#she ADMITTED that all her teammates had done this season was be kind to her. that she had NO reason to go against them. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

possibilistfanfiction · 2 years ago

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legitimately fuckin obsessed with the avatrice football au my dude. that last snippet brought me pure JOY im tellin you what

[well here's some ava pov while i procrastinate ch3 plot lol, s/o to @unicyclehippo for the worst/best gay pun of all time, love u. honestly this is long enough to put on ao3 so ... i'll do that in a footy au series i suppose for context... justice for chanel lol]

///

waking up from your first surgery is a blur, mostly an inexplicable terror when you can’t feel your legs, when you can barely move your fingers. tears leak from your eyes and you can’t wipe them, can only let them roll down into your temples. but then there’s a hand in yours, and chanel’s comforting touch, her voice soft.

‘it’ll be okay, ava,’ she says.

it won’t be okay, you’re certain of it, because you’d been taken straight from the field to the hospital, and then right into surgery, your kit cut off so that they didn’t move your spine more than you already had. you love football; you love football, the feeling of being so at home in your body, the feeling of going fast and the delight of the burn in your muscles, of not being afraid of anything.

‘i’m really scared.’ you look at chanel, showered and gorgeous, in a team issued bomber that seems impossibly elegant, even now.

‘yeah,’ she grants, swipes her thumb against your cheeks and into your hair, catching your tears. she grabs a tissue and wipes your nose, which, from anyone else, would be absolutely horrifying, but she does it with so little fanfare and you’re in pain and also not pain — the worse option — you can’t even really care. she’s your favorite teammate: kind and brave and funny. she’s your friend. ’you’re gonna get through this, though.’

‘i don’t — i don’t want to.’

you don’t even quite know what you mean, still out of it because of pain meds and anesthesia, but chanel sighs gently.

‘you will. one day, you will.’

you don’t, not for a long time. after your fifth surgery you kind of tell yourself that you’ve definitely given up on football; they move you to a long-term rehab facility specifically for spine injuries, which is better than the hospital for sure, but it’s still hours and hours of physical and occupational therapy that leaves you feeling discouraged more often that not. once the inflammation starts to go down in your spine, you start to, at least, regain some function in your arms and hands, and after your sixth surgery, things are, you’ll admit, more hopeful. at the very least, you’ll be able to do things like use a manual chair and cook and type emails.

you’re not great at texting yet; your occupational therapist is always telling you that if you worked on writing, and holding cutlery, and even more boring, pointless shit like pick up sticks, you’d have an easier time, but, whatever, you can type with the pointer finger of your right hand and it gets the job done. chanel visits as often as she can, most days in the late morning, which feels particularly generous in the off season when she could be being glamorous somewhere else, probably invited to paris fashion week or something. she brings makeup — expensive, beautiful makeup — and doesn’t seem to care when you clumsily fuck up lipstick or poke your eye with a mascara wand. you know she brings it so you actually do your occupational therapy exercises, but she also brings you changes of comfortable clothes and washes your hair gently every few days. she lies back in bed with you, long limbed and beautiful, and watches matches when you don’t feel too sad.

a few days after your eighth surgery, your last, according to your neurosurgeon, you wear a giant back brace over your beatrice xin jersey, your favorite player to watch, and your physical therapy team gets you strapped into this harness that connects to the ceiling so you can try to walk on the treadmill and for sure won’t fall. it kind of feels like you’re doing a stunt or something, and chanel stands there and indulges you with a smile while you make all of your best ‘strapped into a harness’ jokes.

and then — you do walk. it’s slow going, the treadmill barely moving, and your legs feel sluggish and so weak and almost not like your own. it’s been two months since you took a step and it feels like a fucking miracle. chanel wipes a tear or two from her own eyes, even though you can only walk for five minutes and are sweating kind of profusely — it’s a fucking miracle, and she understands it too.

‘what are you frowning at?’

she rolls her eyes and pockets her phone, easily pedaling with insane resistance on the peleton next to you while you struggle to get your legs to listen to your brain and pedal at all. ‘idiot bros on twitter. “trans women don’t belong in women’s sports” and all that bullshit.’

you stop trying to pedal because you’re already entirely unsuccessful today and now you’re not able to focus at all. ‘fuck them.’

she grins. ‘yeah.’

‘i’ll beat them up, just you watch.’

it makes her laugh, and you think she knows you really would physically get into a fight — on or off the field — if anyone ever said anything to her.

‘plus, i can take you 1v1.’

‘in your dreams, silva.’

‘i’m going to, again. don’t even think i won’t.’

chanel pats your hand; you feel it all. ‘i’ve always known you could do it. i’ve never thought you wouldn’t, ava.’

you duck your head, unused to genuine praise after all this time stuck in the same boring, discouraging, painful rooms at the spine center, even though all of your doctors and nurses and therapists had been nice.

‘but,’ she says, ‘first you gotta pedal on this bike.’

‘it’s hard,’ you whine.

‘you’re just distracted.’

you look at the game you’d turned on, beatrice xin currently with two goals and two assists, and sigh. ‘i’m horny.’

it gets the biggest, best laugh out of chanel, and you feel a little something like pride bloom in your chest: you love making people you care about laugh.

‘fine, fine,’ you grumble. you look down at your feet, your quads and calves so small and pale compared to six months ago; you try to breathe through the immediate fear and the tiny bit of shame that pops up. but you focus, feel your feet firmly on the pedals, think about how you know how to ride a bike; you know how to stand up straight and put on pants and kick a ball. the back brace you have on feels tight, feels restricting — but you focus on activating your quads, then your hamstrings, and you eventually get the pedals to move.

‘hell yeah,’ chanel says.

‘if you try to give me a high five right now i think i’ll get all scrambled if i try to move my hand.’

she laughs, reaches over and pats the top of your head instead.

‘ava silva,’ chanel says, and you grin; you can’t help it. she holds her phone at a, thankfully, flattering angle as you walk along the beach — slowly, but steady: you trust you won’t fall, that you’re strong enough and getting stronger. ‘what does freedom feel like?’

chanel has like… three million followers, and she loves social media, something that your old club has always been thrilled about. they hadn’t renewed your contract, but you’d understood; they’re still paying for all of your medical care, so you don’t really feel upset, just a sense of loss you’re not quite ready to name. but chanel loves you, and she’s so, so happy for you — even if you never play again, you’re walking and even starting to run now; you’re in pain but it’s manageable. it’s okay.

‘it feels —‘ euphoric; devastating — ‘like a miracle.’

you flop down on chanel’s neatly made and extravagent bed; you’ve been staying in her guest room — which she had turned into her closet, so it’s still kind of packed with all of her beautiful clothes, although there is a very expensive bed for you — and training until, hopefully, you can get signed somewhere. she doesn’t even look up from her ipad when you sigh. ‘hello, ava.’

‘i have a favor to ask that i actually think you’ll be interested in.’

she pauses whatever she’s doing, then looks up. ‘i’m listening.’

‘well! okay, so. as you know, i’ve basically only worn hospital gowns and sweats for the last year and a half, and before that, i was, like, a child.’

chanel perks up, and you can practically see the wheels in her head turning already.

‘and now, wherever i get signed, you know, people are gonna care, and want interviews and all this stuff. so, in small part, i want to feel good about how i look for this next chapter of football.’

‘i love it,’ she says. ‘and what’s the large part?’

you flop back again, just for the dramatics. ‘i am… so horny. like, you don’t even understand.’

she laughs. ‘JC is nice though, right?’

‘yeah,’ you say, because he is. ‘but, like, girls.’

she pauses for a second, a happy smile on her face. ‘so, you want to look… more… bisexual?’

‘i mean, i do already? because i am? right?’

‘well, of course, ava.’ it’s gentle and reassuring but still a little amused.

‘but — yeah. like, i want to pick stuff i love, my clothes and my hair and whatever, gain back control, blah blah, everything my therapist is always going on about.’

‘your therapist is great, you love her.’

‘sure.’ she is; you do. ‘so anyway, i just — i guess i just want to feel like myself.’

‘now that,’ chanel says, ‘is a favor i love.’

‘you’re sure?’

‘it doesn’t matter if i’m sure,’ chanel says, sitting in the hairdresser’s chair next to yours. you have the salon to yourselves; she’d booked you a private appointment with her hairstylist immediately.

you turn to said stylist, dimitri, with their chic and very neat fade. ‘are you sure?’

‘like chanel said,’ they say. ‘it only matters what you want. we don’t have to do anything big.’

you look in the mirror; you hadn’t had the real opportunity to get a haircut in a long time, being in the hospital and rehab and then spending as much time as you could training after that. you haven’t, really, taken the time to deeply care for yourself, something your therapist has been bothering you about. you want, so badly, to live as big as you can. as much as you can.

‘well, i’m sure, as long as you think it’ll, like, be good for my face shape or whatever.’

chanel and dimitri share a quick glance and then chanel rolls her eyes. ‘ava, you have to know that you’re beautiful, right?’

you pause for what you feel is an appropriate amount of time. ‘yes.’

‘but since you asked,’ dimitri says, ‘i do think this will be great for your face shape.’

‘alright,’ you say, feeling suddenly very excited and a little buoyed. ‘let’s fucking do it, then.’

chanel cheers and dimitri grins; they wash your hair gently, and you feel a little panicked until chanel starts talking about the threesome she had a few nights ago, which is delightful and grounding enough you stay, fairly easily, in the present of this beautiful, outrageously expensive salon, the control you get to have. not that you’re thrilled about your therapist being completely 100% correct, but… she was right.

dimitri dries your hair and then combs it out patiently, divides it and then clips up the top part. ‘ready?’

‘definitely.’

chanel grins and it’s easy, so much easier than you knew it would be, to sit and watch yourself become. you’re filled with a sense of joy, this tiny seed that grows as dimitri cuts your hair to your chin precisely, and asks you about your plans for the day, and food you love, and chanel talks about her latest modeling contract — in addition to football, which amazes you in a way that makes you feel proud in the very center of your chest, this incredible person who showed up and helped take care of you. you feel your shoulders relax; you feel your feet firmly in the new sneakers converse had sent you, comfortable and cool; you even take time to feel your butt in the chair with the knowledge that you don’t need to do any pressure reliefs or weight shifts because, when dimitri is done, you’ll be able to stand up and walk and dance and run and even play football. and even if — even if — one day, you couldn’t, you have your friends and your teammates and your life.

‘you look hot, ava,’ chanel says, very genuinely, after dimitri finishes with a leave in, then shows you how to dry your hair and recommends a light oil.

‘go ahead,’ they say, ‘run your hands through it, all that jazz.’

to touch; to feel. you think you might cry, all of a sudden, with your soft hair that you picked, that you wanted, and chanel takes in your wobbling bottom lip and then tuts and pulls you toward her. because of your height difference, your face is basically smooshed into her chest and, even though you do cry, you laugh too, wet and messy and alive.

‘this probably my favorite place in the world,’ you say.

chanel shoves you playfully and you grin up at her.

‘thank you.’

she waves you off, as she always does when she’s a little overwhelmed too. ‘don’t thank me yet. now we have to go shopping.’

it’s not as bad as you’d feared; despite the fact that chanel only wears the most elegant designer clothes — her closet is full of gucci and bottega and, of course, chanel, and a whole shelf of louboutins — but she also loves you and knows you, deeply, and so when her driver pulls up to a row of a few very cool-looking thrift stores, you have to hug her again. she gives you helpful feedback on pieces and outfits and you feel, quite genuinely, happier than maybe you ever have. you buy crop tops and high waisted, loose jeans and a few sweaters you love; some silly earrings and a necklace and a cap that chanel laughs at, but fondly enough you know it works. you find a men’s button up with a bunch of flames on it and she rolls her eyes but you put it on anyway, knot it at your waist so it feels just above your shorts.

‘do i look bi?’

‘you look a little bit crazy, but i definitely wouldn’t think you’re straight.’

you’re practically shaking with excitement: ‘it’s… flaming. i’m flaming! get it!’

chanel groans. ‘ava,’ she says, but wraps an arm around your shoulders and throws it on the growing pile anyway.

you feel happier than maybe you ever have until the next morning, when you come back from a silly game of football on the beach with her and JC and a few of your other friends, your hair spilling out of the tiny bun you’d managed to get it into, which had made you laugh, and sit down to have some burrata — another one of your favorites that chanel indulges in getting for you from time to time, even did while you were in the hospital and she had to put it on little crackers and feed it to you herself — and then accept a call from your agent. you step inside to take it, close the door softly.

after it’s done, you yank the door open this time, burst onto the patio. all of your nerves are alive; in your shorts, your legs look strong again, tan and muscular and capable.

‘good news?’

you’re almost too excited to explain that you’re getting signed by your favorite club, $6 million for the year, with, if all goes well, an option to extend your contract another season after. a bonus: they just hired dr. jillian salvius, one of the best sports specialists in the world. all of your care will be, of course, included.

chanel starts to cry, which makes you start to cry, and she hugs you to her tightly.

‘i am so happy for you,’ she says. ‘and i’m really gonna miss you.’

‘i’m gonna miss you too,’ you tell her.

she backs up and puts her hands on your shoulders, a smile sneaking up her face. ‘you know, i happen to remember your favorite player in the whole entire world playing at a certain club.’

you hadn’t really thought past football and then six million dollars, but — ‘fuck.’

chanel laughs, face beautiful and delicate and rich in the sun. ‘i can’t wait to show her pictures of you in her jersey.’

‘oh god, are there any on my instagram? i have to go check.’

she just keeps laughing, and it’s all brimming, so wonderful, right at your fingertips.

you sign a few days later, your hands steady.

‘well,’ chanel asks, lounging back in bed on zoom, ‘how was day one?’

‘oh my god.’ your hair is still wet from the shower you took at the training grounds; you had raced back to your new apartment to make sure you were on time for your call. ‘i got there early, to play a little bit, get the nerves out, you know. and guess who was there and wanted to play 1v1?’

she grins. ‘no fucking way.’

‘i got schooled, obviously,’ you say, think of the way beatrice xin had moved with the ball, how surely she went into tackles, how precise she was. ‘i did score twice, though, and nutmegged her once. greatest football moment of my life, i’m pretty sure.’

‘what’s she like?’

you think chanel is probably humoring you, but you don’t care. ‘beatrice is… beautiful.’ it’s really the only word you have: her neat bun that stayed in place perfectly other than a few errant strands by the end of the session today; her clipped, lovely accent; the way her calves had looked while she was sprinting; the delicate lines of her face; her freckles and her eyes; how she had been serious and professional but kind; her strong back, muscles rippling under her skin in a way that made you shiver, in the locker room when she had untucked her quarterzip and pulled it over her head; how she seemed lonely, despite it all. ‘she’s really beautiful.’

it’s a while later when the sheer mortification dawns on you, but then beatrice, in her weird, hot, hilarious way, seems to dissipate the extreme embarrassment you’re going to be faced with by being embarrassing first.

‘hello, chanel.’ she reaches out her hand very seriously, in her favorite linen jumpsuit and a very expensive pair of off-white dunks and black, cat eye sunglasses that are honestly cooler than you expected, in front of her favorite nice brunch place. chanel shoots you a glance and then shakes bea’s hand firmly while you both try not to laugh.

‘hey, it’s great to meet you.’

‘you, as well,’ bea says. ‘i — before we sit, i just wanted to extend my admiration, for the work you have done both on and off the field for trans equity in our sport.’

it’s so serious, and so genuine, chanel seems a little disarmed and a little affected. ‘thank you.’

bea nods once, seriously. ‘and, maybe more importantly, even, my deep gratitude, for caring for ava. she’s spoken so highly of you, and it means — i love her,’ bea decides on, after a pause. ‘i’m glad, immeasurably so, that she has people who love her too.’

chanel suspiciously sniffles. ‘can i give you a hug? is that weird?’

bea smiles, a real smile, your favorite, and opens her arms. you resist the urge, passionately, to make a joke about how the two hottest (sorry, lilith) women you know together is really gonna do it for you during your alone time later, which is honestly a fucking feat.

‘well,’ chanel says, ‘i made a presentation of every embarrassing thing ava has done that you should know about.’

‘oh no.’

bea loops her arm with chanel when she gallantly offers, and bea says, ‘oh yes.’ you trail behind them, feeling short and small and bursting with happiness. chanel orders basically the entire menu for you to try and she and bea laugh at your expense when chanel opens her phone and does, indeed, have an entire canva presentation of you being embarrassing, but you don’t really mind at all. the sun warms your shoulders and you drink champagne that costs way too much money, the bubbles bright on your tongue. chanel laughs and bea puts her hand on your thigh, just like that: you feel it all.

#avatrice fic #avatrice #footy au #wn #warrior nun fic #anyway completely missed opportunity on the show to have chanel be the STAR OF THE SHOW lmfao so here she is in all her glory i love her #i WILL put it up on ao3 just in a hot minute lol

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sabineelectricheart · 1 year ago

Text

Secret Relationship Blown

Summary: Chad does not want for people to know he is dating someone, but when a guy makes a move on Barbara, he has other concerns.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 1100

Notes: I think Chad would admire intelligent people. Not stuffy academics or nerds, but that kind of understated cleverness that is shown in polite conversation, that sort of understanding of the world.

It is finally springtime in Sugardale.

The end of the school year swung in with the looming promise of well-deserved vacations and great change to come, as it always did. Some would graduate and leave, some would become the new leaders of the clubs and fraternities, and there would come another batch of pledges. It is hard to escape the whole sentimentality of the season.

According to most of the student body, and a few sections of the faculty, this is the perfect time to throw a party, and the Investments Club is not one to stay behind with such matters. They set up a rave in their large club house, inviting every member and their roommates and girlfriends, and eventually what seemed the entire population of the town showed up. Word spread like wildfire when it came to a blow out of theirs, as it is guaranteed to be the hottest place to be in any given night.

Chad scanned the room for you, not worried about being obvious, as there is little point to hide anything. Bryce was with Trish, and they were wrapped around their usual drama, having April hanging around, senselessly trying to referee the petty dispute, his football teammates and fellow Investment Club associates are scattered around, too busy with either hoping to bag a new conquest or get some old one to put out, and everyone else was too drunk with the better quality of alcohol they were offering for the occasion.

Then his eyes found her, Barbara Hylton, his date for the night, and he realised that they could not leave anymore. She still is the most beautiful, intelligent and awe-inspiring person he had ever seen, even if he keeps it to himself to save face. His jaw still dropped at the sight of her after the best part of seven months, and he does not think it will stop any time soon.

It took every single ounce of energy from every bone in his large body to not walk up to her and shower her with the millions of compliments springing to his mind, some not as wholesome and civil as others. Alas, he could not, and that is mostly on him.

He had suggested that they kept their little dalliance, as she puts it, between them, as not to make a big deal of it, because, as ashamed as he may be for admitting it, he does not want people to know that he is dating anyone, least of all someone like her.

Though, much to his own chagrin, she promptly agreed to his suggestion. She is a scholarship student, after all, and she is in the club which he manages, a club which is very exclusive, catered to legacy members, and with a selective membership process she has not found herself subjected through. It could be assumed that he had something to do with it, and that may lead to circumstances which threaten the continuity of her student support.

Chad was readying himself to keep control and greet Barbara regularly, like a proper vice-president would to one of its female members. He is often reminded of his etiquette whenever he interacts with her, as he gets nervous and acts ceremoniously to avoid suspicion or back-talking.

It was when his eye caught some student that he does not recognize approaching her for a conversation. He decided to wait until they were done talking to go and greet her for the first time that evening.

The drink he was holding almost spilled in his grip when Chad realised that the little bastard was not just talking to his girlfriend, he was touching her, too. Not a friendly shoulder nudge, not a drunken knock, not a brotherly poke. No, the guy was attempting to slip an arm around her shoulder, trying to make her laugh and lean into him.

He cracks his knuckles. Someone is going to be sporting a black eye tomorrow morning.

The burly man focuses his attention on Barbara, to see whether she is welcoming the guy’s advances or rejecting him, to see how much force he is putting in his first punch. He notes, with satisfaction, that she is not responding to the pathetic advance. Instead, she stood stiffly, gripping her drink as tight as he was gripping his.

She gave the drunk guy a restrained smile, eyes searching the room. She swept her gaze across the crowd, desperately trying to locate Chad as she shifted away from her interlocutor. The lipstick, carefully selected and applied to match her outfit, was starting to stretch with the polite expression she forced.

She did not want to upset the man too much. Firstly, because one can never know what men will do in these situations, but also because he has not treated her with any disrespect. There was nothing wrong with him, aside from the ebriety, but she simply is not interested in anyone else.

"Look, I’m sorry, but I, erm, I'm seeing someone at the moment." The woman said, trying to extricate herself out of the situation.

Barbara craned her neck to the right and locked stares with Chad, silently pleading for him to come over.

The drunk man chuckled. "And he left you all alone at this party? That’s very shitty of him. Don't you want to dance with someone?"

She laughed awkwardly, relieved to see her date appear in front of them.

"I didn't leave her alone. Off you go." Chad threatens, baring his teeth.

The guy spluttered, surprised at the sudden appearance of the tall and strong football captain. "Chad! I-I didn’t…! Sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn't…"

Chad smirked, looping his own arm around Barbara as the other man promptly removed his. He does not reply to the stammering, leading her away instead as she leaned into his side.

"Thanks, C. You saved me out there. Where we going now?" She asks, as they go out the door.

"Just out for a breather." He responded, both curt and airily.

As it turned out, the so-called breather was at his bedroom in the frat house and it did not involve breathing so much as fast paced making out.

The hot and savage kissing left her lips tingling and parted with the gloss smeared on the side. With a giggle, she realised there was a shiny pink tinge to her boyfriend’s ones as well.

Chad smiled down at the woman, whom he locks underneath him with his strong arms. "Do you think that we blew our cover?"

Barbara laughed breathlessly. "Yeah, we probably did."

“Good.” He responded hoarsely.

*_*_*_*_*

College Craze Masterlist

#college craze #Chad Vanderheim

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helenaheissner · 6 months ago

Text

Magical Girl Exorcist Squad One-Shot Issue: Amy

The Following is set during the events of the first season of MGES, primarily the first half.

***

“You! Explain! Now!” Amy said as she lowered herself onto the ground. Some boy who’d been checking her out in the commissary was there, having stolen their job, a typical man showing up and stealing the women’s thunder from them right as they were about to finish the work they’d been given. His facial expression made him look like a baby deer with its leg caught in a bear trap… It was honestly kind of adorable.

Amy grimaced as she tried to push the lustful thoughts out of her head. This was no time for that, and she’d just gotten a new boyfriend. Debbi’s feelings had gotten hurt in the process, again, so the last thing she wanted to do was screw that up by perving out on some pretty blond eye candy. Even if he was very, very pretty, albeit in a non-threatening-boy kind of way.

“I think I just exorcized a shark demon,” the boy said.

“WHAT?!” Amy screamed. And all her teammates screamed with her.

They un-transformed and headed back to the church after that. Of course, the happy, smiling idiot just wanted to help out and do the right thing. Of course he couldn’t stomach women in danger. Of course he didn’t remotely register the fact that he was being a sexist ass. Of course, of course, of fucking course.

Amy went home to her empty apartment that night, fuming. She drew a bath and lit her scented candles and put on some music, and she thought about the boy. About Nick.

Why did he have to be her type?! That was the cruelest part of all this- that he was a dumbass tradcon who’d barged his way into a women-only space and was gonna start spouting his antiquated views on women. It was bad enough that Amy constantly had to defend her Catholicism to every woman she met, had to explain that no, it was possible to a feminist and be a Catholic thank you very much Sandra (fucking Sandra with her perfect teeth and perfect blonde hair and perfect abs!!) without all the men who made the Church into what it was showing up and undercutting her!

Amy lowered herself into the tub while Brandi Carlile started blaring from her phone, her rubber ducky floating by her in the soapy water as she dunked her head and let the water cover her every inch.

Nick’s stupid face and stupid, beautiful blue eyes shined through the water. For not remotely the first time, she cursed her chronic state of horniness.

“UGH!” Amy shouted at nobody in particular.

Her downstairs neighbor, Reginald, banged on his ceiling and cried, “stop yelling!” through her floor. Amy just sighed and leaned back in the tub.

Stupid stupid stupid-

***

“I can’t believe you kill-stole from me,” Amy said.

“Sis, it was not kill-stealing,” Debbi groaned. “We just got there first.”

Amy and Debbi sat on the couch hammering away their controllers attempting to keep up with Cass during their Smash Bros game. To no avail- Cass kept kicking their asses. It had gotten to the point where Cass had to sacrifice two lives at the start of each round to give Amy and Debbi any semblance of a chance at victory, and they still lost!

Amy was struck from the platform, and grunted as she put her controller down. “Dammit. Cass, weigh in on this?”

“Less talking, more hitting,” Cass monotoned. She and Debbi went one-on-one… For about thirty seconds until Cass got done wiping the floor with her.

“Fuck!” Debbi shouted.

“Hey- volume,” Amy said.

“Why?”

“KEEP IT DOWN UP THERE!” Reginald shouted through the floor.

“That’s why,” Amy said.

Cass simply held her fists raised above her head in a silent victory pose. She sat on the floor while Amy and Debbi each occupied one of the couches.

Amy sighed. “Okay, look. Maybe I’m overreacting-”

“Maybe?” Debbi said, eyebrows raised.

“But you gotta admit this is weird- all of the sudden, we have a guy on our team and we get two monster attacks in a row-”

“It is weird, but correlation does not automatically equal causation,” Debbi said, stretching out on the couch. “And frankly, I think you’re just looking for excuses not to like the new guy.”

“That’s not true!” Amy said. “Why would I do that? What could I possibly stand to gain?”

“Nothing,” Debbi said. “That’s why you’re doing it.”

“That makes no sense!”

“Neither does you being needlessly hostile to everyone you meet! You did this with Heather, too-”

“... I did?”

“You did,” Debbi said. “You constantly talked about how you didn’t trust her at first. And it’s not like you guys have ever been super close, since you disagree with her lifestyle-”

“What are you saying-”

Debbi stood up and stared at her. “It’s because she’s gay. You don’t like her because she’s gay.”

“That’s not true!” Amy said, standing up herself.

“Then why isn’t she here right now? Why did you not invite her over? Why do you never invite her over!”

“Because this was supposed to be a sister’s night only!” Amy said.

“Cass is here!” Debbi said.

“Cass is our sister too!” Amy screamed.

She and Debbi glared at each other.

Cass packed up her things and headed for the door without saying a word.

“Cass, wait!” Amy and Debbi both said at the same time.

Cass stood in front of the door, not turning to face them, and held up a hand. “Amy, whatever grudge you have against the new guy after one day, don’t let it get in the way of the mission. We’re superheroes, and we have a job to do. Beyond that, I don’t really care. And Debbi… Great to know where we stand.”

Debbi gulped, and reached out for Cass, but she was out the door before Debbi could reach her. Debbi pinched the bridge of her nose, and Amy sat down and raked her hand through her hair.

“Welp,” Debbi said.

“Yeah,” Amy replied. “Good job. Really great.”

“So I’m the bad guy now?” Debbi said, eyes narrow.

“To her? Yes,” Amy said. “How could you say that- Cass is part of our family.”

“I… I… Fuck, you’re right. But if I’m apologizing, so are you,” Debbi said.

Amy grimaced. Maybe Debbi had a point- she’d always held Heather at a distance and never really stopped to examine why. “I’m sorry. For the Heather thing. I know she’s your best friend. And I… I’ve never really given her a chance. I’ll try to, going forward.”

Something lurched inside Amy’s stomach as she said the words, a strange feeling of clarity and recognition. It spiked her with fear and anxiety, but she tried to push it aside. Don’t make this about you, you stupid bitch, she thought to herself.

“And Nick?” Debbi asked.

Amy sighed. “One thing at a time, please?”

Debbi rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Fine. Just play nice and keep it professional.”

“Will do,” Amy said, still trying to ignore the knots her stomach was tying itself into.

“I’ll apologize to Cass tomorrow,” Debbi said.

“Good. Look, I’m kinda tired-”

“I’ll clear out,” Debbi said. She hugged her, and said, “Get some sleep.”

And Amy was alone after that, once again.

She texted Aidan, asking him to come over, but he was busy tonight. He was busy most nights, it seemed.

***

“Hey guys, it’s me and Cass,” Amy said. “We’re here to check on the himbo. He alive in there?”

A moment passed by in the hallway of Heather’s sorority house. Amy tried not to stare at the herd of sapphic party girls getting busy out front, grimacing as she tried to keep her eyes closed while navigating her way to Heather’s room. Then the sounds of female moaning echoed from the main room, and several of the bedrooms, and the familiar sense of dread echoed through Amy’s stomach. Amy reached for the doorknob, twisted it as she found it was opened.

“Sorry to barge, but it was unlocked. Heather, you better not be having a 'menage a sept' right now. ‘Cause if you are, you should put a sock on the door at least and- umm, what? What am I- who are-” Amy stuttered.

A girl sat on Heather’s bed. She was tall and willowy, with short, messy blonde hair, wearing an oversize t-shirt and jeans combo and no bra. She was pretty, incredibly pretty, beautiful, even, if unkempt and a bit… Boyish. The dread rippled through Amy’s stomach, more powerful than ever, saturating her every cell, as recognition slowly dawned on her.

This girl was Nick. And Nick was turning into a girl. And she was…

She was…

Something clicked inside Amy’s mind, as if a door in the back of her brain, locked and barred and barricaded, was suddenly exploding open. A warm, almost magnetic feeling flowed outward, guiding her towards…

… Towards Nick. God, he’d been pretty before, but now he was… Now he was beautiful-

BAD! She thought. That’s a bad thought, don’t you dare think it, you stupid perverted bitch! What’s the matter with you- that isn’t you. You don’t like girls, you never have. And this isn’t even a girl, this is… Is…

A freak. Like you. Sick in the head.

Her heart kicked against the inner wall of her chest, and her hands started to tremble.

***

In her dreams, the ground crumbled beneath her and swallowed up her legs. The earth collapsed on her and broke her back, trapping her beneath the rubble without an ounce of feeling to spare. Everything went black as pain consumed her every atom…

… Until a shard of pastel pink light broke through the darkness, and a warm, soft hand reached out and touched her. The light poured through Amy, and she was healed, stronger and brighter and sharper than ever. The hand pulled her from beneath the surface and brought her back beneath God’s blue sky.

Nick held her in her arms. She was wreathed in pink light, clothed in a pink dress and hat, balancing Amy on her broom. She went in for the kiss, and Amy met her lips and melted into her.

That was when Amy woke up, damp with sweat and… Other liquids, her hands shaking, her eyes wide and her jaw dropped as the dread ate away at her insides. She bunched up her knees and held them tight, rocking back and forth. Her first alarm went off, then her second. She had to get to class.

She got up and washed her face in the bathroom sink, then looked up into the mirror and stared into herself. “You don’t like girls,” she told her reflection. But you do like Nick, don’t you? Nick isn’t really a girl, so it’s okay…

… No, no this is no different than with Heather. You’re trying to keep this at a distance, keep her at a distance so you don’t get uncomfortable. That’s bad for the team and you know it. You almost got killed last night because you were dragging the team down with your personal biases. The only reason you’re breathing right now is because Nick… Because Nygaard saved you, because she remembered what being a superhero and what being a Christian is about when you were too busy being an asshole. You owe Nygaard now. She Good Samaritan’d you. The least you can do is try to respect the boundaries she set. She says she’s a girl, then you indulge her. It’s the least you can do.

But if she’s a girl, that means I don’t like her. Because I don’t like girls. Because I’m already enough of a freak. She’s a girl, and a very good person, doing what she did. And I’m…

I’m not.

So even if I did like her, which I don’t, it’s not like I deserve her.

***

“I’ll stay with her, while she recovers,” Amy said. “You guys go take care of what you need to take care of.”

“... I’m sorry, what?” Heather said, eyes narrow, hands on her hips.

The four of them stood around the unconscious Nicole as she laid in the hotel bed.

“I’m volunteering,” Amy said. “Somebody needs to be here when she wakes up. Heather, your apartment is a crime scene. Debbi, I know you have stuff there. And Cass, you’ve been monitoring Nicole since yesterday.”

“Well yeah, she saved my life,” Cass said.

“And she saved mine, too,” Amy said. “I should take a turn at this as well.”

“Yeahhhh,” Heather exhaled. “Why do you think I’m about to let you do that?”

“I’m sorry, let me?” Amy said, cocking an eyebrow.

“After what you said to her before, how do I know you’re not just gonna rip into her again when she wakes up,” Heather said.

Debbi, tellingly, remained silent in all this.

Amy exhaled deeply. Okay, time for the humble pie. “Because I need to apologize to her. Just like I need to apologize to you, Heather, for keeping you at arm’s length the past year. Thank you for everything you’ve done for this team and for this city. You’re a good friend. Better than I deserve. But exactly what Debbi deserves. So I’m sorry. All I ask is you give me a chance to be better. And I want to be better. I haven’t been… I haven’t been very Christian lately. Maybe not in a while, and it’s eating at me. I have to do this.”

Heather stared at her a good, long while before finally, she smiled. “Okay! Apology accepted.”

Amy blinked rapidly. “Wait, really?”

“Look, you and I haven’t been super close, historically, and I didn’t really expect us to be. Frankly, you saying you’re sorry was more than I ever expected to get from you. So we’ll go. But I’m gonna ask Nicole about this later, and if she says you said anything transphobic to her while we were gone, I’ll break your legs. Do we understand each other?”

Amy’s jaw dropped, but she said, “Yeah. Yeah, we understand each other.”

Heather clapped her on the shoulder. “Cool! Deb, Cass, let’s go see if we can get my stuff out before the cops claim everything in the brownstone.”

They left, leaving Amy alone with…

… With Nicole. That was her name. The girl who’d saved Amy. She needed to call her by her real name, as soon as possible. And she needed to apologize, needed to make it up to her no matter what, even if that scared her. Even if that disappointed her, because acknowledging Nicole as a girl meant…

Meant that Amy couldn’t like her, couldn’t be attracted to her. She just couldn’t.

***

She was so fucking cute. That was the problem. So fucking cute already and then she’d had the audacity to go and be a Nova fan too. It made sense- Debbi had mentioned that Nygaard was a comic book fan, though she’d suggested she was more into DC than Marvel. Still, the fact that Nygaard said Blue Blazes… Could have just been that she was incredibly wholesome and corny and didn’t like to swear because she was just that goddamned pure, but no, she had to go an have the best possible taste in Space Husbandos, and she had to giggle and smile and go wide-eyed when she talked about it.

Nygaard… Nicole, her name was Nicole. Amy had called her by her real name for the first time, and in that moment it was like all the resentment and anger washed off Nicole’s face, drained from her body, and drifted out to sea. Her posture relaxed, and her smile widened, and she leaned forward and faced Amy. Their faces were so close together that Amy could almost imagine-

BAD! Bad, stop doing that! Stop stop stop it!!! She’s a girl. You literally gave her a pedicure this afternoon. You’re gonna help her be girly, since she clearly wants to, and that’s it. It’s like when you taught Debbi and Cass how to do their makeup. It’s no different from that.

These were the thoughts that ran through Amy’s head as they all ate dinner together that night, just a casual night of pizza at an Italian place in the North End. She sat between her sisters, and across from Nicole as she held a slice of pizza in her hands. It was platonic, what Amy felt. After all, there was no way she felt THAT way about a girl. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t, what would people say, what would people think, they all already thought she was a whore, Amy already thought she was a whore, and it wouldn’t be right to drag some poor, innocent, adorable girl into whore-land with her.

“So, do you have any other favorite comics?” Nicole asked Amy, a look of eager anticipation on her face. Friendly- that was how she looked. Friendly and open and genial. It was strange how quickly she’d gone from hostility to friendliness with Amy. But maybe that was just the kind of person she was- someone who forgave, and who gave people second chances; someone who genuinely wanted to see the best in everyone they met.

Dozens of instances of people who seemed nice but weren’t echoed through Amy’s mind: of Sara Wilkins in fourth grade, her so called BFF whom Amy had trusted enough to bring over to her house to swim, who had laughed and started dropping all kinds of slurs the second she got a look at Amy’s family, who’d gotten everyone in their class to start calling Amy those slurs too; of Nora Petersen, a friend Amy had met at gymnastics camp when she was thirteen, who’d called her a nerd and a loser and an idiot when Amy had mentioned her very large comic book collection; of Morgan Henderson, the twin sister of Amy’s first boyfriend in eighth grade, who said she wanted to be friends with anyone who made her brother Tommy happy, who had decided Amy made Tommy too happy and told everyone, including Tommy, that Amy was kissing other boys behind his back; of Yvonne Cranston, the only other freshman who’d made varsity cheerleading alongside Amy, who said they were in it together only to tell the rest of the squad about Amy dating a lacrosse player two grades ahead of them so she could start slut-shaming Amy along with the upperclassmen; of Tanya Westlake, the cheer captain Amy’s freshman year, who decided to make Amy’s nickname Super-Tramp; of Cammy Wright, who’d made varsity Sophomore year and said she wanted to learn from Amy only to tell everyone about Amy sleeping with the captain of a rival school’s football team afer she’d caught them making out under the bleachers; of Serena…

… No, no Amy didn’t want to think about Serena. Not now, not ever again.

“Hey, are you okay?” Nicole asked her, those soft blue eyes sneaking past Amy’s defenses. “You kinda went away for a second there.”

Concern. That was all Amy could see on this girl’s face.

Maybe… Maybe Nicole really was that nice.

Maybe if Amy wanted Nicole to trust her, she had to start by trusting Nicole.

Amy forced a weak smile and said, “I’m okay. And, uh, my other favorites are Daredevil, Fantastic Four, and Ms. Marvel.”

Nicole lit up, and a few seats down her little brother audibly groaned. “I LOVE Ms. Marvel- she’s the best.”

Amy gulped. Then her smile strengthened, and she said, “Oh yeah? Well, let me tell you about another fic I wrote a while back…”

***

Amy must’ve been insane. What was she thinking, asking Nicole to move in with her? They’d only known each other a week, and they’d gotten off to a hideously ugly start, and this was weird. Amy was being weird, and stupid, stupid, stupid- how would this look?! Surely, Nicole would clue into the fact that Amy had feelings for-

STOP IT! She screamed internally.

And then Nicole agreed.

Amy wished she’d understood why. She hadn’t expected Nicole to say yes, but she had been hoping she would. That hope, that dancing spark of light in her soul, shined brighter than she’d ever thought possible when Nicole agreed.

Amy poured them both a nightcap, and they sat on separate couches. Nicole wore her church dress, a long-skirted, high-necked blue number with a pink floral pattern. She looked so beautiful, so effortless, so… Feminine, in a way that Amy couldn’t describe. It was like she was seeing someone who saw the world in a similar way to her, but without all the shame and self-loathing Amy had about it. Or if she had it, she hid it better than Amy did.

Either way…

“Hey,” Nicole said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, anything,” Amy said.

“D… Do you wanna be friends?” Nicole said.

“I- I mean if we’re gonna live together we should probably-”

“No, no, I mean,” Nicole said, wringing her hands together. “Do you wanna just… Forget everything that happened a few days ago. Act like we’re just meeting for the first time, really getting to know each other?”

God, she wanted to say yes. But the guilt in her chest wouldn’t let her. “No,” Amy said. “I mean, I do want us to be friends, but… I don’t think I should forget what I did. And you shouldn’t forget it either. It happened, and we both have to live with it. God wouldn’t… I mean, I don’t think God would want us to pretend like nothing bad ever happened between us. It wouldn’t be…”

“Honest?” Nicole asked.

“... Yeah. Is that okay?”

Nicole chewed her lower lip a moment, her lipstick staining her front teeth. “Yeah. That’s okay. That’s… Yeah. Friends.”

“Okay,” Amy nodded.

She couldn’t let herself forget what she’d done. If she did… Then she’d never really be able to earn forgiveness. And if Nicole was as kind and genuine as she seemed, then… Then Amy wanted to earn that. She wanted to earn it again and again, every day, so Nicole could be happy.

***

On an empty inland street, beneath the cloudy, cool night sky, Amy wrapped herself in shadows as she dove at the demonic moose, a quadrupedal, triple-headed beast with razor sharp antlers. It was the size of a semi-truck, and it thrashed its antlers and hooves about wildly, crushing cars and ramming buildings. Amy heard an antler pierce her veil of darkness, and she channeled Holy Light as she reached for the beast, trying to grab it by its myriad protrusions.

She felt a soft, furry mass collide with her, and her darkness faded as she was head-butted off her broom by the moose.

She landed in Nicole’s arms, atop her broom, back against her… Chest.

That was certainly a chest. A very, very female chest Amy could feel pressing into her skin. She tried not to squeak as Nicole channeled a sphere of Pink Light around them as they charged the moose, and Amy reached out for the beast’s head with her Holy Light and exorcized it.

When the light faded, all that remained were three ordinary, very grumpy moose, and they floated above them waiting for animal control to show up and herd the animals away.

Amy still rested against Nicole, hoping her roommate wouldn’t see her tomato-red face, hoping her roommate didn’t feel her heart thundering through her. Their conversation earlier that day, while they’d both been stoned, when Amy had screwed up again… Through all the weed, Amy had noticed something, felt something, something that scared her, that she couldn’t deny.

Attraction.

At first it was academic, objective. Nicole was a beautiful woman, and Amy could appreciate that. But the more she appreciated it, the closer the two of them got both physically and emotionally… The harder it was to stop herself from saying something that terrified her. Of admitting something-

Amy shook her head. She didn’t like girls, she didn’t, she didn’t. She hadn’t also noticed a woman in her thirties jogging in a sports’ bra and short-shorts earlier that day and been taken aback by her body; she definitely hadn’t gotten jealous when Curtis secured a date with Nicole earlier that day; and she definitely didn’t feel anything other than disgust when they’d run into Winona earlier.

She didn’t, didn’t, didn’t.

“Hey, uh, you can put me down now if you want,” Amy whispered.

“Oh,” Nicole said. She sounded almost… Disappointed. No, no, that was just Amy hearing what she definitely, totally didn’t want to hear in the slightest.

Nicole lowered them to street-level, and Amy hopped off the broom.

“That was really cool just now,” Nicole said. “What we did back there- we make a wicked great team!”

Amy gulped. “Yeah, we do.”

“Could I… Could I give you a hug?”

Amy blinked rapidly, then said, “Yeah, you can.”

Amy fell into Nicole’s embrace, and Amy swore she felt Nicole fall into her as well.

***

“Do you mind if I shower first?” Nicole asked.

They stood in their shared living room, both covered head-to-toe in demonic shark-blood. A whole host of land-sharks, grown to nearly full-sized, had attacked them while they were patrolling. The results had been… Messy, to say the least.

“Yeah, sure,” Amy said, trying not to concentrate on the fact that Nicole still looked beautiful while covered in fish-guts. That had to be her imagination… But if it wasn’t, that would mean-

I DON’T LIKE GIRLS, I DON’T LIKE GIRLS, I DON’T- she thought as Nicole climbed into the shower.

As a test, a totally normal test, totally the kind of thing a straight girl like her would do, Amy pulled up her phone and searched for a picture of a woman she’d always admired: Margot Robbie.

The first thing that came up was a picture of her in a bathing suit.

A now-familiar stirring went through Amy, and she turned off her phone and stared at the wall until it was her turn in the shower.

When they were both clean, Amy noticed Nicole wearing an outfit she hadn’t seen before. And Amy, fearing the words tripping out of her mouth, asked if she could see the other outfits Nicole had picked up recently. Normal things for normal girls to do, nothing queer going on there, just two girly girls girling out about fashion.

And then Amy saw Nicole’s red party dress, and she felt the truth banging on the side of her skull. She said the word hot, and she realized that on some level, she meant it. Nicole was… Nicole wasn’t just a sweetheart and a cinnamon roll: she was an absolute BABE, in the same way people had always told Amy she was.

The world grew bigger in Amy’s eyes that night, even as she felt walls start to close in around her.

***

She’d told her. Told her the truth. That Amy had… Had feelings for Nicole. That she…

… That she liked girls. ‘Bisexual’ was probably the right word for what Amy was. She still liked boys, her very confusing dreams involving both Nicole and her boyfriend from her freshman year of college said as much. It was strange, and it was terrifying, and it was… Liberating, as if a trembling child locked in the back of her brain had finally broken free and was facing the world unprotected for the first time.

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, other than that she needed to stop drooling so much every time she came across a pretty girl. It didn’t help that she lived with one.

And that that girl had admitted she had feelings for Amy as well.

And that that girl was in a lot of pain. Because of Aidan, because of Winona, because of Zack, and because of…

… Because of Amy.

Nicole hadn’t really forgiven her. Amy believed her when she said she liked her back, but the way she struggled to meet her eyes even as she was flirting with her, the way she laid it on thick and then left all at once… She was still wrestling with what Amy had said to her when she’d first come out.

And Amy couldn’t really blame her. If one of the girls who’d bullied Amy growing up, Serena for instance, who Amy also wished she could stop having intense, confusing dreams about (fucking bitch lived in her head rent-free), showed up and said she felt horrible for how she’d treated Amy and then confessed her love for her, Amy would be skeptical as well, even as she struggled to ignore the part of her that wanted to jump the girl’s bones.

That, and Amy was a demon. A mongrel. A monster. A freak. Who could ever love something like her?

No, no don’t talk about yourself like that, Amy thought as she ambled across campus, trying not to get distracted by the plethora of cheesecake and beefcake strolling by soaking wet from the rain. You wouldn’t let anyone else talk about themselves like that, wouldn’t let Nicole or Heather or any of your family, so don’t talk about yourself like that.

She made it back to her apartment, where she heard Nicole sobbing in the bathroom.

She knew what she had to do, then.

***

After Astra left, after everyone else left, Amy couldn’t feel herself. The world spun around her, a distant rotation that threatened to throw her off and send her spiraling through the blackness. She stood in the living room, arms limp at her sides.

Nicole didn’t ask this time. She just hugged her, held her tight. They laid down on the couch together and listened to music, and they fell asleep holding each other and snuggling beneath the blankets. Nothing was said, but everything was known, everything was felt.

And it was all she needed.

Astra could be dealt with later. For now… For now she was wrapped in the arms of the girl she liked, the girl who liked her back. It was enough.

***

“So, I told Nicole I like her,” Amy said. They drove down the interstate to Providence, rain exploding from the cloudy sky. Too heavy to fly, but they had to make this trip today.

“... Wait, seriously?” Debbi said, sitting in the passenger’s seat. An endless sea of Sugar Maples dotted the sides of the highway, while a smattering of other cars shared the road with them.

Cass sat in the back and leaned forward through the center and looked at Amy with a confused expression. “You mean you… You ‘like’ like her.”

“Y… Yeah,” Amy gulped. “I do. And I told her. After everything that happened with Aidan and Winona I just had to.”

“When was this?” Cass squinted.

“Two weeks ago.”

“And you waited this long to tell us?” Cass said.

“Cass, don’t start,” Debbi frowned.

“I mean you- I, I,” Cass stammered. “I just… This is weird.”

Amy’s heart sank. “I know.”

“I thought you were straight!” Cass said, a little too loudly, probably without even realizing it.

“I did too. But I’m not.”

“But you- and she- you guys hated each other!” Cass said.

“We don’t anymore,” Amy said. “I don’t think she ever hated me. That’s part of what… What I like about her.”

Cass was silent.

“Please say something,” Amy said. “Either of you. Anything. I’m begging you.”

“Well first of all, we’re both very proud of you, and we love you just as much as we did before,” Debbi said. “Right, Cass?”

“... Right, yes,” Cass said. “Of course.”

“Then why do you sound mad?” Debbi said.

“I’m not mad, I’m just… Surprised, is all.”

“You didn’t react this way when I came out,” Debbi said.

“That was different- it was way more obvious with you.”

“... I’m gonna try not to take that the wrong way.”

“Like I didn’t take it the wrong way when you said I wasn’t your sister?” Cass said.

“Oh for- I said I was sorry-”

Amy pulled the car to the side of the road and slammed her hand on the horn. “ENOUGH! Both of you! Enough! This isn’t about you right now! Either of you! God, this must be what it feels on the receiving end and IT FUCKING SUCKS! And what’s more, I’m tired of you two snapping at each other, especially when you were getting along fine like a day ago! You’re both giving me fucking whiplash with how quickly you turn- one minute Debbi is supporting Cass with her panic attacks, the next she’s acting like a resentful middle child brat! One minute Cass is a sweetheart, the next she’s being a shithead! Now apologize to each other and make peace!”

“But I didn’t do anything!” both of Amy’s sisters shouted.

“SO HELP ME YOU TWO I WILL TURN THIS CAR AROUND!” Amy screamed.

They both sat there silently for a moment.

Finally, Cass said, “I’m sorry for being biphobic, Amy. I’m sorry for being a brat, Debbi. I… I’m not used to this. Having siblings. I… It feels weird. But I do love you guys.”

“I’m sorry for saying you weren’t my sister, Cass,” Debbi said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And I’m sorry for acting resentful. I… Look, I know it’s not true, but sometimes it feels like Amy loves you better than me. And I get jealous. It’s shitty and childish and I want to be better. I’m sorry.”

“Good, was that so hard?” Amy said.

“YES!” both her sister’s shouted.

Amy rolled her eyes as she shifted the car back into drive. “Should’ve brought Heather and Matt with us- you’re both vastly more rational when they’re around.”

“I am?” Cass asked, resting her chin on her hand.

“Heather said she and her sorority sisters were playing laser tag today,” Debbi waved a hand. “And doesn’t Matt work during the day? And besides, why not bring Nicole with us at that point?”

“Because I wanted to talk to you two goobers about her,” Amy said as she got back on the road and sped herself up. “Before we got sidetracked, ya’ know.”

“Heh, ‘ya know.’ She’s certainly left an impact,” Debbi said.

“Ayuh,” Amy nodded.

“‘Ayuh’- wow, I was kidding, but good to know,” Debbi said. “So what did she say, anyhow?”

“She… She got a bit freaked out, but after the Winona thing settled down, she told me… She told me she has feelings for me too. And then she tried to shift straight into ‘we’re going out now’ mode, but then she had a panic attack and I realized she still had some stuff to sort out so I told her to take a bit more time before we decide where we go from here.”

“Well where do you want to go from here?”

“Honestly?” Amy said. “I’d love to date her. I’d love to be her girlfriend. But I’m worried she’s not ready. And I’m worried I’m not ready. I haven’t even told Mom and Dad yet. About Nicole or… Or the other thing.”

“Look, I…,” Cass started. She took a deep breath, then said, “Again, I’m sorry for being an ass. But it sounds like… Like you know what you want here. All you gotta do is wait for it. Ask yourself if it’s worth it- if she’s worth it.”

The road was open and never-ending before Amy’s eyes. She smiled. “She is. She absolutely is.”

***

Amy awoke beneath the covers of Nicole’s bed, the blonde’s head resting on her chest as she slept. ‘Zack’ was asleep in the other room, and the rest of their friends and family had cleared out after a long night of partying.

For now, though, it was just the two of them.

Nicole’s innocent blue eyes slowly opened, and love and recognition flowed out of them when Amy was the first thing she saw that morning. “Hey,” Nicole said.

“Hi,” Amy said.

They were both clothed- they’d been too tired to do anything more than pass out on top of each other last night. Plus, with Nicole’s ‘brother’ next door, they didn’t want to risk a noise complaint. Even still, this was nice. Amy could get used to this.

And yet: “Sorry we couldn’t… Ya’ know?”

“We’ll have time later,” Amy said. “Besides: I know better than anyone that you’re worth the wait.”

Nicole’s eyes welled up with tears, and Amy held her, and they held each other.

Holding turned into kissing, turned into making out, turned into the bedsprings shifting-

“KEEP IT DOWN UP THERE!” Reginald shouted through the floor.

And Amy laughed, and laughed, and laughed. The more things changed…

Nicole ignored the noise and kept kissing Amy regardless. There would be more to come later, further stages than this relatively tame one. But Amy remembered what her mother, her real mother, Victoria, had always told her, something that Victoria knew quite well: good things come to those who wait.

***

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0 notes

keldabika · 3 years ago

Note

Hello! Can I have some hc with a protective mama Reader with Naib, Helena and Bane. They are my precious baby. I haven't play this game since season 13 and I miss them so much ahhhhhhh 😭😭. Thank you, have a nice day ❤❤🌷 (sr, my English is not good)

✨ Your English is wonderful dear ✨

[Naib Subedar, Helena Adams, Gamekeeper] S/O Is Overprotective

✨ As a reminder, my works will always include gn!reader unless specified by the requester! ✨

———————————————————————

[Naib Subedar]:

* You had been at the manor for quite awhile now, and were a rather nice person, getting along with most other survivors, and even some of the hunters to boot.

* It was quite surprising actually. You’d walked in the first day with a tough-guy attitude and gruff personality, and you didn’t seem like a very approachable person.

* Then, some survivors such as Victor and Emily started worming their way into your heart. Liam [Lucky Guy] and Norton were some of the first people to offer you a seat at the dinner table, and from then on you were one of them.

* You had scars, though most could tell they were more physical than emotional, from some sidejobs you used to complete for a gang on White Sand Street—robbing people and competing in fights with rivals.

* You quickly learned that most people fought back. Rival gangs always intruded on your own territory, and you were always left on guard, defending the last remnants of your livelihood and your sanity.

* Maybe that’s why you’re so protective over your things. Never letting anyone enter your room, never letting anyone see the pain you hide. Opening up to people enough to make allies, but never enough to show secrets.

* Now Naib…. Naib helped you out a lot. It seemed he understood you, far more than others. For some reason, he was always there for you, watching your back when needed, acting like a shield at times—sometimes literally.

* You never really understood at first, how he seemed to know you so well. From what you knew, he came from halfway cross the world, from Nepal, in India—a child, a soldier, a weapon.

* You guessed his life was rather similar, and assumed he’d come to the manor for quite the same reasons but, it was hard to see through the scowl on his face.

* At some point, you began to recognize the signs, the irritation, the avoidance. You recognized the silence, and the stiffness that came from Naib when he ate and smiled and nodded at their questions. You saw the signs of a brother, somebody just as lost and broken as you were.

* Children in the bodies of adults, forced to live life too fast and too furiously. Damaged and done in, waiting for someone to save them, but too scared to cry for help.

* Unwilling to hurt others again, unwilling to change.

* You grew wary—observant—of him eventually. You joined in more matches with him as teammate, and sat next to him often at dinner. When you noticed he didn’t eat as much, you grunted in concern. When he fell asleep in odd places, you’d bring him a blanket.

* It got to the point where he found out about your help, and tried to dissuade you from wasting your time.

* You never really listened. In fact, your worries only increased. Others might not have recognized, but you saw the signs of fatigue and death written in the lines of his face. You’d seen it every day back on White Sand.

* He gave up on making you give up, tired of attempted persuasions. Eventually began returning the favours—Naib is the type to have a ‘you watch my back, I’ll watch yours’ mentality.

* Everything you’d do for him is returned in kind. It annoyed the rest of the manor to no end because the giving and receiving eventually reached limits unheard of.

* You’d throw yourself on a rocket chair to save him, and next game you’d have your own personal bodyguard tracking your every move.

* He’d never admit it, but he appreciates all you do for him, and hopes you appreciate his efforts in making your life a little better too.

* Though your protective tendencies know no bounds, he hopes you’re a little more cautious with throwing your life on the line for him like that. This is a death game after all, be more careful…. please?

* At some point, the whole manor hopes you two could just get together and kiss it out in some storage closet. If you’re dating, what’s the need to be so consistent in you’re protective tendencies? Then you’ll always be together, which means nothing can ever happen to either of you!

* To be fair, that’s what most of them thought until an incident after the confession, where Naib wouldn’t let you out of the medical ward for a week due to a few hairline fractures.

* Please Naib! Emily begs you to let her use the examination table! You’ve hogged it for 5 days and she needs it to identify the infection spreading on Aesop’s leg! Vera broke her nose! William sprinted into the gymnasium wall and shattered his kneecaps! Please leave!

* You once set fire to a couch because Naib stubbed his toe on it.

* Please stop it you two, Freddy can’t budget for anymore furniture, and we’re fresh out of chairs.

———————————————————————

[Helena Adams]:

* Oops! Oh no her glasses! Aww shucks, Norton knocked them right off her face and onto the hardwood floor. She can’t find them because she can’t see, whatever shall she do?

* [S/o]! Please, she needs your help!

* You come in running with a pair of pliers, five bottles of anti-grease spray, and a box of extra lenses and a screwdriver.

* Oh how wonderful! You fixed her glasses—again—and saved her from the task of shuffling herself on all fours looking for them! Her hero!

* Helena…. praises you to say the least. You’re her best friend, her confidante, her…. big and strong, sometimes dumb partner!

* She adores everything you do for her, and tries equally as hard to do things for you that make your life necessarily easier, though it’s harder with her condition.

* She met you around the same time as everybody else, during your first days in the manor. Really, she didn’t actually know you were there until she bumped into a voice she didn’t recognize and became surprised.

* You quickly learned about her blindness, and made it your goal to form a friendship with her based on your willingness to help her around and get closer to her—she was very kind after all.

* Your protectiveness stemmed from the inherent feeling of a need to help guide and provide for Helena, much like a spouse would… jk, unless 👀….

* At some points, you were berated by her for your incessant protections, most of which made her feel highly dependent, which she didn’t like.

* She liked the feeling of being independent of others and being recognized as an autonomous, capable being. Especially considering what she came there for, it was a blow to her pride to be led around and pushed aside all the time.

* When she revealed these feelings to you, you had surprisingly promised her to cease in most areas of monitoring—however you still consistently check up on her—and settled into the realm of a relationship with her.

* Helena meets somebody who respects her opinions + acknowledges her intellect + isn’t a dingy asshole? Sign her up and slap on a ring, she’s marrying this person (eventually).

* She knows that your tendencies stem from a place of need and want, and tolerates most of them. Deep down, she likes being taken care of by someone who knows she can take care of herself. She really does love you.

* When you’re actually in a relationship with each other, you make sure to watch each others backs, more so you than Helena (because she can’t ‘watch’ per say), but you get the point.

* There was once an incident in a duo’s match where Helena became stranded on the Lakeside Fishing map. The terrain is rough, with piles of fish everywhere, randomly placed boxes and walls, and the barrels are bad enough when they don’t form a blockade.

* Her navigational skills, as good as they are with all her previous experience and staff, couldn’t for the life of her figure out how to move her way around a mess of box paths, pallets, and fishing stands.

* Most other survivors were occupied or dead—it had been a hard match against Jack the Ripper and Guard 26—and she was barred from reaching any form of help.

* So she screamed your name as loud as she possibly could across the map, and ended up attracting the attention of BonBon instead. During those moments where she could hear his clanks and heavy metalloid footsteps stalking towards her, the tick of a time bomb in hand, she heard a screech in the distance.

* A fierce battlecry—you came raging from around a windmill, propelled by William’s football and packing heat with a flare gun. BonBon, now stunned twice, stood there in astonishment, before chasing after you, who had grabbed Helena in your arms, running off at full speed.

* Your stamina bar, indicated by a small tab on your character, was running low, and you wouldn’t be able to run at full speed for another minute or two, having used your ability to buy time. Stopping near a closet, you lean down to place Helena on her feet, telling her to hide.

* Her blood trail was invisible from not actually having run anywhere, and she did as you said, making you promise to come get her when it was safe.

* You gave her a smirk and a small nod, assuring her that you would, before leaning in for a peck on the forehead as you shoved her into the locker.

* If only you could see her flushed in embarrassment.

* Leaving her to fangirl in the locker, you form a decoy in your arms—result of your max rescuer ability—and ran off once more, taking off around a corner just as Guard 26 reached your previous location, chasing after you and ‘Helena’ in hopes of landing two more kills.

———————————————————————

[Bane the Gamekeeper]:

* How does it feel to love a deerman? Good? Okay!

* Bane as you know is a little…. rough around the edges so-to-speak, and he has a lot of edges.

* Once you get around all the hooks, chains, and bear traps, and beneath that creepy-looking deer head of his, he really is such a sweet guy!

* At least you think so. In reality, he still acts like a complete dick to everybody else, and only shows his soft side around you, but that’s because he knows he can trust you with his lands, animals, and secrets! All those others out there only wish to hurt what he—you—have, and he’ll make them pay for it.

* Honestly, in order for him to have fallen for you so hard to have let his guard down around you, you probably would have had to be at your most vulnerable point in life, or a hunter yourself. Like a scared prey animal, uncertain of its future, waiting for something to happen, and somebody to help, or a huge predator, ready to strike out at any moment.

* Once you worm your way into his cold dead heart, there’s no way out for you. He’ll keep you close, as he doesn’t want you to be poached away like his precious animal friends from the past. He knows how cruel humanity can be sometimes.

* When you come to find out about his less-than-kind history, it’s all you can do to pity him. Your sympathy knows no bounds, and you become clingier, though he quite honestly likes it.

* You don’t want what happened to him to occur again, and with all these other traitors and murderers in the manor, you’re afraid of what the others could do.

* You keep to his side a lot more, take walks with him in the garden, and enjoy tranquil picnics from time-to-time on Lakeside. Anything to keep him close to you and away from all the pain.

* Bane can obviously see what your doing, and noticing that your protectiveness doesn’t yet border on the insane, he allows you to continue in your devotions.

* It’s honestly sweet sometimes how you both adore each other so much, even if you know that one day one or both of you will have to leave. Whether it be through death, disappearance, or another means such as escape is a question of time, and one that neither of you know the answer to.

* If you’re also a hunter, than both of you know that while you two are happier now than either of you were in life, that your individual deaths and worths will eventually determine your fates—whether that be a happy afterlife, or an eternity of endless wandering.

* It’s well known that you’ll both disappear the day the game ends, your souls being put to rest as they should’ve been however long ago. Until then however, you’ll continue to hold on to and vehemently protect the relationship the two of you have, and you’ll fight until your soul vanishes from the earth for what you have to remain that way.

* Now, if you’re a survivor, this is where the relationship can be a bit difficult.

* Avidly defending the actions of your boyfriend during and after a match to the rest of your survivor buddies isn’t a very good look for you, or your reputation. It’s been many times where you’ve almost been chased out of the dining room because somebody was pissed at you for costing them the match, or being the only one spared instead of convincing Bane for a win or tie.

* As they say, if you can’t beat em’, join em’. Some survivors, such as William, Kreacher, and Freddy, have more than once suggested that if you loved a hunter so much, you should become one to be with him. Dating the undead almost crosses the line of what is humane. Aesop thinks you’re kind of cool.

* The hunters over on Bane’s side hate you more. Are convinced that you’re the sole reason that Bane goes friendly sometimes (even in matches without you in them), and that your relationship takes away from his brutal and violent persona and nature.

* Violetta and Michiko are the most tolerant of you, mainly because you gifted them silk and a hand fan for Christmas once when they wished for them in their letters.

* All-in-all, basically everyone blames you, but you keep going forward because who cares about all the nasty bi*ches in the world, am I right?

* Once, to prove the integrity and devotion of your relationship, you set Freddy’s room on fire and locked Kreacher in a closet. You looked Bane directly in the eyes and kneeling before him stated, “I have committed arson for you m’lord.”

* You couldn’t see it because of his deerish head and all, but Bane really went “Heart eyes motherf*cker.” on you in that moment.

* You love animals and set things on fire to prove your loyalty to him? Ticket for one please, he’s riding the simp train all the way to the station.

* Just, please don’t accidentally burn down the manor, he wants to spend as much time with you as possible before he disappears.

* Also don’t joke around with your life, it’s too precious, even when you tackle your own teammate or risk getting hit by Ganji’s cricket ball to save him from being stunned.

* He doesn’t want you dying before he does—has already he supposes—or disappearing without a trace.

* You promise you’ll stick with him until the day you finally leave this wretched place.

———————————————————————

✨ Hope you enjoyed ✨

#gaming #idv #idv blog #idv x reader #idv fanfic #idv headcanons #idv imagines #writing #identity 5 #identity v #identity v naib #naib x reader #naib subedar #idv helena #idv helena x reader #mindseye x reader #identity v gamekeeper #gamekeeper x reader

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shoichee · 4 years ago

Note

okok hc or fic: reader was teiko’s “head” manager(?) and her talent was being a medic (if someone gets injured they’re back on the court in under a minute type thing) and training plans. suddenly momoi’s talent blooms, she starts working w/ everyone in the team (+ reader’s crush akashi) and people think she’s a better manager than reader. because of this, she overworks + collapses in front of her best friends kuroko + kise (don’t let akashi know yet i have plans for that 👀)

HELLO? YES OFFICER? I JUST FOUND A BANGER REQUEST RIGHT HERE? YOUR BRAIN IS SO BIG AND SEXY IVE BEEN DYING TO WRITE THIS🏃🏻‍♀️💨 part 2 here and part 3 here AND update: part 4 here

Akashi x Reader

[Teiko!manager Headcanons]

you had a knack of being a natural chiropractor in loosening up tense muscles instantly (for more fluid play) or easily putting in back dislocated joints

basically you have crackhands

in your free time as a hobby and a job as the “head manager” (that Akashi announced to the team himself), you’d often bury yourself in anatomy studies and gym plans on the internet and databases to review over Akashi’s team training routines to see if they were effective and safe; oftentimes, you’d return back with improved plans, and as time went on, Akashi entrusted you with creating the plans yourself completely

you took on the job so eagerly to impress the Teiko captain, if you were being honest to yourself

your enthusiasm even inspires Momoi, Teiko’s other manager, to work harder

no one in Teiko knows physiology better than you, and as expected, it was also your best subject along with health

Kise often looks at you in horror and respect at how you don’t cringe/flinch at the loud cracks resonating across the room or court when players come to you for instant relief (the origin story of how he came to call you (y/n)-cchi was the very fact that you manage to put back his dislocated shoulder in 3 seconds flat one game)

when Kuroko first joined the 1st-string, he was a walking magnet for injuries, and you ended up being there for him every single time… nosebleeds? check. sprained ankle? check. nausea from over exhaustion? check.

both you and Kuroko relish in the fact that everyone in the team can never understand how the both of you do some incredible things with your hands

both of you being quite dexterous, you both often teach each other your specialties for fun; it’s almost shocking to see Kuroko effortlessly loosening up a stress knot and you pulling off a well-done palm pass

you admit, you do juggle a lot of responsibilities… from being a makeshift nurse, to a chiropractor, to a budget gym coach, and even to being moral support

Momoi often reminds you to take breaks being the caring person that she is

you often showed her the ropes and tricks of being a manager, on top of your duties, and you find it really endearing that she’s so earnest in learning from you

even if you enjoyed doing what you do, part of the massive workload is to try to get into Akashi’s good graces

talking to him about basketball duties is easier to achieve than talking to him outside of the extracurricular

you might be a tad bit insecure about it; after all, what middle schooler is already so accomplished in academics, sports, and everything you could think of? wasn’t he also studying to take over his father’s company??

to you, who only starred as Teiko’s humble manager, it felt hard trying to establish common ground for conversation outside of basketball

so you stuck to working hard at your position, hoping that your work ethic would get his attention one day; you were a firm believer of actions over words, so you hoped your actions would come off as genuine

picture you and Momoi running across campus with stacks of papers for the team… it makes most of the teammates’ hearts melt at the sight

your work certainly got you praises from other teammates, but out of all players, Kise was the one who figured out your motive

you felt absolutely morbid; to think that Kise, of all people, would figure you out like the back of his hand

Kise being sweet as he is, offers to help you get with the captain but you merely prompted to threaten to break his arm if he spilled your crush to anyone else

“(y/n)-cchi… I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes, Kise?”

“It’s really cool that you’re working so tirelessly for the team, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s a reason why you work so hard.”

“O-Of course I do! I want to see you guys all succeed!”

“Then I’m curious as to why you always look at Akashicchi—o-ow, ow, ow!! (y/n)-cchi, I’m sorry! So can you please let go of my—ow!”

“H-How did you know?!”

“I-It was as obvious as day, (y/n)-cchi! I’m pretty sure even Kurokocchi found out about this before I did!”

“N-No way!!”

“Tell you what, I’m super duper knowledgeable in this stuff! You can count on me for this sort of advice—OW!”

spoiler alert: Kise was right in that Kuroko definitely noticed your attraction to Akashi before anyone else… he just never brought it up to you

one day, Kuroko comes up to you to whisper:

“(y/n)-san, have you realized that Akashi-kun has been observing you recently during practice?”

“W-Wait! Is he looking over here right now?”

“Not that I think. He’s occupied with the coach right now.”

“D-Do you think this is a good sign?”

Kuroko gives you a small smile before he replies, “I would like to think so. Keep working hard, (y/n)-san.”

and you do, you’re constantly on top of your game for the next season until Momoi suddenly gets more recognition for her “precognitive defense” skills

her newfound talent was extraordinary and never-before-seen, and her ability became more critical to Teiko’s victories than your own skills

you were happy and proud for her, because after all, her achievements were extremely deserving to be praised

it’s only when some 1st-string players started making offhand comments about how you weren’t really needed in the 1st-string and was more suited to the lower strings that placed seeds of doubt into you

these people would often compare you to Momoi in how she improved much more despite you being in the team for longer

there’s also talk about how your skills are more useful for 2nd-string and 3rd-string players because Momoi’s ability is already sufficient enough for Teiko’s starters

after all, how would a player even be injured if they can predict their opponents’ moves to avoid such incidents?

there’s also the fact that Akashi has been calling Momoi more frequently to research on upcoming teams for analytical data because her talent has become very useful to ensuring victory

the same peers and adults who gave you praise were the same people who began to ignore you or dismiss you; that being said, the collective change in attitude is definitely subtle enough that it would fly under most people’s radars

Kuroko was the first to notice and defend you against a small group of players who were bold enough to badmouth you in the gym

Kise would find out a little later about the somewhat unpleasant gossip about you and would pull the “no you” reverse card, returning back with MEANER underhanded comments that would send these shit talkers CRYING HOME (manga Kise strikes here unexpectedly eh?)

Murasakibara is someone who would be slightly uncomfortable with the gossip about you, especially since you’ve always been so helpful and kind to the team and himself; he’d either leave the room himself or easily scare them away with his looming height and presence without saying a single word when he enters the room “minding his own business”

Midorima is a bystander judging from how he’s reacted to the Teiko dynamic changes in the actual show // he, of course, wouldn’t like the nasty talk about you but would actually mind his own business, choosing to focus on himself and what he has to do to contribute to his team; he assumes that you would work hard the same way he is and let your contributions do the talking

now Akashi surprisingly wouldn’t hear much of the gossip, since his presence alone SHUTS them up and commit to their practices like normal; after all, it’s very clear that Akashi doesn’t tolerate this type of behavior in the team (example: Haizaki), and it’s more apparent that he wouldn’t hesitate to drop kick them out especially since he has a soft spot for you (which Kise never fails to bring this up to you, but you think he’s reaching too much into it) // TLDR; the teammates mostly have the common sense to not utter anything bad about you… maybe one kid would slip out and get punished for “bad sportsmanship,” but Akashi merely assumes that it’s just one bad apple and not necessarily… the many others as well

Aomine???? bro he ain’t even at practice wdym (HELPPP LMAOO) // jokes aside, if he catches wind of players shit-talking outside of the gym… say at the convenience store or when he’s walking home or something, well… they wouldn’t have a good time…

Momoi simply chastises the gossipers when they try to talk shit on you to make Momoi herself look good, and it leaves? such? a? horrible? taste? like, she wants to believe that they’re just really poor jokes and not what they really believe in, and the teammates merely reassure her that they’re just bad jokes and that they “wouldn’t do it again;” poor Momoi wholeheartedly believes them

the weird talks about Momoi being “the better manager” just signalled to you that you haven’t contributed enough to the team yet, and it motivated you to work even harder

oddly, you weren’t jealous of the fact that Momoi was receiving more positive attention than you

you were more afraid of the fact that you were going to get left behind, and this fear only tightened its hold on you when more teammates (who used to talk to you a lot) have changed their tunes when they speak with you now, compared to them talking to Momoi

and you felt that the Generation of Miracles would do the same too… including Akashi

it wasn’t an irrational fear for you because he’s already been calling Momoi a lot more frequently for help than you recently

so you even offered to mop the gym floors after practice, offered to stay later than usual to be the one to lock up the gym for anyone (cough, Kuroko) who wanted to practice whenever they wanted

at one point, you even tried to do what Momoi does: researching on upcoming teams and making your own predictions (that didn’t really work, and that cost you a few nights’ worth of sleep every single time)

not to mention that you still had regular school like any other student? you were the epitome of a mess

Kuroko was with you in the empty gym, you putting away the extra basketballs in the storage closet while he practiced his dribbling, until he heard a crash in there and a few basketballs rolled out the door

you collapsed right when you rolled in the basketball cart

POOR KUROKO HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO // he just tries to give you a piggyback ride as he abandons his plans of practice and tries to jog to the nearest local clinic

that’s where he bumped into Kise, who was heading home after an evening shoot when he saw the two of you

chaos ensue as Kise freaks out and Kuroko had to calm him down himself after answering the never-ending questions

at least the doctor there gave relieving news that you only collapsed from over-exhaustion and that the bruises from the fall were very faint

Kise makes a joke to Kuroko about, “What’s with you and (y/n)-cchi falling to the floor and fainting? You guys can’t be that alike.”

when you shortly regain consciousness, you were met with a… very stern Kuroko and Kise, who were both ready to hear your explanation and to scold you to oblivion

to your surprise, they were understanding; Kuroko understands the feeling of not being enough and working hard to meet other people’s expectations, and Kise understands the struggle of juggling multiple things in his schedule (come on, student, athlete, and model?)

they still scolded your ears off:

“(y/n)-san, you idiot. Why didn’t you ask anyone to help out?”

“That’s…”

“(y/n)-cchi, do you think we’re undependable?!”

“Er, no, that’s…”

you were still dizzy from the fall and the lack of proper sleep (and maybe nutrition if we’re being honest), and you were just a ball of stress

you kind of begged your best friends not to tell a SOUL to anyone about this incident, especially to Akashi… you didn’t want to look even more incapable in his eyes than you already were

they do agree on one condition: for you to take AT LEAST a day or two off school to completely recover and rest up (you reluctantly agree; besides how were you going to explain the bruises that can’t be covered to your peers?)

HELP WHY ARE KISE AND KUROKO THE BEST LIARS TOGETHER ON CAMPUS LITERALLY NO ONE SUSPECTS A THING… except Akashi, the ever sharp captain, felt something was amiss

especially since some Teiko players emanated a feeling of relief at the news of you not being here that day, or the next

Akashi would play detective sleuth and find out what’s really going on sooner or later

End Note: gonna cut this off here b/c I KNOW this anon got a juicy part two i FEEL IT

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tsukishumai · 4 years ago

Text

Chemical Reaction - Kuroo Tetsuro

Summary: When the universe hands you a second chance, will you be able to move on from the mistakes of your past?

college!Kuroo x fem!reader

a friends to friends w/ benefits to lovers type of deal.

Warnings: some light NSFW, slow burn, aged up characters, mentions of smoking, mentions of alcohol, fingering, cursing, and a little heartbreak. angst to fluff

Word Count: 7.3k (it goes by fast, I swear (′ꈍωꈍ‵))

A/N: Jesus... this started out as a prompt, but it snowballed into whatever the hell this is. And it was supposed to be done by Kuroo’s bday T-T but better late than never! I poured in a lil extra love into this, pls give it a shot, lmk what you think, and I hope you enjoy !

Your history with Kuroo Tetsuro went back a little bit further than you’d like to admit.

He had been in your class for all three years you were at Nekoma, but you had really only popped onto each other’s radars second year.

He had been assigned the seat next to you, and while you were upset that your best friend, Eri, had been sat all the way across the room, you didn’t exactly mind the view.

Right off the bat, you knew this was going to be trouble for you.

The guy was cute, funny, and smart. How hadn’t you noticed him before?

“Hey, L/N-chan,” he said, already making you blush with the addition of the honorific, “I have many chemistry jokes… but I’m afraid they won’t get a good reaction!”

You couldn’t stop either the face palm or the giggle that slipped out of your lips.

Kuroo was an easy person to get along with. He always greeted you in the mornings, and never really bothered you during class. On the rare occasion he stayed in the classroom for lunch, the two of you would strike up a conversation, but it never went past the surface.

Until about halfway through the school year. Your teacher had assigned a project that required a partner.

You looked to Eri, only to find the little traitor pairing up with the guy she had been eyeing since first year.

You sighed, not even mad at her for trying to shoot her shot.

“Want to be partners?” your head shot to the boy next to you.

“Uhm. Sure!”

And so it went like this; the project was due at the end of the year, requiring a research paper, and a 7 minute power point presentation.

Once or twice a week, the two of you would meet up at the school library either before school or after your club activities.

Kuroo was smart; smarter than you but you’d never say that to his face, so more often than not, the two of you would finish what needed to be done that day, and spent the rest of the time just talking, and getting to know each other.

By the third time the two of you had gotten kicked out by the librarian for laughing too much, Kuroo suggested meeting at his house on the weekends.

Surely that doesn’t mean what you think it means right???

It doesn’t, lmao. This guy was a good student, he made sure you guys finished your parts, because there was no way he was going to get anything less than an A.

Oh, you guys finished a little early today? Great! L/N-chan! Help me with my receives!

As the weeks pass by, there was a mutual progression in the relationship, neither of you seeing each other as project partners anymore, and falling into a comfortable friendship.

For Kuroo, that is. You, on the other hand, just became way too good at acting like you weren’t falling in love.

The school year is coming to a close, and you turn in your project.

Surprise, surprise! You guys got an A.

Seriously, the teacher said she was going to start using it as an example for the future students.

You couldn’t even be happy about your passing grade; you were too sad that your time with Kuroo was ending.

“Well, it was really fun being your partner this year,” you said, and Kuroo cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Why do you sound like someone’s dying,” he joked, “Anyway, Kenma said he bought a new game, but it’s multiplayer. What time are you coming this weekend?”

Bitch, ya heart nearly jumped out of your chest.

For a little while, you were content with things being like that. You had become good friends with not just Kuroo, but Kenma as well. You guys weren’t always together, but definitely made a point to make time for each other.

While you guys were usually busy during the week, club activities, homework and school taking up most of your time, Saturdays at Kuroo’s had become a thing well into your third year. As much as possible, you would try to attend his games, and he would try to bring you snacks when he knows you’re stuck studying.

You tried really hard not to read into the things he would do for you.

Surely, he’s also held Kenma’s bag while walking him home, right?

He’s memorized his whole team’s schedule; it’s nothing special if he also has yours memorized.

You know that he only brought you lunch today because he had to share half of his when you forgot yours.

All normal friend stuff, right! Right?!

“I met a cute girl the other day,” he said to you absentmindedly one morning before class.

Wait. Your chest shouldn’t feel so tight, should it? Your eyes are swimming, and your head is floating. Every breath feels like lead in your lungs, and you kinda wished the ground would swallow you whole.

“Oh, Really?” you tried to be nonchalant, and hoped he didn’t notice the shakiness in your voice.

He nodded. “Yeah… she’s kinda funny.”

But you were really funny, weren’t you? You were the one that made him laugh like a hyena, made him clutch his stomach and gasp for breath, right?

“Is that so?” your mouth felt like sandpaper, “Why don’t you try taking her out on a date?”

You wish you had never said those words.

You knew the girl he was talking about; you had seen Kuroo approach her in the hallway.

She was your teammate in the track and field club; not one of the fastest, but she was beautiful, kind, friendly, and Kuroo was right – she really was kind of funny.

“You should have told him first, you know,” Kenma had mumbled from next to you once, eyes never leaving his game while yours quickly shot him a glare.

It was just the two of you at the lunch table – Kuroo mumbling an excuse about having plans with another “friend”.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kenma just rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

You spend the next few weeks avoiding him; it was easier since he didn’t sit next to you in class anymore, you weren’t really replying to his texts as often, you stopped visiting him and Kenma at practice, and you had missed the game you had told them you would try to go to.

You were kind of starting to realize that it was mostly you that had to go and seek them out.

Now that you weren’t doing these things… where was he?

You would catch a glimpse of Kuroo when he would visit your teammate during practice; he would try to greet you but you’d only shoot him a tight smile.

So when you heard a loud knock on your door at eight o clock in the evening, the last person you expected was the roosterhead himself.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I could tell something was bothering you, and I’ve been trying to give you your space, but… it’s been weeks now so, I just have to know… Are you avoiding me?”

You didn’t really know what to say, if there is even anything else to. Even with your head down and eyes trained to your feet, you could feel the burn of his gaze.

“I...” the deep timbre of his voice always managed to give you chills, “I miss you.”

Is he fucking serious right now? He’s so smart, yet he can’t put two and two together? He can see his opponents’ moves before they happen, yet he can’t even see you standing right in front of him?

“I have feelings for you, Kuroo,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Kuroo’s eyes widened by a fraction, his mouth slightly hung agape, dumbfounded by your seemingly random confession.

Except, it wasn’t random to you. You’ve been harboring these feelings for months, and after hurting yourself by staying silent for so long, you decided that you deserve better.

You’ll accept whatever the outcome, if that’s the price for your peace.

“Y/N…” it took him a long time to finally speak, and you try to ignore the fact that this is the first time he’s called you by your first name.

His face clearly showed his struggle to get the words out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I –“

You raised your hand. You didn’t really want to hear any more than that.

“It’s okay,” you said, giving him a small smile.

And with that, you shut the door on Kuroo Tetsuro.

You do your best to move on, smiling and laughing with friends you wouldn’t usually talk to you, ignoring the ghost of your past that haunt you every time you walked passed by Kuroo and your teammate down the hall.

You throw back a laugh at whatever the person next to you had said, turning away to miss the fact that Kuroo’s eyes always followed you wherever you went.

Graduation day came and in the blink of an eye, your days at Nekoma were behind you.

The days passed, the seasons changed, the flowers bloomed, and then they died.

You started university, moving to a different city and living with the very same best friend whose betrayal to quench her own thirst became the catalyst for your greatest heartbreak.

You’ve forgiven her for that though, you guess.

Life in college was the breath of fresh air that you needed.

New things to learn, new places to discover, and new faces to help you forget the scars of old ones.

Years pass by, and while you’ve allowed yourself to feel the touch of others, allow them to make you laugh, allow them to make you cry, you’ve never really allowed yourself the luxury of falling in love again.

Who has time for that any way?

Definitely not you. You just needed to finish your undergrad, and get into med school.

You had plans for your life, you weren’t going to compromise your dreams just for another person, and no matter whom you dated or how much they liked you, this fact had always rubbed them the wrong way.

You were finally starting your last year at your undergrad, quite possibly one of the most important years of college, what with your thesis, med school applications, and your entire future pretty much on the line, no big deal.

Your first class of the day was chemistry. You had been avoiding the last chemistry class required by your degree, all of your friends telling you that it was one of the hardest classes they’ve ever taken, and so naturally, you ran away for as long as possible.

The class wasn’t due to start for another fifteen minutes when you walked in, giving you a perfect opportunity to grab a seat of your liking.

You ended up choosing one in the third row – you knew that if you sat in the back, you wouldn’t pay attention.

You take out your laptop, books, and all required materials, using this free time to check any emails from your professors.

You were checking the time – 5 minutes left until class started – when you were interrupted.

“L/N-chan?”

Your feel your body stiffen up at the sound of a voice you hadn’t heard in years.

You turn your head to your left, hoping to all the gods that maybe you were mistaken.

“Kuroo?” you said in disbelief, and oh honey… you could not believe he was standing right before you.

Kuroo seemed like he hadn’t changed at all. His hair seemed a little bit more managed, he was a little bit taller, his muscles filled out his shirt better… but he still had the same goofy smile on his face, and that undeniably mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“What are you doing here?” you blurted out. “I thought you went to a university in Tokyo?”

“I did, but I transferred this year,” he said, “This university has a great marketing program.”

“I can’t believe it,” you mumble out, more so to yourself than him, “It’s been years.”

He gave you a smile. “It has.”

He took the seat next to you, much to your surprise. You almost wanted to open your mouth in protest, but what could you say? ‘You can’t sit there’?

You were thankful that the class had only gone over the syllabus, because you didn’t hear a word the professor said.

When you told Eri about it later, she just laughed.

“I always thought Kuroo-san was a nice guy,” she commented, her back turned while she cooked the both of you dinner.

“I never said he wasn’t,” you said, throwing back the rest of the wine in your glass.

“What, you still like him or something?” Eri teased, plating the noodles she had created and setting it in front of you.

“Of course not,” you grumbled, stabbing at the plate with a fork, and the amused look on Eri’s face tells you that her silence was just to placate you.

The next few weeks of the semester went by without any incident.

Kuroo stayed in the seat next to you, and you didn’t let yourself wonder why.

You were proud at yourself for being able to talk to Kuroo the way that you were; he still made the same stupid chemistry jokes in high school, but now you felt like you could laugh at them without choking on the air around you.

It was easy.

Until it wasn’t.

“Alright everyone,” your professor began one rainy morning, “We’re about halfway through the semester, and this is usually around the time I like to assign a little project.”

All of a sudden, you felt a strange feeling of déjà vu.

“Now, it’s only going to be worth about a third of your grade in the class, so I suggest not slacking off on this one. This is going to require a partner, and before you go texting your bestie that you want to ‘link up’, I’ve taken the liberty of assigning your partner for you.”

Oh, Christ. You were praying you wouldn’t get partnered up with a dead weight.

“When I call your name, raise your hand so I could introduce you to your new partner.”

You waited patiently for your name to be called, but Kuroo’s had been called first.

“Kuroo Testuro.”

Kuroo raised his hand.

“Your partner will be... let’s see here… ah, L/N F/N!”

No. No fucking way.

Your arm involuntarily raised, the professor nodding his head in acknowledgement.

You slowly turn to face Kuroo, who had an unreadable smile placed on his lips, your professor’s voice droning on in the background.

“Well,” he said, laughter laced in his words, “Isn’t this familiar?”

At first, you felt incredibly apprehensive at the thought of being partnered with your high school crush, but at the end of the day, you were actually incredibly thankful.

Kuroo was just as smart and diligent as he was back then, and you had every confidence that your project was going to get the highest grade.

You tried to make it a point to meet in public places – cafes, libraries, and the like.

But soon, Kuroo suggested that it would just be easier and more comfortable to meet at either your place or his.

He only ever came by when Eri was home too, which would have been fine if the smirk on her face didn’t make you so nervous.

You noticed that his roommate was always around when you came over as well. You learned his name was Bokuto, and though he was a little loud, his presence was actually a little comforting.

Honestly, it all felt so… nostalgic. Whenever you would finish your work for the day, then the two of you would spend the time talking, catching up, and laughing at stupid jokes, almost as if the two of you were friends again.

Almost like nothing happened between you at all.

“Hey,” you started one day, curiosity getting the better of you after a particularly steamy conversation about past relationships, sitting on the floor with your iPad on your lap and homework strewn about all over the living room floor, “Whatever happened between you and that girl from high school?”

Kuroo just gave you a sad smile, and you thought she must have broken his heart pretty badly.

“Oh that…” he waved it off, “That was a mistake. A big one.”

You figured it was better not to ask any more questions.

Eri walked out of her room soon after Kuroo left that night, her arms crossed and leaning against the door’s archway as she watched you wash the dishes.

You guys are getting pretty close,” she mused.

She couldn’t see you roll your eyes. “Well, yeah, we were pretty good friends in high school.”

Eri let out a humorless laugh. “I stand by my statement that Kuroo-san is a nice guy,” she said, walking up next to you to place a hand on your shoulder, “But I haven’t forgotten how long it took you to get over what happened.”

Your hands stilled in the soapy water for a second, but you chose not to say anything.

“I’m just saying,” Eri started to walk back to her room, calling out her last words behind her shoulder, “Be careful.”

Eri’s words echoed in your head whenever you were with Kuroo.

Every time he offered to pay for your food, you made sure to insist you’d pay for it yourself. If he tried to grab your bag from your shoulder when you walked, you’d hold on tighter and say you were fine.

You didn’t avoid him like you did before, but you made every attempt to keep him at arm’s length.

It seems your attempts were all for nothing, however, when the semester ended.

“Amazing job,” were the words that came from your professor when giving your passing grade.

“We did it,” Kuroo said happily, the two of you making your way out of the class, “It’s finally over.”

“Thank god,” you laughed back.

“Hey,” Kuroo started, though he was looking at everywhere but you, “Bokuto’s gone and visiting his boyfriend for the weekend, but I was wondering if you wanted to come over for drinks later?”

You blinked, trying to even your breathing.

“You know, to celebrate the end of the semester, and acing that nightmare class.”

You should say no, right? Wait, but you’re grown now. You’ve moved on from what happened back then. The two of you did work really hard this semester, what’s wrong with celebrating your achievements?

“I think we’ve earned it,” Kuroo laughed.

“Yeah,” you said, and you were glad for it just from the smile that spread on his stupid face, “We really have! I’ll be there.”

“See you at eight?”

You nodded at his words as he waved goodbye, going your separate ways.

Ten hours later, you were sitting next to Kuroo on his living room floor, sake cup full to the brim as BNHA plays on his TV.

“Ah, Deku’s in the hospital,” Kuroo slurred, sake sloshing out of his cup when he pointed to the screen, “That’s a shot!”

The two of you threw back the warm liquid, and you were kind of worried that it didn’t taste like anything anymore.

“Kuroo,” you laughed, “We’re only on the second episode… and I think I’ve taken, like, twelve shots at this point.”

“This was your idea!”

“Well, I have another idea,” you started to get up, causing Kuroo to get up as well, “Let’s order take out!”

He laughed at your red face, agreeing with you.

You started to make your way to the couch, but all of a sudden, you felt dizzy, a head rush taking over your senses as you stumbled over your feet.

Kuroo caught you before you could hit the floor.

“You okay?” he laughed, and the sound of it elicited a laugh from your own lips.

In a second, the two of you erupted in giggles, snickering at nothing in particular while his strong arms still held you in place.

Suddenly, you were hyperaware of his touch on your skin, and you let your eyes trail from the strong hands around your waist, to the golden honey eyes that were already staring at your face.

You can’t exactly remember how, but the next thing you knew, you were pinned under Kuroo on his bed, his soft lips moving in tandem with yours while his hot tongue took over your whole mouth.

Your arms were looped around his neck, and he slid his calloused hands up your arm.

You felt his hands grip onto your wrists before he pulled them off his necked and pinned them onto the mattress.

You took in a deep breath once he disconnected from your mouth, planting a trail of kisses along your jaw line and down to your neck, before you slid his tongue across your supple skin.

You shivered, acutely aware of the fact that he has you trapped.

“Be careful,” Eri’s words echoed in your mind.

Fuck, you tried to think but it was hard when Kuroo just threw his shirt across the room, hovering over you with chiseled abs and defined muscles.

The heat returned to your body when he lowered his head, and popped a hard nipple into his mouth.

Your body arched at the feel of his teeth grazing against your skin, goosebumps racing when he dipped his hand beneath your underwear, a slender finger gliding down your folds before inserting into you.

You weren’t prepared for the intrusion, and he captured the gasp that came out of your mouth with his lips.

He was now holding down both of your wrists with one hand, never realizing that he was that much bigger than you.

He slid out his finger, bringing it to his mouth to give a long lick, before dipping his hand back down, and pushing in two.

You threw your head back when Kuroo curled his fingers, wondering how the hell he was able to find your g spot so quickly.

You felt like an animal caught in his trap, caged in with your arms pinned down, no choice but to let Kuroo draw out your orgasm while he pumped and curled into you, circling his thumb over your swollen clit.

Your legs were shaking while you screamed out his name, embarrassed that you were cumming so hard when he hasn’t even actually fucked you

He didn’t give you a chance to recover from your orgasm

In one swift movement, Kuroo let go of your hands and pulled out his fingers so he could grab a leg in each hand to fold you over in a press.

You don’t even know when Kuroo had taken his pants – or yours – off, and you didn’t have time to wonder.

A moan escaped your lips at the feel of his length filling you up, and you distinctly hear Kuroo tell you to say his name.

“Kuroo,” you moaned, bringing your hands to his shoulders, grasping at his body.

Every buck of his hips shot a jolt of pleasure throughout your body, unable to escape the feeling with Kuroo holding you down in place.

Who the hell would want to escape from here anyway?

“My first name,” he growled, quickening his pace when he felt your walls tighten around his dick.

“Tetsuro!” you screamed without a second thought, the brutal rhythm Kuroo has set driving heat onto your stomach, repeating his name over and over even after you feel your pussy gushing all over him, your cum dripping down from his shaft to his balls.

“Fuck,” Kuroo growled out, driving into you one last time before he spilled hot white, trying hard to catch his breath while coming down from this high.

The two of you lay together in the darkness for a while, your head on his chest and his arms around his shoulder.

The silence that surrounded the room was comfortable; almost like a bubble of peace that neither of you wanted to pop by saying anything.

“Be careful,” Eri’s fucking voice told you, yet again

While you didn’t regret what had just happened between you and Kuroo, doubts were beginning to creep in your mind.

What the hell was supposed to happen now? You’re not sure if Kuroo was expecting this outcome when he invited you over for drinks, but it happened, and you’re not really sure where to go from here.

You’ve already built a life for yourself – one that was truly yours – and you had a path that you had every intention to follow.

Would Kuroo be like every other guy and run away when he finds out you’re not compromising your plans for him? Would you even want to try to fit him into your plans?

You shake your head.

Jesus, get a grip. A guy dicks you down /once/, and all of a sudden you’re thinking about this shit?

“Y/N? You okay?” He asked from beside you.

You lift your head from his chest, sitting up so you could lean your back against his headboard. Kuroo was quick to mirror your actions.

“Kuroo,” you begin to tell him, and he frowned a little at the sound of his last name, “That was… amazing.”

Kuroo blushed a little at your compliment, though he knew it didn’t stop there. “…But?”

“But,” you bit your lip, “I’m not really looking for anything serious right now.”

Kuroo didn’t respond right away, but maybe that’s because you just kept babbling. “It’s just… I have so much going on with school, not to mention grad school applications are due in a few months, and who knows which university I’ll end up going to after graduation…”

You finally had the courage to look at him, and you caught a glimpse of what you would have thought was sadness in his eyes if it hadn’t been blinked away so quickly, soon replaced with that same unreadable smile.

“Whatever you want, Kitten,” he replied, “This doesn’t have to be anything more than what it is.”

You let out a breath of relief.

He walked you home that night (or morning, considering it was 1am), still trying your best to set boundaries even though you pretty much let him thoroughly wreck you.

He didn’t give you a kiss goodbye, instead sheepishly waving when he sees you entering the door to your apartment, saying he’ll shoot you a text tomorrow.

You thought things would be weird between the two of you after that night, but you were happy to find that it wasn’t.

You had managed to rekindle your friendship with Kuroo – meeting up to study, grabbing lunch if you had the time, maybe catching the occasional movie.

Though, you didn’t tell Eri about the added benefits.

(Kuroo Tetsu-hoe) Today: 12:37AM

You up?

[To: Kuroo Tetsu-hoe] Today: 12:49AM

Yeah, doing my Lit. paper.

(Kuroo Tetsu-hoe) Today: 12:50AM

Wanna do me instead?

[To: Kuroo Tetsu-hoe] Today: 12:58AM

Say less.

ou didn’t have to tell Eri about the added benefits – she wasn’t dumb, where else would her roommate be going in the middle of night?

You’ve had other men before, going through your fair share of sexual experiences before climbing into bed with Kuroo.

But he was still managing to show you new things, reaching spots you never even knew existed before, putting his mouth in places that made your eyes water and lungs burn from gasping for air.

You can’t explain the feeling you get when he’s running his hands across your body, and when he stares at you and nothing but you while he’s pumping into you and making you feel so full in more ways than one, it’s something akin to a chemical reaction.

There was one time, when he took a belt, secured it against his head post before he brought your legs up to –

“Earth to Y/N,” Kuroo said, waving a hand in front of your face.

“Sorry,” you said, shrugging your shoulders, “I was having a flashback.”

Kuroo smirked, knowing exactly what you meant.

The two of you were lying in bed, your back against his chest and a strong arm wrapped around your waist.

You laid your hand on top of his, fiddling with his fingers and reveling in the calm that always came from being with Kuroo.

“What you thinking about?” You ask, and the way he stiffened up in your grip let you know that something really was bothering him.

It took him a little longer than you’d like before he replied.

“Do you ever feel like… you want more?”

This time, it was you that stilled in his arms.

“Be Careful.”

You turned around to face Kuroo.

“I thought we talked about this?”

Kuroo’s eyes searched your face, for what, you have no idea. But you stared back with just as much intensity, hoping that he would find the answer he was looking for.

Fear. That’s what was written all over your face.

Kuroo let out a humorless laugh. “Forget I said anything.”

He stood up to put his boxers on and slipping on a shirt before heading out onto the balcony that was attached to his room.

You gave him a few moments before getting up to gather your clothes from the floor, silently putting them on before you joined him outside.

You find him leaning against the balcony railing on his forearms, a cigarette lit in one hand.

He doesn’t turn his head towards you, but he does offer his cigarette, and you take it quietly.

You bring the white filter to your lips, taking a deep drag, closing your eyes when you feel your head get lighter, and releasing the smoke from your lungs.

“Kuroo,” you started, voice nothing but a soft whisper, “I’m sorry… I didn’t – “

He raised a hand to stop you.

“It’s fine,” he replied. “Like I said, forget I mentioned anything.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he said, taking his cigarette back from you and taking a drag himself, “Kenma’s having a party this weekend. They’re inviting over some old classmates from Nekoma. He says he misses you. You should come.”

Your ears perk up at the invitation, excited at the thought of seeing your old friend and a little happy that he’s moving past the subject.

"Kenma? Is having a party?”

Kuroo laughed. “Alright. Yaku is having a party, but we’re doing it at Kenma’s place. It’s actually not that far from here, just one train ride.”

You chuckled, shaking your head knowingly.

“Yeah, I’ll go,” you agreed, “But, uhm… I’ll just meet you there?”

Kuroo nodded. “Yeah. I’ll just meet you there.”

You didn’t see Kuroo the rest of that week.

You weren’t sure what it was – he wasn’t ignoring you, he replied to your text messages and answered your calls.

But he hadn’t once asked you to come over. And after what happened that night, you were scared to ask him to come over.

The night of Kenma’s party came, and you entered to find way more people than you had expected. You didn’t recognize more than half of the people there, but relief washed over you when Yaku threw an arm around your shoulder.

You didn’t see Kuroo right away when you arrived, but you were too distracted at the joy from seeing some of your old classmates.

You were half way through a game of beer pong with Lev as your partner before Kuroo was able to make an appearance.

He made his rounds, saying his greetings to everyone before stopping at you, giving you a friendly one armed hug.

You didn’t want to admit that you were a bit sad at the generic greeting.

Was it because maybe… you want…. mor –

“Y/N! Shoot the damn ping pong ball,” Lev exclaimed, and you were shook out of your reverie.

Kuroo excused himself, saying he was going to the kitchen to make himself a drink, but you were too focused on winning your game to notice.

Before you knew it, you lost three to two against Kenma and Yamamoto, cursing at Lev for forcing you to carry the team on your back.

By this point, the alcohol had spread all through your system. You were still able to walk straight, but with considerable effort. The words that came out of your mouth were just a little slurred, and you were kind of having a hard time controlling the volume of your voice.

“Where’s Kuroo?” you asked Yaku, who instantly shot a hand up to rub his ear.

“Jesus, woman, you don’t have to yell, I am /right here,” he grumbled, but he still let you sling an arm around his shoulders for support. “I thought he went into the kitchen to get some drinks?”

That’s right, he said that. But that was hours ago. Where could he be?

You stagger away from Yaku, pushing your way past unfamiliar bodies to get to the kitchen.

The first thing you saw when you tripped into the kitchen was Kuroo, dressed in a fitted black shirt and blue jeans, looking every bit the Greek God he was as he leaned against the counter. His arms were crossed atop his broad chest, a drink in one hand.

He was talking to someone, and you thought you recognized the long black hair that flowed from the back of their head, but were too distracted studying the veins that protruded from Kuroo’s forearms.

You opened your mouth to call out to him when the person in front of him stepped up, pressing their body into his. She uncrossed his arms and snaked two long arms around his neck.

You recognized her in that instant.

It was his ex from high school.

Looking down, you were surprised to see your clothes dry, because it felt like someone poured a bucket of ice water directly on top of your head.

“Be careful,” Eri’s words echoed in your head for the ten millionth time.

Yet here you were

In the same exact place you were a little over three years ago.

You scoffed at yourself.

Well, there’s nothing else for you here now, is there?

You shoot Yaku and Kenma a quick text in a group chat to let them know you were leaving.

The air outside was cold, your breath coming out in puffs. You wrapped your jacket around a little tighter, cursing yourself silently for not wearing a scarf cause it’ll ‘ruin the outfit.’

“Hey, the party’s that way.”

The sudden voice behind you nearly made you jump ten feet in the air.

“Jesus, you really are like a fucking cat.”

Kuroo chuckled.

For some reason, the sound made you angry. You kept walking, following the path of dimmed street lights that led you to the train station.

“Yeah, but home’s this way.”

His heavy footsteps trailed behind you.

“Great, I was getting tired of the party anyway.”

“What are you doing here?” You finally turned your head to him and asked.

Your voice was surprisingly clear and even, despite the unsteadiness of the ground beneath you.

“What do you mean? I’m walking you home.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s late, and you’re my friend.”

‘Friend’. The word made you wince, even though you were the one that drilled the idea into his head.

“I saw you talking to your ex,” you grumbled, crossing your arms and turning the other direction.

You could practically feel his smirk.

“Oya? Is that jealousy I’m hearing in those words?”

You felt your face get hot.

“Of course not!”

- “I thought we were just friends?”

“Will you shut up for once in your life, idiot!”

He wanted to tease you some more, but was stopped by the pensive look on your face.

“Why would you leave the girl that broke your heart behind just to walk me home?”

Kuroo looked at you with a confused expression.

“Girl that broke my heart?”

You nodded. “When I asked you about her, you said she was a big mistake.”

Kuroo stopped walking. You turned your head back to look at him curiously when he doubled over in a full bellied laugh.

“Are you laughing at me?!” You asked incredulously, giving him a glare from where you stood.

“You... you think she’s the one that broke my heart?”

Kuroo wiped a fake tear from his eye.

“Wow. That was a good one.”

“What the hell are you going on about, Kuroo?”

The jovial look on Kuroo’s face slowly faded, the entertained smile on his face shrinking his lips into a thin line.

“Y/N, she didn’t break my heart.”

Now it was your turn to be confused.

“You want to know why I said she was a big mistake?” Kuroo took a step towards you, “It was because of her that I lost you.”

Your jaw dropped.

Kuroo ran his fingers through his hair, ruining the perfectly waxed locks that he had spent thirty minutes styling.

“Please don’t run away when I tell you this.”

You couldn’t move your feet even if you wanted to.

“The only reason I ever brought her up to you in the first place was because I wanted to see your reaction. I wanted to know if you would get jealous. But without hesitation, you told me that I should just go ahead and date her, and you know dumb young men and their pride... then... it just... snowballed into something I didn’t even...”

Kuroo couldn’t finish his sentence.

Your vision begins to shake.

“But... but I confessed to you!”

“Yeah, then you slammed the door in my face and stopped talking to me!”

You couldn’t deny that.

“Do you have any idea how confusing that was for a teenage boy? I had no idea what the hell was going on, one day, I blinked and I was stuck with a girl I didn’t love while I watched my best friend smile and laugh and walk passed me like I never even existed.”

You swallowed the guilty lump that was caught in your throat.

“All I knew was that you weren’t around anymore; you weren’t there to make me laugh with your dumb jokes, you weren’t coming over and leaving your presence all over my room, nothing, it was all gone, and it all felt so fucked up. Being without you felt so fucked up.”

Had Kuroo always felt this way? Were you really so busy running away from him that you couldn’t even see that he was hurting too?

“Now the universe or the gods or whatever brought me back to you, and it’s like everything makes sense again, and fuck, all I want to do is just show you how much I’ve missed you, how much I care, how much I love you.”

You gasped, and you were waiting for Kuroo to try and take those words back, but the resolve was painted in his eyes.

“But all you do is just keep me at arms length. You wanted to be just friends when I wanted everything.”

You choked back a sob, tears were now steadily streaming down your face.

Kuroo closed the space between you, wrapping one arm around your waist while bring his other head to wipe at your tears with the pad of his thumb.

“She wasn’t the girl that broke my heart. You were.”

He moved to place his fingers on your chin, tilting your head up to force you to look at his eyes.

He wanted you to see that he meant every single word.

“If this is all you’re willing to give me, I’ll take it. I’ll break my own heart. Every day, over and over again, if that’s what it takes to be with you.”

His voice was in a whisper now, bringing his lips to kiss both sides of your cheeks.

“Because I love you.”

He brought his hands to cup for your face before pulling you in for a kiss.

This wasn’t anything like you’ve ever experienced before.

Every time his tongue brushed against yours, you felt all the love adoration he was trying to convey in this one physical act, hoping he could transfer it all into your lips.

It felt like time stopped just for the two of you, to have this moment in the middle of the sidewalk, bathed in the orange glow of the street light that hung above you.

He pulled away finally, resting his forehead on yours for just a second before he engulfed you with his arms.

His head rested on top of yours, feeling the vibrations as he spoke.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he said nervously. “Do you want something more?”

You wiggle out of his grip just so you can move your hands up to caress his cheek.

“Tetsuro... I love you so much.”

Later that night, in the safety of your room and away from Eri’s judgmental eyes at the two of you stumbling in and giggling through the door, you trace small circles on Kuroo’s chest with your fingers while Kuroo had an arm wrapped around you tightly.

“Hey, Tetsu,” you broke the silence with a whisper, “What if I end up going to grad school that was... further away?”

Kuroo couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. You were never going to change.

Not like he would ever want you to.

“Y/N... we didn’t talk for three years, and not once did I stop thinking about you. A little distance isn’t going to get rid of me.”

You try to bury your face in embarrassment.

If he had to spend every day of the rest of his life reassuring you that he’ll be by your side no matter what, well - that’s just too easy.

You find yourself holding onto him a little bit tighter, making a silent vow that never again were you going to push away Kuroo Tetsuro.

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hockeywhhores · 4 years ago

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outlaw- m. tkachuk

Matthew Tkachuk x f!Reader

warnings~ swearing, miscommunications, alcohol consumption

summary~ The wags don’t really like you, what happens when they decide to stir shit up?

genre~ pre-established relationship, angst

word count~ 3K

Valentine’s week masterlist

main masterlist

remember that this is all fiction! I don’t think any of them would actually act like this!

Matthew knew of the reputation that preceded him. His nickname was Chucky, for god’s sake. Having such an evil reputation never bugged him off the ice until he met you. You never made him feel bad for the way he acted, in fact you were always defending him. Social media was not kind to him, and when you started dating him, social media also turned on you. Nasty tweets were always being thrown your way, but you just let it all roll off your shoulders. Your stubbornness always drew in Matthew. He loved how you didn’t take shit from anyone. Yet it messed with him, because he knew you were only taking all this shit because of him.

“Babe, I’m done getting ready!” you hollered from down the hall. Effectively pulling Matthew from his thoughts while he was semi-watching some sports channel. He heard your heels on the hardwood floor first, then he saw the mini sparkly black dress you were wearing. The dress was something you bought a couple months ago, but it still took his breath away whenever he saw it. It hugged you in all the right places, and the neckline plunged perfectly, catching the roundness of your boobs. “Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” He gaped at you like a fish, and you just laughed.

“You look gorgeous.” Matthew finally found words, but still didn’t think they were strong enough.

“You look handsome as always.” you smirked back, looking him up and down. Matthew was wearing a black t-shirt that captured how big his arm muscles were. His jeans also made his ass look great.

“How did I ever get you?” he rhetorically asked. You just shrugged and then grabbed his hand, dragging him out of the house. He locked the door, and you went down the elevator and to his car. The drive was perfectly fine with the radio station playing all the right songs with little ads.

The flames had their longest rest period of the season, so a lot of the guys were out tonight with their wives. You talked with one wife, before making your way to the actual bar. Matthew had made it up there before you and had already ordered. They served your drinks to you quickly. Then you dragged Matthew to the dance floor. You were moving your body against his, and just having a good time. Dancing like that for a couple more songs before you had to go to the bathroom. You tried to make your trip to the bathroom quick, but slowed when you heard some wag. The voice sounded like Katie’s, talking about you and Matthew. You kept hidden in the stall, trying to hear everything before you showed yourself.

“I don’t get what they see in each other.” Katie’s high-pitched voice was bouncing off the walls. “I mean, she looks like a slut, and he has some major anger issues.”

“I know right, did you see the dress she was wearing?” the second voice sounded like Jessica’s. “And how she was dancing on him. Doesn’t she know he is just going to leave her? I bet they will only last one more month, and then they are done.”

“With his track record, give it another week and he will be onto the next girl that will spread her legs for him.” Katie’s voice sounded off. You were sick of hearing what they were saying and showed yourself. You stepped out of the stall, and their heads snapped in your direction. You just smiled too sweetly and went to wash your hands.

“I would suggest you make sure you’re alone before you talk shit about other people.” You happily informed them.

“Why should we? You know we’re right. You just can’t admit to yourself. Matthew will never change his fuckboy ways for a girl like you.” Jessica was the brave one and spoke on her and Katie’s behalf.

“I’m not trying to change him, because he doesn’t need changed. So I suggest you shut your mouths, or at least know what you are talking about before speaking.” you walked out before they could say anything else. You went back over to Matthew, who was now sitting at the table talking with his teammates. You waved at him, and whoever he was talking to, then went to the bar to get something stronger. The bartender served you the shots you ordered, and then you went to go sit with Matthew. You would not let them ruin your night. Johnny talked with you, while Matthew continued his conversations with Mark.

“This season is getting crazy! It feels as if we have no rest time.” Johnny confessed to you. You nodded your head in agreement.

“It feels like that, because it is. You get like half a night to rest, before another practice or game.” you agreed with him.

“Hey, Isn’t that Chucky’s ex?” You heard Katie asked. You didn’t even realize that she was back at the table. Nevertheless, Matthew’s ex, Kelcie, was at the bar talking with the bartender. With her showing up and the conversation you had with them in the bathroom, you suspected them of inviting her. Matthew’s head snapped towards the bar, and you felt yourself stiffen. You had no hard feelings towards Kelcie. She was actually really nice to you whenever you had previously talked.

“Let's invite her over.” you suggested. Matthew was the one to stiffen at your suggestion. “Hey! Kelcie! Come sit with us!” you hollered at her. She heard you and came over. “How are you?” you asked in a sickly sweet tone. Patting the chair next to you, showing for her to sit down.

“I’ve been doing well. How is everyone else? The season looked good, but I bet you are all ready for the offseason.” Kelcie politely sat down.

“I’ve heard you kept busy, Kelcie.” Katie was the one to speak up in the awkwardness. “Does last Saturday ring a bell?”

“No. Last Saturday didn't ring a bell.” Kelcie looked genuinely confused.

“I heard you and Matthew had a nice dinner together.” Katie insisted. You felt Matthew to go stiff as a board, and you knew it was true. You quirked up your eyebrow, showing your interest in the conversation.

“We just had dinner and a glass of wine.” Kelcie quickly threw out. You looked back at Matthew sitting on your other side. He was already looking at you with guilty eyes.

“If you say it was just dinner, I believe you.” you concluded. “Sorry Katie, if you want me gone, you are going to have to try a lot harder.” If it was just dinner, then Matthew wouldn’t have lied about who he was having dinner with, but you would not let Katie win.

“I think we better get going, y/n” Matthew grabbed the back of your arm, pulling you out of your seat.

“Bye everyone! Kelcie, we need to grab some lunch soon!” You shouted out before Matthew could get you far enough away. “Why are we leaving, Chucky?” you asked, your voice as sharp as a knife. He just led you to the car. “If it was just dinner you didn’t have to lie to me.” you mumbled out.

Matthew was silent throughout the entire drive. The radio wasn’t even playing, and you were getting increasingly more worried. Why wasn’t he answering you? You were never so happy to see his apartment complex. No one said anything until you made it inside his apartment.

“Matthew, you have to fucking talk to me.” you finally got out. He now has no reason not to talk. “I thought you were going to stop fucking around. Please tell me you have.” you pleaded with him, tearing welling up in your eyes.

“I stopped fucking around.” Matthew finally answered you. “I can’t tell you why I was going to dinner with her right now. I just need your trust.”

“You need my trust? You do not have the most trustworthy reputation. Why can’t you just tell me?” you were now letting the tears fully fall.

“I just can’t tell you right now.” Matthew signed out.

“I think I need to be alone tonight.” you sadly huffed out.

“Please don’t leave. I just need some time.” Matthew now was the one pleading with you.

“I just need some time, Matthew. I need tonight to myself. Now I am going to take an Uber, and you will not show up at my apartment, until I can get my head together.” you explained. “I was happily proving all the wags wrong, and then you throw this shit at me.” Matthew nodded in understanding, and you got the notification the car you ordered was ready out front. You left with a ‘see you later.’ Not being in the talking mood and your driver understanding that, you kept to just listening to the radio.

You were exhausted when you opened the door to your apartment. It was cold inside and felt slightly foreign. You hadn’t been there in at least a week, choosing to just stay at Matthew’s. Quickly getting ready for bed, you didn’t waste any time getting into your queen sized bed. You didn’t sleep well at all. You missed Matthew’s cuddles and getting warm from his body heat. You even missed having something to wake up to, besides an empty bed. Tossing and turning you decided you should check your phone since putting it on do not disturb. You had a couple social media notifications, and some text from Johnny, Mark, and even Kelcie.

“It really was just dinner.” Kelcie had texted you.

“Matthew loves you, he is always telling us so. Please, just trust him.” Mark’s message read.

“I don’t know what the fuck happened tonight, but I am so sorry for the way the girls treated you. Matthew loves you. Just hear him out.” Johnny’s message was the last one you read.

Bursting out in tears, you couldn’t believe what happened tonight. You did nothing wrong to the wives. Why did they hate you? You ended up crying yourself to sleep and woke up way past noon. The sun was already set high in the sky, and you have to force yourself out of your bed. Making yourself ‘breakfast’ and turning on the TV. You were skipping through channels, stopping when you saw Matthew doing a pre-game interview on Sportsnet. The Flames had an early, one time game against the Oilers, and then they were off to Montréal to play the Canadians. You honestly didn’t know if you were going to talk to him before he left.

Deciding to go against your brain, you sent him a quick ‘good luck’ text before shutting your phone back off. You had some work to do, and just let the game go on in the background. Cleaning your kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom, before working on some spreadsheets you had taken home from work. You didn’t check your phone for the rest of the day, staying busy with work. The Flames ended up winning, and you got the horn sound through your TV. You still smiled when the camera zoomed into Matthew hugging his teammates.

When you turned your phone on the following day, you went out of your way to avoid all text messages from anyone that was associated with the Flames or Matthew. You just wanted to get through work and come home to have a bubble bath with some wine. And you did just that. You tried not to take too many breaks at work, because when you did all you could think about was Matthew. When you made it home and got into that bubble bath you’ve been dreaming of all day, you couldn’t help and think about how Matthew would hold you as you both bathed together. You pushed all those thoughts away, and slipped into the bath, letting the warmth of the water comfort you. You went to bed early and only ever looked at your messages when you needed to text one of your coworkers.

The next day was like Groundhog Day, where Billy Murray’s days repeated. You felt like a zombie. Work went as normal and you even got done early and could head back to your apartment an hour early. This was the last series of hockey games for the season. The Flames weren’t going into the offseason, but you were still proud of Matthew, anyway. You quickly texted Matthew a quick ‘good luck.’ He always said that was his good luck charm. Saying that he just plays better after getting that text. And who were you to mess up his game? You didn’t read any of the text he had sent you and watched the pre-game interviews. You weren’t paying too much attention until Matthew’s voice came out of your speakers.

“We have Matthew Tkachuk with us!” the reporter excitedly cheered out. “How are you doing, Matthew?”

“I’m doing fine, how about you guys?” Matthew answered back.

“We are doing alright! What are you doing to get ready for this game?” the reporter was just asking him generic questions.

“Well, I’m just doing everything I usually do.” Matthew seemed a little uninterested, but kept the interview going.

“Do you have anything planned for the offseason?” This question sparked your interest.

“Yeah, I hope to be spending it with my beautiful girlfriend.” Matthew conceded. The interview was over quickly, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Matthew. You did really miss him. The Flames schedule was two games back to back, a rest day, and then the last game. Matthew had told you before that they were planning on flying home right after the last game.

The days were separated by how you spent your night. One night you went out to dinner with a coworker, another night you spent going to the movies alone, and the other two were spent trying new dinners recipes. When you tried the new red pepper pasta dish, you caught yourself thinking about how Matthew would like it, and how you should make it for him sometime. After you couldn’t get him off your mind, you spent the night crying about how much you missed Matthew. Without thinking, you checked the messages Matthew had previously sent you:

I love you.

Please don’t leave me.

Would you be willing to meet with me at my apartment tomorrow night? I have something I need to confess.

Nothing bad, I promise.

I really love you.

My mom misses you, and I do too.

You chuckled a bit at the last text. Before you could chicken out, you texted Matthew saying that you would go to his apartment after work. He answered back quickly, saying how he missed you and couldn’t wait to come clean. You didn’t sleep too well that night. Your brain was just stuck thinking about what Matthew could have to tell you.

The morning came too soon, and so did your alarm. You thought about calling in sick, but thought better of it. The morning was the same as any other, and you went to your plain-old job. Today your boss swamped you with work, meaning you would have to work a little later than you had planned. You rushed over to Matthew’s after you finished your last spreadsheet. You were definitely driving over the speed limit in some zones, but you just wanted to get to Matthew’s apartment. When you came to his door, you didn’t know if to knock or not. You haven’t knocked on his door in what felt like forever. You thought it would be better to knock, and Matthew opened the door in record time. “Sorry I got caught up at work.”

“No, you're right in time. I just finished making some dinner.” Matthew waved you off.

“You made dinner? Oh, no.” you chirped him, and he laughed. It felt good to hear him laugh.

Dinner was fantastic. He made chicken with some vegetables on the side. Conversation was easy between you guys; it always has been. Matthew told you stories of what happened during the road trip, and you told him what you have been up to.

After eating, Matthew became really serious. “Give me a minute, and I’ll explain everything.” After that, he left the dining room and went to his bedroom. You had moved into the living room and waited patiently for him to come back. When he did, he asked you to turn around, and you followed his directions. “Turn around.” he whispered.

Matthew was on one knee, with a ring box open in his hands, “Will you marry me?”

“I need some answers before I can give you an answer.” you admitted.

“I’ll tell you everything.” Matthew begged.

“Why did you lie about having dinner with Kelcie?” you questioned

“She was helping me plan a more romantic proposal, but I kinda ruined the plan.” Matthew explained. “Nothing ever happened between us. I lied because I didn’t want you to ask why I was going to see her. I just wanted things to be perfect.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” you asked.

“I wanted to wait until after the season where we could have some time to ourselves.” he explained.

“Ask me again.” you demanded.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me to marry you again, Doofus.” you chuckled.

“Oh, um. Will you marry me y/n?” Matthew questioned nervously.

“Yes!” you gladly said. Matthew sprung up and slid the diamond ring on to your finger. You kissed him passionately.

“You don’t know how excited my mom is going to be.” Matthew sighed. “She loves you. I think she almost flew out, when I told her what I did.” You just chuckled.

“I love you, Matthew, but never fucking do that to me again.” you said.

“I promise to never do that to you again. You stole my heart, future Mrs. Tkachuk.” Matthew whispered in your ear. The night turned out better than you expected. You couldn’t be more excited to show your ring to everyone, knowing the love of your life was right there beside you.

finished

#matthew tkachuk imagine #Matthew tkachuk x reader #Matthew tkachuk angst #Matthew tkachuk fluff #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl #nhl fic #calgary flames #hockey #hockey fic #hockey boys

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tippedbykreider · 3 years ago

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your love is my turning page | c. kreider

Word count: 17,700 Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, sex, mention of breakdown of previous relationship, mentions of infidelity. Author’s note: This was the first long-fic I ever wrote and to say that I was proud of it is an understatement. I’ve made some minor additions to this and hope you all enjoy it second time around as much as you did the first time. Fic title is from ‘Turning Page’ by Sleeping at Last Summary: Chris Kreider doesn’t believe in fate but a chance meeting in a Manhattan bookstore opens his mind, and his heart, to things he has only ever read about in the books he loves so much.

‘We are asleep until we fall in love’ – Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace.

Sometimes in life there are moments where everything changes, suddenly and unexpectedly and in ways that make it impossible to be the same person that you were before. It’s a bit like a storm, sweeping in and rearranging your life completely to a point beyond recognition, where everything changes and you’re left with a choice: mourn what was lost or use it as an opportunity to rebuild and come back stronger than before.

That was the dilemma Roseanna Williams faced after the man she thought she’d grow old with turned out to be nothing more than a huge disappointment. She should have seen it coming if she was to be completely honest with herself, years of waiting for him to outgrow what she presumed to be a teenage phase yielded nothing but frustration and a growing sense of impatience. If you asked any of her close friends and family they would tell you that she should have done it years ago but it never was as easy as just walking away, not when it came to the man whom she had been with since the tender age of fifteen. After she’d graduated university and completed her teaching degree, she was itching and ready for them both to take the next step in their relationship, to make more of a commitment, hell, even get married, but every attempt at an adult discussion about their future was met with resistance and a string of excuses. The realisation suddenly began to dawn on her that maybe he was a lost cause and that she was wasting the best years of her life by waiting on him to get his shit together. The final straw came when she’d come home early from a teaching conference and found him in bed with someone she had considered to be a friend. That was when the flood defences failed and all the water she’d been ignoring for so long came rushing in, destroying everything she thought she knew and leaving her shaken to the core and gasping for breath.

It started as a spark of an idea, moving away and getting a fresh start, London perhaps, or maybe somewhere further North. Exeter held too many memories now, the hurt and betrayal burying all of the wonderful times she’d had in the city that had always been her home. She’d discussed it at length with her parents who, while saddened at the prospect of their youngest daughter moving away, encouraged her to pursue whatever would make her the happiest. The spark caught, much like it always did whenever Rosie set her mind to something and before she knew it she was applying for a United States work visa and looking for places to live in New York City. All that was left to do was to pack up her life and trust in the magic of new beginnings.

That was how she ended up in Brooklyn, New York, teaching English Literature at a local high school. It was a different kind of life, one that took her a couple of years to get used to and while Rosie wasn’t quite confident enough yet to call herself a New Yorker, she definitely felt like she had found somewhere that she could call home. That feeling started as a seed, growing roots and leaves every time she would get off the subway at the right stop or find a new coffee shop to try until eventually she could rattle off her favourite places to get an Americano or the best places to get pizza. Her family and friends loved it, naturally, having the perfect reason to come and visit the Big Apple and Rosie loving nothing more than having the opportunity to show off the city she’d grown to adore.

Of course, there were parts of her old life that she missed. How could she not? She missed her family and her university friends. She missed afternoon teas with Devonshire clotted cream and summer days spent at the beach in Torquay. ‘You can always come home, love,’ her mother would say and that was completely true and while a part of her would always yearn for the smell of the sea or the cry of a gull on a soft summer breeze and while her roots were very much planted in Devonshire soil, her heart belonged to New York City.

She’d developed somewhat of a routine during the first couple of years that she’d lived in Brooklyn and it was one that hadn’t changed much, loving nothing more than taking the subway to Manhattan on weekends to spend the day checking out all the small independently run bookstores (when she wasn’t drowning in unmarked papers, of course). This particular late-October Saturday had started much like the others; she allowed herself a well-deserved lie-in after a hectic week of teaching and a bottle of Sangiovese the previous night, savouring her first cup of coffee like it was the first she’d had in months while she set about watering her house plants. A shower that lasted entirely too long, which doubled as a Fleetwood Mac tribute concert that she was sure her neighbours appreciated, was next on the agenda before she finally bundled herself up to face a chilly Autumn day in the city.

She’d stopped off at her favourite coffee shop on the way to the station and chatted with the young barista, Laura, behind the counter, whom she’d grown to know over the months since Laura had started working there. She’d learned that Laura was planning a trip to Europe next Summer and offered some suggestions of places in England to visit, making sure to get her to promise to not just visit London. With her take-out coffee cradled in her hands, the cup serving her well as a much needed hand-warmer, the late-morning had Rosie heading towards Westsider Books, a favourite haunt of hers that she couldn’t help but keep coming back to. She had no reason at all to think that going to that store was going to prove to be another one of those moments that she could look back on as being a defining moment in her story, but with a push of the door, every star and planet aligned that set her on a course that would change her life forever.

Christopher James Kreider was a self-confessed simple man, despite his career choice and the lifestyle that came with it seeming to be anything but. He was incredibly thankful for the certain level of anonymity that came with living in a place like New York; certainly, there were times where he would be recognised and would be stopped for a picture or autograph, but in the sea of a-list celebrities that called the city home, he was just a small fish and was happiest when he was flying under the radar. The kind of life afforded by being a professional athlete playing in the National Hockey League was one that he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. Sure, he had a sweeping Tribeca apartment that he called home, he had a nice car, he went to work wearing expensive suits and could afford to eat out in the city anywhere he wanted, but the reality of it all was that he was most at ease sprawled out on his couch with a good book and a bottle of wine.

His teammates affectionately called him the hockey Renaissance man, a nod to his impressive pursuits off the ice, but it was never a name that sat comfortably with him. As far as he was concerned, he was just Chris, there was nothing special about him and his ability to deflect praise or compliments was nothing short of reflexive. His days off during the season were few and far between and he was always keen to make the most of the time afforded to him. An early start and cup of coffee usually preceded a quick workout, followed by a shower, a second coffee and a crossword puzzle while he decided how he was going to spend his day. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to stay within the sanctuary of his apartment and read Hemingway until the sun began to dip below the skyline, other times he would venture out into the city and check out the new exhibit down at the art gallery in Soho before finding somewhere quiet to enjoy a good cup of coffee.

The season had gotten off to a decent enough start, the chemistry between the team seeming to grow with each game and Chris hitting his stride early on. He’d just returned from a three game trip in Canada and despite the slight fatigue he was feeling, he was eager to get out into the city. He wasn’t in the market for anything in particular but there was a lot of joy to be found in rummaging through old record shops or second hand book stores, at least in Chris’s opinion anyway. There was something so special about a pre-loved record or book, he thought, each had their own tale to tell and each held a special place in someone’s heart at one point or another. There were barely any new editions of books on his bookshelves, some so tatty and worn that their bindings were stringy and the pages threatened to abscond if held the wrong way.

Chris was a creature of habit and it was something that he would freely admit. He often visited the stores closest to home, not often venturing further than Midtown, but with nothing but time he found himself on the 1 train and headed towards Upper West Side, Westsider Books his destination of choice. The first thing he noticed upon entering wasn’t the towering shelves that stacked books upon books but the unmistakable scent of vellichor, that grassy, almost vanilla aroma that felt a lot like coming home. The owner offered a friendly smile before nodding towards the vast collection of books.

“There’s fiction all down here, poetry’s at the back and non-fiction’s upstairs. Let me know if there’s something in particular you’re lookin’ for, I know there’s a lotta books in here.”

“Thank you,” Chris replied. “Do you have any Russian literature in at all?”

“We sure do, whatever we’ve got is on the third shelf from the back there, on your left.”

“Perfect, thanks a lot for your help.”

Chris offered the man behind the counter a smile and headed deeper into the shop, stopping in front of an impressive looking collection of Russian classics. It was easy to get lost in the volumes on the shelves, flicking through pages of different editions, some of them older than he’d ever seen before. There was one book in particular though that caught his eye, unassuming and inconspicuous enough, nestled between War and Peace and the Death of Ivan Ilyich. He reached out to touch the navy blue leather but was suddenly caught off-guard by the sensation of cold fingers knocking against his own.

“God, I’m so sorry, I was completely in my own world there.”

His eyes flicked to his right towards the source of the voice, soft and feminine with an accent that he knew not to be local. Rosie hadn’t even noticed him, which now that she was taking in his appearance properly didn’t exactly understand how she’d missed him standing beside her. He was well over six foot, she noted, and impossibly broad, but the thing that stood out to her the most about him was the unmistakable kindness in his hazel eyes, a tranquil grove of moss covered trees with their different shades of bark.

“No, no, you’re good. It’s me, big clumsy oaf over here,” he trailed off with a soft laugh, a slight heat rising in his cheeks now that he was really seeing her, with her eyes that were as blue as a summer sky and hair that reflected the colour of the autumn leaves outside.

“Did you want Anna Karenina?” Rosie asked, nodding towards the shelves.

“Oh, um, it’s okay, you go for it,” he smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that gave him a kind of softness, a familiarity almost.

“Please, I insist,” Rosie reached for the book and took it from its resting place amongst the other Tolstoy works, handing it to Chris. “I already have three different editions of this, if I took home a fourth I think an intervention would need to be staged.”

Rosie grinned as Chris laughed, the sound full and rich to her ears, while he took the book from her hands and tucked it under his arm.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He started, his eyes flitting across her features before they settled to meet her gaze. Her grin had faded into a warm smile that reached all the way up to her eyes and she was surveying him with an almost curiosity, one that he found himself matching. “I’m sorry, I know you probably get asked this all the time,” he continued, with an endearing kind of sheepishness that kept the corners of Rosie’s mouth lifted upwards, “but I gotta ask about the accent. I wanna say British but I don’t want to come across like a stereotypically ignorant American if I’m wrong.”

“Oh it’s okay,” Rosie chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “you’re only the third person to ask me today.”

Chris could tell from the sparkle in her eye and the smirk on her lips that she meant no malice in her reply and made an exaggerated cringing grimace in return.

“God, I know. I’m sorry. You must get sick of it.”

“I mean, if I had a dollar for every time someone asked I’d be a very rich lady, but yeah, your ears don’t deceive you, I’m British. Actually from Exeter in Devon specifically, which is like South West England and now I realise that that probably means nothing to you,” she laughed as she caught the slightly vacant expression that had graced his features while she had been explaining her place of birth.

“I know, I’m sorry. I guess I really am a stereotypical ignorant American.”

Rosie responded with a gentle shake of her head as she spoke, “Nah, I wouldn’t say so. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about the rest of the States, it took me longer than I care to admit to just not get lost going two or three blocks down.”

Chris smiled, both at her kindness and the gentle lilt of her accent. “So are you here visiting, or?”

Rosie shook her head again, the auburn waves shaking and falling about her face in a way that had Chris’s smile doubling.

“Well, I’m visiting Manhattan, but I live in the city, been here coming up five years now.”

“Yeah? And you like it?”

Rosie’s smile sparked at the corner of her mouth until it spread like wildfire and lit up the whole of her face. Chris couldn’t help but notice how beautiful it made her look, that kind of smile that was so undeniably authentic and genuine and yet so incredibly rare in a city as big as New York; but there it was, right in front of him and warm like sunshine.

“I love it here,” the affection in her voice clear as day. “It’s so different from anything back home and in the best possible way.”

Chris got the impression from her seemingly deliberate choice of words that there was a story there, but the classic literature aisle didn’t really seem like the time and place to get into it with someone he’d just met, nor did he want to assume that she would even offer that tale to him freely. Instead, he took the book out from under his arm and held it out to her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take this home with you?”

“I’m positive. ‘Live in the needs of the day’ as Tolstoy would say and I don’t really need that book. I’m sure you’ll give it a wonderful home.”

She met his eyes briefly, her stomach flip-flopping at the softness she found there, and gave him a warm smile that matched the one he was wearing. Chris wasn’t sure what had made him feel so bold. Perhaps it was the feeling of being so completely at ease with her, despite not even knowing her name and despite having known her for a mere five minutes, or perhaps it was the gentleness in her eyes. He didn’t spend too much of his time thinking about it as the words were out of his mouth before he could second guess them.

“At least let me buy you a coffee as a thank you.”

“Do you buy all the women you meet in bookshops coffee?” Rosie quipped without missing a beat.

“Damn, you caught me.”

Rosie laughed, easy and free with her head tipped back and Chris knew in that moment that he needed this woman in his life in some way, the sound bright and rich like the first sip of coffee in the morning or the first rays of summer sunshine filtering through curtains. He was still surveying her with an easy grin as she shuffled on her feet slightly, deciding whether she was going to let her head or her heart reign supreme today.

“I don’t usually make a habit of getting coffee with strangers,” the small smile still playing on her lips despite the tentative nature of her words.

Chris instinctively offered his hand out for her to shake.

“Well, I’m Christopher and you are?”

Rosie placed her hand in his, the smile on her face doubling in size at his kindness as she shook his hand, and tried to ignore the way her heart started to race at how warm and easy his touch felt.

“Rosie, or Roseanna if we’re using our Sunday names.”

“Nice to meet you, Rosie,” Chris said, his tone gentler than was probably necessary in the moment but it had Rosie feeling more relaxed in his presence by the second. “See, we’re not strangers anymore.”

“No, I don’t suppose we are. Alright then, Christopher, I accept your proposal of coffee and if you turn out to be an axe murderer then I hope you enjoy the book.”

It wasn’t very often that Rosie let curiosity get the better of her but there was something telling her to surrender to this moment in front of her, to let her heart win for once and throw caution to the wind. There was something about Chris and his aura that made it incredibly easy to ignore that prudent and wary voice in the back of her head that would usually call for rational and cautious thinking in situations such as this one, the voice that is often nurtured during childhood by parents and adults alike to help keep you safe from harm, the voice that would warn you about the dangers of strangers. Chris was a stranger, this was, of course, an undisputed fact, but Rosie didn’t feel like she was in any danger with this man. She guessed that it had an awful lot to do with the genuine warmth that seemed to radiate from him that made her feel less like she was with a someone she’d just met in a book shop and more like she was catching up with an old friend. It was incredibly rare that she felt so at ease with someone, let alone a man she knew nothing about except for his name, but she’d grow to learn that that was just the magic of Chris, his sincerity and kindness always radiating from him like the glow of an open fire on a cold winter’s night.

“I can say with absolute certainty that I’m not an axe murderer,” he grinned. “But if it would make you feel better I was planning on taking you to Irving Farm, y’know, so you can check in with someone if you wanted.”

That simple gesture alone told Rosie all she needed to know about Chris, the fact he was so cognizant of how a woman might be feeling going to get coffee with a man she’d just met. It was that thoughtfulness and that tingle of curiosity and wonder that had her following him to the counter and waiting as he paid for his book before they both ventured back out into the chilly air and towards the café. Making small talk on the short walk there was incredibly easy, the effortless nature of their conversation not lost on either of them and as they sat down opposite each other in a quiet corner of the shop, shedding their coats and scarves, Chris took the opportunity to really appreciate the beauty of the woman in front of him.

She was classically pretty, he thought, with her auburn locks freed from the confines of the scarf she had been wearing and the slight ruddiness to her cheeks from the way the cold air had kissed them during their short walk. But more than that, it was the way her presence seemed to uplift him in a way he hadn’t ever experienced before. Chris was an incredibly practical and logical man and the idea of kindred spirits wasn’t something that he subscribed to, but there was just something about Rosie. It was a sense of familiarity and a feeling often only felt between two people who had known each other for years. It was a feeling that, unbeknownst to him, Rosie shared too, not quite being able to remember a time where she was able to enthusiastically discuss literature at such great lengths with someone.

“So come on,” Chris said over his cup of coffee after they’d settled at a table in a quiet corner of the café. “You were able to quote Anna Karenina from memory, is there a particular reason for that or have I managed to find an even bigger book nerd than I am?”

Rosie smirked as she took a sip from her cup, eyes sparkling as she surveyed Chris. “I am a pretty big book nerd, but no, I actually teach literature.”

Chris’s eyebrows raised as an impressed little smirk pulled the corner of his lips upwards. He set his cup down and clasped his hands in front of him on the table.

“Forgive me for being bold here and by all means tell me to mind my own damn business, but what exactly makes a British literature teacher cross an ocean and put roots down in New York City?”

Rosie paused for a moment, chewing over her words in her mind.

“A vague sense of wanderlust, I guess,” she began carefully. “I don’t know, there was just… a lot of stuff that happened in my life and it felt like a good time for a fresh start while I was still young enough and brave enough to do it.”

“I’m sorry if that was too personal,” Chris looked at her apologetically, the slight flicker of sadness that had appeared in her eyes too prominent to ignore. “I didn’t mean to bring any painful memories back for you by prying.”

“It’s absolutely fine. All the diversity, all the charm and all the beauty of life are made up of light and shade, right?”

“You really love that book, don’t you?” Chris asked her softly, recognising the quote from the book currently sitting in the brown paper bag by his feet immediately, and with a gleam in his eye.

“It’s one of my favourites,” Rosie replied. “It’s probably up there with Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Pride and Prejudice and For Whom the Bell Tolls.”

“You like Hemingway?” Chris’s eyes crinkled with his grin and shone with excitement as she nodded in agreement. “I love Hemingway,” he added. “He’s easily my favourite author.”

Rosie leaned forward in her seat and rested her arms on the table with her cup still cradled in her hands, Chris mirroring her action, like two school children about to share a secret.

“I love the beautiful simplicity of his writing. It’s direct but without losing any of the emotion or feeling. Like, don’t get me wrong, Russian literature and authors like Tolkien are wonderful and they certainly have their part to play, but sometimes there’s just no need for pages and pages just to get a point across. That’s the beauty of Hemingway, the straightforwardness of it.”

“Yes!” Chris exclaimed, his face lighting up. “That’s exactly it. Take The Old Man and the Sea as an example, that book is what? Twenty-seven thousand words? But the feeling and the message that he’s able to get across, it’s amazing. God, I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve read that book.”

“A favourite of yours, then?”

Chris nodded as he picked up his mug. “Without a doubt, followed closely by For Whom the Bell Tolls and An Immovable Feast.”

He punctuated his statement with a wink and a smile, savouring the way Rosie’s face would ignite with pure joy as she laughed.

“Perhaps we should compare notes,” she mused behind her coffee.

“Is that you saying you wanna meet up again?” Chris asked, a cocky grin on his face.

“What if it is?” She countered quickly, a twinkle in her eye that had Chris’s heart thundering in his chest.

“Then I think you’d better take my number.”

The weeks passed and autumn collapsed into winter, the first frosts clinging to everything and covering the city in opaline glitter. Rosie’s schedule had begun to slow following the initial insanity of the beginning of the academic year as things started to wind down for the holidays. She’d spent a lot of her free time preparing for her annual trip home to England to spend Christmas with her family, something that she looked forward to all year. Whatever time was left was spent reading or catching up with Chris, who had been equally busy with his work as a professional hockey player. He’d mentioned this to her briefly and in passing during their phone calls, which certainly explained why his schedule was often so all over the place, but the concept was so alien to Rosie that she didn’t feel the need to pry further. Growing up in Devon meant that her exposure to a sport like ice hockey was next to nothing, her knowledge extending as far as movies such as The Mighty Ducks would afford. In fact, when she thought about it, she didn’t know anybody who played sports professionally in any capacity and so while she was intrigued by Chris and the story behind how he came to be in such a career in a city like New York (knowing him to be from Massachusetts originally), she also knew that he was so much more than all of the stereotypes she’d heard associated with professional athletes.

He wasn’t a big, dumb jock, far from it actually. Chris was incredibly intelligent, philosophical in ways she admired so much but with an endearing and quick sense of humour. His thirst for knowledge and appreciation for the world around him was unlike any she’d ever seen and it somehow made him more handsome than any of his classically good-looking physical features. There was an intrigue, of course, surrounding him and his job, but Rosie also knew that he would offer that part of himself to her in time and when he felt most comfortable doing so. She imagined that he didn’t always get to have the luxury of authentic meetings with people who didn’t already know about him and his job, and for all the lovely moments he’d already given her in their growing friendship, she wanted to pay him back in kind by not forcing anything on him that he wasn’t yet ready to talk about.

It was incredible really, how easy it was for her to fall into friendship with Chris, made only easier with each discovery of a new shared interest. Their texts would often consist of them sending things the other might find interesting such as a new book or a new song to listen to. Hearing from him was something that she found herself looking forward to, especially appreciating when he would take time out of his day while he was away from home to check in with her and catch up.

As the end of the semester creeped closer, Rosie found herself surrounded by gifts she had already wrapped ahead of her trip home and a small pile of clothes, the open suitcase on the bed still empty despite her best intentions. She always found packing incredibly dull (although admittedly not as bad as unpacking once she returned to New York) and would often preoccupy herself with anything and everything to avoid doing it, which always resulted in a stressful last-minute packing situation that she was keen to avoid this year. She stood with her hands on her hips as she surveyed the situation in front of her, deciding the best way in which to go about organising her suitcase, when her phone vibrated against her dressing table. Unable to contain the flicker of a smile that tugged at her mouth as she saw the Caller ID flash with Chris’s name, she answered.

“Hey, you.”

She could hear what sounded like a group of very rowdy men in the background in what she could only assume was a bar.

“I need you to help settle a debate.”

Rosie smiled as she cradled her phone between her cheek and her shoulder, using her free hands to pick up a pair of jeans and place them into the suitcase.

“Sounds serious.”

“Oh it is and we’re at a deadlock over here so your opinion decides it, I hope you can handle that kind of pressure,” Chris teased.

“Oh, Christopher, I was born ready.”

“Alright, but this is like legit serious stuff.”

“Out with it, Chris,” Rosie laughed.

“Crunchy or smooth?”

“Excuse me?” Rosie asked with an incredulous look on her face that she knew Chris would’ve laughed at had he been able to see her.

“Peanut butter,” he clarified. “Crunchy or smooth?”

“Wow,” Rosie deadpanned. “And here I was thinking you were about to ask me something incredibly philosophical.”

“Oh come on, Ro, don’t leave me hanging here.”

“I suppose if I had to choose, I’d probably go with smooth.”

“Ha!” Chris exclaimed, causing Rosie to jump. “She said smooth, looks like you’re the one with the weird peanut butter preferences, Foxy.”

Rosie furrowed her brow at the incoherent shouting and cheering in the background as she put more clothes into her suitcase.

“I’m so confused right now.”

She listened as the sound of raucous chatter faded into a faint buzz and Chris’s voice came back through the speaker clearer yet softer than it had been before.

“Sorry about that, the guys can get a little excitable sometimes.”

“Rookies had too many beers?”

“Yeah,” Chris breathed. “Something like that. How’re you doin’ anyway? Things settled for you at work?”

“Yeah,” she replied softly, perching herself on the edge of her bed, careful not to knock any of the small wrapped packages onto the floor. “I got all of those papers turned round and the results were actually kind of encouraging, which was nice.”

“That’s probably because they’ve got a good teacher.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Rosie blushed, thankful that he couldn’t see the interesting shade of pink her face had turned.

Chris’s reply was unexpected, somehow managing to knock her back a bit with the sincerity and softness in his tone that seemed more intimate than perhaps their current level of friendship afforded.

“I mean it, Ro. I know you know your stuff. They’re lucky to have someone like you teaching them.”

His words hung in the air around Rosie for a few seconds while she processed them, or rather, while she started to analyse the tenderness in his tone that she was sure she hadn’t imagined. He didn’t give her too long to get lost in it though as he was speaking again before she had a chance to truly unpack her thoughts.

“So things have settled down for you, yeah?”

“Um, yeah.. Yeah. I’ve just been packing for my trip back home,” Rosie replied, picking up one of the small gift-wrapped boxes and examining it for no particular reason.

“Right, of course. When is it you fly?”

“December twenty-first, fly back into JFK on the fourth of January.”

“I’ll be in California when you get back,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “But it’d be great to see you before you go to England. Maybe dinner or coffee?”

“That would be really nice, Chris,” the smile evident in her voice to Chris even through the phone.

“Great, we’ll arrange something once I’m back in the city at the end of the week.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Chris hesitated, not quite ready to say goodbye but knowing that he should probably get back to the others and leave Rosie to the rest of her evening. He knew he had to though, even if it did make his chest ache for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

“I’ll let you get on with your packing,” he half-sighed.

“Please don’t feel like you need to,” Rosie replied with the faintest hint of a plea.

“I do because if I don’t you’ll never finish packing your suitcase.”

There it was, that easy teasing that had become a defining feature of their friendship in just the few weeks they’d known each other and had managed to shift the atmosphere between them from something that neither could quite put their finger on to one that was much more playful and familiar.

Rosie groaned exaggeratedly, earning her a hearty chuckle from Chris.

“But I hate packing,” she whined.

“Welcome to being an adult, suck it up, Buttercup.”

“You’re mean.”

Despite her words, Chris knew that there was no truth in them and he also knew that she herself didn’t believe them, which made the playful back-and-forth banter between the two of them come easily.

“No, I’m Chris.”

“Oh my god!” Rosie laughed, exasperated. “I’m hanging up now, goodbye!”

Chris’s rich chuckle was the last thing she heard before she ended the call and tossed her phone onto her pillows, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of his humour before turning her attention back to the pile of clothes by her suitcase.

Christmas went as quickly as it came, passing in such a blur that it had Rosie questioning if she’d had any time off at all. It didn’t take her long to settle back into the groove of things though, it never did, and by the time the frosts of winter began to thaw, the warm glow of the festive season was nothing more than a cheerful memory. Much like the first beautiful petals of spring, Chris and Rosie’s friendship continued to blossom.

Rosie would have been lying if she said that she didn’t wish their schedules would match up more. A particularly busy January for Chris meant that they hadn’t had chance to meet since just before Christmas and it had Rosie wondering just what exactly Chris’s job entailed. It wasn’t really something that had come up during their phone calls and it was something that she felt deserved to be done face-to-face rather than over a text message, because truth be told, she didn’t have the first idea when it came to ice hockey. Keen to know more about the man that was fast becoming somebody she considered to be a close friend, she resolved to ask him the next time they met for coffee.

“So are you ever going to tell me about this big, shiny career of yours or am I supposed to just keep thinking you’re some James Bond of professional hockey,” she mused as she broke off a piece of blueberry muffin and popped it into her mouth.

Chris blushed slightly as he took a drawn out sip of coffee.

“I mean, yeah, sure. What do you wanna know?”

He set his cup down and clasped his hands on the table in front of him, the flicker of nervousness extinguished quickly by the kindness that rested within her eyes.

“Well,” she started. “I believe I’ve mentioned before that the only hockey I knew of before meeting you was the field hockey they made us play at secondary school. So, everything I guess? Oh, and I’m going to need you to explain like I’m five.”

Chris couldn’t help but chuckle at the good-natured smirk on her face and ran a hand along the stubble at his jaw.

“Alright, well. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to start from the top. I played hockey in high school, then went to Boston College, they have a really good collegiate hockey programme there and it’s a good school to boot. I got drafted in 2009 by the New York Rangers then I signed my first contract with them in 2012, been here ever since.”

“So you must be bloody good at hockey then,” Rosie said after swallowing her coffee which made the pink tinge to Chris’s cheeks even more prominent.

“I mean, I’m not terrible.”

Rosie grinned at him and at his humility which she had come to know as being one of Chris’s prominent traits. “And your schedule? I know it’s a bit mental but what does an average day look like for you?”

“That depends,” Chris replied. “Are we talking an off-day? Game day? Away trip?”

“All of the above?” Rosie laughed.

“My days off I still like to get a work-out in, even if it’s just a small one. But other than that? I don’t know, maybe meet incredible women from Devon in bookshops?”

It was Rosie’s turn to have her cheeks flush, especially with the way Chris was looking at her with an unreadable look in his eyes. Chris continued though, despite the thundering in his chest at how beautiful she looked in that moment.

“Game days I’ll usually get up, go to practice. I try and take a nap in the afternoon before I have to go down to the Garden to get ready for the game and it’s much the same if I’m away on the road. We usually practice before we travel to wherever it is we’re headed.”

“That sounds incredibly full-on.”

“It is,” Chris agreed. “But it really makes you appreciate the time at home and the moments of stillness. Why’d you think I love getting lost in a good book so much?”

“Because, in the words of Dr Seuss, ‘the more you read, the more things you’ll know. The more you learn, the more places you’ll go.’”

Chris looked at her softly, a warm smile on his face. “Spoken like a true teacher.”

“So come on then,” she blushed, steering the conversation away from herself and back to him. “You went to Boston College, right? What did you end up studying?”

“Communications,” Chris said as he finished taking a sip of coffee. “I uh, it was really important to my mom for me to finish my degree so I kept plugging away at it even after I went pro.”

“Wow,” Rosie looked at him, clearly impressed. “That’s incredible, Chris. I mean, getting a degree is a hard enough slog when you’re doing it full time, but to do it while you’re travelling here there and everywhere? That’s no easy feat.”

It was Chris’s turn to blush now, too humble and too modest to be able to accept the praise Rosie was giving him.

“I knew how much it meant to my mom and I just wanted to make her happy, that and I was too stubborn to not finish something I’d started.”

“Your birthday is the end of April, right?” She said rather suddenly but as if something had clicked in the back of her mind.

“Yeah, April 30th. Why? You been googling me?”

“Oh it’s nothing really,” she said quickly, face flushing and suddenly aware of how stupid it would sound to him if she actually said it out loud. “And for the record, I haven’t googled you, I just remembered you mentioning your birthday last time we met up.”

“Nah, you can’t just do that,” he chuckled softly. “Come on, what were you gonna say?”

“Well,” she started, her fingers and eyes finding the coffee cup in front of her, anything to avoid the part where he looked at her like she was mad. “I was just gonna say that you really are a typical Taurus.”

Chris leaned forward in his seat, hands settling just shy of hers but the almost contact enough to make her skin spark.

“That so?” he mused. “You big into your astrology?”

“No, well yes, sort of,” she rushed and Chris could tell that she was almost ashamed of the admission. “I don’t read magazine horoscopes or anything like that because they really are a load of bollocks. But natal charts and stuff like that? I find them totally fascinating. I um, I’m kind of into crystal healing, I sage my apartment, I know it’s nuts.”

“No it’s not,” Chris took her hand then, the need to reassure her and ground her in a moment where she felt vulnerable and exposed. “Is it something that I believe in personally? No, not really. But truthfully I don’t know anything about it either. If it makes you happy then it really doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Maybe you could tell me more about it over dinner or something?”

Rosie looked at him thoughtfully, so appreciative of him in that moment and that ineffable gift of his to make her feel valued and listened to. It was that and all the other wonderful little facets of himself that he was showing her that had her agreeing to his proposal of dinner. She thought about the level of bravery that it must have taken for him to talk about that other side of his life, the side that she knew nothing about, no matter how small or trifling it might have seemed to anyone else. While she might not have had the first clue when it came to the sport or could even truly comprehend what Chris’s life was like, she understood that it must be incredibly difficult for somebody in his situation to forge true and meaningful relationships with people, friendly or otherwise, because when it feels like someone you have just met thinks they already know everything about you, it’s incredibly hard to let the guard come down and let people get close. That is what Chris appreciated the most about Rosie, though, the fact that she hadn’t the faintest idea who number 20 of the New York Rangers was. Every conversation they’d ever shared and every question she’d ever asked came from a genuine and altruistic desire to get to know him better. Even now, as she encouraged him to share that other part of him, that so many others defined him by, it came only from a place of pure and innocent curiosity. She asked about his job much in the same way she would ask an accountant or doctor about theirs.

Being able to have that conversation with her about his life and his job only served to strengthen the bond that they shared and he was incredibly thankful for Rosie’s understanding and willingness to fit her schedule and life around his. As the months passed and summer fast approached, Chris found himself for the first time reluctant to escape the stifling heat of the city after the season had ended. He was enjoying being able to spend more time with Rosie now that the school year had come to a close and he was shocked to learn that even after living in the city for close to six years at that point, she still hadn’t explored all of Manhattan. Their days were filled with walks around the West Village, Midtown or Tribeca and having lunches at tiny hole-in-the wall cafés where they would show each other the books they had picked up in whatever shop they’d found themselves in that morning.

It was that time shared together that made it incredibly easy for Rosie to become a stable fixture in Chris’s life with evenings spent at each other’s apartments having dinner and sharing wine. Rosie had learned quickly that Chris was a capable cook and Chris loved nothing more than when Rosie would cook pasta for him, even if it wasn’t exactly his nutritionist’s dream. It was easy to relax in that kind of way around her, forgetting the strict food regime every once in a while to really savour the beef ragu she made that he loved so much, always washed down with a couple of bottles of Sangiovese shared between them and finished with a homemade tiramisu. It was wholesome, much like she was with the softness of her curves and her insouciant attitude when it came to her looks. That was not to say that she didn’t make an effort, that wasn’t the case at all, for she would always look so put together and incredibly beautiful whenever Chris would see her, but she was the kind of woman who wouldn’t think twice about letting herself indulge in a slice of cake with her coffee or get too hung up on the calorie content of a pasta carbonara, which was a quality that Chris found to be both incredibly refreshing and endearing.

The natural quality of their relationship should have made it incredibly easy for Rosie to give in to those feelings she found beginning to settle in her chest. Chris was a wonderful man, that much was undeniably true and it should have been simple to confront the ache she felt whenever he went away. But if there was one thing Rosie had learned in her life, it was that if you expect too much, if you put people on pedestals that were too high, you would find yourself being disappointed. That was a simple fact of life. People were just that, people, capable of making mistakes. They were not divine beings, no matter how much we saw them as such through our own eyes. It was that idea alone that startled her; that a man such as Chris could be capable of disappointing her by the pure reasoning of the human condition and that was a thought that she couldn’t bear. So she pushed it down, down and down until it was quieter than a whisper. But even whispers can’t be ignored forever, and so with each comment from Chris’s friends about how happy he was since meeting her or each time her skin would spark at the feeling of his hand on the small of her back, the whisper grew, growing and growing with every team event she attended on his arm or every party he asked her along to, until it was a shout.

Relationships had never been something to come easy to Chris, he was too careful and too private; the gnawing feeling in his stomach that told him there was always some ulterior motive was often too arresting to ignore. It should have frightened him, the way Rosie came into his life and smashed through every wall he’d ever built without even doing much at all, but it didn’t. Rather than look at all the bricks and the rubble and be unnerved by the ease in which she was able to coax his vulnerability out of him, he found himself inspired, determined even, to build something truly beautiful with her. Chris knew that he would have to find a way to navigate these feelings with her, cognizant of the need to not throw her into the deep end and shock her system. Rosie deserved better than that because this wasn’t just about him and his feelings, it was about them and their relationship, what it was now and what it could be.

She was brilliant, in every way a person could be, beautiful and with a passion that glowed like the fiery tresses of her hair under a New York sunset. She was bold and sharp as a tack, keeping him on his toes in a way that no one else had ever been able to and he was sure that no one else would ever again. It was late night conversations where they were three bottles of wine deep talking about philosophy and ethics or her reading silently while he played guitar, it was listening to Pearl Jam with her whenever she cooked or Billy Joel when they were curled up together on the sofa, debating whether Radiohead or Nirvana was more influential in the grunge music scene. Hell, it was even looking up his birth chart, even though he didn’t believe in astrology, because there was just something about the way she said ‘You’re such a typical Sagittarius moon.’ Her warmth and her kindness always managed to ground him in moments where he would feel himself slipping, as sure as the moon rises and sets each night, especially once the season had restarted and those niggling insecurities would rear up and settle heavily in his chest, and yet he could tell that she never really knew the exact power that she held. She had his heart completely, whether she was aware of it or not and that was something that Chris hoped would never change. She’d slotted into his life like she had always belonged there, like she had always been there and that feeling only seemed to grow inside of Chris with every dinner they shared with his friends and every time he would see her face in the stands of MSG.

The week before Christmas brought an uncharacteristically early winter storm to New York unlike any Chris had ever seen throughout his whole time living there, forcing the city to a standstill and grounding flights, which meant that for the first time since moving to the States, Rosie wasn’t going to be home for Christmas. The idea of her spending the holiday alone in her apartment made Chris’s heart ache and so that was how Rosie ended up in his Tribeca apartment on Christmas Eve, bundled up with him on the sofa under a blanket, each with a mug of homemade mulled wine. The Muppet’s A Christmas Carol played quietly through the tv, one of Rosie’s Christmas Eve traditions that he would never dream of denying her, although, no matter what he would later admit to, he spent more time observing the gentle expression on her face as she got lost in the nostalgia of it all than he did actually paying attention to the screen. She felt him though, not even needing to take her eyes off the movie to know that he was watching her.

“You’re missing all the good bits,” she smirked.

“It’s okay, I’ve read the book. I know what happens.”

There was a slight grit to his tone that Rosie couldn’t quite place but crawled under her skin and kindled a small flame in her stomach all the same.

“But there were no Muppets in the book.” She turned to face him then and took in the expression within his eyes, darker than she’d ever seen them before. “Kermit really brings Dickens’ story to life.”

“I mean, Beaker steals it for me but we’ll agree to disagree.”

The air thickened around them and Rosie took a long sip of her wine, longer than perhaps she should have, but she needed to swallow away the tightness in her throat from the way Chris was looking at her. Like planets to a sun, Rosie found herself drawn to him, suddenly feeling him everywhere despite the fact they were at opposite ends of his couch. It was that gravity that had her shuffling towards him, crawling into his space in the same way she had crawled into his heart. He was warm, she thought, comfortingly so and the worn hoody on his body felt soft and had the familiar, soothing scent that was so uniquely Chris. Perhaps that is what had her curling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder and perhaps that new-found closeness was what had him pressing his lips into her hair.

There was no way either of them could deny what this was between them, the spark too bright to ignore. Rosie knew that they weren’t just friends, she knew that and she knew that Chris felt it too, that was why his face was turned towards hers, his lips impossibly close so that all she needed to do was tilt her head and give in to what her heart was crying out for. But her head was a cruel mistress indeed and it was that irrational but crippling fear of eventual disappointment that made her clear her throat and scoot back a shade, giving herself some much needed breathing room.

Chris exhaled quietly, the deflation leaving him on the breath. It was almost frustrating how close they were, the finish line within touching distance and yet they always seemed to stop short of it. Chris was there, he was there waiting and willing her to take those last few steps and cross it with him but he knew that he couldn’t force this, nor did he want to either. She had to want it for herself and Chris knew, as he looked at her sitting there chewing on her bottom lip with her brows knitted together in pensive thought, that she was worth the wait, even if it took a lifetime.

The post-holiday back to work rush was one that was felt universally. Those first few weeks always seemed to feel as though there was never enough hours in the day to get everything done and it was no different for Chris and Rosie, both caught up in their jobs to really sit and digest the moment between them at Christmas. Christmas Day had been incredibly busy with Chris hosting a couple of the younger players for dinner and no sooner had the festivities ended he was packing a bag ready to depart for Washington the following morning. They both knew that they had a lot of things to discuss, because that’s what adults did, they talked about their feelings in a healthy and open way, but as the busy-ness of their schedules ramped up, the hours slipped away and turned into days. Days spanned into weeks and weeks turned into months and before either of them knew it, the moment seemed so distant in the rear-view mirror, that it almost felt weird to bring it back up.

The hockey season ended for Chris some time during May, the Rangers making it as far as the second round of the playoffs but unable to close it out after seven hard fought games. The disappointment sat heavy in his chest, much like it always did after losses like these, but he would have been a fool not to notice the way that it didn’t hang all about him in the way it had previous years. Of course, the wound still cut deep but without the festering ache of poison and he knew the antidote was the woman who had swept into his life nearly two years prior.

It was remarkable really, how she came into his world like that. It was an event that Chris had always described as being purely serendipitous but the longer he spent with Rosie, the more he began to wonder if there was something else at play, hell, even fate perhaps. He had prided himself on being a shrewd man, his practicality something that had always defined him and guided his thoughts and actions, but whenever he thought about them and their relationship, he had to believe that it was more than just some happy accident. Rosie was pure magic, in every sense of the word, always having an uncanny ability to know what he needed before he even did and making him relax in ways he had never previously allowed himself to. It was cliché to say, but Chris genuinely believed that he had never lived until he met her and slowly, over the course of the last year, maybe even longer, the love songs on the radio made a little bit more sense and every love story he’d ever read sat a little bit differently in his heart. He knew that he was going to have to find a way to truly make her his, because despite all of the times where he felt like he could’ve just grabbed her face and kissed her, despite all of the unspoken feelings that had surfaced at Christmas, and despite the fact that they hadn’t yet managed to talk about them, the dynamic between them both after their almost kiss hadn’t changed at all except in the small way that he found himself having to stop himself from holding her in the way that he wanted to more often than not.

He thought about the one night she’d almost burst with excitement over their dinner at her apartment when he told her he had finally sat down and read Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, remembering the wind-scattered waves in her eyes and so sure that if anyone was brave enough to enter their depths, all else would blur and they would fall so deeply in love that they’d choose to stay there, no matter what, because he knew for certain that he had befallen that very fate. He recalled thinking that if that was the last thing he was to ever see, he would surely die a happy man. She had recited her favourite quote to him that he thought to be beautiful at the time but now hitting him like a freight train and knocking all of the wind out of his sails. It crawled through his skin and into his veins until he felt it coursing through his body until it had made a home within his very soul:

‘Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body… for that is just being in love, which any of us can convince ourselves that we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away.’

It was those words that had his feet carrying him to his car and those words that had him driving from his apartment to her home in Brooklyn and it was those words that had him standing outside of her front door ready to offer his heart to her. He knocked, more out of habit than anything, the key she had given him a few months ago being turned over between his fingers as he waited and the anxiety beginning to rise with each second that passed without her appearing at the door. He exhaled before finally putting the key into the lock, certain that she was home despite the fact that his visit was unplanned and unannounced.

“Rosie?” he called out into the hallway. “Are you there?”

The silence was unsettling and completely uncharacteristic, made worse by the fact that her car was parked outside in its usual spot and the fact that he could’ve sworn she’d mentioned during their phone call the night before that she was planning on having a day at home to do laundry and catch up on all of those less-important chores she didn’t have the time to do during the school year.

‘Maybe she’s not home after all’, he thought after a couple of minutes without a reply, more to soothe his own anxiety more than anything else. ‘She’s obviously decided to go out for a walk somewhere. That must be it.’ He was just about to turn away and leave, suddenly aware of how intrusive his presence in her home was when she clearly wasn’t there, when he was certain he heard her voice call his name.

“Rosie?”

A sob drifted down the hallway, muted but no less full of raw pain and anguish that had his legs carrying him towards the sound in big, long strides until it brought him to her bedroom where the door stood slightly ajar. He slowly pushed it open with an exhale of a breath he hadn’t felt being held within his lungs and his heart lurched at the sight of her curled up on her bed sobbing into her pillow. To go to her was instinctive, his soul called out to hers in a desperate attempt to soothe whatever pain she was in and he found himself kneeling at the side of her bed with his long fingers smoothing back the titian strands that had fallen into her face and clung to her tears.

“Ro, what happened?”

She didn’t answer him, couldn’t answer him, in fact, and so he moved onto the bed, gathering her up into his arms and held her close to his chest while he rubbed circles on her back, murmuring softly into her hair to try and still her sobs. He felt the way she clung on to him like she was drowning and he was the life-preserver and pressed gentle kisses against her forehead until her crying was no more than quiet sniffles.

“Rosie, sweetheart, talk to me. What happened? Are you okay?”

“My grandma,” she choked out against the fabric of his t-shirt. “My grandma died.”

Chris closed his eyes and exhaled as the second wave of tears took her, holding her steadfast against him and saying nothing other than reassuring her that he was there for her. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that for, with her still impossibly close to him long after she’d finished crying herself hollow, until after the tears had dried and all that was left was the crippling deadweight of grief. It was Chris that spoke out into the new but deafening silence, his voice barely audible and a little rough from his own emotion that sat threateningly high in his throat.

“I’m so sorry, Rosie…”

The tiny exhale that passed Rosie’s lips had Chris’s heart breaking in two for her. Her reply small and full of defeat. “She’d had dementia for a while… Didn’t really know who any of us were,” she sniffled, dangerously close to losing it again. “Every time I went back home it was like she had to learn who I was all over again. I know that this was the kindest thing to happen but-”

Chris kissed her forehead as she choked back a sob, a wordless assurance that she didn’t need to say another word and a quiet understanding of the pain and emptiness that she was drowning in.

“When are you flying home?” He murmured softly.

“I’m going to try and get a flight home for tomorrow, Thursday at the latest.”

“It’s gonna be expensive to try and get something that short notice, Ro.”

“That’s why I have savings,” Rosie gave a small, almost robotic shrug as she wiped her face, the emotion quickly being forced back down into her stomach as she turned her focus towards the things that she could control to keep herself from spiralling into hysterics again. “In case of an emergency.”

“Let me pay for your flight home,” Chris offered. “Please, it’s the least I can do.”

“You know I can’t accept that, honey.”

Chris had been friends with Rosie long enough to be familiar with the fact she often used terms of endearment whenever she was talking to him, but even now, especially now, with all those feelings of complete clarity about her and about them and their relationship that sat in his chest, it still managed to knock him back a bit and make his heart swell even in a moment as awful as this one.

“Why not?”

He knew that this was a situation where he shouldn’t push too hard, that she would either pull away from him or direct all of that grief and emotion his way, like a cornered animal seconds away from deciding whether to fight or bolt. He knew he shouldn’t push this but he needed to do something, the overwhelming demand coming from his heart to make this right and fix this for her too much to ignore.

“Because I’m not your problem, Chris,” Rosie said, completely deflated. “Because this doesn’t need to be your problem.”

“I want to help, Ro, please. Please let me help. Please let me help fix this.” He was pleading with her and while a part of Rosie understood his desire to make this better for her, the swirling hurricane of emotions inside of her was reaching a fever pitch and, unable to make sense of it all, she found herself directing her howling gales towards the one thing she should have been holding on to.

“This isn’t something you can fix, Chris! You can’t fix this, you can’t make this right and you can’t bring her back!”

She stood with her fists balled tightly, the pain on her face as she sobbed and the realisation that she was right cutting through Chris like a knife. He had never been one to lose his nerve in a crisis, always the dependable one, always the stoic one. He was the guy people could rely on when things were shitty and it was something he prided himself on, but seeing her in front of him, shattered and in agony, knowing that he would have to sit this one out until she’d had a chance to process everything, left him feeling weak and powerless.

He watched her in stunned silence, unable to articulate feelings that he couldn’t make sense of. She was standing no more than three meters away from him but the distance between them felt like it stretched light-years. He couldn’t let her go to England with that hanging between the two of them, that ocean that would separate them felt like she would slip into another universe entirely and leave him with too much uncertainty about how things would be once she got back to New York. She didn’t give him a choice, though, her voice sounding abstract and unlike her own as she spoke into the void between them.

“I’m sorry, I just… I think I need to be alone right now. I need to wrap my head around this and it,” she paused for a moment, a shaky sigh filling the space. “It’s not fair on you for me to throw my emotions at you like this.”

“Rosie,” he spoke her name like a prayer, an oblique supplication that she heard but couldn’t accept.

“Please, Christopher. I know that you just want to help and, Christ, I appreciate you so much but I can’t accept your money, that’s just not my way, and I need to process this in my own way. I promise you though, I’ll let you know when I’m leaving for the UK and I swear that I’ll keep in touch.”

He hated it, all of it, but he loved her and he knew that she needed this, no matter how much it killed him to have to let her do things her own way. So that’s how he found himself nodding and respecting her request before folding her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her temple that he hoped would convey all of the affection and love that he held for her. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to cry as he drove back to his apartment and prayed to whoever was listening that she would be okay and that they would be okay, because if he lost that magic, if he lost her, he would have nothing.

It was two days later when Rosie reached out to say that she was at the airport waiting for her flight back to England, those forty-eight hours without talking to her the longest he’d ever endured. She assured him that while she was still not in a great place herself, that they were okay and that she appreciated everything he had offered to do for her. The messages were shorter than Chris was used to but it did help to make that feeling of distance between them feel a little less insurmountable than before.

June would usually have him heading to his coastal home in Connecticut or making the trip back to Massachusetts to be with his family, but he instead found himself lingering in New York, although with Rosie in England indefinitely he wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t committed to definite summer plans. If he really thought about it, though, really gave it more than a second’s thought and was completely honest with himself, he knew that he was waiting for her. He didn’t want to go home to Boxford and for her to come back to a city without him there. He wanted to be the one to welcome her back, pick her up from the airport and wrap her up in a hug that would have her never doubting how he truly felt about her. But really, when he spent time dissecting that desire to be there for her when she got back to New York, it actually stemmed from a desire to be with her, period. That was what had him picking up the phone and scrolling through his contacts, not even giving it a second thought when he hit that ‘call’ button but the guilt instantaneous when a sleepy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I completely forgot about the time difference,” Chris exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“You never call without texting first. What’s on your mind?”

Chris sighed into the receiver, using the pause to gather his thoughts into some kind of semblance of coherence rather than dumping them all out in one go.

“I don’t even fucking know anymore, Mika.”

Mika’s tone shifted as the last remnants of sleep fell away, taking on the familiar quality that seemed to be reserved only for Chris. “Did something happen between you and Rosie?”

“Not really?” Chris offered, unsure of the answer to Mika’s question himself. “It’s just… It feels wrong, all of this.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. What feels wrong? I thought you loved her.”

“That’s just it, Mika,” Chris exhaled. “I do, fuck, I love her so much and the fact that she’s there and I’m here-”

Chris’s deep sigh through the receiver had Mika sitting up in bed, his next words spoken with such a surety as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So go to her.”

“What?”

Mika laughed so softly that it was barely audible, shaking his head despite Chris not being able to see him.

“Y’know, for someone so smart you really are dumb sometimes.”

“Okay, first of all, ouch,” Chris grumbled. “Second of all, rude. Thirdly, what’re you getting at exactly?”

“What I’m getting at,” groused Mika, too tired from being woken up in the wee hours of the morning to have any great level of patience. “Is that you should book a flight and get your ass to the UK.”

“Just like that? Just go?”

“Yes, Jesus, Chris. I don’t know what else you want me to say, man, it’s three in the morning here and Irma will kick my ass if I wake her up.”

“Right, yeah,” Chris mumbled, the guilt at waking up his friend rearing its head again. “Sorry, I know I shoulda thought about the time difference.”

“The only reason you have to be sorry is if you don’t pack a bag as soon as we’re done talking and go get on the next fucking plane to England.”

Chris paused, long enough to gather his thoughts but not long enough for Mika to be concerned.

“I guess I’ll let you know when I land then.”

“Give her a hug from me, Chris,” Mika said with complete sincerity.

“‘Course I will, and Mika?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks, man.”

Mika smiled into the darkness of his bedroom before answering softly, “anytime.”

Chris had never been to England before and he wasn’t afraid to admit that his geography knowledge of the country was somewhat lacking, so to say that this trip was going to be a baptism of fire would have been entirely accurate. He was a confident enough driver, if he were to say so himself, but he’d have been a big fat liar (to put it in Rosie’s words) if he didn’t admit that the prospect of driving the 160 miles from London Heathrow to Exeter, on the wrong side of the road he might add, filled him with a little bit of dread. But if there was a woman worth braving the complete absurdity of a roundabout for, it was Rosie.

He couldn’t help but feel like he was going behind her back a little bit, using the excuse of wanting to send flowers to her as a means to get her parents’ address when he’d spoken to her on the phone the previous morning. He hoped that she would be able to forgive his little deception and see the purity of his intentions behind it, although he did pick up some flowers on the way to her parents’ house from the small hotel he was staying at, wanting to fulfil that part of the bargain at least. His heart thundered in his chest as he turned into a quiet residential street that the GPS was signalling as being his destination. He pulled up outside the house, checking, double checking and triple checking that he had the right address before he shut off the car engine and got out, grabbing the large bouquet of flowers off the back seat. He can’t ever remember a time that his palms were this clammy or where his legs felt like they were about to give way from under him quite like they did at that moment as he walked up the short driveway to the front door.

He rubbed his free hand on the front of his jeans, taking a settling breath before he knocked on the door, unsure of what to expect when it opened. His eyebrows raised in surprise when an older looking gentleman answered, who looked equally surprised to see a slightly dishevelled looking, six foot three stranger on his doorstep.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Chris spoke, thankful that he was at least able to find his strong voice despite the distraction of his heart hammering in his chest.

“Alright there, mate?” the man greeted, with an accent that Chris noted to be far stronger than Rosie’s. “You lost or summat?”

“I hope not,” Chris laughed more out of nerves than anything else. “I’m actually here to see Roseanna.”

He hadn’t meant to sound so unsure of himself, his statement coming out as more of a question and nothing at all like his normal confident self. The older man didn’t seem to pay too much notice to it though, instead breaking into a smile that Chris recognised as being near enough identical to Rosie’s and gestured for him to come inside the house.

“She’s just got back from walkin’ the dog, I’ll get ‘er for you.”

Chris watched as the man disappeared the short way down the hallway and called Rosie’s name into the kitchen, unable to stop the grin from forming on his face as he heard her voice reply to the man he had assumed to be her father.

“Someone’s ‘ere to see you, love, what? No, I don’t know who he is… maybe one of your university mates,” he turned back to give Chris a friendly nod before adding, “she’ll be right with you.”

Sure enough, no sooner were the words out of his mouth did Rosie appear in the doorway at the end of the hall, all red cheeks and light freckles from the sunshine. She stopped dead in her tracks, her face switching from total surprise at the sight in front of her to overwhelming joy before finally settling on complete disbelief at the realisation that Chris was standing right in front of her in the home she grew up in. Her legs instinctively carried her into his waiting arms, tears starting to fall before she could even register what was happening. Chris was certain that he would never forget the way she held onto him in that moment, with her face buried into his chest and her arms tight around his back.

“What are you doing here?” She finally managed, bringing her teary eyes up to meet Chris’s. “How? When?”

His only response was to kiss her forehead sweetly, holding her against his body like she was about to float away.

“I wanted to be here for you. I know you have your family but, God, it just didn’t feel right to be back in New York.” He stepped back from her a fraction so that he could offer the blooms he was still holding to her. “And I believe I promised you some flowers.”

“I thought you were sorting them with a local florist not travelling across the Atlantic to hand deliver them,” she laughed through her tears, a hand coming up to whack his chest lightly. “You are completely ridiculous, Christopher James Kreider.”

“Anything to see you smile, Ro.”

He kissed her hair before taking her outstretched hand and followed her as she led him into the kitchen to meet her family for the first time.

The next few days had Chris feeling a little bit like a spare part. Rosie and her family were busy with the last minute preparations for the funeral and Chris wished that he could do more to help out but, just like always, Rosie managed to allay his worries and settle his heart by assuring him that his presence alone was enough. They’d spent their free time taking in the sights of South Devon, Rosie relishing the opportunity to show him around the place she grew up and all of her favourite spots. He particularly enjoyed the day they spent down in a place called Torquay, the beauty of the ocean and the way the sun kissed her hair had him feeling bold enough to reach for her hand as they walked along the sea-front while enjoying an ice cream each.

On the day of the funeral, Chris made himself completely indispensable to Rosie and her family, nothing being too much trouble. He held Rosie tightly throughout the ceremony, never once letting her go and whispered words of comfort to her as she said her final goodbyes to the grandmother she loved so much before they exited the church. He stayed by her side throughout the wake at her request. The emotional rawness of the day had her feeling more vulnerable than she would have liked but there was something about the way Chris’s hand rested above her knee as they sat around the table that had her feeling more grounded and centred than she knew she would’ve been had he not been there. It was easy for her to go back to Chris’s hotel with him, the emotions of the day still weighed heavy on her and she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone.

The gravity of those feelings wasn’t lost on Rosie and she knew that sooner or later she’d have to really take a step back and take a good look at her relationship with Chris and what it all meant. It was easier to be dishonest with herself and keep up the pretence that they were just friends because if she let herself think about them being anything else for too long she would feel her chest tighten and hear her heart start to whoosh in her ears. Was it childish? Absolutely, but she’d be damned if she let herself get hurt by a man again. Her self-preservation mechanism had been working like a charm so far and if it wasn’t broken then why fix it? It wasn’t completely infallible though and after two bottles of Chianti and the way the lamplight accentuated the softness in his eyes, Rosie found herself slipping.

“What’s on your mind?” He whispered, fingers finding her chin to bring her thousand yard stare away from the wall and back to his searching gaze.

“Everything,” she sighed softly. “It’s loud in my head tonight.”

“Is there one thing in particular that you can pick out?”

He took the wine glass that she was cradling and set it down on the table, taking her hands in his and rubbing his thumbs gently across her knuckles.

“Not really, today has just been a lot.”

Chris nodded in understanding, not wanting to pry further and cognizant of the emotional strenuity of the day. Instead he pulled her closer, nestling her into his side and pressing a gentle kiss to her hair.

“I still can’t believe you came all this way for me,” she murmured.

“Why darling,” Chris started, Rosie immediately recognising the quote as being Hemingway. “I don’t live at all when I’m not with you.”

She tilted her head up towards him, her lips impossibly close to his as her fingers danced along the stubble at his jaw and swallowed down the nerves that had lodged in her throat. She closed her eyes, so close to giving in to her heart and letting it win, for better or worse. Chris had been dreaming of this moment though, longing for it with every close call and missed opportunity. This is how it should’ve been at Christmas and all of the team events he’d the delight of having her on his arm, but instead he let himself chicken out, the fear of spooking her and losing her too much to allow himself to take the risk. But now, he had Rosie right there. She was impossibly close and all around him and he knew that if he didn’t take that leap and place his lips on hers, he might never get that chance again and that is what had him brushing his lips lightly across hers, his fingers finding a home amongst the loose copper curls that were glowing like hot coals in the low light of the room.

Instinct took over and had Rosie arching her body into him, her hands reaching up into his hair to muss the short curls. Even with her body pressed against his, Chris needed her closer, his big arms looping around her and pulling her into his lap. He kissed her desperately, a kiss to make up for all the kisses they should have already shared and all the words that should have been spoken. It should have terrified him, how easy it was to be with her like this and how easy the push and pull of it was, neither taking more than they were giving in the moment. This was what Boris Pasternak meant when he said ‘you and I, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent to Earth together to see if we know what we were taught., Chris was sure of it because nothing could compare to how Rosie’s lips felt against his and the feeling of her hands on his skin. Her kiss was heaven and her eyes felt like home and Chris knew in that moment that he needed all of her.

As he carried her to bed, Rosie thought about how right being in his arms felt. It was a strong sense of belonging that she couldn’t ever remember having with anyone else - ‘whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same’, she thought. He spoke her name against her ear like a prayer, all the love and want for her conveyed in one simple word while he removed her dress with tender hands. Her body was laid on display for him like a canvas, his mouth was the paintbrush and Chris knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life painting a masterpiece onto her skin with his lips.

They moved together between the sheets as sure as the gentle waves that lap against the shore, her hands never feeling more at home than they did running up his back and over his shoulders before settling against the broad plains of his chest. Her every breath and every moan sounded like an aria to his ears and his name tumbling from her lips with every thrust of his hips was met with a moan of hers. He thought she could never look as good as she did underneath him, blooming like a rose, until he found himself on his back with her above him, her hair falling around them both like a curtain and her mouth panting against his as she rolled her hips. His hands made a home at the dip of her waist, guiding her in her movements but never taking the reins from her, giving her the control they both knew she needed in the moment.

It was intuitive, really, the way she was rocking her hips into his and the steady build of pressure in her stomach had her chanting Chris’s name like an incantation. He saw on her face the exact moment that the coil snapped, moaning as she fluttered and tightened around him and brought his hips up to meet hers as she rode the wave of her orgasm.

“I’m with you,” he murmured against her neck.

“Please, Chris. I need you.”

“I’ve got you, Ro. I’ve got you.”

She turned her face to meet his lips in a deep kiss, Chris moaning into her mouth as he spilled inside of her with stuttering hips. Rosie let out a contented sigh as she kissed him through his release, her chest pressed against his and her fingers playing with whatever ends of his hair she could reach. They stayed that way long after he’d gone soft inside of her, content to just bask in the afterglow of the moment as Chris’s fingers traced up and down her back. Rosie knew that she needed to have a frank discussion with Chris about her feelings but now didn’t seem like the right time for that. The sudden realisation that things would never be the same and that there was no going back to the way things were after this embedded itself like a seed, but Rosie let herself surrender to the feeling of safety and security Chris’s arms offered her before it could take root. She nestled herself against his side, her head resting on his chest with her eyes closed, and let his heartbeat be the gentle lullaby to lead her into the beautiful twilight.

Chris awoke to the feeling of Rosie snug and secure within his arms, a peaceful look resting on her features that gave her an angelic quality. He let his mind wander to the night before and allowed the love he felt for her run wild through his veins and fill every corner of his mind, body and soul. For so long it had just been him and hockey, never subscribing to the idea that a person needed a relationship to be complete. But as he looked down and saw his entire world resting within his arms, he realised that he had been right all along. It wasn’t a relationship that made a person complete. It was love. That all-consuming wildfire that burns everything else away until there is nothing left but a new-beginning. He remembered the quote from Corelli that Rosie loved so much and felt everything fall into place. He felt like he’d waited a million years for this feeling and now that he felt it consume him like wildfire, he knew that he would have waited a million more, just as long as he had the privilege of being hers. It was surrendering all that he had ever been for everything that she was, for every kiss and every touch. Her love was his turning page and loving her was the greatest and best thing that he would ever do in his life, he was sure of it.

He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, eyes crinkling with his smile as she stirred.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he whispered against her hair. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” she croaked, voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

Chris looked over her shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. “Just gone eight-thirty.”

“Oh, okay.”

She furrowed her brows again, suddenly feeling Chris everywhere as pieces of the night before flooded her consciousness as she fully emerged from sleep and into the waking world. She was naked, she registered, and so was he and she was blindsided by an abrupt awareness that a definite line had been crossed that they could never go back from. It was that recognition of their friendship never being the same again that had her rolling away from Chris without warning. She was out of bed before he could even register what was happening, gathering up her clothes and dressing quickly without as much as a word.

“Rosie?” Chris was sitting up now, a slight waver to his voice as he spoke her name. “What are you doing?”

“I have to go,” she mumbled, an almost robotic edge to her tone that had Chris jumping out of bed and throwing on a pair of sweatpants, already catching up to her racing thoughts without her needing to say another word. He rushed to the door that she was making a beeline for, stepping in front of it and reaching desperately for her hands.

“Don’t do this, Ro… Please, don’t run from this.”

“Chris,” she warned, the emotion sitting dangerously high in her throat and her eyes glossing over with tears.

“What’re you so afraid of? I know you feel it too, Rosie. I know you do.”

“Chris, please,” she tried to brush past him but Chris wouldn’t let this moment slip through his fingers, not this time.

“No, we’re not doin’ this anymore. We’re not gonna spend the rest of our lives pretending that we’re just friends because we’re not, Rosie. I don’t think we have been for a long time- look at me, Ro, please.”

Chris saw the flicker of hesitation cross her face but the desperation in his voice was too much for her to ignore. She brought her eyes up to meet his and saw a fire burning within them that she had never seen before.

“I love you, Rosie. You have to know that by now.”

She shook her head vehemently, the tears she had managed so far to keep at bay finally slipping out and onto her cheeks.

“Don’t,” she whimpered. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“Who says I don’t mean it?” He brought his hands to cup her face to keep her eyes on him. “You? Do you think I’d travel across an ocean to be here with you now if I didn’t love you?”

Rosie answered only with a sniffle, the feeling of his touch along her skin anchoring her in a moment where she felt like she was drowning in a sea of every repressed emotion and feeling from the last eighteen months.

“But what if this doesn’t work? What if we’re better as friends?”

“I know you don’t believe that,” he wiped away the tears on her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “I know that you’ve been hurt before and I know that you’re scared. But you can’t keep holding on to the past, Ro, because if you do you’ll miss out on what’s right in front of you.”

“It’s not the loving you part that’s hard Chris,” she whispered. “It’s admitting to myself that it happened at all that is. I’ve had all these defences that have worked to keep me from getting hurt for so long but it was like you didn’t even see them at all, like they were meant for others while you had your very own door. I’ve spent so long asking myself why that is and come up with nothing. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

He kissed her forehead softly in response before pulling back to look into her eyes, making sure that she saw him, felt him, heard him. “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

The corners of Rosie’s mouth quirked up into a smile despite her tears and her doubts, her favourite passage from Pride and Prejudice never sounding as good as it did coming from Chris’s mouth and extinguishing every fear she was holding within her heart. She closed her eyes and nodded, her lips connecting with his in a kiss that could’ve stopped the world from turning. She gave herself to him completely and surrendered to the overwhelming love that burned within her for him. There were no words that could convey to Chris just how much he meant to her but she hoped that ones from Rupi Kaur would do it justice:

“You might not have been my first love, but you were the love that made all the other loves irrelevant.”

Chris smiled against her mouth and kissed away every fear and worry until there was nothing left but him and her and the love they had for each other.

Life continued much as it had before, a testament really to the relationship that Chris and Rosie already shared and the official label did nothing more than earn them a chorus of “it’s about time” from their friends and had Mika looking incredibly smug for the next few months. The passage of time only served to make their relationship stronger, both able to give themselves completely without the uncertainty of their feelings looming over them or holding them back. Rosie often found herself being struck by the easiness of their relationship and she never once found herself questioning Chris’s commitment to her and what they had. When he asked her how she would feel about ending the lease on her Brooklyn apartment and moving into his place in Manhattan she didn’t have to give it a second thought. Everything about it felt natural and they were both ready to take that next defining step in their relationship. Once Rosie’s belongings and houseplants were moved in, Chris couldn’t help but feel as if they had always been there, like his apartment was finally complete and that it was the home he had always imagined it would eventually be.

Of course, there were bumps in the road, both of them had been on their own for so long that they were set in their ways at first, but their disagreements never lasted long, their shared knack for communication often diffusing the situation before it had chance to grow arms and legs. The adjustment was harder for Chris in some ways, especially when things on the ice weren’t going so well and he would retreat into himself or misdirect his frustrations towards Rosie with a sharper tone than was necessary, but she stood firm, never one to suffer fools and for that Chris was eternally grateful. They complimented each other in ways they couldn’t even have imagined, Chris able to pull Rosie out of her own head when the world weighed heavy on her shoulders and Rosie never afraid to put Chris in his place when he needed it. As the months rolled into years and their love went from strength to strength, Chris knew for certain that she was it for him and there was nothing he wanted more than to start and end the day with Rosie for all of the days to come.

Rosie looked at Chris with confusion as their Uber pulled up outside Westsider Books one early September evening. There was a faint glow of lights inside but it didn’t look as if the shop was open and Rosie couldn’t understand why Chris had brought her here when she was sure they closed at five.

“I didn’t realise this place opened late,” she said as Chris opened her car door and offered his hand to help her out of the car.

“I think it’s just a one-time thing,” he replied as he thanked the driver and closed the door. He placed a hand on the small of Rosie’s back and guided her towards the shop entrance, pushing the door open and gesturing for Rosie to go in ahead of him. Rosie wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting to find inside, but hundreds of glittering fairy lights, candles and more flowers than she could count wasn’t even on the list.

“Chris?” she breathed, turning to look at him.

“If you were to list your top three favourite books of all time off the top of your head,” he started, wrapping his arms around her waist. “What would they be?”

“Christopher…”

“Come on, Ro,” he grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the way she loved so much. “Just... play along… Please, for me?”

“Alright, well…” she conceded with a gentle sigh. “Off the top of my head I would probably say Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, For Whom the Bell Tolls and Pride and Prejudice.”

Chris’s smile somehow managed to double in size, the soft glow of the string lights and candles had his eyes sparkling like smoky quartz, the lush green flecks that usually lived among the dark bark of his irises hidden by the low light. He knew she would say that, of course, knowing her with an intimacy that even after all their years of friendship and the years of loving her still managed to knock him back a bit. He took her hand then, leading her along the aisle before stopping in front of a shelf with a dozen hand-tied sunflowers. He reached out and took a book from the shelf.

“Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis de Bernières,” he murmured, passing the book to Rosie with an easy grin. “Go on, open it.”

He watched as she opened the cover of the book, her face softening at the sight of a delicate pendant necklace nestled between the pages. A small silver fern leaf hung at the end of the thin chain, a nod to the many houseplants she had brought into his home when she moved in that he had playfully grumbled about but in all actuality loved.

“Chris, it’s beautiful.”

He gently took the necklace from her hands and spun Rosie around, draping the chain across her chest and fastening it behind her neck with sure fingers before turning her back to face him, his eyes falling to the pendant that glimmered in the low light of the room.

“It looks gorgeous on you,” he smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Right, what was the next book? For Whom the Bell Tolls, right?”

“Chris, what is all this?” Rosie asked softly, taking Chris’s outstretched hand and following him down the next aisle to another shelf. He ignored her question, simply picking up the book and handing it to her.

“I love that you love Hemingway almost as much as I do,” he whispered softly. “Almost. You have no idea how much it means to me that I get to share that enjoyment with you and I want us to keep making memories together and sharing enjoyment of the things we love.” He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to open the book to reveal the piece of paper he’d folded in there. He took the book from her hands so that she could open it.

Rosie’s eyes widened as she read what she realised to be an itinerary for a trip to Europe next summer.

“I’ve only been to a couple of places in Europe,” Chris started. “And I figured who better to show me around than the girl who’s visited near enough every country on that continent?”

Rosie was unable to contain her sniffles by this point, overwhelmed at the thought and preparation that Chris had put in, not only in the trip to Europe, but this whole evening as well. She shook her head gently as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest.

“This is too much, Chris, you shouldn’t have.”

He pulled back from her just far enough to get her eyes on his, his face set with an expression that held all the love in the world.

“Ah, ah, there’s still one more book, which if I’m not mistaken is your all-time favourite and you, Roseanna Williams, are worth all the good things in this world.”

Her slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her into his side as they walked back towards the front of the shop, Rosie gently wiping the tears away from her eyes. Pride and Prejudice sat pride of place in the middle of a small table, the book surrounded by petals. Chris gave her an encouraging look and stepped back as she picked it up, taking a small envelope from out of the book before setting it back down again. Her eyes found her name on the front of the envelope in Chris’s unmistakable handwriting before turning it over in her hands and opening it, pulling out what appeared to be a letter. She took a steadying breath as she began to read.

My dearest Rosie,

There will never be the words to adequately express just how much you mean to me or how grateful I am to have found you. You are everything that I didn’t even know I was searching for, that I didn’t even know I needed.

I never believed in fate, every happy accident is just that. A happy accident. Coincidence. Right place, right time. But you, you have opened my eyes to the idea of pure magic because how can a love like ours be founded on pure coincidence alone? How can a soul yearn for someone they had never met? I know now that the reason I found myself in this very book store on that day you came into my life was because your soul was calling me here.

In you I have everything I’ll ever need. No matter where my career takes me, no matter what lies ahead, as long as I have you I have everything. I love you more than anything else in this world, you have given me a higher purpose and I will spend the rest of my life making you happy if you’ll let me.

All my love, Always

Chris

We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright - E. Hemingway.

Rosie closed her eyes and let her tears fall onto her cheeks as she clutched the letter to her chest.

“Chris…”

“I’m gonna need you to open your eyes, babe,” Chris chuckled softly.

Rosie smiled as she allowed her eyes to drift open, her hand immediately coming up to her mouth as she stifled an unexpected sob at the sight of Chris down on one knee in front of her, a ring box open in his hand that looked as if it contained an entire galaxy of glittering stars.

“Ro, I can’t even remember what my life was like without you in it, I didn’t even know that I was in the dark. Until I saw your smile. It was only then that I realised and now I never want to live a single day without the warmth and light of your love. It’s us, babe. It’s always been us and it’s always been you, since the day we met. I didn’t even realise I was waiting for you and now that I have you, everything is as it should be. I love you, Rosie. I’ve always loved you and I would be the happiest and luckiest man on Earth with you as my wife. Marry me, babe?”

Rosie sank slowly to her knees in front of Chris, her hands reaching up and cupping his face as her tears fell. In front of her was a man who had given her everything, who had helped her to let go of the past and right now, he was offering her a future brighter and more wonderful than anything she could’ve ever imagined and never dared to dream she would have.

“Oh god, please tell me those are happy tears.”

She cut him off with a kiss, a kiss that gave Chris his answer without her even needing to say it. She kissed him with everything she had, kissed him with all of the love that coursed through her veins, kissed him until her lungs were gasping for air and she finally had to pull away, resting her forehead against his with her hands stroking along his jaw.

“Yes,” Rosie whispered. “A million times, yes.”

As Chris slid the ring onto Rosie’s finger, he took the opportunity to look into those eyes of hers that he’d grown to love so much. It was there that he saw their future, all of their hopes and dreams and the promise of all the joy in their lives that was to come and as her arms wrapped tightly around him, Chris felt their souls sigh as they folded into one another. Chris couldn’t tell what the future had in store for them both, but no matter where their path together would lead them, it was in her embrace that he found solace and it was in her heart that he found a home.

#chris kreider #chris kreider fic #nhl fic #nhl fiction #nhl fanfiction #chris kreider x ofc #nhl writing #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #hockey fiction #chris & rosie #turning page universe #my writing

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macandriley · 4 years ago

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5x10 – A Very MacRiley "Analysis"

Well, I definitely didn't expect to be making another AVMA post, but I am a woman of my word.

Below the cut, I will be discussing last night's episode of MacGyver (2016) titled "Diamond + Quake + Carbon + Comms + Tower"—particularly in reference to the relationship between Mac and Riley (with mentions of Mac x Desi as well).

So if you haven't seen it yet, do be aware: this post contains spoilers.

Without further adieu, let's get into it.

The Cold Open

Here we see Mad Scientist Mac tooling around in his kitchen, rambling about pressurized carbon and diamonds. I won't bore you by going into details, but I will give a brief rundown:

Bozer walks in.

Bozer is weirded out by Mac's strange behavior.

Mac reveals he intends to propose to Desi with a diamond he cooked up in a box (side note: I am so here for conflict free genius diamonds).

But I digress.

I won't lie and say this entire thing was surprising. The intended proposal was a touch predictable; everyone on Twitter had been hypothesizing about it for weeks before the episode even aired.

Still, when I heard those words come out of Mac's mouth, my heart absolutely shattered.

I pictured a wedding. Having to watch them say I do while Riley stood off to the side.

And then logic set in.

Why on God's green earth would this man want to marry a woman he's only really been on good terms with for a few weeks? Why would he want to take that next step when she's been so hesitant to even call him her boyfriend?

Well, Mac himself said it best. "Ever since I lost my dad and Jack, I've been thinking about the bigger picture. And a commitment to make things work is exactly what Desi and I need."

Problem One

As Mac said, this newfound craving for marriage does not come from a genuine desire to take that next step. It's influenced by loss. By grief.

Which isn't inherently an issue. Mortality is a great motivator for soul-searching and self-discovery.

However, when it comes to matters of the heart, acting out of grief can often be more detrimental than helpful. It can cause you to cling to what you have left, sometimes in ways that are unhealthy.

Which brings me to:

Problem Two

Mac clearly does not view marriage with Desi as something he truly wants. As an act of love or genuine devotion.

To him, it seems more like a desire to force things to work. Like a business contract. "If we're married, we have no choice but to talk it out."

Which makes sense when you consider that, in 4x04, Mac admitted he and Desi were clinging to the familiar instead of actual substance. He wants to make it work because the alternative is being alone.

And to be frank, that doesn't frame MacDesi in a very good light at all.

I Probably Shouldn't Tell You This

Before Mac, Riley, and Desi are sent off on their mission to Mexico City, Bozer pulls Riley aside and, presumably, tells her about Mac's intentions to marry Desi.

I won't go into detail on that here, but it's important to later scenes, so I felt it deserved a mention for that reason alone.

Plus, it only further confirms, at least in my mind, that Riley still has enough feelings for Mac for Bozer would worry about her. So...a win?

Got A Secret, Can You Keep It?

After Mac runs off to play Murdoc's little game, Riley and Desi follow him. One thing leads to another, and the trio winds up on the roof of a skyscraper, unable to unlock the doors and get back inside.

Cornered, they are absolutely at Murdoc's mercy.

So what does this glorious psychopath do?

He tells Mac the one thing he has never been able to figure out on his own. That Riley had feelings for him and buried them deep, deep down. That having to watch him and Desi was genuinely hurting her.

I love this scene for several reasons. The most important of them being: I really don't think either of them would have said anything if Murdoc hadn't done this.

They are both so self-sacrificing. So willing to give up their happiness so that they won't get in the way of other people's' joy.

Getting that little push opened them both up to experiencing feelings they'd previously denied. Which is super important for people like them, who don't have a lot of experience with touchy-feely type situations.

And the best part?

I think Desi truly realized all of that. She wasn't mad. She wasn't bitter. She saw this happen, realized the lengths Riley went to to protect her feelings, and accepted it. She refused to let them be distracted by it, and looked after Ri like a real teammate would.

Her not holding that against them isn't something I would have expected way back when this season first started. But you could really see that, as much as she probably didn't enjoy hearing that, she understood it.

Sidebar - Desi

While I think the shift in Desi's character is abrupt and I would've preferred a more transformative storyline, I'm honestly not mad about how they're writing her.

If this continues to be how she's written, and it all remains consistent, I can personally overlook the sudden shift in behavior for her.

Because honestly, Peter Lenkov was a dick, and I can get not wanting to continue on with the toxicity he injected into D for even a moment.

Hug It Out

When all is said and done, Mac lets Riley know that they don't have to talk about it. Which is super considerate, if a little obnoxious.

She, being the wise and tired babie she is, decides it's best to be honest. So she explains what happened in Germany. And finally, after months of waiting, it's all laid out in the open. Just like that.

There is not much to analyze in this scene other than the hug itself.

Riley shuts her eyes, holding onto him like she can't quite believe he's real and Mac sighs, because god, he did not expect for his day to go like this. And he definitely didn't think he'd feel so oddly satisfied that it did.

So they just stand there, rocking slightly, comforted by each other's embrace.

The only word that came to mind when watching it go down for the first time was: safe. They almost looked like they were at home in each other's arms. At peace.

And as someone who has loved these two deeply since season one, it's so heartwarming to see them have that kind of connection with someone. Even more so to see them find it in each other.

Knock Knock. Who's There?

Mac. That's who.

Late at night, after contemplating his proposal again (boy, why?), we see Mac leave his house. He shows up at an apartment building, knocks on a door, and...

Oh look, it's Riley's place.

She's shocked.

He asks if her feelings are really gone.

And...cut to black.

I am not foolish enough to assume this will be easy. It's entirely possible she'll lie and say she's over him to uncomplicate things.

But this is the closest we have ever been to canonization. And I think it speaks volumes that Mac is the one making the first move.

We don't often get to see the more emotional aspects of this show through his point of view. It's usually the people around him who are allowed to feel things, and him who deals with the aftermath.

Yet here we are. He was the one to seek out Riley. To take the leap.

And I think that speaks a lot to his own emotional growth.

In Conclusion

Monica Macer is the bait and switch queen. 5x10 was an emotional ride I did not ask to go on, but I'm pleasantly surprised by the final destination.

Here's hoping I can write another one of these after 5x11.

#Spoilers #5x10 #MacGyver #MacGyver CBS #macgyver 2016 #macriley #mac and riley #angus macgyver #riley davis

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troubatrain · 4 years ago

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together by this christmas tree - p.l. dubois

a/n: happy december, so because The Maine’s Ho Ho Hopefully is a god tier Christmas song and I forgot how to write anything else heres like 5 words of just fluff. big shoutout to @prettyboybarzal for letting me just dump this fic on her for a few days so i could fuck around with the plot you are a queen!!

Pierre was in Los Angeles.

At any other time, he’d be pretty happy. The long West Coast road trip was one of Pierre’s favorites, he got to spend some time with his teammate’s, enjoy the warm weather, and play a few games that would hopefully end in a win. This time, however, he was sulking in his hotel room because he wished he was in Columbus. It was the first day of December, and Pierre knew that meant one thing - You were undoubtedly getting ready for the holiday season in whatever ways you knew how.

You stumbled into Pierre’s life by accident - literally. When Phillip was just a puppy, Pierre had taken him on a run. The French Bulldog pulled him with all his strength, causing you, who’d been looking at your phone to trip right over his leash. You assured Pierre it was fine, but while you were explaining to him that you had dogs growing up and sometimes shit happens your elbow had been bleeding before you could finish your sentence. Pierre offered to help you out, given his own apartment was barely a block away, and you’d been friends ever since. Friends. Just friends.

“Just tell her,” Tex says from the bed next to him, his road roommate having enough of watching Pierre sulk around their hotel room, “I’m tired of this.”

“Tired of what?” Pierre asks, his eyebrows raising.

“This, the thinking about Y/N all the time,” Tex exasperates dramatically, he sighs, putting on his best impersonation of his teammate, “Y/N’s watching the dogs while I’m away. Y/N and I are trying that new French restaurant downtown. Y/N’s favorite holiday is Christmas and I’m not decorating with her. Dude, you’re in love with her, just tell her. I’m sure she feels the same way.”

“What if she doesn’t?” Pierre asks, finally admitting the real reason he’s yet to say anything. Pierre had been rejected a few times in his life, but he never let it get to him. That was because those people didn’t matter the way you did. You knew everything about him. You knew the way he took his coffee and the way he hated being woken up. You knew Pierre better than you knew yourself, and losing that was the first thing that’s ever really scared him.

“Well you won’t know if you don’t do something about it,” Tex sighs, frustrated with his two friends, “Or you’ve got to let her go.”

Tex walked out of their hotel room after he spoke, undoubtedly to get away from Pierre’s energy that was clouding the room. Pierre sighs, rolling over to the otherside of his bed and pulling up your contact. He did the math internally in his head for a moment, trying to figure out if you’d be asleep or not - smiling to himself when he realized you were probably still up.

“Shouldn’t you be at some fancy LA restaurant?” You chirp, smiling on the other side of the phone when you pick up the Facetime call. You were home, but Pierre could see two familiar figures snuggled together on her couch. You had become Pierre’s accidental dog sitter at the beginning of the season. He put finding one on the backburner, and when it came close to the start of the season, he was coming up empty. You offered three different times before Pierre finally came to his senses and said yes, not because he didn’t trust you, it was because if he had to watch his dogs love you as much as he does - he was never going to recover.

“Shouldn’t you be decorating for Christmas?” Pierre smirks, knowing exactly what the first day of December meant to his friend.

You loved Christmas, like in the type of way that made Pierre envious that anyone could be that happy from a holiday, and the first day of December was the day you went all out. A tree got put up in your apartment, a fake one because hauling a real one up to her place seemed like it would be too much, decorated elaborately in gold and white. You’d get dressed up in a set of Christmas pajamas, one’s that Pierre would scrunch his nose at but he secretly adored, and when he’d make fun of you for it - you’d just pout and call him a grinch.

“I thought I’d wait for you this year,” You mumble, hoping the lighting in your living room would hide the blush on your cheeks, “Speaking of Christmas…”

“I told you three times I don’t want anything,” Pierre reminds you, the argument sprung up twice a year, on Pierre’s birthday and the second the holiday season started. Pierre really had all he could want, his family and his friends were healthy, the team was doing well, and he could buy any material thing he wanted. His answer wasn’t a total lie, because he couldn’t think of anything he wanted besides you.

“You’re the worst,” You whine, throwing yourself back on the couch dramatically, Pierre watched Georgia spring up from next to you, the puppy dropping sloppy kisses all over your face. He thought about what Tex had rambled on about just before he called, that he had to just tell you, but you deserved it to be perfect. So he made a decision, he would tell you by Christmas and he’d spend every moment before that proving to you that he could be the man you deserved.

***

Pierre sighed, stepping back and looking at all of the pine needles that were scattered through his freshly washed BMW. He was going to have to get it cleaned, but the smile on your face would be worth it once he lugged that tree through your apartment building. It was part of his plan, one Tex had called stupid just three hours prior, but Pierre knew it wasn’t. You loved Christmas, and as much as you tried to never show it, you did always get a little bummed out that the tree in your apartment wasn’t real - something that not even the prettiest decorations could fix. So, Pierre decided he was going to fix it, and he was going to give you the best holiday you could ask for.

Pierre buzzed up to your apartment, the tree in his hands while he made his way up to your floor, holding up on his end of the promise he made to stop being a Grinch and help you decorate, “Special delivery.”

The snowman mug, undoubtedly filled with coffee and a tiny bit of sugar because that’s how you always drank it, slipping right out of your hands and onto the floor. The handle snapped off, but that seemed to take second place to the scene in front of you, “Is that-”

“A real tree? Uh yeah,” Pierre nods slowly, trying to not let the grin growing on his face show, “I know you say it’s not a big deal for your tree to be fake but-”

In all of the time you’d known Pierre, you were always his softer side. To the rest of the world, you almost seemed too sweet for the tattooed hockey player who wasn’t afraid to back down from a fight, but it wasn’t entirely true. Pierre had a softer side, one you’d seen shine through when he saw his mom or when a kid could stop him for an autograph, but they were never just random acts of kindness. You wrap your arms around his waist, taking a big sniff of the fresh pine scent that was sweeping through your apartment, “This might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“This is the nicest thing I’ve ever done for someone,” Pierre jokes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “Where are we putting this thing?”

Once you had the tree in the stand, it was time to get to work. The real reason you waited for Pierre wasn’t because his lack of holiday cheer was a crime, even though it was, it was because then you could hang up decorations using a ladder. Pierre was keeping the smile on his face, not because he was happy that he had a Santa hat hanging from his head or that he was untangling string lights for you while he wrapped them around the tree, but because you would show him every ornament you had with some sort of story as to why you bought it.

“Do you have a favorite ornament?” You ask, snapping a picture of Pierre’s confused face while he untangled the lights. He looked silly, the hat that you placed on his head was hanging off, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth while he tried to untangle the lights. He looked up at you, and you could see him thinking for a moment before he answered you.

“I do actually, I had this little Canadians skate that I used to steal off the tree to play with as a kid,” Pierre finally settled on, smiling to himself when he could practically see himself at seven trying to steal that ornament off the tree. His mother would scold him, and tell him there’s a million other things to play with but it just wasn’t that stupid plastic skate, “My mom used to get so mad at me for taking it but, I loved it.”

“So you didn’t always hate Christmas?” You tease, a giggle escaping through your lips.

“I don’t hate Christmas, I’m just not obsessed with it,” Pierre defends, “But maybe I liked it more when I was a kid.”

“Well be more like seven year old Luc, and get decorating,” You joke, tossing an ornament at him.

Three hours and two broken decorations later, the tree was propped up in the corner of your living room. It looked perfect, because there was nothing that could stop you from decorating that tree flawlessly, but Pierre was sincerely proud of himself for how much he’d actually helped. You were happy, standing in front of it with the gold star that went on top in your hand, “Well put it on.”

“Shouldn’t you do that?” Pierre asks before you shake your head no and try to hand him the topper. Pierre stays planted in his spot, knowing if he looked at you for just another minute you’d explain yourself.

“I’m too short to get up there and I don’t feel like getting out a ladder-” Pierre scoffed before you could finish your sentence, ducking down and hooking your legs over his shoulders without a second thought. You squeal, latching your hands on any part of him you could to stop yourself from losing your balance, “You could’ve just done it.”

“Hang up the star before I drop you,” Pierre teases, loosening his grip on your thighs like he was going to let you fall. Your laugh filled your apartment, and Pierre knew that had to be his favorite sound in the world. You place the star on top of the tree, Pierre stepping back so you could admire your work.

“Perfect?” You ask, your eyes scanning over the twinkling lights that seemed to just hang from the tree flawlessly. Pierre didn’t look at the tree before he answered, his eyes still trained on you.

“Yeah it’s perfect.”

***

The first snow in Columbus could not have come at a better time. Pierre had an afternoon game, and by the time he’d been out of the arena on his way back to his place, the snow was starting to just cover the ground. You had been at his place all afternoon, baking away pieces for a gingerbread house because you told Pierre buying one was unacceptable. You practically destroyed his kitchen, the counters covered in flour and pieces of gingerbread dough. You had Christmas music blasting over the speaker, lost in your own little world until you heard the door open.

“What happened in here?” Pierre asks, his suit jacket slipping off of his shoulders while he took in the sight in front of him. His kitchen was a mess, the dishes piled high in the sink while the entire place was flooded with the smell of gingerbread, “Did you rob a bakery?”

Pierre picked up the candy that was neatly placed in different cups on the counter. He looked at you with an amused smile on his face, “I didn’t come here to fuck around, and neither did you.”

With your words came a bright green apron for Pierre, he unrolled the fabric taking a deep breath and reminding himself that if he wanted you to know he cared about you, he was going to have to suck it up and build the damn house.

As it turns out, building the damn house was harder than Pierre thought. The cookie kept crumbling, the house kept sliding apart and Pierre couldn’t construct a roof to save his life. You, on the other hand, were working tireless at the most well constructed gingerbread house he’d ever seen. You were lost in your own little world, mouthing along to the Christmas music playing in the background. It would have been cute, and at any other time Pierre probably thought you were downright adorable, but not while another cookie broke in his hands.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Pierre growls, a pout on his face while he swiped the cookie crumbs from his hands.

You laugh at his disgruntled state, his back was hunched and his face was red. It was what he looked like after a bad game, except your friend who prided himself on acting like a tough guy was absolutely defeated by a simple gingerbread house. You drop the pastry bag that was in your hands, “You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed!” Pierre yells, stepping back in frustration, “It’s the house it won’t-”

“Luc, listen to yourself for a minute, it’s not the house’s fault,” You explain gently, you walk behind him and place both of your hands on each of his arms, “Try again and calm down.”

Pierre didn’t want to finish the house, but if your hands were on him he wasn’t going to tell you to take them off anytime soon. Your hands were wrapped around his arms lightly, your chin resting on his back while you peeked around his arm. He grabbed the bag and you rolled your eyes at how tense he was, “Do you hold hockey sticks that tightly, jeez.”

Pierre turns around, giving you a glare and raising his eyebrows. You stifle a laugh, trying your best to keep it together despite how hilarious you found his mood to be, “Quit making fun of me and help me.”

“Okay, okay,” You nod, running your arm along Pierre’s arm while you watched him try and squeeze the frosting out of the bag, “Slower Luc.”

Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner.

Pierre’s mind was racing, trying to drive his focus in the direction of the house, and not the fact that you were standing behind him. The air in the kitchen was thick, the same weird sexual tension that seemed to creep up when the two of you were alone for too long was back and stronger than ever. Your fingers ran along Pierre’s tattoos absentmindedly while you whispered simple directions that were turning Pierre’s brain to mush. He couldn’t think of anything else beside the fact that all he wanted was turn around and press his lips to yours, but he couldn’t just do that.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, while your logical side told you that you were simply telling Pierre how to build the silly little house and this shouldn’t feel so sexual - but it did. Pierre touched you all the time, a hand on your back while you guys were out, a kiss on the forehead whenever he hugged you and you never thought anything of it until you realized he didn’t do that with everyone. So you panicked, ignoring the little voice in the back of your head that reminded you that you wanted him, and pretending like it never happened. That wasn’t easy, and every minute you spent with Pierre you could feel yourself falling into him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

The moment was ruined by the sound of a cookie sheet hitting the floor, and the sound of a scared puppy’s feet running away in fear. You both jumped, your hands flying off of Pierre when the realization that you were doing it again washed over you. You were letting yourself pretend like this could lead somewhere and that one day Pierre would choose you and it would all work itself out. Except that was just hope and hope wasn’t going to stop your heart from getting broken.

“You should shower, I’ll start cleaning,” You offer, moving around the kitchen to clean so you could hide the blush on your cheeks.

And a cold shower was probably what Pierre needed.

***

This wasn’t part of my Christmas activities.

You were whining while Pierre drove down to the arena, the Blue Jackets family skate was that afternoon and he insisted you went. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, but you couldn’t stop yourself from reading into things. He’d never brought you to the skate before, so why now?

“Isn’t this on that silly list of Christmas activities?” Pierre reminds you, tapping your leg lightly with his free hand, “Or do you just not know how to skate or something?”

“Well…” You start, Pierre’s eyebrows raising while he focused on the road ahead of you, “I don’t-”

“You eat Christmas cheer for the entire month of December but you don’t know how to ice skate? When were you going to tell me?” Pierre teases, chuckling while he shook his head at you.

“It never came up!” You defend, crossing your arms at him for teasing you, “And I didn’t tell you for this exact reason.”

Pierre made fun of you for the rest of the ride, teasing you that you should skate with his teammate’s kids who were practically toddlers and were probably better than you were. You walked into the arena behind Pierre, immediately smiling at the familiar faces of his teammates and their families. You made your way to his stall, Pierre telling you to sit he could get your skates laced up. You bit your lip, watching his hands work at the laces as delicately as he could. You were sure he was rougher with his own, but Pierre’s touch was always light as a feather with you.

“Too tight?” Pierre asks, breaking out of your trance from his too big veiny hands.

“No it’s fine,” You squeak out, and you could hear Tex snickering to himself next to you.

Pierre wasn’t a bad teacher for someone who almost tossed a gingerbread house across his apartment just a week prior. He was slow, his fingers laced with yours while he pulled you along and tried to help you skate on your own. It was a failure, and you looked like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time, but Pierre refused to believe you couldn’t get better.

“You guys disgust me,” Tex chirps, hopping onto the bench next to you while you watch Pierre play tag with Savvy’s kids. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, “You’re both so disgustingly in love with each other why won’t you just admit it?”

“Because Pierre’s going to find someone else who won’t be me,” You sigh, picking at your nails. You told Tex this once before, when you were wine drunk and sad about the date Pierre was on, “He’s just my friend.”

Tex wanted to scream, lock you both into a room and force you to talk about your feelings. He wasn’t going to do that, because he didn’t want to be the demise of what he thought might actually be something, but god did he want to. You both were frustrating the hell out of him, and if Pierre didn’t nut up soon he was going to take matters into his own hands by New Years.

“You don’t know that, if you told him-” Tex tries his hardest to reason with you, make you see that it’s worth the jump because Pierre was on the other side waiting for you.

“So he can flat out reject me and never speak to me again? Really I’m good,” You huff out, swinging your leg over the boards to get back onto the ice. You were doing okay, until you started to push yourself forward. Two steps later, you were on your way to face plant into the ice until you felt two arms wrap around your waist.

“Easy there,” Pierre laughs, stopping you just before you fell, “You’re not an expert now.”

“You’re such a bully,” You tease, avoiding Tex’s gaze when Pierre intertwined your fingers to pull you across the ice. Tex watched you both, the shared laughs and longing stares were just proof to him that if people did have one person for them, you were it for each other.

Only if you could get it through your heads.

***

The Savard’s threw a bigger Christmas party than you’d ever seen before in your life. You loved David and his wife, given Pierre introduced you to them as his adoptive parents the first time you ever came over for dinner with him. It was your favorite version of Pierre, the one who let David’s kids paint his nails and color the black and white ink on his arms. You walked up the well decorated driveway, your heels clicking against the pavement while you made your way inside.

“You need to go see your boy in the kitchen,” You hear Seth call over to you, grabbing your attention as soon as you walk into the house. You wave hello first, making your way into the kitchen to see a sight that you were most definitely not expecting.

Pierre was sitting on a candy cane throne, a big Santa hat on his head and equally as red suit to match. He had one of Nick’s kids on his lap, listening to the little boy about the train set he’d been writing to Santa about since Thanksgiving. Your heart grew about four sizes at the sight, you walked over and tapped Pierre on the shoulder, “Can I borrow Santa for a minute?”

“Are you Mrs. Claus?” The question was a simple one, and the two big brown eyes that were looking up at you were the only thing that didn’t stop you from saying yes.

“Mrs. Claus huh?” Pierre teases, pulling you onto his lap while you watched Nick’s son make his way back to his mother.

“I wasn’t about to ruin his Christmas,” You shook your head, running a hand over the white fur on the jacket Pierre was wearing, “How’d you get sucked into this?”

“I was going to say no, but then I knew you’d at least laugh at me,” Pierre admits, a blush creeping up his neck. His hands were wrapped securely around your waist like for a moment he could just pretend like he had you, “Wanna tell the big guy what you want for you Christmas.”

“Hmm, nothing,” You settle on, “And you won’t know until you finally tell me what you want.”

The sound of cheers flooded the kitchen, and when you went to look at what all of the ruckus was about you realized that you were the ruckus. Seth had a shit eating grin on his face while he held the mistletoe above your heads. You knew you were flush, the heat on your cheeks made it clear while Pierre looked like he was a pale as a ghost. He planted a kiss on your cheek, telling Seth to fuck off before you pushed yourself off of him, muttering an excuse about needed to use the bathroom.

You had your palms against the sink while you tried to catch your own breath. This was the reason you never made a move, because you knew it wouldn’t end in some sort of heartbreak. It was clear Pierre didn’t want to kiss you, and that was enough for you to let him go forever. You wiped the tears that were welling up in your eyes, deciding that when you walked out that door Pierre was your friend and your friend only.

“Where are you going?” Pierre caught your arm when you tried to leave the party, the idea of going home for a good cry was far better than a rowdy holiday party. He looked insane, his eyes wild while he panted to catch his breath after he searched the house in a panic for you.

“Home, I’m just not feeling well-” You come up with an excuse fast, hoping the quicker you spoke the quicker you could get out of there.

“Is this about Seth? I’ll kick the shit out of him,” Pierre promises, latching onto anything that would fix your mood.

Your feelings were something Pierre was an expert at, probably because he never seemed to take his eyes off of you. He knew when you were upset just from your body language alone and you were definitely not happy. Was it from Seth trying to force the idea that you should be together or was it that he didn’t kiss you? It had to be the first, because if it was the latter then Pierre fucked up his entire plan to make you see that he loved you.

“No it’s fine, really I just think I should go,” You were begging Pierre not to fight you on this, so he wasn’t going but he was going to be damned if he let you slip through his fingers.

“Stay, Tex and I were about to sing Christmas karaoke,” Pierre offers, dragging out his words, “I’ll let you pick the song.”

Pierre and Tex ended up serenading you with the worst rendition of All I Want For Christmas Is You you’d ever heard. Their dance moves were a crime, and they were definitely the two most tone deaf people you have ever met, but their heart was in the right place. The mistletoe incident was forgotten for the moment, your attention directed at the silly drinking games you were playing with your friends. You sat on the kitchen counter in the Savard’s home, your head leaning on Pierre’s shoulder after you’d taken your fourth shot in the span of an hour. A hangover was definitely on the horizon, but for the time it wasn’t going to kill your buzz.

“I hate when you do that you know?” You poke Pierre’s side, grabbing his attention from the crowd of people in the kitchen.

“Do what?” Pierre asks, a bold hand landing on your thigh.

“Make everything better somehow, it’s pretty fucking annoying Luc,” You tease, taking a look at his face for a moment. Pierre smiled before he answered you, the kind where his teeth would show and you could see his little vampire teeth you loved so much.

“I’ll always make it better Y/N.”

***

You’re coming over right?

Pierre sighs at your question, your voice flooding the speaker in his car while he drove home from his game. It was December 23rd, and he wanted to sneak in a nap before his middle of the night flight to Montreal to see his parents for Christmas. He’d just finished an afternoon game, one where the team lost and Torts lost his mind on them before he shipped them off to Christmas break tired and angry, but he wasn’t going to miss out on seeing you before Christmas. He made a promise to himself he’d tell, come clean once he felt like you knew he loved you. Maybe you did, and if you didn’t you were in for one hell of a surprise.

Pierre took a quick right in the direction of your place, deciding you couldn’t wait any longer. His brain was switched to autopilot and when he opened your apartment door with the key you gave him forever ago, he realized what this was. You were sitting on the couch, a gift box in your hand that was undoubtedly for him and it hit Pierre like a freight train.

He didn’t get you anything.

Pierre could’ve punched himself, calling out every name in the book because he was an idiot. He spent so much time focusing on spending time with you, and going along with all of your silly little Christmas things that he didn’t even realize he forgot to get you a gift at all. Pierre just knew whatever was in that bag was thoughtful and perfect, and he was walking in empty handed.

“Open it!” You exclaim, your excitement couldn’t be contained. Honestly, you were surprised you made it this far without spilling the beans about the gift.

You hand Pierre the box, and he opens it slowly, pulling the top of the box off and gasping at what was inside. The skate ornament was the same as the one he mentioned when you were decorating your tree, the blue and red Canadians logo faded a bit, “Is this…?”

“I called your mom and asked her for it,” You admit sheepishly, a little embarrassed to admit just how often you did talk to Pierre’s parents. He didn’t call often, mostly because he simply would forget, so his mother would start just calling you instead, “I know it’s silly but I thought maybe it’d remind you that the holidays aren’t all bad-”

“I love it, it’s perfect,” Pierre whispers, letting the ornament dangle from his large hand, “I fucked up, I uh, shit, I forgot to get you something.”

You laugh, practically falling to the floor while the giggles take over your body, “Luc, you sucked it up all month for me that’s enough.”

“It’s not, I did all of this so you’d know that I loved you and when I told you it would make sense,” Pierre starts to ramble, pacing around your apartment, “And I couldn’t even be bothered to remember to get you a damn gift.”

“You love me?” You repeat, just to make sure you’d gotten clear what’s been up with him since the start of the month. You felt the shift, the extra acts of kindness that just weren’t normal for him, but you knew if you read into it you might end up disappointed.

“I’m hopelessly in love with you, like one of those romantic Christmas movies you love so much,” Pierre admits, looking at you with the softest eyes you’d ever seen. You stood in front of him, dumbfounded that your best friend just told you he loved you, “Please say something.”

“Do you know what I want for Christmas?” You ask, taking a bold step forward and wrapping your arms around Pierre’s neck, “This year I want you alone.”

Pierre closed the gap between the two of you, and it felt like the entire world had stopped. The bustling city outside didn’t matter, Pierre’s flight in a few hours didn’t matter, and the brutal loss he’d taken hours later was on the backburner. Right now, Pierre’s hands were wrapped around your waist while your lips were pressed against his and he would have rather died than let go of you in that moment.

“So I don’t have to get you a gift right?”

“No you still do, but you can kiss me again first.”

#pierre luc dubois #pierre luc dubois imagine #my writing #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

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jedivszombie · 4 years ago

Text

Okay gang, since there are a bunch of anons going fucking wild across the dash tonight about some joking posts about Mark Webber and Ann Neal - that were someone’s shocked reaction to the age difference between them. I thought it would be interesting to go on a little journey together.

This little journey is the story of how Ann and Mark met, and will hopefully give you guys some insight as to why the ‘sexism’ and ‘ageism’ arguments you are currently using are bullshit - and why using these words in such a buzzword way actually is not the kind of critical thinking you think it is. And why this situation is more akin to a student and teacher starting a relationship - which I think we can all agree is not advisable, even if you don’t know why.

Below the cut is going to be a little discussion of Mark and Ann the early days; the reason the age difference is iffy at best and fucked up at worst; and, a little discussion about how these situations require nuance and the ways in which f1blr often likes to blow situations out of proportion.

I have split it into three parts:

Mark and Ann: The Early Days (1994-1997)

Nuance, my old friend. Anon hate, my enemy. (tw: for racism here, be careful)

The pitfalls of discourse and the importance of looking after yourself.

A little disclaimer for you guys: I do not pretend to know anything about this relationship, other than what is readily available to learn about it from what they themselves have put out about it. I am just providing a timeline and some facts. Whatever conclusions you draw from it are your own.

Feel free to come for me if you so desire.

Mark and Ann: The Early Days (1994-1997)

We start our story in Australia in February, 1994. Mark is competing in Australian Formula Ford Championship and Ann Neal is the new media and PR officer for the category. This is their first meeting. Just so we know what’s up here Mark was 17 at the time, and Ann was absolutely an adult (apparently there is a 13 year age gap, which may not sound like much but we will get onto that later, which makes her roughly 30 when they first met).

Some key things to be aware of from this first meeting:

Mark is 17, Ann is about 30. Mark is a young racer, Ann is the media and PR officer for the category he races in.

In an excerpt from Aussie Grit, p. 57 to be exact, we get to find out what Ann had to say about the first time they met:

“She thought I was a bit of a smart-arse when we first met. ‘But I liked how bold and cheeky he was,’ she says, ‘and how mature he seemed. When I asked someone how old he was, I was shocked when they said 17 – he was confident beyond his years.’”

In another excerpt from Aussie Grit, p. 61, Mark tells us other things Ann remembers about their first meeting:

“Ann remembers our first meeting and my opening remark about her being so important. She can even remember what I was wearing – a stripey green and red top, one of those United Colors of Benetton things – so that was pretty prophetic, as things turned out!”

Now this may sound extremely cute to some of you, like they’re just having a normal ‘aww remember how we met’ moment. But let me please re-direct your attention back to the fact that Mark is 17 (and still not an adult yet if this is what you are gonna nitpick about) and Ann is very much an adult, in a position of power.

So, a teenager makes a quip about how important you are and you commit to memory what he was wearing the day it happened?

Now let’s bring in the first quote I put up there where Ann herself was recalling the first time they met. I would like to draw your attention to the following sentence: ‘and how mature he seemed. When I asked someone how old he was, I was shocked when they said 17 – he was confident beyond his years.’

Hmmmm, where have we all heard language like this used before? If, like me, you have some experience of adults trying to start inappropriate relationships with you as a teenager then you will be very familiar to this sort of language. The emphasis is on how mature he seemed, is what’s sticking out for me here tbh.

Now, if this had been a fleeting meeting, and they had met again a few years later, I would be more on board for whatever justification some of the anons have been trying to use. However, it wasn’t.

Again from Aussie Grit, p.61:

“After that first meeting we kept in touch. My family sometimes met up with Ann and Luke for weekend get-togethers, and I ensured she got her motor-sport fixes by dragging all my old F1 tapes out. By way of revenge she would bring down all her British Formula Ford tapes for me.”

Oh cool, so she gained the trust of his family and Mark was hanging out with her son. This is so sweet Alexa, play Chosen Family by Rina Sawayama. Real talk though, again if this is how it had ended - with them just being family friends - then we would not be having this conversation.

BUT, we all know how this little story ends so onwards we march. We shoot forward to late 1994, Mark has done okay in Formula Ford but his Dad is no longer able to fund him. SO, he turns to their old pal - the ever present and super helpful Ann, bless her heart - to try and drum up some sponsorship for Mark so he can race.

Little background on why Ann was chosen to try and help with this, I’ll give you 3 guesses and only one of them is correct. Yes, that’s right, it’s her experience - which she has managed to get by being 30 and having a background in motorsports. She started out as a motorsport journo and ended up dealing with press and PR for Paul Warwick (Derek Warwick’s brother). In 1986 she started dealing with Johnny Herbert’s media before working for Formula Ford in Europe in 1991.

Ann begrudgingly accepts and draws up plans with Mark, which leads him to a Yellow Pages sponsorship for his next season in Formula Ford, and beyond - how sweet, how nice, they are #winning! We stan teamwork besties! And Ann started working with Mark and his family to further his career.

Ann had a plan for Mark, as outlined in Aussie Grit, p.69-70:

“By the end of 1995 Annie told me, in no uncertain terms, that – and I quote – I had to get my arse out of there. She didn’t just mean Australian Formula Ford, either: she meant Australia. She thought it was time for me to go and have a crack at some of the big guys, and she proposed to help me go about it in a serious, business-like way.

‘How the f#*k are you going to get to Formula 1 coming from Queanbeyan?’ Anyone who wants to trace my journey should start with a piece of paper that Ann drew up on 6 July 1995.”

So, now Ann has outlined her hopes for Mark and a glimmering career in motorsport. I would like us to know that at this point in time Mark was the ripe old age of 18, going on 19.

In 1996 Ann and Mark moved properly to the UK so Mark could drive in the British Formula Ford Championship - at this point Mark is still 19. At this point he is living in the UK with Ann and her mother, and Ann’s son.

So this is probably sounding pretty okay so far and sure it’s just a business relationship with a business set up, like no real cause for concern. But then we discover that this business relationship had turned into a relationship-relationship pretty damn fast.

From the horses mouth himself, Aussie Grit, p.87:

“Back in England, Ann and I moved house to Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire, on the edge of motor sport’s equivalent of Silicon Valley. We had started out as teammates and friends on a mission but over time our friendship had deepened into something else. I enjoyed spending time with her and we felt entirely comfortable in each other’s company. Moving to England was a huge step for me and I think it was a case of us needing one another and that’s how the relationship was formed.”

Okay, okay, okay so I know at this point Mark is 19/20 he’s an adult right? He can make his own choices. But, can we please admit that at best it’s an iffy situation because of the position of power and authority she was in? In his life? For his career?

There are a few other excerpts I found particularly interesting, about Mark’s family’s reaction (all from Aussie Grit, chapter 3):

“My parents came over to the UK in the English summer of 1997. While they were thrilled about how things were developing for me in racing, they’d been less thrilled by the romantic relationship that was developing between Annie and me....” “...Annie was bitterly disappointed at my behaviour. Her plan to take me to the highest level of motor sport was starting to go horribly wrong, so she left Australia earlier than planned and headed back to Europe. My family arranged for Alan Docking to collect my belongings from the house we had been sharing and the one and only car Annie and I had at that stage...Campese Management told her that they had been instructed by the Webber family to terminate her role as my manager and that Campese Management would be taking over all aspects of my career, including the negotiation of my driving contracts.“

“While I knew Annie provided the support and guidance I needed in my racing career, I was missing her in so many other ways too. We were such a dynamic force in every sense; we could make things happen when we were together. We were teammates, soul mates, call it what you want.“

“As to Mum’s concern about our age difference, that has never been a factor for us. When we began to be more open about being together, perhaps the top end of the age gap shocked a few people. In those days people were less accepting of a big age difference between partners, especially when it’s our way round. It’s not such a big deal nowadays and it makes us laugh when so-called celebrities reveal they’re dating an older woman or younger man!“

While the Daily Mail is trash, the beginning of this video is very revealing to me - particularly Jackie Stewart’s comments from 00:12.

Obviously you can make up your own conclusions from all of this information, and I would once again like to point out that none of us - not me, not the anons, not you - actually know the nature of their relationship. They have been together for 24 years - good for them! Whatever they have going has obviously worked for them, this is not me trying to shit on that or anything, and I’m gonna be real I’m not the biggest Mark Webber fan.

Nuance, my old friend. Anon hate, my enemy.

All I want to do is add some nuance to the conversation, an overview of the timeline, an understanding of what the facts are. So that some of those cowardly anons (or anon) can hop off their self-built thrones and get a grip. The sexism and ageism argument literally does not apply here, for all of the evidence and reasons listed above - if the situation was flipped we would still be calling it out. The only difference is you guys would probably be on board with it being called out.

So Ann is a woman? So, what? Do you think she’s above reproach? You think one person’s 50 note post on this site is gonna rock the foundation of a relationship that has been 26 years in making? If you have answered yes to any of these questions then you are either: a) Mark Webber himself, or b) delusional as hell. You really think that responding by sending anon hate to a teenager, who btw only made a post calling out the age difference because she was shocked and had just discovered it, is the right way to go?

You really think that sending me this message, attacking other people in such a vile and racist manner is okay?

So you don’t like Nehir and Sera? Good for you, go block them, if you follow them, unfollow them. Those options are free and readily available to you.

For me, it’s so funny to see you hiding behind that little Anon mask spewing this vile shit. The commitment you have to proving that you are just a cowardly person with nothing better to do than rag on a bunch of different people for reblogging a post, that in the long run is not going to reach the people it’s about, is outstanding. I really hope you pat yourself on the back for this one.

The pitfalls of discourse and the importance of looking after yourself.

There has definitely been a spate of ‘conversations’ that have been happening recently that have very much been straying into the land of discourse, over very small comments or posts. I think that some people need to remember that we’re all here for our own entertainment and as soon as it stops being fun - you are allowed to log off; you are allowed to block people; you are allowed to unfollow people.

Sending anon hate is so counterproductive to whatever conversation you think you are starting or having with a person. Also guys, sometimes it’s not that deep - sometimes jokes are just jokes, sometimes someone finds out something they didn’t know about a driver or an ex-driver and they make a joke post about it. That does not give you the right to send them hate, or to make racist comments in other people’s asks.

Sometimes these discussions require a debate and sometimes discourse can be good - but honestly? I’m worried about some of you guys, it is not healthy to get so angry at other people for the things they post on their blogs that you are not obligated to follow or interact with at all.

I am also worried about people who turn every little thing into something discoursey. There are causes and issues to care about in this sport and community, for sure. But sometimes you also have to pick your battles - especially when I know a lot people in this community have fragile mental health. I do not say this to patronise any of you but to just provide a reminder that you do not need to engage with everything that makes your blood boil, and furthering some of these conversations sometimes is not doing you guys any good. Burnout is real.

Please take some time to take care of yourselves, the pandemic is doing a number on all of us and I know being online gives you a gateway to being connected to people, but sometimes you just have to walk away from a discussion. Sometimes you have to just go and reblog something unrelated, or stare at a photo of your favourite driver, or listen to some angry music. Anything else to process your knee jerk reaction, to give yourself time to figure out how you feel about something and whether it’s worth engaging in or not.

#maisie talks #the post that no one asked for but we sure as shit needed #anon hate below the cut #would also like to say that i am not pretending to know shit about their relationship and this is all information provided by the couple #themselves #under the cut is a bunch of information about their relationship up to you how you take it but i know how i feel #tw racism #i went insane i've seen the opposite of god #thnx ana for supporting my rage #here i am a hundred years late and a dollar short #mark webber

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possibilistfanfiction · 2 years ago

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Just finished reading chapter 3 of footy au and I'm in LOVE. Can't wait for chap 4👀

here she is! — chapter 4: swapping jerseys

‘hi!’ ava says, all enthusiasm, waving on her little zoom screen. you physically ache for her, more than you want to admit; you’ll get to see her in two days, hopefully carving out a little quiet time before the friendly you’re set to play against her national team.

zuri, your agent, smiles, and you know she — like everyone ava seems to meet — is already charmed. ava has a team issued t-shirt on, her hair wet from a shower, since she’s a few hours behind you and just finished training. she’s so, so beautiful.

‘hello,’ zuri says. ‘it’s great to meet, even though it’s remotely. beatrice has told me a lot about you.’

‘good things, i’m sure.’ ava grins. ‘there are no bad things to tell, really.’

‘wonderful,’ you grumble when zuri laughs; you’re already outnumbered — but, really, you feel seen and heard and cared for, by your agent and by ava. you feel like you have control and it’s not so scary, not anymore.

‘well,’ zuri says, ‘this is informal and not at all a contract or MOU meeting. i’ve been representing beatrice for years, now, and we’ve, honestly, never had to navigate something like this before. i am thrilled that’s been remedied, to be clear.’ it’s said with such a fond smile you can’t help yourself: the bloom of freedom in your chest, ever since the first day you met ava, has been life-changing, and you know zuri means her kind words.

‘sweet,’ ava says. ‘well, i would, like, tell everyone and their mom that i’m dating beatrice xin, but i really want to do what’s bea’s comfortable with. it means a lot to me, that she feels safe.’

‘this will be easy, then,’ zuri says happily. ‘beatrice, since we know where ava stands, i know we’ve talked about this, and i’m sure you’ve talked to ava, but why don’t you just let us both know right now what you’re feeling will be best for you, and i’ll help you go from there.’

you take a deep breath, centering yourself: what you want is the same as ava — to shout from the rooftops that you get to kiss the most miraculous person you’ve ever known. ‘i would like to — i would like to not hide.’

ava looks at you like she’s falling in love all over again, and maybe she is, maybe that’s what you’re doing all the time. if you think it’s love, you remember, one of her favorite soft songs, it is. if you think it’s trust, it is.

you continue. ‘i don’t want to put out a statement, either about my sexuality or our relationship. not yet, at least. but if ava wants to post a picture of us or of me on her instagram, or even if i want to post something not strictly professional, i guess, or if we hold hands getting coffee or out at dinner, if we drive to games together, stuff like that. i —‘ you pause, straighten your shoulders; you hate that you can’t hold ava right now, can’t touch or kiss her, but her calm, happy expression is almost enough. ‘i love ava. i don’t want to hide that. i don’t want to hide that part of myself.’

‘i love you, too, bea,’ ava says, and zuri legitimately looks like she might cry.

‘sorry,’ she says, more to ava than to you. ‘i’ve managed beatrice since she was seventeen and i’m, just — whew! i’m happy for her! and for you! beatrice is the best.’

‘don’t worry,’ ava says, a gentle smile on her face, ‘i know.’

‘great. well then, it’s just details from here on out, then. ava, you’re out, right?’

‘yeah, as bi, queer, either one i’m happy with. i’ve posted about it and i’ve done a few interviews, and i was in our club’s pride campaign last season, so that’s cool. but, um, i’m definitely not cis, but that’s a lot of explaining, something that i don’t really want to do all the time, especially to so many people i don’t know. so, like, obviously bea knows, my teammates and friends know, now you know, but that’s relatively private information. i’m fine with she/her pronouns.’ ava shrugs. ‘that’s that at the moment.’

‘thank you for sharing,’ zuri says, just like she would any other information, easy and open and kind. ‘well, that’s always yours to disclose if, when, and how you see fit. i know diego is your agent, and he’s great, but please feel free to reach out to me if you ever want any guidance on PR. and, if you do decide to make a joint statement, however you’d like to do that, obviously i’ll coordinate with diego and it’ll be be our job to help with that as well.’

‘thank you, zuri.’ you feel a little overwhelmed, and very glad you get to see ava soon. you love national team spells — have always loved them — but you long for her in a way you’ve never felt before.

‘yeah,’ ava says. ‘thank you, a lot. i’m really glad bea has had someone like you for a long time, too.’

‘that’s very kind,’ zuri says, quiet and sincere, and then smiles. ‘well, i’ll leave the finer details of consenting to social media posts, any pda in public, whatever, up to you. if you need help navigating anything, you have my number. beatrice, we’ll speak when you’re back about your sponcon schedule for preseason.’

you nod.

‘and ava,’ zuri says, ‘kick some ass during that friendly. you’re a delight to watch play.’

ava grins. ‘will do. thank you.’

zuri signs off with a little wave and then it’s just you and ava, miles apart. ‘thank you, for that,’ you say.

‘baby,’ ava says, ‘of course.’ she bites her bottom lip for a second. ‘i do have a question, and it seems kind of silly.’

‘many of your questions are silly; that’s never stopped you before.’

‘ha ha.’ she swallows. ‘well, i know we’re together together, like, i obviously am thrilled. but — and definitely not to post or anything like that! — but, are we… girlfriends? partners? what do you prefer?’

‘either of those,’ you say, your heart racing a little at getting to call ava silva your girlfriend, your partner. ‘do you have a preference?’

she shrugs. ‘not most days, i don’t think. i like either. if it changes, can i let you know?’

‘of course, ava.’

her smile is so bright you think you might cry. ‘thanks, bea.’ she sighs. ‘my partner. ha. wild.’

‘it sounds — i like it.’

her happy expression doesn’t fade. ‘hey, can i post a picture? just a few of the off-season. maybe one of us playing that hans took for me? nothing obvious or anything.'

you let yourself have the time to think it over; while it’s not an official statement, ava posting the two of you training privately for two months of the off season is, well, pretty official. ‘i would really like that.’

‘yeah? really? don’t just say it for me, okay? i can bother camila and chanel until the end of time with these pictures.’

‘while i’m sure you already have —‘ she grimaces so you know you were right — ‘i meant what i said. i love you. i’m proud to be your girlfriend, and i don’t want to hide. if a picture of us playing makes you happy and you want to share it, then… honestly, it makes me happy too.’

ava flops back in bed, rocking her laptop and out of frame for a moment before she moves it and pops back up, on her side, steadied on her elbow. ‘i love you. also, i have pt in half an hour. can i send you a draft of the post by then?’

‘i have dinner in an hour and a half, so that should be just fine. but, ava, also, i trust you.’

she’s quiet for a moment. ‘i miss you. i got really used to sleeping in the same bed.’

‘i miss you too.’

‘but! i’ll see you in 45 hours, right?’

‘yes.’ you’re warmed by the silly fact she’s counting down the hours. ‘two sleeps.’

’think you can sneak into my room after?’

‘i think i can manage that.’

she laughs and you think you can manage just about anything.

you’re at dinner, sitting by yourself because you’d gotten there a little late. you don’t mind it: you like the quiet, and you’re reading a new series of essays in german you’d been waiting to dig into since ava gave it to you a week ago, when your phone dings.

instagram: @avasilva has tagged you in a post.

you take a deep breath — shaky, and so sure — and then click on the notification. it’s a carousel of pictures of your time in the alps: the field in early morning light; the view of the lake from your deck, the mountains glittering double in the distance; a pile of pastries ava had come home with one morning; ava with her favorite regulars at the bar you’d dance at. the seventh picture is of the two of you laughing, a ball between you, your foot up on it and your hands on your hips, ava in a sports bra and your shirt faithfully tucked in. hans had taken it, one day, just before ava had convinced him to turn the sprinklers on so you could run through them after you’d finished training, barefoot and free. it doesn’t mean anything, really, if you weren’t paying attention, but you had shared your home with her. you’re looking at her like you’ve never wanted anything else in the world: ava silva and football and the hazy summer sun.

avasilva had the best off-season convincing @beatricexin to take a break from running around with a ball & try every croissant in the alps 💅 i can’t wait to play for everyone soon, lfg!!

it’s funny, and endearing, and you did in fact eat a lot of croissants. you like the photo and ava sends you a text with a string of emojis that are mostly hearts and smiley faces, a random planet and dog thrown in, and a few mountains.

i love you too, you text back. in bed that night, you think of how ava’s unabashed joy had turned your life on its head: you want and want and want, now, without remorse, something other than football. something bigger than football.

bea <3 <3 <3 (9:06 pm)

Hello, is it okay if I post something? I can send you a draft.

Ava (9:08 pm)

yeah!!!!!!!!! of course :) as long as it’s not a nude do your thing ;) those stay between us

you roll your eyes but don’t let your hidden folder of nudes ava does enjoy sending you distract you from the soft pictures you’d taken of her one night, as the sun was setting. she’s wearing a hoodie — one of your hoodies — and shorts, her cap on backwards, barefoot, doing silly tricks in the small patch of grass behind your lakehouse next to the deck. you had asked her how, after all the complaining she did during training, she still wanted to be playing football right now, and she had laughed and flicked the ball over her head, then trapped it deftly. ’training is football,’ she’d said, ‘but this is fun. the beautiful game, bea. don’t forget.’

you pick your favorite: ava smiling at her own trick, standing still with the ball balanced on her foot, the hydrangeas around the same purple as the dusky sky. your instagram really is only pictures of you playing or sponsored content, most of which zuri posts herself or sends you copy for. there’s the occasional picture with your teammates after you’ve won something, but — your life has expanded far beyond your carefully pressed kits and the six foam rollers in your home gym, the stack of tupperware in your fridge.

beatricexin Jogo bonito @avasilva

ava calls you laughing, delighted, and then tells you all about her day; you turn off all of your instagram notifications and fall asleep to the sound of her voice.

ava’s presser is in the morning for her, before training, so you get to watch clips during the tail end of your physical therapy. it feels, a little, even though you’d facetimed her when she’d woken up that morning during your lunch, that you haven’t gotten to hug or kiss or hold her in forever. you’ve never felt this way before: you’re used to your solitude, to your quiet. ava is loud, and incredibly tactile, and genuinely adores small talk; she doesn’t mind when she spills food or if her socks fall down or her hair is in her face; she stops to pet every dog she sees.

she’s remarkably charming in pressers, a little less unpredictable than she’d been a season ago. just as you’re settling into yourself, so is ava: football is fun but football is also important, and she, in her own way, is a leader too.

‘what are some keys for you in this next match?’ a journalist asks.

‘well,’ ava starts, ‘we’ve been working on defensive shape, especially in the midfield, which i think will be really important. lilith reyes is a knockout, so making sure we shut down her ability to face up at the 9 will be important. and beatrice xin is obviously the best player in the world. she’s impossible to properly defend in man to man marking, so our discipline in formation from the front line and our 10s and 6s, especially, will be paramount. honestly, even double teaming her is hard, because she can get out of such tight spaces easily, so we’ll just see how we do there. it’s a good game to gauge where we are in that respect.’ she smiles. ’other than that, you know, have fun, kick ass, and finish our chances. hopefully i get a good goal or two.’

the entire room laughs, and ava smiles, and you feel your whole body warm, just like that. you carry the feeling through the rest of physical therapy, even though it’s definitely boring by this point, more prehab than anything, through your shower and through the walk to your presser. you get a few questions about your continued work in advocacy, team chemistry, and how you’re looking forward to your club season and the world cup.

‘there’s a few new players on the roster that you’ll play against in a few days, maybe a different look to this team than what you might be used to,’ one journalist says. ‘do you have any specific team tactics you’re bringing into this upcoming match, especially as the world cup approaches?’

‘sure. any player called up and rostered is going to be dangerous, of course,’ you say. ‘and their veterans, as well, deserve a lot of credit. i’ve played with mary for years and there’s no better a leader than her.’ you really are thinking about the upcoming match when you continue, ‘and, obviously, in regard to some new faces we’ll see, ava silva can score when she wants, so we’ve got to make sure we keep her in check.’ you can’t help but smile. ‘easier said than done, of course. but beyond that, we just need to stick to our game plan: be patient, control the midfield, win tackles, finish. we’ve come together really well after this break, so i’m excited.’

you answer a few more specific tactical questions, and then you’re done. you say hi to a few of your favorite journalists that you haven’t seen in a few months, and then make your way back to your room. when you look at your phone, you roll your eyes at the number of texts you already see, try to wrack your brain for something you’d said that had been that interesting.

you answer when ava calls, and she’s laughing. ‘hi bea!’

‘hello, ava.’

‘wait, one second.’ she facetimes you with mary in the background, who waves with a good-natured eye roll at ava’s antics; she’s practically vibrating. ‘okay, here,’ she says, then turns her camera around so you can see her laptop on a youtube video, then presses play. ‘ava silva can score when she wants,’ you hear, and you groan.

‘ava.’

‘this is the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.’

‘ava.’

she’s smiling too big for you to fight it: a laugh bubbles up out of your chest and then mary is laughing too. ‘lilith is gonna have a field day with this,’ she says.

‘i’m gonna print this out as a poster, i think,’ ava tells you, still playing it on loop in the background.

there’s a knock on your hotel room door and when you open it lilith is, indeed, holding out her phone.

‘hi lilith!’ ava says from your screen. ‘looking hot, as always. great and terrifying to see you, please don’t kill me in two days.’

you sigh. lilith leans against the doorframe. ‘ava silva can score when she wants?’

‘okay, you know what i meant.’

‘yeah!’ ava says. ‘i can score! in more ways than one!’

‘goodbye, ava.’

‘bye, love you,’ ava says, still laughing, and you hang up.

lilith just looks at you for a moment and then rolls her eyes, but it’s not cruel. you think, maybe, she might be amused. ‘see you at dinner, beatrice.’

you squirrel away a little time with ava between team meetings and training, just an hour for coffee in between your two hotels. she drags you into the bathroom immediately and kisses you senseless the moment she walks in the door and sees you sitting at a table, your drinks and a few croissants already ordered.

‘i missed you so much,’ she says. ‘i know it wasn’t even that long, but, like, fuck, bea.’

‘i love you too, ava,’ you say, and kiss your way down her neck. ‘i missed you too. i, honestly, i’ve never really had someone to miss before. it was — it was nice, to get to know i’d see you. or, at least, that you missed me too.’

she softens, puts her hand to your cheek. ‘of course i missed you. and your ass, which i will be kicking tomorrow.’

‘you’ve been waiting on that one, haven’t you?’

‘for a week now, yeah.’ she rubs her thumb over your cheekbone. ‘hi.’

it’s a miracle. her brown eyes, the pretty set of her brow, the bow of her lips. a miracle. ‘hello.’

you kiss a little while longer, put your hand beneath her shirt and let yourself feel the tender press of her ribs; wind your hand to the soft skin of her back, trace up and down the scar there while she shivers. ‘i love you.’

‘i love you too.’

you sit in the corner of the patio, and you drink your coffee, and you let ava persuade you into eating a croissant — your resistance mostly for show, at this point — and you walk her to the lobby of her hotel. mary gives you a hug and ava squeezes your hand.

‘see you tomorrow,’ she says.

‘i hope you enjoy losing.’

ava laughs. ‘good luck with that.’

you don’t score all that often — 29 goals for your national team so far, which is fine by you; you’d rather set assist records anyway — but there’s something about a home crowd and ava wearing a different uniform than you, shooting you a wink in the tunnel before you walked out, jumping up and down a few times, serious and focused, before the whistle. you shake hands with mary before the coin toss (tails, you call, always tails), doing your very best to seem solemn and professional, even though, you know, after the game you’ll get a beer with her and shannon, who is watching from the box. you tuck your jersey in one final time, pull the double knots on your boots tight, and close your eyes, just for a moment, as you always do. you understand it all, again, a blessing: the hush of the crowd; their 8, always a little out of position, the through ball on to lilith in the wide space open again and again; the ache in your ankle minimal. and you understand something else, too: ava will be miraculous. and then, your final, favorite thing to look for before a whistle: there are so many xin 10 national team jerseys in the crowd; so many little girls, lots of whom aren’t white, and it makes you feel like you can do anything.

you don’t score often, but knowing ava is watching you is electrifying. at one point, you go into a tackle against her, hard and unrelenting, and she catches the top of her foot with her studs. you lie down for a second, let the sting wear off, and then accept her help to stand. ‘my bad, baby,’ she says, quiet enough and with a neutral expression, genuinely sorry. it makes you laugh, and you pat her shoulder, and the ref seems appeased enough that she just gives away a warning, and not a yellow.

you get the ball from the restart, around midfield, and then find lilith in the wide space. lilith is fast and strong and so elegant; you might want to physically fight her not infrequently but you’ve never felt anything other than admiration for her on the pitch, and today is no different. she sends a ball in, around the penalty spot, and you’d timed your run perfectly. the cross is hard and fast, takes a nasty skip that forces you to reset your feet quickly, but you finish on a perfectly timed half volley that mary has absolutely no chance of stopping: no spin, upper 90, perfect.

the crowd erupts: it’s a friendly, but there’s 90,000 people watching and it certainly doesn’t feel like one. you run to the corner flag, letting out a yell that you so rarely let yourself, a momentary lapse in careful, constant restraint — what a fucking goal, you think. your teammates hug you and even lilith smiles, big and bright. when you jog back to midfield you catch ava smiling despite herself.

it’s not until the 67’ that ava equalizes; it’s not your fault, you think with a little bit of relief: you love playing against her but you’re the best in the world because you refuse to let yourself be anything but, and you do not personally want to be beaten. ava gets the ball on the left side, out wide, and you already know it’s going to be abysmal for your team when she manages an elastico and then a nutmeg, beating your right and center backs, one after another. you’d watched her goof around with the ball like this for months, lucky for it, her socks falling down and the alps calm in the distance, and it’s no different now: ava feints right and cuts back, sharp, onto her left foot, finishes, lightning fast, with a curling ball past your keeper’s outstretched hands.

she laughs, after she scores, hands thrown into the air, and kisses the crest on her jersey, just for fun. you let out a deep breath, your hands on your hips, and when she sees you looking at her, you have to shake your head with an amused roll of your eyes.

the game ends in a draw, exciting and fair, and the fans love it, which makes you happy. there are no injuries, no serious fouls, and your team got to work on defensive shape with a very lively forward, so, all in all, tons of positives. you tell your team this in the final huddle, and everyone cheers. most of all, you make sure to say, you had fun.

after you break, you find ava lingering around midfield, talking to mary. you give them both hugs, and mary shoves you good-naturedly. ‘you couldn’t take it easy on me, xin? not even for one game?’

‘can’t let ava have all the glory,’ you say. ‘i have to remind people i can still score every now and then.’

ava grins. ‘that goal was so hot. tragically it was against us, but still, so hot.’

‘your goal was fine,’ you say, ‘i guess.’

ava gasps in mock offense, then laughs. ‘did you ask your backs how their ankles are feeling? i thought you’d enjoy the elastico.’

‘okay,’ mary says, ‘i’m going to go see my wife and let you two continue your weird foreplay.’

‘as if you didn’t spend years showing off in front of shannon,’ you say, and ava laughs as mary walks away.

‘well,’ ava says, ‘while we’re at it, do you want to trade jerseys?’

you think about it, and you know ava wouldn’t be upset at all if you said no, if you didn’t feel ready. but you want to wear her jersey, you want to see your name on her back. ‘let’s do it.’

‘yes!’ she immediately grabs the bottom hem of her jersey and lifts it over her head. maybe it’s because you played a full 90 and are exhausted and not really thinking; maybe it’s because you love her, but you smooth her wild hair down and then take your jersey off before you trade. you know she’s worn your jersey before, a fact that chanel had been delighted to inform you of the first time you ever talked on zoom, complete with many photos — but you’ve never worn hers. even though it’s your rival national team, it feels a little imbued with the magic and the joy ava brings every time she steps on the pitch, like you can absorb it through the sweaty material, a size smaller than yours.

‘do you want a picture?’ ava’s national team social media manager asks, and you nod before ava can try to decide for both of you. it gets a happy, soft smile from her, and it’s worth it, a million times over, to put your arm around her shoulder while she puts hers on your hip.

later, after you debrief in your separate locker rooms, after you go through meticulous recovery, you meet ava outside the restaurant some of you are meeting at. ‘how do you feel about me posting the picture from today?’

‘i love you.’

she looks at you like you’ve given her the world; you don’t know how to, yet, tell her that she’s given it to you, in spades. ‘i love you too.’ she presses a kiss to your cheek. ‘so that’s a yes.’

‘that’s a yes, darling.’ you squeeze her hand. ‘maybe, if you give me incentive later, maybe i’ll even put it on my grid too.’

‘there’s a bathroom right inside, bea.’

‘we’re early, yes?’

ava practically sprints, dragging you by the hand while you laugh. mary rolls her eyes when you and ava emerge from the bathroom a few minutes later and find them at their table, ava’s hair an absolute mess and the buttons of your shirt misaligned. shannon just chuckles and pulls you in for a hug.

ava is starting in on her third croissant, which, to be fair, she’d gotten back in the middle of the night yesterday, and she’s jetlagged and starving, beatrice at 9 am — i think you would happily eat three croissants even if you weren’t jetlagged, ava. you have a few days off before club starts again, and you’re using them to kiss your partner and buy her as many croissants as she wants, even if she sprays crumbs everywhere telling you about an elaborate plan she and camila have for a prank on lilith (it’ll inevitably fail, but you like to see them try).

you’re headed back from the bathroom and busy staring at the gentle cut of her bicep while she gestures animatedly, croissant and all, when two young teenage girls, probably 13 or 14, come up to the table. you have over a hundred million followers on instagram, but you don’t really get recognized in public too often, mostly because you — at least, in the past — have mostly posted about football and sponcon. but ava, charming and friendly and so pretty, is, of course, amazing at social media, and open and happy, and gaining followers faster than you ever had, especially since she’d started posting pictures with you.

‘hey,’ ava says, and the girls nervously hovering near your table both blush profusely. ‘i’m ava, what’s up?’

‘ava silva, oh my god,’ one of them says. ‘hi.’

ava smiles. ‘how’s your day?’

‘good,’ the other says. ‘so good, oh my god. sorry, sorry. i’m mia, this is taylor.’ she points to her friend. ‘you’re, like, our favorite player.’

‘that’s really nice,’ ava says, and she spots you from the corner of her eye. you know that you don’t have to go over, that you could go back to the bathroom and she would text you when they leave, but you want to be with her. maybe not without saying anything publicly, but — ava is your partner. ava is the love of your life.

‘hi,’ you say, sit down at the table next to ava, and she really has to stop herself from bursting into laughter when the girls legitimately look like they might pass out.

‘beatrice xin,’ mia whispers.

‘hello,’ you say.

‘you’re — whoa. beautiful.’

‘taylor,’ mia chastises, but ava is already laughing delightedly.

‘beatrice is beautiful, it’s okay.’

‘do you play football?’ you ask, mostly because you think ava would keep this going and never, ever put them out of their misery. it gets them going on a calmer little explanation of their club team, the positions they play, how they saw your last friendly and even got mary’s autograph once at a sleepaway camp. eventually, ava asks if they want a picture — they do, and they almost have tears in their eyes — and you let them stand between the two of you and ava easily gets someone a table over to take a picture. they profusely thank you and then leave, squealing a little, and ava takes your hand under the table.

‘you good?’

‘you think i’m beautiful?’

ava laughs, easy and light, as if this is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard in her life. ‘bea, you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever known.’

you go to the ballon d’or together; you wear a suit without a shirt underneath, and, after a little pestering, let your hair down and sweep it over one of your shoulders, wavy and long; ava wears a gorgeous gown, a slit far too high up her leg to be forgotten by you very easy. you debate whether or not you could just ditch the entire thing and go home instead. she’s so soft and so happy it quells the anxious chatter in your chest. and you don’t say anything, but she posts to her instagram story and everyone takes pictures of you holding hands on the red carpet and nothing changes. the world doesn’t shift on its axis. ava holds your hand.

and then you win — again — but this time it feels special, it feels real: ava wipes tears off her cheeks while you accept the trophy on stage, she whistles and cheers your name. everyone knows now anyway, you think, so:

‘i’d like to thank my partner, ava,’ you say, and will your voice not to shake, after you’d thanked your teammates and the staff who makes it all possible, ‘who plays the game with more joy than anyone i’ve ever known.’ you lift the trophy in her direction and then let out a deep breath. the lights are bright but ava is brighter, and your whole life unfolds before you: ava on the pitch; ava waking up in your big bed; ava’s clothes in your closet; ava’s smile in the middle of the afternoon when you finish an op-ed and walk out of your office. ava by the ocean; ava in the mountains; ava, asleep on your shoulder in the middle of the sky: ava, everywhere.

things are beautiful, for months: ava spends the night often; a few times you fall asleep on her couch and camila is delighted when you shuffle out of ava’s bedroom in the morning, probably hours after they’ve both woken up. one night, after a game where ava scores five goals, you put her jersey on and look at her, lying in your bed with a strap-on on, the dildo shiny and her eyes wide when you let yourself sink down onto it. she puts her hands on your hips and it’s the most overwhelming feeling, to have ava touching you, to have ava inside of you and filling you up so much you think you might scream, to have ava telling you that you’re beautiful, and sexy, and so, so good. you order pizza afterward, after she’s come more times than she claims she can count, and eat in bed, pepperoni grease and the way she groans and pats her stomach when she’s full, smiling at you with so, so much love. you do promo for this seasons’ kits, and you take pictures together for the pride mural a local artist is doing. none of it feels scary; all of it feels full of joy.

things are beautiful. things are so, so beautiful.

it’s a perfect ball into the box from camila, clinical and ruthless, and time slows down when you watch, in excitement and then seeping, unstoppable dread, as ava goes for it. she’s not looking anywhere but the ball, but from your view at the 18 you can see it all happen: ava jumps and heads the ball, perfectly, but then a defender trips, the goalkeeper slams into ava’s side, and ava’s feet get swept from underneath her. ava falls, hard, onto her back, with a cry of pain.

the ball is in the back of the net but white hot panic is shooting through you — you have never cared about a goal, or sponsorships or trophies or football less than you do right now. lilith is by ava’s side immediately, because she had been closest, and she quickly waves for the medical team to come on. it takes a few seconds for you to reach her, although it feels like years. ava’s eyes are closed and she’s whimpering; you’re not sure if she’s trying to not make noise because she’s hurting or if she’s mostly scared.

‘ava,’ you say, afraid to touch her beyond the gentlest caress of her cheek you can manage.

she opens her eyes — a little unfocused, a little clouded — and you blink back your own tears to wipe hers. ‘i can’t move.’

you don’t care, in that moment, about anything other than her. ‘can you feel my hand?’

you don’t let her move to where you’ve grasped hers, but she nods. ‘yeah,’ she says, the slightest bit of relief bleeding through the fear. ‘yeah.’

‘okay,’ you say. ‘that’s good. that’s really good, darling.’

jillian kneels by ava’s head, puts both hands on either side so she can’t move it, and paramedics already have a backboard and neck brace ready. ‘ava,’ she says, ‘what’s your pain level? where?’

‘i —‘ ava starts to cry, hard, and lilith and jillian look at you for a moment before you tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

‘breathe, ava,’ you say. ‘i’m here, we’re all here. breathe.’

ava sniffles and you just keep running your hand through her hair. she looks up at jillian. ‘a nine,’ she says, her words coming shaky and scared. ‘my back, where i, last time, but everything is numb and tingling and i —‘ she can’t even finish her sentence before she has to close her eyes and groan; her hand tightens around yours, strong and even a little painful. it brings a rush of relief through you and when jillian sees the motion, she nods and offers you the smallest smile.

‘okay,’ jillian says, ‘we’re going to get you in a c-collar and then on the backboard. i’m just going to ask you a few questions, and then we’ll get you some pain meds and take you to the hospital.’

‘it’s okay,’ ava says, trying so hard to convince herself, and maybe you too. her breath is still coming too fast, and it’s all you can do to wipe her tears.

‘yes, it’s okay,’ you tell her, even though it’s very clear that it isn’t. ‘it’s going to be okay, ava.’

jillian gets ava in the c-collar, and then reaches for her hands; you ache when you let go but you move to kneel just above ava’s head so she can still see you.

‘squeeze my hands,’ jillian says, and you think everyone is relieved when she can. ‘wonderful, ava.’ she moves down to put her palms against the bottom of ava’s studs. ‘can you push down on my hands for me?’

ava’s feet move, just the tiniest bit, and it’s bad but, still, it’s something.

‘fantastic,’ jillian nods to the paramedics and then looks to you. ‘we need to get her on the backboard.’

you understand: this will hurt her; ava is hurt. you nod, and you situate yourself so that the paramedics have room to work but ava can still see you. you haven’t noticed, but your teammates are in a protective circle around you, a hush throughout the stadium, everyone shaken — ava’s goal, at least for now, forgotten, far less important than ava. she tries to stay quiet but when the paramedics roll her on her side, just for a second, she cries out. you can’t touch her; you can’t hold her, and it breaks your heart.

the paramedics count and then lift her onto a stretcher. jillian lets you take ava’s hand again, and she keeps her eyes closed, trying to breathe. before you get to the sideline, coach superion stops you, and you kiss ava’s forehead, not caring who sees. you haven’t cared less about anything in your entire life.

the game had been waning down, in the 87’, and so it feels fair and it also feels like a deep kindness when coach superion squeezes your shoulder. ‘vincent is bringing your things from the locker room; give me a moment to sub you off properly and then you can go.’

‘i — the game isn’t over.’

coach superion looks at you very seriously. ‘beatrice, go.’

it’s permission in its command, and you jog toward the half line, let camila rub your back soothingly while you wait for the fourth official to put up the sub numbers on the board.

‘we’re all right behind you,’ she says.

you nod. ‘thank you.’

‘you have to go to the world cup, bea,’ ava says. she’s in bed, connected to way too many monitors and there’s a few bags running into her IV, in a back brace after emergency surgery — which, according to dr. salvius and ava’s neurosurgeon, dr. reya, had been ultimately extremely successful. but still, a re-fractured vertebrae and new spinal cord inflammation is, at best, months of painful recovery: inpatient rehab for a few weeks, maybe another surgery, and then hours and hours of outpatient rehab every day.

‘no, i really don’t.’

‘beatrice.’

‘you matter more to me than… anything, ava,’ you say, and you kiss her hand so you don’t have to cry looking at her. she’s in pain; she’s trying to stay off of pain meds as much as possible so she can know everything that’s going on. ‘you matter to me more than a world cup; more than football.’

‘i know, my love.’ she tucks a loose strand of hair, escaped from your bun, behind your ear. ‘but you have to go. i don’t want you to give this up for me.’

you don’t know what else to say; your entire body aches. ‘i don’t want to go.’

she holds back tears; your team plane leaves in a few hours and lilith is waiting outside of the room to drive with you to the airport. you’d spent all night, while ava was in surgery, organizing spreadsheets of who was in town, who could visit so that ava would never have to be alone, and looking into the few inpatient rehab facilities dr. salvius had directed you to, making sure ava could have a spot.

‘i know, bea,’ she says. ‘but you gotta go win a world cup for me. i’m gonna wear your jersey when i walk again, okay?’

you cry and she lifts her hand — steadily and without too much effort, and, even though there’s a deep, deep hurt in your chest, you feel relieved and proud — and wipes your tears. ‘i love you,’ you say. ‘ava, i love you so, so much.’

‘i know,’ she says. ‘i love you too, bea. i’m gonna be so happy for you when you win.’

when you get on the plane, a few hours later, lilith doesn’t say anything from where she sits next to you when you look out the window and cry.

#footy au #wn #warrior nun fic #avatrice #avatrice fic

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