#( jaw dropped when i made the connection that achilles' heel + put a baby in me + warm-up is YOU )

[ylangelegy]

kae i went to scroll through my recs tag and realised. it’s almost entirely made up of ur fics. i am literally ur fan account 🩷🩷

mildly insane thing to say when my recent ao3 history is almost exclusively kudos for you (even BEFORE i followed ur tumblr, i realized.. #destiny..) this user. Me. is a char fan account

[lovehugsandcandy]

One-on-One: Decisions (Colt x MC)

A/N:  Third one-shot for basketball!Colt. I have two more planned after this.

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: ~1,500 words

Rating: R? (Swearing. One suggestive line. Idiots.)

Summary: Colt should never talk to the media...but Ellie will allow it this one time.

Ellie set up the media alert fairly early in their relationship; it allowed her to catch threatening situations before they boiled over into irrecoverable issues that inevitably would involve her bailing out her idiot boyfriend-yet again.

It allowed her to call him right after he lost his first game this season, interrupting the complete destruction of a locker room that could have resulted in a suspension. It was the reason she sped north, weaving frantically through rush hour traffic for hours, when a gruesome Achilles tear had prematurely aborted his senior year and he had to redshirt so he could actually play out his final season. It was the reason she convinced him he should never attend the post-game press conferences. Ever.

And it was now furiously dinging over.

She groaned and reached for the phone, eyes still closed, slapping the sheets once, twice, three times until she finally clasped her fingers around plastic. Her eyes fluttered open, bleary and slow, as she internally prepared herself for whatever foolish shit he had pulled.

However, before she pulled up the browser, her phone rang; it was her dad. She declined and tried to pull up the search engine when the phone rang again. Ingrid. She frowned and declined. When her dad called again, she raced to her computer, sinking suspicion that the plethora of alerts and multiple phone calls were no coincidence.

Where was he again? Texas.

She scanned the gossip rags, relieved to find nothing damaging, and then navigated to ESPNU. Oh Lord, a video. He wasn’t supposed to be talking to the media. 

She hit play.

“Your third Nationals Title is looking more and more like a lock. What are your plans for after graduation?”

Colt shrugged, looking directly at the camera, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I don’t know. Maybe the draft. My wife’s gonna go to Yale for grad school though so, no matter what, I’m gonna be in the Northeast.”

She blinked. It was overall a calculated move, signaling to anyone interested in drafting him that there were only a few pro teams he would consider. But she was more caught by the word choice. But did he just call her his...

The phone rang again, and this time she connected to her dad screeching over the phone line, “Did you get married?”

~~~~~~

She waited up for him. He usually crashed in the city once their plane landed, ditching the team bus to crash in her apartment before heading back upstate, and they would spend a few carefree days lounging at her apartment and strolling the city streets as if they weren’t facing impending graduations that would thrust them into a future they could never prepare for.

Sometimes, she would greet him with pizza and commiseration over a tough loss.

Other times, she would greet him with a shared bath, ostensibly drawn to ease sore muscles, but always ending with them both soaked and sated, huddled close under her covers, reconnecting in the most satisfying of ways.

This time, she perched on the sofa, toe ticking by the seconds, mentally mapping his route through airport corridors, then where the Dryve would crawl down crowded city streets, to where he would walk through the lobby, up the three flights of stairs, and turn the spare key in her lock. She seethed with every imagined step.

Finally, twenty-three minutes after landing, 1,387 furious taps of her toe against hardwood, jingling sounded outside her door and the knob turned, opening to reveal a broad-shouldered figure that she was going to murder.

“Hey!” He dropped his duffel bag on the floor, locking the door behind him. “You waited up?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

He froze, forward progress halting as his jaw dropped at the venom dripping from her words. “Uh… baby? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Her eyebrows climbed her forehead, and she stood, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s wrong?!?!”

He blinked, mouth opening and closing, and she could practically see him reflecting on his day, the day prior, hell, the last week as he tried and failed to figure out why she was glaring daggers at him. “Uh… are you mad that I fouled out? Because, I mean, the game was over and there was forty seconds left in the quarter and-”

“No. Not that.”

“Uh…” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Is it because I told Logan that if he sat next to me on the plane, I would cut his hair off in his sleep?”

She rubbed her hands over her eyes. “I had no idea you said that, but I appreciate you adding it to the list.”

“Ellie, just fucking tell me. I don’t know what the fuck you’re pissed off about.”

“Your interview.”

He blinked blankly down at her. “What interview?”

“After the game? About your plans once you graduate?”

“I thought those…” He paused, uncertain. “I thought those were our plans. Are… are they not?”

She winced at the stab of guilt; she did not mean to imply that they wouldn’t move in together after school. “Urgh, yes, they are but you… Colt, you called me your wife.”

“That’s what you’re pissed about? Seriously?”

“Yes! It’s not true and my phone has been literally ringing off the hook, and some ESPN talking head devoted ten minutes to it during one of their trashy shows and-”

“Elie, we’re basically-”

“We are not-”

“Babe, I just meant-”

“Don’t you babe me!” She stomped closer to glare up at him. “This is why Logan is the one who talks to the press.”

“What? Fuck him. And what was I supposed to say? She cornered me!”

“Oh, how about anything but that?��

“Come on, babe.”

“Don’t even.”

“Who cares what the hell they say on tv?”

“Colt…” she put a hand to her temple. “You created not only confusing press for you but also drama. For me! My dad is convinced we eloped.”

“Babe, it’s like wifey. Everyone knows I meant it like that, come on.”

“No, no one knew that.”

“Come on, wifey,” he pouted.

“Jesus Christ. Don’t you dare-”

“Wifey…” he complained while she bristled, traitorous lips twitching regardless of how hard she tried to fight the smile down.

“Stop calling me that!” 

“Oh, wifey. You-”

She groaned, jumping away to stalk into the kitchen, yelling “Oh my God!” Footsteps followed her and she spun, glaring. She tried to stay annoyed, she did, but he was fucking ridiculous, lips curved in an exaggerated frown and eyes brimming with mockery.

“Wifey....”

“I swear to God!”

His hands wrapped found her hipbones, pulling her close to kiss her neck before whispering in her ear, “Wiiiifeey.”

“Jesus!” She pushed him away, barely able to get the words out through hitching giggles. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because you love me.” She couldn’t speak through her laughter, but she hoped the fond grin stretching over her face betrayed her thoughts. “How about wifey like marry me?”

She froze. “... What?”

“Marry me.” Time stopped and the air left Ellie’s lungs.

“This isn’t…”

“Ellie, marry me.” His eyes were intent on hers, and she had to lean against the counter to hold herself up.

“You…” she stuttered. “You asked me that before.”

That brought him up short. “I did?”

“Kinda.” Her shaking hands found the counter top behind her, and she held on for dear life. “When you got your concussion junior year against Hartfield.”

“When I was in the hospital for two days?!?”

“When you were bleeding out on the court.”

“Oh. The perfect time for major life decisions.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Well, what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything! You passed out!”

His mouth dropped open. “You left me hanging?”

“What.”

“Seriously, you just ignored me, what the heck, El?” he jeered. “You can’t leave a man hanging like that!”

“What the-” She rolled her eyes. “Colt!”

“Well, what do you say now?”

“You don’t… you don’t have a ring.” His lips stretched into a self-satisfied smirk. “You have a ring.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the piece of jewelry and holding it out between two fingers. “What? You want me to do this right? Get down on one knee and all that?” She couldn’t even answer, eyes welling with tears; he rocked back on his heels. “Uh, Ellie? You gonna answer me?”

“You-” Her voice trailed off as the tears started falling, rivulets over her cheeks, her smile; she tried to blink them away, tried to speak, tried to do something, but she could only stand there, watching him gaze at her in absolute adoration. Finally, she gave up and just nodded, slowly at first, then frantic, giggling, leaping  into his arms, not even caring that she was crying all over his university tracksuit as he cradled her close.

When she finally thought she had control of her face, she glanced up and the smile on his face made her heart skip.

At least until he spoke. “I knew you would wanna lock this up.”

“Don’t make me immediately regret my decision.”

He pulled back to shoot her a cocky grin, eyes gleaming. “You’re not gonna.”

She only smiled back, thinking, No, I’m not gonna.

.

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