daughter before she’s even arrived.

You take your time because your back starts aching from sitting awkwardly, and you have to shift every few minutes to find a comfortable position. Your hands have started to swell just slightly coming into the third trimester, and you laugh quietly to yourself because even painting has somehow become a pregnancy activity that requires planning.

Eventually, you finish, and just as you pull your shirt back down like little curtains hiding your artwork, Juraj appears. “Okay,” he says. “I finished another wall.”

You look up innocently. “That’s good,  baby.”

His eyes immediately narrow at your tone. That man really does have a sensor for when you’re up to something. “What did you paint?”

You try not to smile and give it all away but it fails. “The decoration.”

Juraj watches the dip in your cheek get deeper, the one you have when you’re smug about hiding something and he holds out one of his large palms. “Can I see?”

Your shoulders raise, coy. “Maybe.”

He points at you. bullseye. “You did something.”

“Uh uh. No.” You say too playful to pretend you’re not enjoying watching him figure it out.

Juraj finishes crossing the room .“You definitely did something.”

You slowly stand up, and he is immediately moving toward you. The lover in him reflectively switches back into husband gear. “Careful.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know.”

Before you can argue, he's already reaching for the dining chair with one hand, dragging it across the floor like it weighs absolutely nothing. Turning it toward you expectantly. This could be done sitting you figure, and comply, sinking back into the cushions.

It's only when the bump settles higher again that you laugh softly and lift your shirt for your husband. In any other sense he would've smirked but instead Juraj goes completely quiet. For a second, he doesn’t say anything, he just looks. The little pink flowers covering your belly are simple, delicate, and imperfect in the sweetest way. They’re not something from a store. They’re not something planned. They’re something you made while carrying his daughter.

“y/n…” His voice is quiet.

His fingertips have barely settled against your skin when your daughter gives one decisive kick, right beneath one of the painted blossoms. Both of you still instantly. Juraj's eyes widen before they soften into something impossibly warm, his thumb instinctively brushing over the little flower she'd chosen to announce herself beneath.

A quiet laugh escapes him.

"I think she likes them."

Another kick answers him almost immediately, stronger this time, making the tiny petals dance with the movement of your belly.

You can't help smiling. "Or she's rebelling against pink being her colour already."

Juraj lets out the smallest, breathiest laugh, never taking his eyes off your bump. "She's saying thank you to her mama." His voice is so gentle it's almost swallowed by the quiet apartment. "She's already got good taste." 

There’s a breath where you both just watch the flora ripple ever the baby’s movement before he looks up, wanting to see your face again. You look at him. “You like it?”

He looks almost overwhelmed. “Yeah.” A small smile appears. “I really like it.”

He folds himself onto one knee like it wasn’t awkward for someone built like him, completely focused on the tiny flowers instead. Gently placing one of his large hands beside the painted flowers, with such reverie that years worth of calluses felt invisible under the spell of care. “You did this?”

You nod like it was obvious but your voice comes out soft by his presence alone. And apparently, that’s enough to completely make him sentimental. Because Juraj is reaching to unlock his phone from his sweats pocket before you even comprehend what he’s doing. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t blink. Just replies, voice smoother and more serious than it had been all day.  “Taking a picture.”

Your breath hitches. Blush arriving and heart-rate picking up in-tow.“Why?”

“Because this is going in the nursery.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

His eyes are wider when they find yours again, looking up at you from his knees. “I’m printing it.”

Your lip pouts suddenly more emotional than you meant to be. “Juraj.”

“I’m serious.” He shakes his head and tilts his phone so you can look at the photos. “This is one of the first decorations our daughter ever had.”

Your heart melts cupping the bottom of your bump before slipping your hand to his bicep watching him flick through the pictures. “You’re actually going to hang a picture of my stomach?”

He laughs softly. “Yes.”

He looks up to find you already watching him. Juraj has never been embarrassed by how openly he loves you. If anything, he seems lighter whenever you catch him in moments like this. He felt fuller when you knew you were witnessing his deviation, no matter how small or silly. Because really nothing he ever did showing you love made you feel small or silly. His smile softens.

“I want her to know how loved she was before she was even here.”

That’s what gets you. However you barely make it around him before his arms fold around you completely, his embrace warm enough to make the rest of the apartment disappear. Blanketing you in muscled walls, both hands automatically rest against your bump. Then you clear your throat smiling up at him innocently with bambi eyes Juraj immediately knows is going to override whatever he’s going to need to forgive and forget. “I actually didn’t paint that one.”

He freezes. “What?”

You point down. “I painted these.”

His eyes move between your belly and your face. “But…”

You bite your lip, soft and plush holding back a laugh. Bonus points that it works as an anti-conflict elixir. “The decoration is still blank.”

He stares for a second then laughs, not a question anymore. “You didn’t paint the sign.”

You shrug, smiling full now at his immediate shoulder drop. “I improved the idea.”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling too much to pretend he’s upset. Juraj reaches over and dips his finger into the paint mix and swipes it across your nose grinning like a fool administrating himself into playing your game. “You are impossible.”

You catch his wrist and pull him closer until his lips are against yours “You love me.”

He smiles against you, head ducked down settling his free hand around your hips “more than you know” he mumbles before searing you with a kiss, every bit passion and approval. 

Later that night, the wooden decoration finally gets painted too. But the picture of the pink flowers stays. Because when Juraj hangs it in the nursery beside everything else, it becomes his favourite piece. Not because it’s perfect. Because it’s the first reminder that before there was a crib, before there were toys, before a baby girl would be sleeping in that room— There was you, there was him, and there was the little family you were already building.

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who…

Is so hard from foreplay that he accidentally cums the moment he slides inside you, then turns red and gets so embarrassed he nearly cries

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who…

Earns your forgiveness for cumming too fast by eating you out with such ferocity he gets lightheaded because he hasn’t properly come up for air in thirty minutes

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who…

Begs and whines when he doesn’t get his way, then acts like a cocky little brat the moment you give in to him

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who…

Enjoys cleaning up the room after sex because he gets an ego boost seeing the drenched bedsheets

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who…

Has a hidden album of photos of you to jerk off to on roadies.

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who…

Wears your hickeys like a badge of honour

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who…

Hopes his teammates ask about said hickeys, and does the most to make sure the marks you left are out on display in the locker room…love bites, nail scratches and all.

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who...

Decides if he wants to be a top or bottom based off of how well his hockey game went

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who...

Is able channel the adrenaline of a big win into making your knees shake from overstimulation the moment he gets home.

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who...

Is also able to lay down and take whatever you give, wanting nothing more than to be your own toy for personal pleasure, especially when you're mad at him.

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who...

Wants to be babied

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who...

You can't quite figure out because one night he's degrading and praising you, and the next night he's begging for you to give it back to him...

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who...

Thinks his girlfriend might very well be a goddess, and treats her as such even if he messes up sometimes...

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who...

Gets giddy over a blow job

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who...

Is too impatient to take you to the bedroom after a road trip, so he just bends you over the kitchen counter

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who...

Forces you to look at him as he fucks you stupid.

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who...

Thinks it’s unfair when you force him to look at you when you fuck him stupid (he doesn't believe in double standards)

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who…

Would share you with some of his teammates if that's what you wanted.

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who…

Ironically, will punch another dude for looking at you too long. His horniness and possessiveness are in constant states of tension

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who...

Likes being called a good boy after he's played a bad game

Juraj Slafkovsky is the kinda guy who...

Tells you how lucky he is to have you after you two have sex <3

"Dude is so whipped" Cole says as he watches Juraj take your shoes off for you at the end of the black tie event.

"Like you would think she hung the moon and stars the way he acts around her" Arber says.

"In his eyes she has" Nick says, "That's true love boys."

They watch as Juraj gets your shoes in one hand and makes sure your okay walking barefoot before he carries your purse. You go say bye to Cole's girlfriend, so Juraj comes up to say bye to the boys.

"We're headed out" Juraj says.

"You need some help with your things there Juraj?" Kaiden asks

"What?" Juraj asks

"You have your hands full, need some help?" Cole asks

"No I've got it" Juraj says.

"Your so whipped" Arber says.

"Your not any better dumbass" Juraj replies.

"Woah he's got some bite to him" Kaiden says.

"She's his first love let him be" Nick says.

"Aww but chirping him is more fun" Cole literally pouts.

"Being nice is even better" you jump in.

"Hey Y/N" Cole says.

"Hey boys you done here?" You ask, "Juraj and I have a date with the couch and a movie so if you'll excuse us."

"Of course have fun" Nick replies.

You were running late, again. Today was NOT your day.

Your friends reserved a table at the bar you were talking about for the past month, to celebrate your birthday. 

First, you woke up late. Then, the outfit you thought of in your head was nothing like you imagined. To top it off, your curling iron apparently decided that today was the perfect day to stop working. Right after you already had curled half of your hair. 

“Okay, I can still make it, it’s only around the block,“ you murmured to yourself, closing the door to your apartment.

Normally, you took the stairs but decided against it today, with heels on your feet it would take longer. Time you couldn’t waste.

୨ৎ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ୨ৎ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ୨ৎ

Just as the door of the elevator started to close a hand appeared, forcing them back open. 

Great, another thing that slowed you down.

But as the person stepped inside, you noticed how tall he was, how hot he was. A guy around your age, dressed in jeans and shirt. 

“Sorry,“ he said, offering a sweet smile. An accent you couldn’t place evident in his voice. How did you never notice him before?

You checked the time.

22:50

Okay, you were definitely going to be late. The elevator finally started to move and then suddenly.. Everything went wrong.

The elevator jolted violently, making you stumble. The floor disappearing beneath your heels for a second, but a strong arm immediately wrapped around your waist. 

The lights flickered once, twice, before giving up completely.

“Oh no,“ you whispered with a panicked voice. “This cannot be happening. Not tonight.“

“Wait, let me just,“ he took out his phone, turning on the flashlight that illuminated his face. 

He looked calm, though his brows were furrowed with concern. Before he could speak a robotic voice crackled through the silence. “An emergency signal was sent, help will be there shortly.“ 

“Well, looks like we will be here for a while.“ 

Why was he so calm? Your heart was beating against your ribs. This was your worst nightmare. Being locked in a small space with no way out. You felt like the walls were inching closer with every second.

Your breath hitched, coming in short, air not really reaching your lungs. The air was suddenly thick, heavy. Panic filled your whole body. 

“Hey,“ his voice dropped. The light no longer on the buttons but on the floor between you. “Look at me.“

He stepped closer, his large frame towering above you.

“I need you to breathe with me, okay? Just focus on me.“

He reached out, his large and warm hand taking yours. Placing your palm against his chest, right over his heart. You could feel his steady heartbeat beneath the shirt.

“I’m Juraj,“ his thumb tracing small circles against the back of your hand. “We’re going to be just fine. I promise. But I need you to take a deep breath for me. Can you do that?“

You looked up, eyes finally meeting his. He wasn’t looking at his phone or the elevator, he was looking down at you. Slowly you began trying to match your breaths to the rise and fall of his chest.

“Yeah, that’s right. You’re doing so good.“ 

Not once did his eyes leave you.

“Let’s sit,“ he whispered. “Save our energy… and my phone battery.“

He guided you down, sinking onto the floor first so he could help steady as you tucked your dress around your legs. You leaned your back against the cold metal wall, kicking off the heels you had been so worried about earlier. 

Juraj set the phone on the floor between you, the flashlight facing upward. 

୨ৎ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ୨ৎ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ୨ৎ

“Better?“ he asked after a while. His dark eyes searching yours.

“A little,“ you said, pulling your knees to your chest. “Thank you. I’m.. I’m not usually this dramatic.“ 

He let out a short, soft laugh, leaning his head back. “You were in a big rush. Important plans?“

“I was supposed to meet my friends. It’s my birthday. We have been planning this party for a month,“ you let out a dry laugh.

His eyebrows shot up.

“It’s your birthday? Today?“

“Yeah,“ you sighed. “But at this rate, I’m going to spend the whole celebration here.“

Juraj went quiet for a moment. A small crooked small tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, if it makes you any better, you won’t be the only one spending your birthday trapped in a metal box.“

“What?“ You blinked at him, confused.

“Well, my birthday is tomorrow. I would say this is an interesting way to start the celebration,“ smile evident in his voice. 

You let out a laugh, turning your head towards him as you leaned back. “No way, what are the odds?“

“Better odds than me scoring lately apparently,“ he joked, his smile deepening. Stretching his long legs out. “Actually, I just moved in last week. Still living out of half unpacked boxes on the 8th floor.“

“The 8th?? So you’re my new downstairs neighbor,“ you realized.

“Yeah, that’s probably me. I’m Juraj, by the way. I play for the Canadiens. So I haven’t had much time to meet the neighbors.“

Your eyes widened slightly. “A hockey player? That explains the calm under pressure.“

“The calm is fake,“ he said, leaning closer so his shoulder brushed yours. The warmth radiating from him. “Inside, I’m wondering if I’ll have to eat my birthday breakfast out of a vending machine if we don’t get out of here.“

The panic had settled into a heavy, comfortable intimacy. With Juraj telling you about about how he got drafted, his childhood and career. His voice was calming.

The tough hockey player you had in your head slowly fading away with each story.

You checked your phone again. 

23:50

The party you were supposed to be attending was likely in full swing by now. The excitement to attend it was slowly dying out.

Sitting on the floor of a dark elevator with a handsome hockey player was starting to feel like a much better story.

Frantically searching through your purse, you fished out a granola bar. “Well, it’s not exactly a five course meal, but it’s something.“

“A birthday feast,“ Juraj said, taking the bar with a grin. He split it in half, giving you the larger piece. “To us. The most unexpected birthday celebration in Montreal.“

୨ৎ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ୨ৎ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ୨ৎ

Soon, the granola bar was gone, and the flashlight on the floor made the elevator feel more like a sanctuary than a cage.

"I'm sorry you're missing your party," he whispered, his eyes searching yours in the dim light. "I know it’s not how you pictured your night ending."

"I don't know," you said softly. "The party would have been loud. I probably would have had a headache by now. This... this is better."

“Yeah?“

“Yeah,“ you whispered back.

Somehow you were now inches from him.

You glanced down at the phone. The bright numbers on the lock screen flickered.

00:01

You looked up at him, the man who had been a stranger an hour ago, now felt like the only person in the world. You gave a small, tired smile, reaching out to nudge his knee with your own.

"Well," your voice echoing slightly. "Happy birthday, I guess."

Juraj didn’t say anything at first. He just leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes.

“Best one yet,“ he murmured.