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oeldeservesthenorris · 1 year ago

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I absolutely despise that know-it-all blowhard Thomas Drance, so I rarely acknowledge his "insight", but for once he got it right and as an FYI so, enjoy this copy and paste article from The Athletic cause I really don't like to give them any more $$ than I have to:

Drance: Why Quinn Hughes has something to prove — ‘A lot of guys don’t watch the West’

SUNRISE, Fla. — There’s a quiet intensity to Quinn Hughes. It’s always been there, simmering a bit beneath the surface.

When it comes out, at least in terms of his public commentary, it’s expressed with almost stunning clarity.

Hughes lives hockey. His family lives hockey. There’s a reason he’s one of the smartest defenders in the game today, and it’s because he knows this sport inside and out. He tracks obscure records, he’s aware of the statistics and the conversation around the league, and yes, he noticed where he stood in recent lists of the best players in the NHL compiled both by ESPN and The Athletic.

“Oh yeah, I saw the lists, but I’m not going to comment on it,” Hughes said Saturday after playing his best game of the season, and perhaps the most complete single game of his career, in the Vancouver Canucks’ 5-3 victory over the Florida Panthers. “Maybe at the end of the year.”

Regardless of where Hughes ranked in the preseason lists, two things are certain moving forward. The first is that the Canucks’ first-year captain is clearly out to prove something this season: that he’s among the NHL’s best defensemen and that he can lead this team to the playoffs.

The second is that if he plays like this consistently, and if this team succeeds on his back the way they did on Saturday night, Hughes’ two-way play and his standing as a dominant blueliner will be completely undeniable.

Hughes, after all, was dominant on Saturday. In a game that featured a legitimate MVP candidate in Matthew Tkachuk, a perennial Selke nominee in Aleksander Barkov and Vancouver’s two near-40-goal scorers in Elias Pettersson and Andrei Kuzmenko — who broke the game open in multiple instances — Hughes was the best player on the ice. And it wasn’t close.

He had the game on a string and dictated the pace in all phases of the contest.

When the Canucks built their lead in the second period, it was Hughes who kept the puck alive on a Panthers clearing attempt, then walked the line when he retrieved the puck and uncorked a shot through multiple layers of the Panthers defense. His shot caused chaos in the Panthers crease and Florida took a penalty. Soon after, Vancouver took the lead.

Then as the Panthers pressed, dominating play in the third period, it was Hughes who proved capable of calming down the game. On multiple occasions he got in on the hands of Panthers wingers Carter Verhaeghe, Evan Rodrigues and Sam Reinhart along the wall, cleanly stripping them of the puck and turning play in the other direction.

It wasn’t perfect, and as the Panthers cranked up the pressure on Vancouver, Hughes was on the ice for a goal against. It was the first goal against that Hughes had been on the ice for all season. He’d logged 115:40 of total ice time in all situations to open the campaign before an opponent scored against the Canucks while he was on.

That may seem like an obscure stat, but it’s another one Hughes was aware of and tracking.

“Do you know that was the first goal against you were on the ice for this season?” I asked him postgame.

“Yeah, I was keeping track of that. By myself. I wanted to see how long I could go with that one,” Hughes admitted.

“Do you know how long you went?”

“Well, I know I went four games, 25 minutes a game, so that would be 100 … oh but wait, it’s only five-on-five …”

“Oh, I have the number for everything.”

“Whatever. OK, I was only tracking five-on-five. You counting everything?”

“Yeah, it’s 115:40.”

“Oh man, I was going to guess 118.”

“Pretty close, so you’re all over it.”

“Of course, I mean, I always hear it,” Hughes responded thoughtfully, that old chip on the shoulder beginning to show. “Y’know how it is. ‘He’s an offensive defenseman, but he’s not good at defending.’ And I’ve been plus the last two years, and playing big minutes. So for me, the stereotype is there. A lot of guys don’t watch the West, but I’m out here trying to do the best I can.”

Obviously, Hughes’ best is sensational, and not just offensively. Even traditional plus-minus — which dings a player with Hughes’ offensive profile given that he eats fake dashes for short-handed goals against and empty net goals deposited against Vancouver when it’s trailing — underrates his contributions. The simple fact of the matter is that last season when Hughes was on the ice five-on-five, the Canucks outscored their opponents 81 to 61 — for an on-ice goal differential of plus-20 (a far better statistic since it doesn’t arbitrarily mix game stats). When Hughes was taking a breather, Vancouver was outscored 88 to 131.

Or to put it simply, for those in the Eastern time zone: When Hughes was on the ice five-on-five over roughly 1,500 minutes, the Canucks outscored their opponents at a rate comparable to (and actually better than) what the Vegas Golden Knights accomplished as a team last season. When Hughes wasn’t on the ice five-on-five, Vancouver was outscored at a rate comparable to what the Anaheim Ducks accomplished as a team last season.

“He does some stuff though that’s world class,” said Canucks head coach Rick Tocchet postgame. “And when he defends, he defends with quickness. And that’s OK — he can still win a Norris defending with quickness, you don’t have to kill a guy in the corner.

“I think Huggy, he’s got a little chip on his shoulder about (the idea) that he can’t defend,” Tocchet added later in his postgame briefing. “About the idea that he’s just an offensive defenseman and no, he can defend. And I like that.”

Honestly, it’s past time for Hughes’ savvy, well-rounded, two-way game to begin to garner the respect it’s due.

Of course, it also speaks to the extent to which Hughes’ control of the proceedings in Sunrise on Saturday night jumped right off of the ice sheet that we’ve yet to mention his goal — his first of the season — which opened the scoring.

The goal came after Hughes made one of the most preposterous keep-ins at the blue line that I’ve ever witnessed live; an absolute marvel of hand-eye coordination on which the broadcast angle on the play — which still captured how impressive the play was — did the degree of difficulty zero justice.

Later in the shift, Hughes received a pass from J.T. Miller, changed the angle on the wrist shot and stepped into that first goal.

“Walking the blue line and shooting, he’s got a couple of moves that he worked on this summer,” Tocchet said when asked about how dominant Hughes was on Saturday night in South Florida. “Man, he worked a lot, I don’t know if people realize how much he worked. I don’t want to tell you what he does, I’m not going to give the other team a pre-scout.

“I’m not trying to put pressure on him, but his capability of walking the blue line is outstanding.”

Hughes’ newfound shooting mentality has been one of the most noticeable evolutions in his game in the early going this season. Through five games, Hughes is averaging north of three shots per game and nearly an additional shot-and-a-half per contest above his career average going into this season.

“I’m shooting more for sure, but it’s more about putting myself in spots where I can beat a guy and then shoot,” Hughes said. “Connecting my feet and my hands, beating a guy. In the past when I’d beat a guy, I wouldn’t be in a position to shoot it. I’m focused in on that now.”

Of course, there’s a balance. Hughes’ best skill is his passing and on a team loaded with world-class finishers, there’s a balance he has to strike in terms of distributing the puck. Of course, that’s a balance that comes naturally to a signal caller of Hughes’ calibre.

“I think the more I shoot, the more will open up,” Hughes said when I asked him if his new shooting mentality could open up additional passing lanes. “It’s more than my shot, it’s rebounds and tips. But on the power play, pre-scout, if I’m shooting a bit more they have to worry about that.

“That said, I have to be aware. Like would you rather my shot or Petey’s slap shot? It’s going to be Petey’s slap shot every time. And his slap shot opens up my shot, and when that happens, I’m going to try and use it.”

While Hughes managed to beat Sergei Bobrovsky with a point blast for his first of the year, his evolution as a shooter is about more than just his goal on Saturday. It’s that, in truth, he could have two or three already in this young season.

“Honestly, I think I could’ve scored in every game,” Hughes said. “I know the exact plays, too. I could’ve scored in Philly, I should’ve scored in Edmonton, I hit the post in Philly, but I also had a mini breakaway and should’ve just tried to go five-hole. I know I’m getting my looks so I know it’s going to come. And I’m getting more looks because of my mindset.”

Getting his first goal of the year was also something of a weight off of his shoulders. It took him until Dec. 27 last season to score his first of the campaign.

When he finally scored, he was nearing an ignominious record. It was a milestone Hughes was aware of, though it received little meaningful media coverage as it approached.

“It feels good (to score my first), I mean obviously I almost broke the record last year,” Hughes said when asked how he viewed his first goal.

“Huh, what record?” I interrupted, confused.

“Most games by a guy scoring a point per game without a goal.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. No, I think I was two or three games away, and that’s not a record you want to break.”

“Wait, were you tracking that?”

“No, but the trainers were busting my balls about it.”

There will be no ignominious goal-less milestones for Hughes to sidestep this season. And no ignoring Hughes’ dominance — on offence and in his own end, too — if he keeps playing like this.

#nhl #nhl hockey #nhl players #vancouver canucks #quinn hughes #short king #captain quinn hughes #captainquinton #thats my captain #brady tkachuk #ottowa senators #nhl2023 2024

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apomaro-mellow · 3 years ago

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Werewolf Steve x Vampire Eddie

Part 1/?

Steve watched as Eddie back up with that tell-tale look on his face.

“Munson don’t you do it. Don’t you run away from me.” Steve advanced, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

Eddie, the bastard, just grinned and transformed right then and there, his wings taking him up into the sky and away from this conversation.

“Dammit!”, Steve hissed, annoyed.

“Yep, saw that comin’“, Dustin had the audacity to comment from the sidelines.

Steve rounded on him. “This is all your fault Henderson.”

“My fault?”

Yes. His fault. Because Eddie Munson never would’ve strolled into Steve’s life had he not met him on that fateful night.

The full moon resonated with Steve and he had been running around with Robin and Jonathan when he heard Dustin’s stray howl. When Steve didn’t hear the answering call of any of their pack, he parted from his two friends to see what was up, howling a reply himself.

It was odd for Dustin to be alone. But it turned out he wasn’t. Because apparently, in his abundance of time, Dustin not only made friends with a vampire but the most insufferable one in all of existence. Steve didn’t realize this at first though. He only saw a vampire advancing on a cub and simply reacted.

So what if he bit Dustin’s new friend? Eddie deserved it. Retroactively. By pulling moves like this.

“I invite him to dinner and somehow I’m the asshole?”, Steve frowned.

Dustin shrugged. “Eddie said he doesn’t do pack stuff.”

“He’s taking the loner thing too seriously.”

They returned back home and Dustin reported Steve’s failure at inviting Eddie.

“Can’t blame the guy”, Robin said. “Vamps aren’t the most social bunch. Pass the potatoes.”

“Also, the first glimpse of ‘pack stuff’ he saw was a grooming”, Max said as she handed the bowl over. “I think that’d turn most folks away.”

“But he has a whole club of vampires he hangs out with”, Steve argued.

“There’s nothing wrong with hygiene”, Joyce piped up. “As for this friend of Dustin’s, we need to let him acclimate at his own pace.”

“He’s one blood sucker going into a den of wolves”, Hopper said. “He’s right to be cautious.”

Cautious. Right. So far, whenever Eddie hung out with Dustin or any member of their pack, it was on neutral ground. For some reason, Steve took personal offense to the fact Munson didn’t want to come over.

------------

A few nights later, when Dustin reported as much when he and Eddie went to the arcade, Eddie pushed away from the air hockey table and began to pace around.

“I knew it. I just knew it.”

“Knew what?”, Dustin moved away from the table too while Mike and Erica moved in to continue the game like nothing happened.

“This is how they get ya”, Eddie pointed at Dustin. “They lure you in with a cute kid. Or a dog. Or both. And then all of a sudden you’re meeting the family, and picking out wedding invitations and before you know it I’m choppin’ the locks and we’re all...Leave it to Beaver bullshit!”

“Uhh, did Steve ask you out and I missed it?”, Erica asked, definitely not missing a beat as she scored on Mike.

“I am also confused”, Dustin said. “Because I was under the impression that you and Steve were at the ‘begrudgingly tolerant’ stage. Are you trying to say-wait, what are you trying to say?”

Erica’s brow raised. “Are you into Steve?”

Mike whipped around, giving Erica a free point. “Eddie what the hell? Steve? Harrington? Steve Harrington?”

“Over my dead body”, Eddie said. “Over my dead body I’m falling for that...that...”

“Watch it”, Dustin warned.

“That hairball.”

“That’s fair”, Dustin shrugged.

“I mean it would explain why you always lose whatever shred of cool you have around him”, Erica said matter-of-factly. “And why you always got full-bat when you’ve exhausted that cool. And why you’re always talkin’ about the way he smells-”

“Cause he smells like wet dog! And...something else.”

“Oh my god.” Mike was going through a crisis. “Oh my god!”

Eddie ran a hand through his hair. “Stop saying that like you’re having a revelation Wheeler.”

“Eddie. Serious question.” Dustin put his hands together. “Do you have a crush on Steve?”

Eddie would’ve brandished his fangs but that stopped working on these kids months ago.

----------------------

“How come you never ask Robin to do this?”, Steve asked.

“I love her to death, but she’s not going anywhere near my plants”, Nancy said as she knelt down.

Steve was watering a bunch of things he didn’t know the names of. Nancy was picking like she knew all their secrets. The full moon was coming up. She must have a spell planned.

“Full moon will be soon”, Nancy said, rather randomly.

“Yeah.”

“And you’re going to do some running?”

“Yeah. Robin will be out too.” Which she should know, the two had been dating for about a year. So why was Nancy asking?

“Steve, what are you and Eddie doing?”

Trust Nancy to cut through the bullshit.

“We are not doing anything. He’s fine with just being friends with Dustin, and the other kids, and just hanging out in town, and that’s fine, and that’s it. That’s it, Nance.”

“Hmm. Well Mike said-”

“I mean how could he not just come to dinner, huh? Like I get that he knows Will and Dustin but Max doesn’t play DnD and call me crazy but I think he and Robin would hit it off and if he’s...masquerading as some kinda mentor for Dustin then he should get to know his family.”

“You’re right”, Nancy said, standing with the basket of her harvest. “He should get to know the family.”

#apo writes #fanfiction #stranger things #steddie #here take this....thing

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theringers · 4 years ago

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hockey game - lance stroll

summary: your boyfriend catches you chatting it up with his rival before an important game.

a/n: this is unedited but i’ve had this thought in my mind for a while and needed to share it (and show my boy lance some appreciation)

dedicated to my bestie who has a soft spot for hockey lance ;)

warnings: 18+, nsfw, semi public sex (shocker), light (?) choking, light (?) bondage

“Lance what the hell was that?” You yelled as you barged into the locker room. You knew you weren’t allowed in there and you didn’t care. It was strictly players and coaches only, but everyone else seemed to be out for the game.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” he took off his helmet and threw it to the ground. He had been ejected from the game for causing a fight. Under his helmet, his face had cuts on it and his knuckles were bruised up.

“I really don’t know why you just threw the gloves off for absolutely no reason and punched him in the face!” You paced back and forth. “I understand it’s an important game, but now your team has to play without you.” His temper could get the best of him, but when it came to important games like these, he needed to learn how to control himself.

He scoffed. “Don’t act like you know everything about hockey. This is my job.” He took off his bloodied jersey and wiped his face with it before tossing it in his locker.

You spoke under your breath. “If you’re in here clearly you’re not so good at your job.”

“What did you just say to me?” He was still heated from his fight on the ice. His chest was rising and falling fast, the adrenaline still pumping through his body.

You walked over to him, hoping to talk through his actions with him to help you understand. “Lance, you were supposed to win the championship this year. It’s game 7 and you fought someone for no reason and now your team is going to lose. Because of you.”

“Not because of me, because of you.” He replied. You furrowed your brows and looked around, confused.

“What?” You were fuming. How dare he put the blame on you for any of this.

“I saw you flirting with what’s his face, the-”

“We were not flirting.” You said. “He was asking me a question.” During warm ups, a player on the other team skated over to where you and your friends were seated to watch the game. You didn’t think much of it but apparently it was all Lance had thought about.

He loosened the laces on his skates and sat down on the bench. “Oh really. What does he want from the captain of the opposing team’s girlfriend anyway?”

“He wanted to get my friend’s number.” You we’re telling the truth, but we’re sure Lance was going to have a field day with that one.

“That’s the best you can come up with?” He scoffed, tossing more of his pads onto the ground. He mocked your voice with a higher-pitched tone. “He wanted to get my friend’s number, yeah that’s bullsh-”

“Stop fucking mocking me, Lance. Such an asshole.” You raised your voice at him. Sometimes he didn’t know when enough was enough.

"Stop pissing me off and we won't have a problem." He threw his remaining pads on the ground, just left in his performance wear.

“Oh I’m sorry. I’ll try again and come in here and congratulate you for fucking over your team.”

“If you had heard the things he was saying about-”

“Lance, I do not care.”

He took a deep breath in. “If you interrupt me one more time, so help me god,” he tried to focus on his breathing to calm down.

“Or what, huh? This isn’t a game of hockey, Lance. Fighting isnt solving anything.”

“It’s game 7 y/n! You thought it was a good idea to chat up my rival right in front of me? Right before the game? You must be delusional.”

“The fact that you now think your team losing is my fault…. is beyond me.” You shook your head in disappointment. “I’m going to go watch the rest of the game. Enjoy yourself.” You turned around and headed for the door until you felt his hand grip your wrist.

“Don’t you dare leave.” He said.

“What are you going to do about it?” You turned back to him and raised your eyebrows in a matter-of-fact kind of way.

“I’ll tie you up so you can’t leave.” He pulled the strap right off of his helmet and led you to the bench in front of his locker. “Want to act all tough, y/n? I’ll show you tough.” He sat you down and walked behind you, slowly pulling one arm after the other behind your back. He wrapped your wrists in the rough helmet strap, tying a knot tight enough so you couldn’t wiggle.

“Not so cocky when you can’t touch anything, huh?”Lance circled around to look at you, constrained in front of him. His eyes focused on every inch of your body while he licked his lips and toyed with them between his teeth.

“Maybe I should leave you like this, that way anyone who wanted to use you could have a go with you. Would you like that?” You nodded your head as he moved in closer to you. “I know a certain someone on the other team that I know would want to come have a go with you.” His fingers traced your cheek.

He ripped off your team tank top, making a mental note to get you a new one next time around. Hands ran up and down your top half, your boobs perfectly exposed with your arms behind your back. “Wow,” he said.

He took your nipples in his mouth and kissed down your stomach until he reached the buttons of your jeans. He swiftly unbuttoned them and slid them off your legs, tossing them to the side.

He pulled his own undershirt off, revealing bruises and cuts from today’s fight. You winced at them but he ignored it and held your head in his hands. “You better start behaving for me,” he said with a quick smack to your cheek.

Your eyes shut immediately, not expecting the sensation but it turned you on to be tied up and at his mercy. Watching him, he kneeled down between your legs and shot his still-angry eyes up at you before diving in between your legs.

His tongue rattled back and forth between your folds and sucked on your clit like his life depended on it. He was breathing heavy and his grip dug deeper into your thighs.

You so badly wanted to pull on his dark hair, sweaty and hanging on his forehead from being in his helmet for hours. He looked so sexy after his games, but especially when he lost. He sure as hell knew how to make anger turn into pleasure.

You groaned loud at the feeling and he lifted his head off of you. “Shut the fuck up, y/n. Or I’ll have to punish you when we get home.”

You let out a small laugh. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.” You felt your body lift and before you could focus, you were standing up, face against the cold locker. Lance was pressed up against your back, and his hand moved in circles over your ass.

“I said,” smack, “shut,” smack, “the fuck” smack “up.” Your behind felt like you had been stung by a million bees, but it was turning you on.

He lubricated his fingers and placed them between your folds, preparing you for himself. You felt him stretch you with one quick thrust.

His hands gripped your sides as he pounded into you from behind. His hands periodically moved from your sides to smack your ass. “Is this turning you on?” His breath hot on your ear. “Fucking you hard when anyone could walk in on us?”

“Yes,” you whimpered. His hand snaked around to grip your throat and his body rocked yours into the locker over and over. The sounds of the crowd reverberated through the locker room, constantly reminding you that you weren’t alone.

Every time he thrust into you, the weight of your body hit against the metal lockers. You could feel him as he thrust deep inside of you. “Are you gonna come for me baby?” He asked, feeling you tighten around him. His fingers were still wrapped around your throat only allowing you to respond with a nod. He pushed harder and harder until your body went limp.

“That’ll teach you to not disobey me,” he said, grabbing his pile of clothes and walking away, leaving you tied up and resting against the lockers. Alone.

#f1 smut asks #f1 smut #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll smut #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll blurb #lance stroll asks #ls

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fruitcoops · 4 years ago

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hi <3 i hope you’re well and having a beautiful day so far. i was wondering if you could write a fic about sirius or logan’s brother like relationship to adele - for example, how they would approach her when she’s having a bad day or when she needs advice about something or maybe even after a disagreement with her parents. no worries if you can’t, i just thought it would be a wholesome interaction 💕

Oh, for sure! Katie and Logan get so much attention (for good reason--they're adorable), but I like to think of Sirius and Adele as the blueprint. Hope you enjoy! Combined with asks for Logan and Loops friendship, Papa Dumo (for @ jinxedjaz), Sirius coming back from visiting his parents while living with the Dumais, and Sirius-learning-to-people from this hc list. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

A little hand tugged on the hem of Dumo’s sweater. “Papa?”

He glanced up from his crossword and smiled, turning to lift Adele into his lap. “Bonjour, mon papillon. Do you want to help me?”

“Is Sirius okay?”

Dumo paused. His first instinct was to lie—how could he even begin to explain the complexity of the situation to a seven-year-old?—but the brightness in Adele’s big eyes told him she already knew the answer. She was a smart kid. She deserved to know at least some of the truth. “He’s having a tough day,” Dumo said quietly as dishes clinked in the other room. No matter what he and Celeste tried, Sirius insisted on washing up. “He’ll be alright.”

A little furrow appeared between Adele’s eyebrows. “Is it because of us? Because he misses his family now?”

“No, sweetheart, not at all. He just…” The words were impossible to find. “He just doesn’t like holidays very much.”

She worried her lower lip for a moment before wiggling free of his arms. “I’m going to make him feel better.”

“Adele—” Dumo made a grab for her, but she had already scampered out of reach and around the corner to the kitchen. In the three days since Sirius had come back from Thanksgiving, he had already reverted back to his shut-down ghost of a self.

“Excuse me, please,” Adele announced. The sink shut off. “Are you sad?”

That’s certainly one way to do it. Dumo craned his neck to watch their reflections in the glass of the back door without revealing his position. Sirius was always more comfortable around the kids than himself and Celeste. “Quoi?” Sirius asked, turning to face her.

“Are you sad? You’ve been frowny.”

Silence fell for a few seconds. “Ouais, a little,” he said at last. “But I’m not sad because of you.”

“That’s good. Papa said so, too. He says you don’t like holidays, but that’s so silly, because we were just talking about Christmas last week.”

“I like some holidays,” Sirius said haltingly. There was a rustling noise; Dumo saw him pick Adele up and settle her on his hip with a thoughtful tilt to his head. “I’m very excited to spend Christmas with you.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.”

“Good. I want you to spend all the holidays with us. Will you be frowny on Christmas, too?”

“I don’t think so.” Dumo could practically hear Sirius’ smile. “See? I’m already better.”

“Will you open presents with me? Marc and Louis always open theirs together, and Mama and Papa, but Katie’s too little to do it with me. I like playing Santa, but it means I hafta go last.”

In the glass, Dumo saw Sirius press a raspberry kiss to her cheek until she burst into giggles; his grin lit up the whole kitchen. “Of course I will.”

“You have to smile,” Adele groaned. “You’re scaring off all my customers.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

She turned a big, sunshine grin on him, pressing her fingers into her dimples to exaggerate it. “Big smiles! You like being here! These are the best cookies you’ve ever had! Everyone should try them!”

“They should!” Sirius agreed. “I don’t know why you’re upset!”

She heaved a sigh and clonked her forehead on his stomach, knocking some of the air out of his lungs. “You look scary when you don’t smile.”

“I do not.”

“You do! You’re built like a brick wall and when you’re thinking, you get frowny!” She adjusted her Girl Scout vest and straightened up. “You have to be perky and fun and the cutest little kid on the block.”

“…I might have a problem with the last part.”

“Then I’ll be the cutest little kid on the block,” she said, exasperated.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you think I’m scary?”

“No,” she snorted. “But other people do.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way. Mama looks surprised when her face relaxes, but you’re, like, looming.”

“So…you’re upset with how my face looks?” he teased, dodging her attempt to poke his ribs.

“No, I just don’t need a bodyguard to sell cookies!”

“That’s literally what I’m here for,” he laughed, tugging one of her pigtails until she stuck her tongue out at him. “Alright, madame, I’ll try to be ‘perky’ and ‘fun’.”

“The air quotes weren’t necessary,” she informed him with great gravity, though she couldn’t hide the smile on her face as she turned back to the people walking across the street. “Hey, lady, do you want cookies?”

III

“So,” Logan began, then shoved another handful of pretzel sticks into his mouth. “Dating the captain. What’s that like?”

Sirius looked up from his phone and glared. “I am sitting right next to you.”

“Shush. Loops?”

Remus sighed and let his head fall toward Logan’s armchair; he was starting to get lightheaded from laying upside-down for so long, but it was doing wonders for his lower back and sore feet. “Dating the captain? Pretty cool, to be honest.”

Logan made a noise of disagreement. “I don’t believe that for a second. Does he make you run drills in the basement, or is it just a cuddle party all the time? ‘cause there’s no in-between.”

“Tabarnak,” Sirius muttered, flicking Logan’s ear as he headed out of the room. “You two gossip like middle-schoolers.”

“It’s really not bad,” Remus mused as he stretched one leg toward the curtains. “I’m the one who likes running drills, so he’ll usually watch tape while I do that for a bit. Cuddles aren’t as frequent as you might think. We’re boring.”

“Mmm, with some wild nights in there, eh?” Logan wiggled his eyebrows and Remus chucked a pillow at him, though it did not seem to deter him. “I seem to remember hearing a certain conversation about a new bedframe?”

“A headboard,” Remus corrected, pulling a face at him. “And it was already almost ten years old. You’re just jealous.”

“Ugh, for him? Nah. Peanut might have carried a torch—”

“You’re kidding. Did he really?”

“Oh, yeah,” Logan snorted, as if it was obvious. “But he has better taste now. Honestly, though, I’m glad you two are together. And that you’re happy in your boring domesticity, even if you’re breaking beds left and right.”

“Headboard, and it was one time.”

“Did I ever tell you about—”

The front door slammed open; both of them jumped as something heavy hit the ground with a thud. “Sweetheart?” Celeste asked from the living room, audibly concerned. Remus’ heart dropped and he shared a worried look with Logan, who was already on his feet. “Adele, what’s wrong?”

“Adele?” Logan called, his voice laced with worry. Remus’ heartbeat picked up as Adele appeared in the doorway to the living room with tears streaming down her cheeks, only to throw herself into Logan’s arms with a harsh sob. “Woah, hey, qu’est—”

“Boys are so stupid!” she half-shouted, half-wailed. “And I hate them!”

Remus stood there, useless, as she tore away and sprinted for the backyard, yanking the door shut with a bang before tearing across the grass. “Logan?” he asked after a moment. There was no protocol for this. He had absolutely zero experience with preteen breakdowns, and the Dumais kids always fell into Logan and Sirius’ territory. He could count on one hand the number of actual conversations he had had with Adele.

Logan’s nose twitched; he opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat when Sirius came through the doorway and made a beeline for the yard without a single glance to either of them. “She’ll be okay,” Logan murmured as Sirius walked slowly to the swings, where Adele was sitting on the bench seat with her arms wrapped tight around herself.

“She seems pretty upset.”

Logan shook his head, not taking his eyes off the pair. “I’ve got Katie, he’s got Adele.”

“Yeah?” Remus asked, surprised. Logan and Katie were famous for their bond, two peas in a pod. As far as he knew, Sirius was equally close with all the Dumais kids.

“Apparently, they bonded from day one,” Logan said with the flicker of a smile. Outside, Adele laid her head on Sirius’ shoulder and pulled his arm around her back, burrowing into the softness of his hoodie as he gently rocked the swing with his foot and gave her a light squeeze. “They’re both quieter. Oldest children and all that. You really didn’t know?”

“I…” Remus trailed off and shook his head. “You and Katie are much louder about it, but that makes sense. He talks about all of you all the time., I guess I just assumed it was different since he was so closed off at first.”

Logan hummed. “Ask about it sometime. Dumo always likes talking about them.”

Sirius and Adele walked back after a few more minutes, still attached at the hip as Sirius jostled her lightly and pulled half a smile from her; they entered the house in relative quiet and Adele wrapped her arms around him one more time. “Love you,” she said, voice muffled in his sweater. Sirius rubbed her back in slow circles until she pulled away and padded down the hall to the bathroom

“Children are so mean,” he said as soon as the door closed.

“Then I’m glad she has you.” Remus curled his hand around Sirius’ shoulder and felt him relax beneath his touch. “Is she alright?”

“Some little asshole told her nobody would want to date her because she plays hockey.”

Remus’ heart panged. “How can we help?”

“Teach her how to throw a right hook,” Logan suggested. In a rare turn of events, Remus couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not; from the look on his face, it seemed to be the latter.

“She’ll be okay, baby,” Remus said. Sirius didn’t look away from the closed door. “Kids have always been mean, but the best thing you can do is be there for her, which you just did. It’s hard and it sucks but as long as she knows you love her, that’s enough.”

“Does she?” Sirius asked, almost too quiet for him to hear.

Remus looped an arm around his waist and kissed the top of his shoulder. “She does,” he promised. Without a doubt.

Sirius drummed his hands on the steering wheel with a wide smile. “I’m so excited,” he said for the fourth time in twenty minutes.

“I can tell,” Remus said, still reading through his missed messages. The cell service in customs had been abysmal, and for some godforsaken reason his dad desperately needed to send paragraph updates on his hunt for the perfect holiday lights. Some days, Remus wondered whether he was happiest with his family or in Home Depot.

“I missed them.”

“Yep.”

“And I can’t let Logan get there first.”

“Sure thing, honey. Speed limit.”

“Three weeks is a long time, did you know that?”

“Mhmm. Sirius, speed limit.”

“How do you manage being away from Jules for that long?”

“Very poorly,” Remus said as he typed out a quick response to his dad’s latest text. His mother would end him if he allowed their house to be decorated with anything green—in all honesty, he was starting to think she had a personal rivalry with the Snakes. They turned onto Dumo’s street and he felt the excitement radiating off Sirius kick up several notches. “Deep breaths, love.”

“Ah, fuck me, the cubs are right behind us,” he muttered, pulling over to the curb and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Sirius!” Remus spluttered.

“What?”

“Turn the fucking car off before you get out!”

Sirius heaved a sigh and pulled the key out, then took off toward the house at a jog; Logan went sprinting past the passenger window half a second later, and Remus heard Finn shouting after him from the still-running car to no avail. They reached the front steps at the exact same time, shouldering each other in an attempt to reach the doorbell first.

“—want to push it!” Logan insisted, kicking Sirius lightly on the shin as Remus headed up the walkway.

“You did it last time!” Sirius argued.

“I’m the youngest, so I get to do it!”

“That’s not how it works!”

The door swung open just as Logan tried to bodily shove Sirius out of the way, only to be put in a scrambling headlock. Dumo regarded them with an exhausted look on his face. “Bonjour, Loops.”

“Hey, Dumo,” Remus called from the base of the steps. “Nice night, eh?”

He shrugged, ignoring the two grown men roughhousing on his welcome mat. “Not bad.”

“Are les enfants here?” Logan panted, trying to heave Sirius into the nearest hedge.

Dumo rolled his eyes and opened the door the rest of the way. “Kids, we have visitors!”

Thundering footsteps echoed off the walls; Logan and Sirius tripped over each other in their haste to get inside. “Tremzy!” Katie shrieked, launching herself into his arms with a beaming smile.

Sirius hoisted Adele straight off her feet and shook her back and forth as she wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hug. “You were gone forever!” she laughed. “We missed you!”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Logan teased as he set Katie down and opened his arms for a hug of his own. Marc and Louis slammed into him, nearly toppling him in the entryway.

“No, no, no!” Katie giggled as Sirius blew a raspberry kiss on her stomach, only to mimic it on his cheek a moment later. “You’re all scratchy.”

“Tough for kisses,” Remus agreed. “You should tell him to shave, Katie-bird.”

Katie squished his cheeks in her hands with a solemn frown. “No more porcupines.”

“You got it,” Sirius confirmed. “What do you think, Adele?”

She pulled a face and they all dissolved into laughter, exhausted from the long roadie and unable to contain their happiness. It was a tradition Remus was coming to know as he spent more time with the team—Logan and Sirius just couldn’t resist swinging by the Dumais house after a long trip, no matter how drained and battered they were. It was a combination of a competition and a family reunion, and the kids loved it every time.

“Are you staying the night?” Marc asked, lazily tying Sirius’ shoelaces together.

“Not tonight, no.”

“But it would be fun,” Louis said from his place hoisted under Logan’s arm, legs dangling.

“They’re tired, boys, be nice.” Celeste winked at Sirius as he leaned down so she could kiss his cheek before moving to Logan to do the same. “We watched all your games. You were wonderful.”

“Merci, Celeste.” The corners of Logan’s eyes crinkled, and Remus saw Finn and Leo share a smile behind him.

Sirius craned his neck to look back. “Oh, she wasn’t talking to you.”

Logan stuck his tongue out as the kids laughed, still clinging to them both. Remus happily accepted a quick hug and a hair-ruffle from Celeste before she moved on to Finn and Leo, and settled in for a cozy evening at home.

#sirius black #remus lupin #adele dumais #logan tremblay #pascal dumais #celeste dumais #coops #katie dumais #friendship #siblings #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic

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matsbarzal · 4 years ago

Note

can I please request angst #14 with Petey??

angst #14. "are you going to talk to me or?"

pairing: elias pettersson x reader word count: 1.3k warnings: angst (happy ending)

Elias Pettersson knew he was good at lots of things. He knew he was a good person, a good friend, an even better hockey player. But the one thing he wasn’t good at? Understanding what he had done to upset you.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have a relatively good understanding of the stupid things he did, he knew he had made plenty of mistakes in your relationships, easily fixable ones, really. Except this time.

It had been almost four days of complete radio silence, no text, no call, no FaceTime’s, nothing. You had sent him a thumbs up the moment he landed and told you he had landed, and no response since. Elias could easily tell you had been on your phone, snapchat stories and twitter likes popping up on both his feeds every now and then, but he could not fathom why you hadn’t texted him in days.

You had fought hundreds of times before, little spats here and there, petty arguments that just turned into nothing when he brought home your favourite food, but never an argument to the extent that you wouldn’t even text him.

“You alright over there, Petey? Lookin’ a little queasy… oh shit that rhymed, look at me go,” trying to ignore Brock was even more difficult than trying to understand why you weren’t texting him, especially when said blonde was his best friend and could pick up on every social cue Elias was giving off.

“Fine, yeah.”

Shrugging his shoulders slightly, the Swede thumbed through his phone, bringing up your contact card and then exiting out every few seconds. “Y/N still not texting you? You sure you didn’t do anything before we left?”

Tossing the phone onto the table in front of him, Elias groaned as he tried to rack his head for what he could’ve done wrong before leaving Vancouver. There was a multitude of things it could be, there was a spat right before he left the apartment, an argument over moving the cars, which somehow turned into him suggesting that the two of you should get a dog.

The Swede couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment in your last two days with one another where he might have upset you to the point of not speaking.

Halfway across the country, your eyes had barely left the box you had found sitting in Elias’ top drawer since he left. It was all you could focus on, your eyes constantly moving to find the little black box that you had moved to the top of the dresser, its closed lid haunting you, taunting you the more and more your eyes peered to it.

Elias hadn’t made any indications that this was what he was pushing towards, you hadn’t even realized he was considering this. Two years into a relationship, you knew it was possible, but you just didn’t realize how possible.

You loved him, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t, but did you love him enough to get married? Maybe. But add in the constant bickering, the continuous fights, the never-ending spats that had no regular conclusion and usually just consisted of some form of idiotic makeup in the hopes the both of you would forget about what you were arguing for anyways.

The silent treatment may have been petty, all of Elias’ texts going unanswered, snapchats only being sent back every time the timer would appear next to your streak. You knew it was childish, and was probably terrifying your boyfriend, but your brain couldn’t fathom what to do, couldn’t fathom what you wanted.

The game against the Canadiens had been explosive, the Canucks losing horrifically, and Elias’ play just an even bigger catalyst to the team. It was the first game you had watched where he hadn’t played his best, the turnovers were consistent, his numbers were down, his penalty minutes were even higher than usually.

And you knew there was a large possibility you were the main cause for his deterioration of play.

Pulling up your phone from its spot stuffed under the covers, you scrolled until you reached his contact name, the little blue dot beside it just an indication of how many messages had gone unanswered in the last few days. Before you even had the chance to send a message through, his contact name appeared at the top of your list.

are you going to talk to me or am i going to come home to an empty apartment tn? not sure what i did wrong but this isn’t fair

You could feel the guilty instantly seep through your body at the text message, your eyes welling up with unshed tears at the message that came through. Elias was your best friend, the epitome of everything good in your life, and something about that just terrified you.

i’ll be here when u get home, ‘Lias. have a safe flight xo

A large sigh of relief left the Swede’s lips when the three bubbles popped up under your name, an even bigger sigh leaving his lips when you said you’d be home when he got there. He allowed his phone to drop in between his legs, his eyes focusing on the iPad in front of him, currently playing reruns of New Girl, your favourite show to watch together.

Almost six hours later, you heard the sound of the lock clicking, the door swinging open to reveal a dishevelled and thoroughly exhausted-looking Elias Pettersson.

“So, are we going to do this now? I told Brock to set up his guest bedroom, I’m not arguing all night so let’s just get this over with,” his keys were tossed onto the centre island, his eyes never leaving yours as you tried to rack your brain for what to say.

“I found the ring… in your top drawer.”

Your stomach turned as you watched the array of emotions fly across Elias’ face; confusion, frustration, anger, sadness, everything smoothing together before he placed a stoic look across his features.

“You freaked out and ignored me for almost five days, because you found a ring in my drawer?” The scoff fell from his lips almost beautifully, his features twisting into annoyance as he looked at you.

“I just… I didn’t know how to react. We argue about everything, ‘Lias. We literally fight about the colour of the sky, and you’ve already bought a ring?”

Moving so he was sitting on the couch opposite of you, the Swede turned so his entire body was facing you, the stoic look now turning into a look of concern.

“Y/N… we fight about everything because that’s just how we are. Our fights have never, ever turned into anything serious. We argue with each other because we both never want to be wrong, that shouldn’t be a reason for you to freak out and not want to marry me one day, my love. Just because I have the ring doesn’t mean I want to get married tomorrow. It’s my grandmother’s engagement ring, Emil let me have it for the day I eventually propose to you. I didn’t buy it, it’s been sitting in that drawer for ages.”

You could feel the embarrassment settling in your stomach at his words, your stomach turning as you tried to think of a response. The only thing you could muster up was an apology, your eyes never leaving your hands as they twisted amongst each other.

His body moved closer to yours, one arm wrapping around your back as he gently pulled you into his side.

“You don’t need to apologize, just maybe instead of going ghost, argue with me instead? Since when are you one to hide your feelings, especially something like that?”

Shrugging your shoulders at his words, you felt his lips press against the crown of your head gently, his hands squeezing your side as he did so.

“Pinky promise that you won’t do that again? Scared the shit out of me and Brock, and Brock never gets scared.”

Pushing your pinky finger towards him, he wrapped his own around yours with a smile small, his head pressed against yours as he squeezed your pinky with his own.

“And quit going through my drawers, nerd.”

“Don’t leave your clothes in the dryer then and I won’t have to put them away for you, Pettersson.”

note: thank you for requesting this!! i hope you enjoy, and it's everything you wanted. it's not too angsty, and it has a happy ending so hopefully that's perfect. <3

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years ago

Text

Vicious

Part IV

Pairing: Steve x reader, Bucky x reader, Thor x reader, Loki x reader, Peter x reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, possessiveness, theft, all characters are adults.

Words: 1880.

Summary: Transferring to Stark Academy that has only allowed to take in female students last semester, you realize you are just one of three young women among hundreds of students. Your things are constantly being stolen, and soon you begin fearing for your safety.

Part I

Part II

Part III

_________

After you came back to your room, you got a message from Steve about changing the locks on both you door and your locker. You were so taken aback by today's conversation in the student council room that you had completely forgotten about it. Apparently, Steve had already requested the change of locks on your behalf through email, and you were really grateful to him for that: you dreaded coming back to the room that had been forced open. Of course, tonight you would have to move your dresser to the door so that nobody could enter when you'd be sleeping.

Shit. It was absolutely crazy.

"I'm not sure about all this, Steve." You texted him while laying on your bed and staring at your phone in the darkness of the room. "It doesn't seem right."

Naturally, you meant the fake dating thing. It felt horrible thinking of what others would think after seeing you with five different guys. Would they be calling you a whore in the open? Make some nasty jokes behind your back? Report you to the school administration for immoral behavior? Remembering those bigots from the student office, you cringed at the thought.

Besides, it still didn't make sense to you why you had to date all five. Sure, if they were around you at all times like your friends, these unhinged bastards who stole your things wouldn't do anything funny again, but it wasn't like that. What could one guy do against a group of other students?

"Listen, I didn't want to talk about it in class, but I'm worried it won't end with a stolen lingerie."

You didn't like his message.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. They might attempt something much worse than a theft."

Oh no. Was he talking about rape? Seriously? Did he anticipate others were so crazy they would do something like that?

But then again, girls were being raped in colleges even if it weren't the all-boys schools. A shiver ran down your spine.

"But if several people attack me, just one of you won't be enough." You typed with your shaky fingers, trembling beneath your blanket.

"It's not about the pure force. Each of us has a certain reputation, and others wouldn't want to cross us over because of it."

Wait, this was interesting. What on Earth did he mean? What kind of reputation was that to prevent people from messing with them?

"Thor is a good athlete and a great leader, his basketball team is ready to beat people to death for him."

"Loki's father is one of academy’s main sponsors, and he can have this school turned upside down if he wants to."

"Bucky is a threat by himself, but he also have a company of loyal friends."

"I don't think Peter is serious enough to scare anyone, but with his computer skills he could easily blackmail others, I’ve already seen him doing it. Students would be wary to cross him over just like any of us."

Steve was writing you a bunch of messages with a terrifying speed, and you could barely read the first when he was already sending you the second. It felt absolutely insane. Did he choose every guy because the more powerful admirers you have, the less others would intervene? Well, at least in case of Bucky and Thor who could beat people to near death, it was wise. You preferred not to think of Peter - you had no idea someone as sweet and caring as him did something as disgusting as a blackmail.

“But what others will think? 5 boyfriends? Others will think you are dating-” you paused, chewing your lips to bit, “- a whore. Nobody gonna stood up for me.”

"Imagine if each of us tells our friends that other four guys were just asked to watch over you, but you date only one.”

Oh. Yes, this was slightly better. Then you wouldn’t have to do something as bold as kissing every guy in public, instead maintaining the mystery who you were really dating.

Damn, how Steve even came up with this plan? Why was everything so complicated?

“It’s getting late. Good night.” Your phone vibrated again, and you huffed with irritation. You hoped you could ask him a bit more - about what you were going to do with the thieves Steve found, for example - but he was probably getting tired with all your questions. It was better to ask him tomorrow.

___________________

The next morning you were restless: since you were starting to going out with guys, you felt like you needed to look better than you usually were, so you spent your morning working on your hair and makeup. It was like fake dating, right? You had to pretend you wanted to look pretty for them.

What else did you have to do? Cook something sweet for them? Yeah, probably, but not at the start of your relationship. Going to cafe together? Helping each other study? Loki also mentioned the cinema...

You felt dumb. Of course, you dated guys before, but now you realized you had no idea how to act not to cause any suspicion. Oh boy, it was going to be a tough day.

Thor nocked at you door thirty minutes before your first session, but you woke up so early you were more than ready to go. As you opened the door, first moving the dresser back to its place, the guy looked at you with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Hey, what was that?"

"The dresser. I can't leave the door just like that until the lock is changed."

He blinked at you, watching the door and then probably remembering somebody forced the lock open to steal your underwear.

"These guys are batshit crazy." He mumbled and nodded you to go with him, putting his hand on your shoulder. "Don't worry, they won't do it again."

You wanted to argue they definitely would, but, seeing his warm smile, you thought Thor simply wanted to cheer you up and smiled at him in return. In the end, he was here only to make you feel safer: you didn't doubt he was very popular with the girls every time he went out to the city.

"You look great today!" He said sheepishly, walking in the dorm's corridor while other students were staring at him silently, obviously surprised to see you two together. "I mean, not that you looked bad yesterday, I just..."

Watching his face suddenly getting crimson red, you couldn't help but giggle at his expression. You could never think Thor was actually bashful around girls. Yeah, at your old place he'd definitely be one of the most popular guys around.

It was lunch time when you two could actually talk, sitting together at the same table and being watched by everyone around. Strangely, with Thor constantly talking and often rubbing your hand with his, it didn't feel suffocating, and you held your head high: regardless whether those pricks were looking at you, you weren't going to run away to your room and cry there like a little girl. Loki was right: you weren't a silly little sheep, scared of your own shadow. You wouldn't let anyone spoil your time in the academy you dreamt studying in.

Funny enough, Thor turned out to be a talkative type when he was speaking about basketball and his team in particular. He loved sports: while you were more into hockey, the way he talked was so enthusiastic it made you listen to him with a genuine interest. Thor's love for basketball was infectious.

He seemed a simple man, this giant bag of muscles who was laughing so loud people around him flinched; Thor wasn't the exact type of a guy you would encounter on your own, but he seemed nice, sincere, and surprisingly softhearted. You felt at ease talking to him, and soon you too acted like you'd known each other for long.

It was a pity you'd only met under this circumstances. It felt like you two could became friends.

But then when Thor absent-mindedly put his arm around your shoulders, you remembered Loki's warning: they would try to gain your favors. Was it the reason Thor was so nice to someone he just met? Wasn't it suspicious of him? You couldn't let your guard down after just one lunch together. In fact, you knew nothing of the man sitting in front of you.

"I knew something like would happen." Some guy to your left sighed loudly, catching your attention. "They were fucking crazy."

"I'm not surprised either. I just wanna know who they got in a fight with to be beaten like that. Have you heard they broke Gray's both legs?"

"Woah, both? That's brutal, man."

You shivered, trying not to listen to them.

"It'd happen sooner or later anyway. They were completely wild."

A word caught your attention right away: that was what Steve called those students who were stealing your things. Could it be a coincidence? Surely, in an all-boys school the students were fighting each other constantly.

But to the point of breaking both legs of someone? Really?

As you sent Thor a nervous look, he gently patted your shoulder, lowering his voice so no one would hear him, "I'm sure it's nothing to do with you. These things happen here from time to time because the guys have no idea what to do with all that testosterone."

You hoped he was right.

The rest of the day went as usual aside from Thor walking the corridors with you and chatting about sports: he managed to convince you to come see the game next month when they would be having a tournament. You were grateful to him for helping to ease your mind because the news of guys being sent to the ambulance made you shook. Steve also mentioned something about his and other's friends ready to beat anyone to death, right?

By the middle of your last class you couldn't think of it any longer and quickly typed a message to Loki. Of all people, right now he seemed the most sincere to you.

"Hi. Are the guys who were beaten last night are the ones who stole my things?"

Waiting was a special torture when you held the phone in your arms beneath your desk, hoping to see your screen lighting up with a message. In five minutes you got your reply.

"Yes." The message said simply, but it was enough for you to stare at your phone with horror, wishing you didn't ask Loki anything.

Oh shit. It wasn't a coincidence, right? It's impossible. Somebody did it on purpose. But who of the five?

"Do you know who did it?"

Next time he answered pretty fast, "No."

A part of you felt relieved. Maybe it wasn't related, finally. Maybe they got beaten by somebody who was fed up with their attitude because they were crazy as the guys in the cafeteria said.

But what if it weren't true?

"Who's the most brutal among you five?"

Biting your lips, you started rocking in your chair a little, making the guy on your left to roll his eyes in irritation.

The phone's screen flashed again.

"Barnes."

Part V

_________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherub @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @biiskuitx @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @illyrianprincess @vampirestrawberries @stupendouslovegardener @goodgodimaweirdperson @frontmanash @freya-heya @yandematic

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #thor x reader #loki x reader #peter parker x reader #dark steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #dark thor #dark loki #dark peter parker #yandere

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troubatrain · 4 years ago

Text

the times with a little secret...

two blurbs following want you to want me

read the rest here!

You were late.

Historically, as someone who got their period at the same time every month, it was concerning. You counted on your fingers, taking yourself back to a time Matthew was awfully convincing and you slipped up. You were sitting out of the same dock you kissed him for the first time on, Matthew’s stupid smirk and overgrown curls were really all it took to make you forget all about the fact that you weren’t using protection. You sigh, holding back tears and running your hands down your face.

Matthew wanted to be a father, but talking a bunch of shit when he was in a sappy mood and actually having a baby were two very different things. You’d been together for two years, and in that time you’d grown up together, but children just seemed like something you weren’t ready for yet. He had so much to work for still, and so did you.

And when you finally got that test, the little pink plus sign broke you. You were pregnant, and you were all alone in Chicago while Matthew got a few things ready before he headed to Calgary for the season. Matthew would call soon, just like he always did on his ride home from the rink.

Matthew knew something was wrong, just by the first crack in your voice when he answered. You’d been crying and he was going to figure out why. He scratched his face, eyes staring at the road in front of him while a part of him debated how quickly he could get to Chicago, “You alright pretty girl?”

“Yeah, everything’s just, fuck, fine,” You say, wiping away your tears and knocking that test to the floor. You weren’t convincing by any means, and Matthew saw through every facade you had, “I’m fine, really I just, uh got to go-”

Matthew opened his mouth to protest, push you a little hard to tell him what’s going on but before he had a chance you hung up the phone. He hit his steering wheel, frustrated that you weren’t telling him the truth when that was the promise you both made. He wondered if he’d done something wrong, but for once in his life Matthew really thought he was innocent.

So he drove the four hours.

It took him a little longer than expected, but Matthew knew what he had to do. He turned his car in the opposite direction of your house, heading up to Chicago without a second thought. It was seven by the time he’d gotten there, opening the door to an empty apartment and a pit in his stomach he couldn’t quite explain. He searched the place, looking for something to point him in the right direction as to why you were acting so weird on the phone.

You went running, you didn’t know what else to do so you just ran. If you kept going you wouldn’t have to face the reality that there was a person growing inside of you and your entire life was going to change. It didn’t stop your mind from racing, thinking about having to tell Matthew and how you were going to tell your families. He wouldn’t leave, you were almost sure of it, but what if he did? It was all you could think about when you walked back into your place, your eyes catching a familiar tuft of curls in the living room.

Matthew was standing there, the entire apartment filled up with bouquets of flowers because he couldn’t pick just one. He was happy, eyes brimming with tears when he finally saw you because this was going to be a moment he never forgets, “Hi.”

“Hi,” You breathe out, feet planted to the floor because you just couldn’t process this fast enough.

“I knew something was up, and then I found the test in the bathroom,” Matthew explains, stepping across to the room to stand in front of you. His hands were on your cheeks, his thumbs gently grazing over the skin, “I didn’t think it was possible to love you more, but babe, I think I do.”

“I’m really scared,” You whisper, letting Matthew wipe away your tears.

“I’m sure you are,” Matthew hums, pressing his lips to your forehead. You found out alone, Matthew was miles away and he knew you were probably freaking out, “I’m here now, we’re together, and it’s going to be okay.”

You smile at his optimism, the way no matter what Matthew would tell you that he would always be there and he’d go to the ends of the earth to fix whatever made you upset, “You sound so sure about this-”

“You’re the best teammate I’ve ever had,” Matthew was sure of himself when he said it, “And I don’t want to do this life thing with anyone else.”

“We’re having a baby,” You nod, Matthew’s hands falling to your stomach and resting there gently, “I’m happy you’re on my team.”

“I’m happy too, captain,” Matthew winks, playing into that same silly joke he always made about how he was just along for the ride, “Can we keep it a secret for now? Just our little family?”

Our little family. The words felt so right when you heard them from Matthew, your arms wrapping around his waist so you could press your head against his chest.

“Brady’s going to give you so much shit for knocking me up.”

“Oh I know, it’s going to be brutal, but worth every second Mama.”

***

Daddy’s hiding something from you.

You stop, turning your attention to your three year old who was sitting at the kitchen island playing with a Cheerio that was in his bowl. Max talked a lot for his age, and it came with a bad habit of repeating his father’s colorful language. Another thing was Matthew couldn’t sneak anything past you because of Max, who was just as nosey as you were, and Max ratted out his father every chance he had.

“What’s daddy hiding from me?” You ask, watching the way Max turned his attention to something else because he was in cahoots with his father and swore he wouldn’t tell a soul, “Maxy-”

“No, daddy told me not to tell you, not even for chocolate,” Max crosses his arms, standing his ground as much as a toddler could, “He said, hide this until I tell you Maxy, but don’t tell mommy.”

You furrow your brows, turning your head and wondering what the fuck your son was hiding that you hadn’t found yet. Your attention turned to the sound of your front door opening, Matthew barreling in post practice with a smile on his face like he wasn’t turning your son into a stealth liar and it would end up biting you both in the ass when he got older. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, sneaking behind Max and kissing him too. The two of them looked like twins, the same mop of curls on their heads while Max’s dimpled smile appeared the biggest when he was with his dad. His nineteen chain hung around his neck, Matthew’s gift to his son because you both wore it and he hoped Max would too. He was Matthew’s carbon copy, down to his ability to sneak things past you and cause chaos.

“Max was just telling me you’re hiding something from me,” You smirk, leaning against the counter and looking at Matthew, “Care to explain?”

“Dude,” Matthew scoffs, looking at Max, “I thought we agreed this was a no telling mommy deal?”

“Like when we get ice cream after my skating lessons?” Max asks, turning his head to his father. Matthew threw his head back, sighing at the fact that you definitely weren’t going to say yes now.

“I knew you weren’t hitting traffic every week,” You sigh, giving Matthew a look, “No bribes for hockey, we talked about this.”

And you did. Sometime before Max was born you both had a lengthy conversation about the whole sports thing. One professional athlete for a parent would be a lot for a kid, let alone two, and you both promised you wouldn’t push your own agendas too hard. Did you cheer a little louder at Max’s soccer games? Maybe. But, at least you didn’t bribe him with ice cream on the way home.

“Hey buddy, remember that thing I told you to hide? Can you get it?” Matthew ignores your lecture, knowing fully he wasn’t listening anyways because Max was made to skate. Matthew helped him down, smiling at the toddler who was bound for the playroom you put off cleaning, that’s why you didn’t find it.

“You’re not off the hook for the ice cream, why are you looking at me like that?” You stop, remembering the way Matthew looked at you in your apartment filled with flowers after he found out you were pregnant. It was the same look, blue eyes soft and full of admiration, “Matty-”

“I know we did this a little backwards, and I wanted to wait until your parents were in town to celebrate, but Max has got a mouth like yours,” Matthew starts stepping over to you and putting his hands on your cheeks, “But that’s my point, I love that Max is just like you because you’re the best person I’ve ever met in life. You’re the most amazing mother to our son, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the way you handle parenthood with more grace than I could ever have. And to me, god, you were everything I ever wanted when we were kids Y/N, you know that? You still are, and you’re always going to be. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to watch you shine, and take you home at the end of the night. I told my mom I’d marry you one day, I’m hoping you’ll give me the chance.”

By the time Matthew had finished his speech, in the middle of your kitchen in Calgary while Max’s cereal was thrown across the counter, your son had come back with a velvet box in his hand. He handed it to Matthew, climbing on Matthew’s leg because he had no clue while his father was down on one knee, but you knew, “Go ahead little dude, you can ask her now.”

“Mommy, will you marry daddy?” Max asks, giving you the very best smile your three year old could come up with. You could tell they practiced this, only solidifying the million reasons why you’d say yes.

“Yes,” You nod, covering your mouth while tears were brimming your eyes. You look at your two boys, who both looked at you like you put the sun in the sky just for them. Matthew let Max down, pressing a kiss to your lips like he wasn’t in the room.

“I love you,” Matthew breathes, pressing one more peck to your lips, “Wifey sounds good doesn’t it?”

“It does,” You hum, admiring the ring Matthew slipped on your left hand he left vacant for a little too long. Life was hectic for you, but he was tired of waiting for the right time when he knew he had the right girl the entire time. You pressed one more kiss to Matthew’s lips, hearing a protest from the little boy below you.

“Ew, that’s gross.”

“One day you’re gonna like a girl this much and Uncle Brady and I are going to make fun of you for it Maxy.”

#matthew tkachuk #blurbs #want you to want me blurbs #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #i'm not saying these are my favorite but i cried while writing both

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isletakebarzal · 4 years ago

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I Hope I Never Lose You | 1 | Mat Barzal

a/n: my first mat barzal fic. my first fic since......... sh*wn m*nd*s. Here is the first installment of a new elementary school au. pLz leave feedback it has been so long since i've written and I am so ✨insecure✨

summary: you teach kindergarten and Mat Barzal is a P.E. Coach at Cornelia Street Elementary School. i don't know just give me validation plz

warnings: literally didn't even read it over. just copy-paste-post. mutual pining idiots to lovers?? some jealousy and angst???

WC: 5.6K

***

I. “then on a Wednesday in a cafe[teria], I watched it begin again”

You take a deep breath as you inspect your appearance in the teacher’s lounge bathroom at Cornelia Street Elementary. Your kindergarteners will be arriving at your classroom in nearly twenty minutes, so you wanted to get one final look in before starting the school day.

“Who’s the guy?” your friend and co-teacher, Molly, startles you as her figure appears behind you in the mirror.

“What do you mean?” You shake your head, sticking your hands under the sink for the automatic faucet to turn on.

Molly laughs, walking up next to you and leaning up against the counter, “You’re dressing up for someone! You never wore high heels until recently, and you check yourself in the mirror like 6 times a day. Who is it?”

You roll your eyes, pulling paper towels out of the dispenser and wiping your hands dry. “Sniff too much elmer’s glue again, Molly?”

You leave the restroom and lounge with Molly trailing closely behind. Turning into your classroom, you stop in the doorway when you find someone standing in the middle of your classroom, causing Molly to bump into your back.

“There you are!” Mat exclaims when he notices you and Molly enter the room. “I’ve been waiting here for, like, 10 minutes. Why do girls take so long in the bathroom together?”

You let out a nervous laugh. Molly stands at your side, glancing from Mat to you and back to Mat. You can tell she’s connecting the dots as the left corner of her smirk.

“Where else would we gossip about you?” Molly teases, snapping your attention away from Mat. You elbow her in her side, whispering her name scoldingly.

Mat rolls his eyes playfully, “Aww, Molls. Writing our initials in a heart on the bathroom wall again?”

You freeze at his comeback. Is he flirting with Molly? You try your best to remain calm. He’s Mat Barzal, he flirts with everyone.

“What are you doing in here anyway, Barzy?” Molly asks as she further enters the room, setting her briefcase on the desk and leaning up against it. She eyes you, as you haven’t taken one step further into the room. “Don’t you have a PE class to teach?”

Mat stiffens at the question, looking from Molly to you. He fumbles to start his response, “I, uh--” he looks to his immediate left and right, searching for an answer. “I needed a pen.”

Molly barks out a laugh, “a pen?” She turns to you, raising her eyebrows with a pointed look. “Did you hear that, Y/n? He needs a pen.”

You don’t respond to Molly, your body moving on autopilot towards your desk. “Here, I have a pen you can borrow!” You grab the first pen you get your hands on from the container on your desk and hold it out to him, trying your best to keep your hand steady.

Mat’s cheeks grow a rosy tint that matches your own. With a smile he takes the pen, finally looking it over. “Are you sure you won’t miss this one?” The smirk returns to his lips.

You furrow your brows, looking down to the pen he’s holding. It’s a purple glitter pen--your favorite pen. You shrug your shoulders, playing it off as no big deal, “Yeah, no worries. Keep it as long as you need.”

You spare a glance at Molly across the room, and you can tell she’s trying her very hardest not to laugh. The daggers you shoot at her with your eyes fail to get her to control her face.

“Thanks, Y/n, I appreciate it,” he says sweetly, giving you his million-dollar smile that makes all the lunch ladies swoon. “I’ll see you at Lunch Duty?”

You nod enthusiastically, “Totally. See you then.”

Mat stalls for a few seconds, shifting back and forth on his two feet before lifting the pen in another silent thank you. You try not to blush as you give a small wave goodbye, and he leaves the room.

Molly finally blows, erupting into laughter. You turn your attention towards her, a confused expression on your face. “What?”

“I guess that answers my question!” Molly exclaims, wiping an escape tear of laughter from her cheek.

You shake your head, placing your hands on your hips, “What question?”

“Which guy you’re dressing up for,” Molly explains as if it’s clear as day. “Seems to me like you’ve both got it bad.”

You blush again--probably for the 50th time in the last 10 minutes. “That’s it,” you huff. “No more glue for you.”

When 12:30 rolls around, Molly takes your class of kindergarteners to the Music Room while you head to the cafeteria for Lunch Duty. There’s nothing glamorous about watching elementary schoolers struggle to open their zebra cakes and milk cartons, but, for some reason, it’s your favorite time of day.

“Miss Y/n!” A voice cheerily calls out to you as you enter the cafeteria, and your gaze instantly lands on the source. That voice could pull you out of a coma. You could pick out that voice in a filled stadium of a Nickelback concert.

Mat waves at you from across the room, pulling out the chair next to him as if to tell you to come sit. You smile and wave back, making your way to him with your lunchbag in hand. It’s your Wednesday ritual to have lunch together, since it’s the only day of the week you are scheduled for Lunch Duty at the same time.

You sit gracefully in the chair next to Mat and set your bag on the table. Mat instantly reaches for it, spinning it one way then another as he searches for the zipper. You grab the lunch bag from his hands and pull it back to your side of the table.

“Excuse you!” You exclaim, playfully.

“Come on, Y/n, I’ve been waiting a week for this!” Mat whines, no better than one of your kindergarteners.

You peek into your bag making sure you have his treat, “Okay, okay.” You reach into the bag and close your fist around the circular fruit that you made sure to pack in your lunch--just like you do every Wednesday.

Mat shoves his hand in the big pocket of his backpack, then looks at you with an eager smile. “Ready? 1...2…” You both bring your hands out of your bags on 3, holding out the respective items for each other.

In the palm of your hand is a Cutie brand clementine, sticker already peeled off. You never really understood why Mat loves these so much, or why he never just buys them for himself, but you’ve been swapping lunch treats since the beginning of the school year.

You were sitting at the lunch table that was angled perpendicular to the student tables in the cafeteria. It was your first Lunch Duty of the year, so you made sure to get in the cafeteria before any of the students came in.

Now that you and Molly were co-teaching this year, you wouldn’t be on Lunch Duty together like you were last year. You didn’t think you should be nervous, being that it’s just Lunch Duty and you already had a year of teaching under your belt, but still, not having the comfort of your best friend around you made you a little more on edge.

No one told you who was going to be on duty with you, so when the new gym P.E. coach, Mat Barzal, strolled into the cafeteria, you stiffened in your seat. You noticed him a bit last year, but it was your first year with your own class of students, and you wanted to focus on being a good teacher rather than good-looking coaches. Mat was new to the school, too, but he seemed to be quick to make friends, talking to anyone around him. Like, anyone.

Like, even a first grader with a hockey AND a superhero obsession that wanted to know which NHL team each superhero would play for. You had eavesdropped on his answers while you were standing near them in the hallway.

(You remember this, because you had to hold yourself back from interjecting when he told the student that Superman would play for the Islanders. He would obviously be a Ranger.)

When he walked into the cafeteria that day, he strolled over to you and sat right down in the chair next to yours, jumping into conversation. You were munching on carrots when you realized that he had yet to pull out any food for lunch.

“Are you hungry?” you blurted out, interrupting whatever thought he was rambling on about while you were...you wouldn’t say staring...more like analyzing.

He deadpanned, “Yeah, but I’ve got some snacks back in the gym. I’m just going to eat them later.”

You shook your head, finding his answer unacceptable. “Here,” you said, looking into your lunch bag for anything to give him. “Do you like clementines?”

A smile spread on Mat’s face, “My mom used to buy them for me and my sister when we were kids. I haven’t had one in forever.”

You handed the fruit to him before he could protest. He accepted it graciously. “I’m Mat, by the way.”

“Y/n,” you told him.

The next week, you made sure to pack a clementine in your bag just in case he didn’t have a lunch again. You tried to hide the disappointment when you walked towards the table and saw that he didn’t actually forget this time.

That is, until you noticed the silver wrapper of a Fruit Roll-Up on the table in front of the empty chair.

“I wasn’t sure what flavor you liked, or if you even like these, but, like, everyone likes these,” Mat explained and you couldn’t hide your blush.

After sitting down next to him, you reached into your bag and pulled out the clementine, sliding it across the tabletop to him. Week after week, this unspoken trade agreement continued, neither one of you having forgotten yet.

You take the Fruit Roll-Up from his hand as he swipes the clementine and starts peeling.

“Oh, it’s the tongue-tattoo one!” You cheer, unrolling the fruit leather from the plastic film. Mat nods enthusiastically, but doesn’t speak, his mouth already full with slices of clementine.

You tear the fruit roll up in half and hold the half with the skull “tattoo” to him.

“No, Y/n, this is our trade. It’s yours,” he pushes your hand back, but you roll your eyes.

“I don’t need the whole roll, and the skull would suit you better,” you persuade him. “Just take it.”

With a smile, Mat takes the half and holds it to the light to find the skull printed in food dye. You hold up your half to tilt the crown “tattoo” to the right angle.

“Okay, ready?” You ask, and Mat nods. “One...two…”

On three, you press the sugary roll to your tongues and hold for a few seconds, making sure it’s long enough for the dye to transfer. You and Mat have done this enough times to know that the sweet spot is around 7 seconds.

Now facing each other in your chairs, you each stick out your tongues to show the other your tattoos. Mat lets out a loud laugh, and can’t help but mirror his reaction. You love this with Mat--getting to goof around with someone and finally laughing again.

Your last relationship ended nearly a year ago, and it left you devastated. You had dated Ryan all through college, and you thought he was going to propose after graduation. Little did you know, he had been applying to medical schools in London, rather than where you were in Seattle. He was never planning forever with you like you were with him.

Needless to say, it’s made you hesitant to start dating again. You don’t trust your instincts with reading people and you definitely don’t trust men.

“Here,” Mat hands his half back to you.

You squish your nose up at him, “Ew, your spit is all over it!”

Mat rolls his eyes playfully and holds the rollup even closer to your face, making you laugh. You try to bat his hand away, but he catches your hand with his free one instead.

“Oh please, it’s just a little slobber. Same as kissing!” He jokes, but the way he’s holding your hand and so easily talking about kissing makes you tense up. You feel like you’re 16 again, developing your very first school-girl crush with the way he’s stirring up dormant butterflies.

You look away, hoping to conceal your now very rosy cheeks, and Mat, thankfully, pretends not to notice. “Fine, mine now,” he shoves the whole rollup in his mouth, and your laughter breaks up the tension in your chest. You fall into easy conversation filled with laughter and banter, and it’s like the room full of rambunctious elementary schoolers doesn’t even exist.

II. “don’t you worry your pretty little mind, people throw [kickballs] at things that shine”

“Life just makes love look hard, Y/n,” Molly tells you. You came into school this morning looking down bad, and Molly was quick to figure out the root of the issue.

You saw Ryan last night. With a girl. Wearing a ring on her finger. You knew exactly what ring it was too, as his grandmother had showed it to you at Christmas one year and explained that it would be Ryan’s to give to the one he wanted to spend forever with. At the time you could’ve bet your life that his “one” was you.

You mope in your desk chair, “I know. It took him less than a year to meet someone new, fall in love, and commit. Love isn’t hard, but maybe I’m just hard to love.”

Molly gives you a sad look and opens her mouth to respond, but she is cut off by your classroom door opening. Your already glum face contorts into a sour expression when you see who has entered your classroom.

Alexa.

You spare a glance at Molly, who is already glaring at the 4th grade teacher. You try to hold back the chuckle that is bubbling in your throat. Alexa started working at Cornelia Street Elementary at the same time as you and Molly, but unlike you and your co-teacher, you were not fast friends.

Maybe it was her snarky attitude, or the way she told you and Molly to your faces that “kindergarten teachers are glorified babysitters” on the first day you met her. Either way, you and Molly were not fans.

“Hello, ladies!” Alexa screeches in a high-pitched voice.

Molly deadpans, “Whatever you want, the answer is no.”

Alexa’s nose scrunches in distaste, “I don’t want anything, Molls. I’m here to see if you both have signed up for the teacher-student kickball game next Friday.”

Molly winces at the use of her nickname, “Yes, Alexa. If you had just looked at the sign-up Google Sheet, you would’ve seen that both mine and Y/n’s names were already on the list.”

Alexa shrugs, brushing off Molly’s aggressive tone, “Well, good. I hear that Coach Barzal and Coach Beau will be team captains this year.”

Your body has a visceral reaction to hearing ‘Coach Barzal’, like your ears are rejecting the sound of her witch voice speaking his name. Molly flips her gaze in your direction, giving a smirk.

“Yes, Mat told Y/n the other day that he is going to be a team captain,” Molly lies between her teeth. He never told you that, but if there’s one thing Molly knows, it’s how to get under Alexa’s skin.

And she does. Alexa’s face pinches before clearing her throat, “It’s a shame none of us can have him, isn’t it?”

You and Molly mirror each other with confused expressions. “What do you mean?” you question.

“I mean, section 34.12B in the School Handbook,” Alexa replies as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Molly rolls her eyes, “And what is section 34.12B in the School Handbook?”

Alexa’s lips curl smugly, “Section 34 is the Teacher Code of Conduct, silly. And rule 12B clearly states that teachers working in the same school are not allowed to intermingle romantically or, well, otherwise. Any infraction will result in one of the teachers being immediately transferred to another school in the county.”

Your stomach drops, and Molly looks at you with a sorrowful expression.

“Didn’t either of you read the handbook when you started?” Alexa asks condescendingly. In truth, neither you nor Molly read that brick of a handbook. If you remember correctly, you think you ended up using it as a doorstop in your old classroom last year. No clue what happened to it after that.

“Of course we read it,” Molly, again, lies. “We’re just not psycho enough to have it memorized.”

Alexa glares at Molly. “I didn’t memorize it. I just recently refreshed my memory after talking to Coach Barzal the other day. He had asked me to get drinks with him, so I wanted to see what the policy was on dating colleagues.”

You whip your head to Molly, a confused expression on your face. Molly takes your reaction in stride and stands from her seat at her desk.

“This has been so fun, Alexa,” Molly walks towards the 4th grade teacher at the classroom door, who takes the hint and starts backing up. “But we have to prepare for a day of babysitting, so if you don’t mind…”

Molly backs Alexa out of the doorway and shuts the door in her face. She leans back on the door to find you sitting with a sad puppy look on your face.

“I’m sure she was bullshitting like she always does,” Molly tells you.

You sigh and slump into your chair. An airy chuckle escapes Molly’s lips and you flick your eyes to her face, wondering what could possibly be funny.

“What? Why are you laughing?”

Molly shakes her head, muffling more laughs.

“Come on, spit it out.”

“It’s nothing,” Molly starts, a smile growing on her lips. “I just fucking knew it.”

You furrow your brows, “Knew what?”

“Knew you had a thing for Coach Barzal.”

You really don’t want to play kickball, if you’re being honest. You always hated gym class growing up, because you weren’t necessarily skilled in hand-eye coordination. The only reason you signed up for this student-teacher kickball game for the upper grades was for Molly. And...someone else.

Mat and his co-coach, Tito, are standing in the middle of the gym giving instructions to the 4th and 5th grade classes. The rules are simple: kick, run, and no cheap shots. You’re not sure if 4th graders were capable of taking cheap shots, but you realize that this rule might not be directed at them. If you’ve learned anything over the last year or so of teaching, it’s that adults are just really big Big Kids.

Once they finish explaining to the students and teachers how the game will work, Mat announces that it’s time to pick teams. The students are counted off by twos for their teams to make sure no kid feels like they’re being picked last--especially by the teacher--but the teachers are to be specifically chosen by the captains.

Tito, the captain of the A team, scans the crowd of teachers for his first pick. “Mr. Kessler,” Tito picks the 3rd grade teacher first. It’s a great first pick, since David Kessler apparently played sports in college.

Mat looks at the group like he’s searching for someone, and his eyes land on you. The right corner of his lips pulls up into a smirk. Your palms start sweating--either due to the nerves of feeling like you’re back in grade school again, or from the way he is looking at you.

“Mr. Peterson,” Mat’s gaze leaves yours as he picks the 5th grade parapro. Again, you don’t think it’s a bad idea to start setting up the team with the best players before moving on to, well, you.

The two coaches go back and forth until all of the seemingly more athletic teachers are assigned teams. When it’s time for Tito to pick again, his eyes land directly on you. You look to your left, then to your right, then behind you, just to make sure he wasn’t looking through you to someone else. But no one else looked like they were paying enough attention to be the one he was focusing on.

A smirk draws up Tito’s lips as he looks at Mat. Mat rolls his eyes and pushes his shoulder, making Tito teeter a bit. “Just pick, man,” Mat urges, and Tito looks back at you.

“Molly,” Tito chooses, and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Molly lets out an airy laugh and nudges you with her elbow, “Damn, they’re splitting us up.”

You roll your eyes, but on the inside your stomach flutters at the thought of being chosen by Mat. He glances your way every so often that you think it might be coming, but you try to keep your cool.

“Umm,” Mat starts, like he’s about to think out loud. “I’ll pick…” Mat’s eyes scan the group and he stops on you for a brief moment, but passes you over. “Alexa.”

Your heart drops into your ass.

You look to Molly, hoping that her usual cool and collected demeanor will level you, but she’s speaking lowly to Tito with furrowed brows.

“Y/n, you’re on my team,” Tito calls out next. You make your way towards the rest of the A team, and, despite the voice in your head screaming ‘don’t look at him, don’t look at him’...you look at Mat, gauging his reaction.

He looks completely unbothered. A smile is even gracing his face. It’s not like you thought he was necessarily interested in you, but, fuck, you at least thought he liked you better than Alexa. And now you’re wondering if there was any truth to her comments in your classroom last week.

Once the teams are sorted out, the captains flip a coin to decide who will kick first. Tito calls heads while the coin is in the air, and sure enough the coin lands on heads. Tito calls a huddle while Mat gets his team organized into positions.

“Alright team, listen up,” he starts, clapping his hands once. “We need a strong offensive start.”

The students jump around excitedly as Tito lines them up along the gym wall behind the designated “home plate”. He orders the team with one teacher kicking after every few students.

Molly is in the front of the line with Thomas, an eager 4th grader ready to play. He walks to the plate, backs up a few steps, and waits for Mat to pitch the ball. Mat winds up before releasing the ball in a (relatively) straight line to Thomas.

Thomas runs up to the ball, going for the kick, and….he misses. Tito jogs up to him, squatting to his level. “It’s okay, bud, let’s try again. You can do it, just keep your eye on the ball.”

The little boy nods and steps back up to the plate. Tito nods at Mat who winds up and rolls the ball once more. A little more cautiously this time, Thomas runs for the ball. He swings back his left foot and propels it forward, making contact with the ball and sending it soaring towards Mat.

Mat lets the ball drop in front of him, fumbling around to pick it up while Thomas runs to first base. Once he’s about halfway there, Mat tosses the ball to one of the fifth graders who is guarding the base. Thomas, unsurprisingly, is safe.

A few more students and teachers take turns kicking the ball, and before you know it, there are two students and Molly on base with two outs on the board. You were hoping that you would be able to linger in the back of the line long enough to avoid taking a turn, but Tito calls you up to the plate.

“Okay, Miss Y/n, bring ‘em home!” Tito encourages, and you roll your eyes at him.

“Doubtful,” you respond. Walking up to the plate, you make eye contact with Mat, waiting for him to roll you the ball. He takes a deep breath and raises his eyebrows to you.

“Ready?” He calls out.

You shake your head, “No, but do I have a choice?”

Mat laughs. ‘You got this!” he tells you, and winds up to roll the ball. Maybe he does it on purpose, but when he rolls the ball, it veers off to the left.

“Come on, Barzy, give her something she can work with!” Tito chirps, as Mat jogs to grab the ball from one of the students that picked it up.

Instead of returning to his makeshift pitcher’s mound, Mat strides towards you, catching you off guard.

“What are you doing, Mat?”

“You looked nervous,” he says. “Thought you could use a better pep talk than Beauvis over there.”

“It’s...elementary school kickball,” you say with a laugh.

Mat rolls his eyes, “This is a very serious game, Y/n. There’s a lot at stake.”

The smirk that forms on his lips sends a ripple down your spine. “Like what? A pizza party?” you joke.

Mat pushes your shoulder playfully, and a shout erupts from the sidelines. You both look to where Tito is standing with his arms raised in question. “Quit messing with my teammate, Barzal!” Tito yells.

Mat waves him off. “Keep your eye on the ball, and I’ll roll it slowly. Kick with the inside of your foot to get more distance, and, for the love of God, take off those dumb sandals.”

You look down at the strappy sandals on your feet. “What? They’re cute and comfortable!“

Mat rests a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. “Cute until you break an ankle. Just trust me and do it, Miss Y/n!”

You roll your eyes and kick your shoes off to the side while Mat backs up to the middle of the gym. You step up to the plate again and Mat winds up his pitch. The ball rolls in a straight line towards you, and you take his advice by kicking the ball from the inside of your foot. It’s a hard kick, too, so the ball soars over towards second base.

“RUN!” Tito yells from the sidelines, urging everyone on base to get moving. The student that was on 3rd base waddles home, scoring a run for your team, while the fielders scramble to get the ball.

There are some mishaps in passing the ball between the 4th and 5th graders in the field, so Molly is able to run home as well as you round first base. You look to Mat to find that he’s yelling at you to run to second, despite being on your opposing team, which coincides with the screams from Tito behind you. Now you're really thankful you took off those sandals.

You take off from first base towards second base, when out of the corner of your eye, you see Alexa grab the ball straight out of a 4th grader’s hands. She winds her arm back and throws the ball right at you, probably as hard as she can by the sting of contact on your left arm.

“Out!” Alexa yells as you slow your pace to a stop. “That’s three!”

The teams start shuffling as they switch from field to kicking and vice versa. You stay in your place, figuring you’ll just linger in the “outfield” anyway, while Molly comes up to you.

“That bitch is a dirty player,” Molly spits, turning to glance at Alexa. “Did you see how she just ripped the ball from a kid? Geez.”

“It’s just the game,” you brush it off, not wanting to seem fazed by how she so obviously was out to get you. You don’t realize Mat walks up to you and Molly until you feel a hand rest on the small of your back.

“Are you okay?” Mat asks, moving his hand to gently brush the red spot on your arm where the ball hit you.

You try not to blush at the contact as you nod and wave him off, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“Tough play, but it was a great kick,” Mat tries to be encouraging. “Who knew Lex could hustle like that.”

You wince at the nickname and look at Molly, who is sporting a scowl.

“Lex could’ve knocked a kid unconscious if she had missed,” Molly retorts, and Mat clears his throat awkwardly and removes his arm.

He shrugs his shoulders, “Yeah, I guess she could’ve.” There’s a brief pause and you hear Tito in the background positioning his students on the field. “So, Y/n--”

“Mat--I mean, Coach Barzal!” Alexa’s voice rings through the gym, interrupting Mat. “Come over here!”

“I think you should get back to your team, Mat,” you tell him. “Wouldn’t want to keep your star player waiting.”

He frowns at you, but nods, “Yeah, guess so.”

You didn’t mean to sound jealous--you really have no right to be. You weren’t even sure why you were so affected by the idea of Mat and Alexa. It’s not like there is a Mat and Y/n.

Well, maybe you do know why. You watch as Mat jogs over to his team, giving each kid a high five and circling them up for a pep talk. You can hear their laughs and cheers at his words of encouragement, and you smile involuntarily. He is so good with the kids and he really cares about them--you can tell that he puts his heart into what he does.

“Ready, team?” Tito’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts. The rest of your team cheers in response and Tito starts the next inning.

The rest of the game flies by with excitement. You all only make it a few more innings before it’s time for the kickball game to end and everyone to finish out their Friday school day. Tito was overjoyed, to put it lightly, when his A Team won the game, and you could tell he was already taunting Mat with it. Mat, though extremely competitive throughout the game, was a good sport about it in front of his B Team.

Since your and Molly’s class would still be in their Music Class for another 10 minutes or so, you two stayed back in the gym while the 4th and 5th grade teachers got their students together.

“Well, ladies, it was a good game,” Tito says to you and Molly, giving you both high fives. “Sorry you got blitzed, Y/n.”

You let out a laugh, “Thanks Beau, but it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Tito rubs his hand on the back of his neck, “I don’t know. Alexa went for blood with that hit.”

Molly scoffs, “Alexa is going to taste blood next time she pulls something like that.” You bump Molly with your hip, giving her a pointed look, but Tito just laughs at her comment and falls into conversation with Molly.

You eye the way Molly reacts to making Tito laugh, a wave of something resembling pride or satisfaction washing over her. You haven’t seen her look...giddy like this until watching her talk to Tito. Interesting, you think.

After a few minutes, you decide it’s time to pick up your kids from the Music Room, and you tell Molly she can just catch up with you in the classroom in a bit. You make sure to give her a suggestive smirk, glancing back and forth from her to Tito without him picking up on it. She rolls her eyes and waves her hand at you, gesturing to you to exit.

As you’re walking out of the gym, though, Mat calls out to you, jogging towards you before you can leave.

“Y/n! Wait up a second!”

You turn towards him as he slows down in front of you. “What’s up?”

“Um, where are you headed off to?” He asks, almost like he is stalling.

You furrow your brows, but respond, “Gotta pick up our class from Music.”

Mat nods, “Oh, yeah, for sure. Shouldn’t Molls be with you?”

You glance back at your friend, where she is laughing and twirling a strand of her hair while talking to the young coach. “Nah, I can handle it this time. She’s...preoccupied.”

Mat follows your gaze and lets out a snort, “Tito is so hopeless. He’s been gone for her for so long now.”

“Oh yeah?” You question, thinking maybe this could be a chance to set Molly up with a nice guy. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Molly, it’s that she usually has terrible taste in men. “How do you know? Has he said something?”

Mat shakes his head, “No, but he doesn’t have to. I mean, guys are so much easier to read than girls. Like, if a guy is interested in a girl? You’ll definitely be able to tell.”

You have to keep your shoulders from slumping. You think back to all the times you’ve interacted with Mat, and you can’t recall one instance of Mat acting the way Tito is with Molly right now.

“Yeah,” you sigh, looking back at the pair. “I guess you’re right.”

OKKKKKKK SOOOOOOOOOOO TELL ME WHAT U THINK HELLO PLZ FEED ME BACK FEEDBACK LOOP FEED ME WHAT DO WE THINK?????????????????????????????????????

#mat barzal #mat barzal fic #nhl fanfiction #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal x reader #mathew barzal

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samuclit · 4 years ago

Text

Love Foolish

miya atsumu x reader

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, mature, a little smut (define little on your own), 7.8K words

Summary: Miya Atsumu didn't realise that he was actually counting the days he spent with you while being your boyfriend. The step-process to how your relationship with him rekindles every time a new day begins was not as apparent as it seems to be, but he sure knew that the dreaded day when it comes to an end will never come.

This is an old piece that I worked on last year...I am terribly sorry for the way I post this fic I am not good with tumblr yall this is harder than my degree

........................

Day 153

Atsumu was exhausted. He just got back from training with the college team for a few weeks already. He needs to catch up with the college team even though the time he spent away was used for his training with the MSBY Black Jackals team. He was advised by his family members, team coach and his friends that he should not miss out on any practice without a valid reason and should diligently claim his spot on both teams with the most outstanding effort and attitude so he followed, believed that this is for the best in order to build his volleyball career he was always so passionate about since he was in middle school. If only Osamu joins him, he thinks it won’t be as draining as it is right now.

Everyone in college knows Miya Atsumu, he is too perfect. The handsome look, tall and built figure, his diligence in both studies and shaping his career, to top it all off he is charming and is a ladies’ man. He could make every girl fall for him the instant he flashes his smirk that has been scientifically proven to be a bait for everyone in this universe. One small talk he could get girls on his bed, spending the whole night snogging off each other and leaving them whenever he got annoyed with the sudden disturbance. You happen to be one of the girls who got in his bed, goes on several dates with him, but this time you were one of the people who last longer than a week, and then a month and few more months after that. He assumes and waits for you to be the one ending the relationship but it won’t even come, and he is already tired of waiting.

So, he makes you tired. He doesn't want anything to be on his way at all, and you in the equation is making him disturbed at some times. During the first few weeks of dating, you often invite him for a date at the coffee shop which he obliges only for the reason to not break your feelings even though he has some tasks which are more important at hand. You are nice, but he isn’t. He told Suna that you deserve better.

It has also been roughly two weeks since he last talked to you, and deep in his heart he kind of wants your nagging presence around him, just to distract him from the truckload of stress he’s carrying on his shoulders. So he texted you.

You: [Name], are ya coming or not. Been thinking of binging that Netflix series you’ve been babbling about.

[Name]: Ah sorry, it’s girls’ night with Midori and her gf.

You: I see. Have fun.

Seen.

That’s weird. You said it yourself that you wanted to binge on the weekends with him, after he finished with this practice for the week, and also he thinks that’s just you trying to make up with him after your first argument with him. It is...nobody’s fault, he thinks. He doesn’t want to blame himself and you, partially because you were really upset that day that you raised your voice and he didn’t chase you after you ran out of the apartment. It is just a silly argument. He doesn't want to think about it that much.

As he took a shower and dressed himself in a fresh new pair of t-shirt and black sweatpants, he plopped himself on the sofa and went through Netflix to find something worth watching. He saw the show you wanted to watch ; Pretty Little Liars. Ah it’s not even a Netflix series, it’s just a series which is available on Netflix. Seems like he wasn’t even attentive to what you said.

Before he falls asleep, he walks down the memory lane, to remember how exactly you and Atsumu could last this long in a relationship.

Day 0

The party seems to be a hit! His seniors on the volleyball team joined hands with the football team to conduct a party to celebrate post-sports festival of Tokyo U that happened for a week long and the party is held at the dorms outside of the campus so the board of education won’t meddle, with the promise that there aren’t drugs involved. Which is okay, the athletes are supposed to stay away from drugs and they’re disciplined enough to consider their life decisions.

He was simply just hanging around in the living room of the dorm, which is a terrace house in a neighbourhood a few kilometres away, talking to his friends, Suna and Komori, who are his teammates in the college team. Komori used to go to the same Youth Camp with Atsumu so they knew each other since then. “Huh, sick party. I didn’t think there would be too many people here.” Komori said as he chugs down his cold beer, swaying a little after he finishes with a slightly long chug. “Senpai said just the athletes of the college are invited, but it seems like the whole campus crashed together. Lunatics.” Atsumu said as he plopped down on the bean bag and leaned his head back. Suna calls out.

“Oi, Midori is here. I invited her.” Atsumu is familiar with Midori, he has never been close with her but he knows of her since they went to the same high school together. The three pairs of eyes went towards the door together to greet Midori, with you tailing behind her. “Hey, glad ya made it!” Suna lunges forward and grabs Midori in a hug. “Yeah, cool place, I’m sorry I don’t have a plus one to bring with so I just drag my friend along. Hey, this is [Name]. Go say hi and be friends!” Midori pushed the other girl, which he heard to be [Name], also a familiar name. “Oh wait...you guys must have not have known about her...we went to the same school man...” Midori pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. It is sad that not many people know about small girls like [Name] that much.

Indeed, you went to the same school and you’re in a completely different league than Atsumu, he was and still is the famous athlete that has the entire girls’ population wrapped around his fingers. You’re around the circle of...top scorers who are active in volunteers and some other stuff Atsumu was not into. “Oh, is she another one of your hockey teammates?” you continue hiding behind Midori’s taller frame. Midori pulled you away and hugged your waist, giving support. “Come on now, babe say hi, they’re our friends” you glared at her with a smug look. “Hye, it’s [Name]. I’m not an athlete, I’m a political science major, pleasure to meet ya” your eyes tried to glance from Suna to Komori and to Atsumu but you averted your eyes away from him as soon as it landed on him. You look cute in just a rock concert t-shirt with black jeans shorts and plain converse. Classic party look, but you are not the type to go to parties because...assignments and stress are getting through you which explains why you’re all fidgety. Midori knows there’s more to that, cause you’re a very wild extrovert at some time.

“Hey, enjoy the party, drinks and snacks are down there, the toilet is on another end, help yerself.” Atsumu pats on your shoulder and moves past you to greet his other friends who crashed the party. You’re petrified, to say the least and moved quick on your heels to head to the bathroom for some reality check. The environment is overwhelming.

Atsumu gets tired easily even after downing a can of beer but he isn’t exactly drunk. He is just tired with the lots of conversations and the girls from other courses trying to talk to him, wanting the conversation in a bedroom which he said no to, he is a responsible man. He is not going to do it with them when in their drunken stupor. However, his endless denials are stopped with a sudden disturbance right in front of him.

Midori is on a couch, with a girl and was playing with her hair and occasionally rubbing her thigh and before they closed in someone threw a beer cup at Midori. “What the hell? Leave me alone!” Midori turned his body to see a bulked up guy whose name Atsumu doesn’t remember behind the couch, looming over the two figures sitting on the couch. It’s going to get ugly.

“What the fuck, you leave us alone! Why the hell are homos here. Get out!” Midori and the poor girl trembles in fear and Atsumu wants to blow a kick so bad but he can’t move because of the girls that are around him. Before he tried to push the girls away, he saw you moving towards him, taking away the beer can he has in his hands. “I’m sorry I’m taking this!” Your eyes had a small fire ignited in it and he can’t help but gave away his beer can, and then he saw you walking up on the couch and on to the head rest, spit into the beer and pours the beer all over the homophobic guy who slandered your friend. The guy was drenched and screamed because the beer was icy cold and it came to contact with his skin that got heated from way too much alcohol consumed.

“Oh, I am very sorry, I was convinced that this big hunk of muscle is a trash can!” you screamed with an evil laughter and the whole party laughed and cackled at the sight of the giant asshole from Engineering talking shit about the woman adored by the majority of campus. Midori is your best friend, a very kind, beautiful and valid lesbian friend of yours. You would do anything to protect her from the touch of homophobic devils that would insult her every now and then. It has been happening more recently after she got out of the closet, even when she was inside all this time, you have always given her tons of support and protection because it’s just something about you. Midori was already smiling and got herself up away from the sofa with the girl she was with, hands holding hers tightly.

“You punk! Are ya crazy? Do ya want me to kill ya like I kill your friend here?” your figure who had one leg propped on the head rest while the other on the couch went tense and is about to fall and the nasty asshole grabbed you by the neck, having you lifted in the air and no one helped to stand against him except Midori who was pulling your body before the guy fully grasped your entire neck in his hands. Before he even pressed harder on your throat, Atsumu landed a punch on his face, making himself knocked down on the floor. You already fell flat on the couch, trying to regain your breath. He warns the guy off and he immediately leaves after.

“Shit shit, are you okay?” Atsumu kneels on the floor to check up on you, who were lying on the couch, still coughing out and trying to calm down. Midori ran to get some water for you. “I’m fine, fine, where's Midori? Is she okay?” Midori hit you in the arm. “Idiot. I am fine but look at you, I told you I’m alright, if you give them attention and piss them off they will harm you, look what happened.” Midori cries and hugs you. Atsumu checked up on your face, saw tiny drops on the edge of your eye which got wiped away the instant Midori wrapped her arms around you. “I told you I will always protect you okay, I promised you that” Midori looked at your face again and was still sobbing. She turns towards Atsumu who stood by them. Suna and Komori arrived in the space after making sure the guys had run off. The party went back to normal and it’s chaos again.

“Thank you, Atsumu, if it weren’t for you, I don’t know what would happen to the both of us.” The girl from before is rubbing her hands on Midori’s back trying to calm her down. “No, [Name] did the most fight, I only come in when it gets physical. I let ya know when I see that guy again I am going to beat the living shit out of him. Nasty jackass.” Atsumu’s rage calms down when he sees you and Midori laugh, finally he makes a safe space for you and her. After some minutes of calming down and talking and giggling Midori takes the cue to leave. “I think I need to go now, need to take some air, you should, too, babe. Love you” Midori hugged and left with the girl she was with the entire time during the party.

Atsumu has long left you and Midori alone when you were busy talking to her, so he goes away somewhere to talk with some of the boys from the football club. They heard something about how that guy is a maniac and has been expressing his hate crimes for several years now, basically a loser and Atsumu thinks his sucker punch is something he could take pride in. After he saw Midori take off with the girl he saw you heading towards the door that linked to the backyard. More people were there, some were laying on the ground doing some unnecessarily lewd stuff that Atsumu does not want to remember.

He saw you taking a seat on one of the stools that was set up for guests to sit. He brought a can of beer, intended to give you. As he approaches you were rubbing around the area on your throat which the bully from before had pressed on. You were still in pain. “Hey, needa drink?” Atsumu hands over the beer while he sits down on the stool next to you. “Ah, I’m sorry I don’t...drink around guys. Trust issues.” Atsumu furrowed his eyebrows and he finally got what you were trying to say. “Oh, I totally get it, I’m sorry.” You were a flustered mess. You didn’t intend to actually...reject a kind offer from him but it’s a strange new place and strange new environment, though you knew Atsumu from high school to be quite a decent person that you– “[Name]? Are ya okay? Ya were about to say something earlier?” “Oh, yeah. You don’t have to apologise, we can just go for drinks some other times'' you let out a small laugh and he smiles. Awkward.

“Ya don’t have to worry about that guy, I heard someone is going to report him to the dean. He’ll be out in no time” you smirked. “Good! Midori must be happy”. The both of you laughed and the conversation continued randomly, topics about his volleyball activities and you popping in some random thoughts about life to him, it makes him feel weird at first but he picks up after quite some time.

And the night goes with you spending your night with him on his small bed in the apartment he shared with his other friends. Kisses are littered all over your body and Atsumu leads you through your first intimate session with so much ease and gentleness. He left an especially passionate kiss on the neck that tells the stories of your fight and trauma, hoping that he could kiss it away and replace it with the memories of your first. “Are ya really sure about this?” Atsumu asked at one point when you were making out with him on his lap just right after he got you in his room. “Please, do what you want” and Atsumu continues to ravish you and pulls on every article that trapped your beautiful untouched body.

The morning he woke up, you were sleeping soundly, despite the uncovered chest you had on display cause you fell asleep after the second round of fucking you had no chance to clean up or put on a shirt. The messy hair and arousing look you had on aside, you look too peaceful to be on someone’s bed, someone who you have known for a long time but have only gotten close from an impromptu encounter so Atsumu threw the plans of getting out of bed aside and continues watching the small details on your face. He would pick up the falling strands of your hair and tucks it behind your ear, trailing his fingers on the swollen lips you had after making out with him the entire night. He enjoys your presence. He likes it, being with you, so this is all worth it.

As your eyes fluttered open, squinting because of the bright sun, which was now covered by Atsumu’s hands to help you get back to sleep without the disturbance. You woke up anyway. “Atsumu, what are ya doing?” you asked, trying to pull the blanket that barely covers your naked front. “Just letting a princess continue her peaceful sleep” you were blushing, it feels like a dream to wake up with Atsumu next to you, so you lean into him more and he tackles you under the sheets. As Atsumu closes in again, about to kiss you like he did the previous night before, your eyes widened and you pushed him away, rolling out of bed naked. You pulled the blanket to cover yourself and scrammed to find your underwear and outfit from last night. “Fuck, fuck I’m late shit I gotta go” you were clasping your bra and putting on your underwear as you continue with your series of cuss words picked up at random. “What’s going on are you okay? Was it–“ you put on your jean shorts and looked at him. “No-no I’m late to a group discussion and I am going to die I think.” You already had your phone in hand with your bag in hand running to the door. Atsumu put on his sweatshirt and training shorts in a haste, offering to give you a ride.

“Hey, I can help ya get to yer spot with my car. Don’t have ta rush'' you gaped and mumbles thousands of gratefulness and lunges forward to hug but stopped yourself. In the car you were on a phone call with one of the people in your group and you immediately spilled the idea you had in mind in a heartbeat. Atsumu has been driving nowhere so he stops and parked his car at the parking space of the nearby McDonald’s. After several arguments and reasons to have your opinion accepted you finally heaved a relief and ended the call with another apology.

“Yer quite a persistent one aren’tcha?” you looked at him, face messy, unclean and tired. The post-sex glow seems to not work with everyone. “Yeah, there’s an event and I’m in charge. I was so caught-off guard. Pretty sure they will kick me out if they don’t accept my idea but guess not!” you laughed and smiled gleefully. Pure satisfaction whenever people acknowledge us. Atsumu understood that much. “So...since you don’t have to go...breakfast?” Atsumu points his thumb to the back of the car, which was the entrance to the McDonald’s. “No...I stink so much...but I am hungry so....drive-thru?” Atsumu smiles and puts down the handbrake. “Sure thing, princess”.

After you both got your respective breakfast meal set, Atsumu takes off to the lake and brought you together with him to eat on the benches. Atsumu enjoys the company as much as you did. What starts off with a random conversation of how the duck is limping, to talking about the fluffiness of the poodle someone took for a walk turns into a conversation about each others’ personal lives.

“If anything, virginity is a social construct to put down women, so if you think last night is fun just because of that, I am going to berate your entire existence” you warn him, mouth full with the breakfast muffin. “Sure, what’s fun about last night is that you’re hot and I like you.” Atsumu closes in, trying to make you feel more flustered. “You...like me?” you were blushing and he guessed that his classic method works. “Can say that, I don’t usually have breakfast with people I sleep with, so I think that’s how I know.” You scoffed as his smug smile grew wider. “Oh you’re quite a cheesy one. So, this isn’t just a one time thing?” you looked over to him. He said no and continued kissing you like he meant it.

Days after that, the dates are frequent, spending the night in his apartment is a routine, watching movies is a norm and the intimate sessions get more interesting for the past few months, he thinks he needs to tell you all about his fantasy and you told him yours and both wishes are fulfilled.

Day 150

Atsumu woke up from the nap, the movie was already finished by then. He reached for his phone which was ringing non-stop. He's going to puke his brains out. Midori was the one calling him. There are around 7 missed calls coming from Midori.

“Oi pisshead, your girlfriend’s drunk. Come and pick her up.” Atsumu looks at the time

10.50

“Didn’t last that long?” Atsumu giggles. Midori snapped.

“I’m being serious. She gets crazier now you need to pack her up. I can’t because my girlfriend is as shit-faced drunk right now.” Midori starts to call out your name to get off the table. Whatever that happened it must have been really shitty what’s going on down there at the bar.

“Okay, just text me the address I’m on my way” Atsumu took his wallet and car keys with him, all fresh to fetch your drunk ass home.

As soon as he arrived he stormed to the booth which you and Midori sat at. You were already lying down on the couch, fast asleep and giggling as you sleep. “Okay you’re here. I’m going home with my girlfriend so you take care of her properly.” Midori sat herself at the couch you were sleeping on. “[Name].....I’m going now so take care okay! Love you goodnight!” you were whining so loudly at her. “Nooooo....Midoriiiii-chan I am going to miss you don’t leave me” you were pouting and whining and hug Midori to prevent her from going. Atsumu stood at the side watching the mess unfold. “Your boyfriend is here to pick you up! Goodbye!” Midori dragged her girlfriend away and got out of the bar.

“Midori’s good at lying. There’s no way my boyfriend cares ‘bout me” Atsumu covers his face in shame because the other customers at the bar are looking at you. “Who are ya...are you a stranger? Can I call you Mr Stranger? You look handsome.” You giggled and Atsumu laughed at your cuteness. This is certainly a new side to you, he has never seen you turn into a giant ball of fluff before. “Okay now cmon Miss [Name] let’s get ya home.” Atsumu swooped your legs in his right hand while the other supported the small back of your body. Your eyes are still squinting which must be the reason why you can’t recognise Atsumu yet.

“I miss my boyfriend Mr Stranger. I want to see him...please take me to see him pleassseeeee.” You buried your face in his chest and held on to the cotton string of his hoodie. “Oh yeah? Is he really that handsome?” he puts you in the passenger seat and buckles your seatbelt. “He is! His hair colour is a bit funny, Midori said it makes it look like he bathed in piss” Atsumu got that too many times already. “But in my very personal point of view, it is kind of biased, he rocks that look. He looks hot!” Atsumu blushed and proceeded to head to the driver’s seat. It’s you and your habit of expressing too many opinions again. He liked this one. He also misses your constants chit chat after a whole month of not talking to each other because of a petty argument. He admits that he misses you so much, but a jerk like him won’t admit it. He’s going to break up with you anyway.

As he continues driving he would listen to what you said about ‘your boyfriend’ and he would sometimes smirks and whispers an ‘I know’ and sometimes it is too loud you caught him in the act. The night drive seems fun with you, and he figures you are still too drunk and even with too much talking your body stays the same. You fell asleep at some point, when he is close to the apartment you resided in. He found out after quite some time that Midori moved into her girlfriend’s apartment so now you live alone.

Even after he arrives at the apartment complex he lets you take some time to sleep, and as time passes by and it’s getting later into the night, he shakes your shoulder to wake you up.

“Hey, [Name], we’re here.” Atsumu smiles as you yawn and stretches your limbs.

“Mr Stranger? I have a secret. Can I tell you...I’m afraid to tell anyone.” You said after some time. Atsumu had no idea what to do. So he just played along. “Yeah, I promise I will keep it.” Atsumu laughs and looks at you.

“I think my boyfriend doesn’t love me. I kind of got the gist of it for a long time...but...now I am convinced. I think...the next time I see him, will be the last time I see him. And I–I don’t wanna” you cried immediately, you were sobbing too hard and you covered your face with the both of your palms. Atsumu is shattered especially, what you said was true. He might break it off when time comes, but seeing your heart broken and giving up the usual happy and chaotic smile and laughter you had because of the thought of breaking up with him, he felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. So he asked further. He needs to know more, he needs to know why. Why do you catch up to what he was thinking so fast?

“W-why is it?” Atsumu choked on his breath. His heart was thumping so loudly, and it was beating off the charts. “He seems to not want me around...I tried my best to give him space, time for himself but....he never wants a time wimme....and then...I-he-he don’t want to see me even when he is free”. You continue crying in the silent car, Atsumu wanted to reach your hands but he knew that would be such an asshole thing to do since he is the one causing this mess. Atsumu got out of the car and opened the door from your seat. “Hey hey let’s get you to your apartment okay?” Atsumu unbuckled the seat belt and you kept on crying, you pulled on his sweater and gripped it so tightly and wailed like a baby into his chest. He sighed and embraced you in a tight hug, calmly rubbing the small of your back trying to calm you down.

After quite some time only the sniffles could be heard. You start talking again. “You know...I’d rather see him happy even if it means I need to break up with him. Ah I’m so dramatic for no reason. Can you help...carry me to my apartment, Mr Stranger?” you pulled away from his hug, makeup ruined and eyes red. Atsumu smiled and nodded at you. “Of course, I’ll carry you.” He carried you in a manner when he hugs your tiny body to carry you to the bed during one of those nights he needed a release. This closeness to your warm body, and the earlier event that happened of you confessing to a complete stranger about him, he is regretting it.

Day 125

Atsumu just got home from South Korea. He was there for a training camp with the home team there because one of his coach from the MSBY Black Jackals used his connections with an old friend to conduct a camp for them to further polish the players’ skill in the said sport. It would be a great chance for him to bloom more than how he is after his successful debut as a Div. 1 League player.

He was simply relaxing around after two days and Osamu was cooking plenty of food for the gang. Osamu invited some friends of his, and Suna brought his girlfriend with him. Komori was there too, with his cousin. When Osamu asked if he was going to invite you, Atsumu shrugged and said no, he wants to relax without you around. Even if you are around you would never go that far to make him uncomfortable. He still hasn’t called you yet even when he landed in Tokyo two days before.

“Atsumu, didn’t ya miss yer girlfriend? Just tell her to come over.” Osamu said from the kitchen, bringing a pot of stew he made for the gang and putting it on the table. “Nah, she didn’t even know I’m in Tokyo.” Everyone in the living room looks at him. “Miya you’re kinda an asshole for that” Komori said as he passed a bowl to Suna and his girlfriend. “Cmon now don’t look at me like I’m a criminal or sumn...I just want to relax I’ll tell her later.” Atsumu scoffed and leaned his back to the sofa as he was sitting on the carpet.

“Are you...joking. She came by practice the other day, said she can’t reach you.” Sakusa said as he put down his mask aside and dug in. Atsumu knew that. He purposely ignored your text and calls and only left a message when you’re offline or when he knows you were sleeping. He doesn't want distractions. “Yer a prick, [Name]’s really nice and ya can’t see that. If ya got issues just break up already.” Suna speaks and his girlfriend agrees. “Yeah for real, if Rintarou had issues I know he is going to leave my ass in the streets. But I’m glad he has no problems. As a woman I will honestly kick you in the ass, ya know, that woman with woman solidarity.” Suna kissed his girlfriend on the cheek and Atsumu scoffed. “I know, I just don’t know the right time yet.” Komori already mumbles a series of cuss words, Osamu and Suna sigh and Suna pulls his girlfriend back from kicking Atsumu in the face. Sakusa heard a doorbell and reached for the door now to open.

“[Name]?” Sakusa screams in shock. Speaking of the witch. Well, you’re not a witch, you’re the sweetest person ever that happens to be Atsumu’s unlucky girlfriend. “Hey Sakusa-san! Nice to see you! I brought something!” you waltzed in the door and headed to the kitchen you’re already familiar with. Atsumu felt his guilt eating his insides. Who the fuck called you here?

Komori puts his phone up so Atsumu can see. Komori smirks at him and Atsumu flashes out the middle finger to him. Sakusa mumbles and points at Atsumu, he said somewhere along the lines of you solve this on your own, Miya!

Osamu headed to greet you first. “Hey Osamu, I brought some home made dorayaki for you and Atsumu. You guys love it right?” Osamu smiles and thanked you endlessly. You smiled but as you looked at the awkward little Atsumu behind Osamu you stopped smiling. He headed towards you and Osamu knows it’s his cue to leave the both of you in the kitchen.

“Hey, how’s South Korea?” Atsumu sat on the chair of the kitchen island. “Twas good. The food there, they’re amazing.” You hummed. “Glad you enjoyed it. Maybe I would know more if you actually answer my calls and texts about how busy you are and tell me when you arrived. But it seems like you don’t miss me that much.” You sighed.

“[Name], I’m just...I’m sorry I need time for myself I’m so tired.” You looked at him, sad and gloom covering your whole body like the dark blue cardigan you had around you. “Tired of me or of practice?” you asked and reached for the tips of his fingers. “That’s–that’s not it, okay. Please give me some time.” Atsumu pleaded, you flinched when he suddenly glared at you.

After some time, you released a deep breath and headed to the door. “Enjoy the dorayaki guys, I hope I don’t interrupt you guys. I’m sorry and please take care of Atsumu for me.” You opened the door and headed out. Atsumu is still in his seat. When the door was slammed he got up and sat himself back on the carpet around his friends. He picks up his chopsticks and pulls the omelette Osamu made. Everyone was staring at him.

“Eat your food and stop staring at me.” Atsumu rolled his eyes and ate more food on the table. “Ya don’t even want to chase her?” Osamu asked from beside him. “Nope.” Komori scoffed.

“Just want you to know she got here by bus alone. I don’t know if it helped change your mind.” Komori said and drank his cold lemon tea he poured for himself. Atsumu stopped chewing and clenched his jaw, looking at Komori.

“The one who ruined lunch is you, Atsumu.” Suna’s girlfriend said and Suna agreed. So does everyone else.

You don’t leave a text to Atsumu to the day he picked you up from the bar. He only texted you because he wants to end the relationship.

Day 153

Atsumu still has you in his arms. You’re already asleep, face still drenched with tears. He struggled with the pin to your apartment but picks up after a while of thinking. It is his birthday.

Atsumu realised he is a bigger asshole than how he was minutes ago in the car as he remembered that he had never come to your apartment. Months of relationship it was always his place as you always preferred his place over yours and he thinks that maybe if he was the one giving in more effort to be the one going all the way to your apartment to spend time with you, he would have felt better about himself. Normal dates outside are very rare aside from lunch or a quick grab of coffee before classes because he was too busy with his practices and you with your duties as a political science student.

He carried you to what he assumed to be your bedroom, carefully putting your body on the bed, taking off the leather jacket you had with you, slowly dragging the thick comforter to cover your shivering body. After shuffling in the kitchen, looking to find some aspirin and a glass of water for you to gargle right after you woke up he put it on the desk at your bedside.

He saw a picture of you and Midori on the table, during graduation day. Midori carried you on her back while you threw a peace sign with tongue out and Midori making a disgusted face. He laughs at it, putting it back to where it belongs, carefully.

You had a lot of other pictures pasted on the wall, the one that faces you when you sit on your study table. The notes and thick books are messily arranged on the shelf, a succulent that says ‘Good Job!’ on the table standing cutely, possibly the one that kept you up during the late night study sessions. He never really checked up on you and your studies, how did you manage to be so strong on your own without a supportive boyfriend, he doesn't know.

And then he saw the pictures you hung neatly. He took the pictures one by one and saw some notes you scribbled on the back of the photograph.

First, a picture with your parents. You talked about them at some time because you’re their only daughter and you missed them as much as they missed you. One time when you were making out with Atsumu your parents called and you pushed him away to answer the phone call. So funny how you got so innocent and angel-like just right after doing some lewd stuff with Atsumu just with the voice of your parents on the phone. At the back of the picture, it wrote.

Secured the top-scorer title with a scholarship! Mommy and Daddy are proud of me and I will never stop!

The second picture is of you and Midori at a pride parade. This time you wore a white t-shirt with blue jeans and sneakers and you looked absolutely mesmerizing.

Pride with Midori. I am so happy for her!!

Some other pictures of you at an animal shelter, old folks home, in the streets, caring for homeless people, women’s march and marathon for cancer awareness. You were basically everywhere and it is what makes him regret not finding out about this side of you. All he does is talk about his talent in volleyball and you always make him feel the best that he never gave a chance for you to talk about yourself.

Atsumu can’t stop the stretch of his smile and it is making his jaw sore. He is so whipped for you. You have always been such a caring person to him, doing your best to take care of him when game losses make his sour mood make a nasty comeback.

He would cry in a phone call because he messed up his set and you arrived in his room, dropping your bag to hug him and lull him back to sleep. He cries so hard and you would never make him cry worse than he did, you were always comforting but his pride and selfishness would forget that in a day because he thinks the relationship you had with him is a waste.

Atsumu is a fool. He didn’t realise how much his confusion hurts you more than it hurts himself. He is such a fool for not being there to protect you. The thought of you crying minutes earlier makes him scream in his heart, he doesn't ever want to see it again. If he made that happen again he will never forgive himself and if he has to build a shrine and be a monk to make sure his sins are forgiven he would do it. He would do anything for you.

The last picture hid him the hardest.

It was him, and you, during his debut game as MSBY Black Jackals setter.

You had your body leaned into his arm, smiling wide with a bouquet of flowers for him in your hand. He was staring at the camera with a lazy smirk, hands encircling your waist. It was sweet, and you look very cute standing next to him, in his embrace like that. A sight so beautiful. It is a shame when he remembers what exactly happened that night.

It was a very joyful day for Atsumu and for you but Atsumu didn’t even tell you about the match, you were only informed of the game because of Komori so the ticket you got is because Osamu gave up his ticket for you. He is tired of seeing Atsumu play volleyball and he can see it on his phone if he wants so he just gave it to you, saying you deserve it better. Even when you’re not informed about the game, you still showed up in the cutest little dress with the cutest little smell and the cutest bouquet of baby breath flowers for him.

Atsumu is not fond of flowers. He is not fond of surprises either. When you showed up on the court, congratulating him, he was shocked. He was busy talking to fangirls and kids who love volleyball until you call out his name with so much pride.

“Atsumu aaaa I am so proud of you! You worked so hard for this and I am sorry I don’t know of this sooner.” You hugged him and pat his back when you hugged him. Eyes glistening as you pulled away. Said the cries are happy tears. You told one of the passers-by to take a picture of you and Atsumu, resulting in the small piece of photography in his hand.

Later that night he went with his team and celebrated the debut together with them while you took off to your apartment, barely making it to the last bus of the night to get there safely, wishing you were with Atsumu in his car instead.

He turned the picture over. There is a long note there.

Might be the first ever picture with Atsumu, like ever. Nonetheless I am so happy and so proud of him it made my jaw hurt so much as I write this. I can’t stop smiling!!! I hope I can attend more of his games, more to his success, more time with him. I feel like I am the happiest person alive! I feel like one of the fantasy film protagonists where the person they have loved for a long time is within their arms, finally! I am so happy to have known Atsumu since the beginning days of school, how his charming and cunning personality, inspiring and charismatic figure would walk down the hallways of Inarizaki, I will always fall for him over and over again. I love him so much, and even if it takes a thousand years to wait for him I will always wait. Praying that this essay reaches the Gods because I love him too much, I don’t even want to let him go. I love Miya Atsumu, and I hope he feels the same thing too.

Atsumu pasted the picture back on the wall, turning off the study lamp and closing the door as he walked out. He sat on the couch in the living room, only having the kitchen light to illuminate the entire apartment. As he sat there, tears rolled off his eyes and loud sobs spilled out of his mouth.

He realised he is such a foolish man, living in a complete lie with an angel from heaven taking care of him despite getting paid dust in return. He cried so hard he took the pillow next to him and cried himself to sleep.

Day 154

If it is not for the bubbling and disturbing feeling in your stomach, you wouldn’t have gotten up and run to the bathroom to puke your guts out, but here you are. Smelling so stinky you just take a shower along the way. Fresh out of the shower in clean new clothes you saw a tall glass of water with your birth control pills right beside it. After downing the glass of water you headed to the kitchen to grab an aspirin to calm down the throbbing pain of your chest.

What you found instead is the sight of Atsumu, wearing an apron on top of his white t-shirt. It has been way too long since you have last seen him, and you didn’t expect to encounter him in your apartment, let alone him in the kitchen, preparing a breakfast for two. “Atsumu! What are you doing here!” you screamed audibly to him and got to the table to see a tray of rice and a bowl of soup on the table.

“Ah, ya woke up earlier than I thought ya would, was intending to make breakfast on bed like in that one cheesy film you love so much.” You blushed. You headed to the cupboard and popped the aspirin into your mouth with the assistance of the barley tea Atsumu prepared for you.

As you sat down awkwardly, he pulled out the rice bowl and put the tray in the sink and scooped another bowl of rice and soup for himself. He prepared a hearty meal for two, a miso soup to help you sober down and ease the gut after rounds of alcohol shots dumped in your body.

Right, you were drunk last night. “So why are you here?” you asked after spooning out the final drop of the miso soup. “You remember nothing at all?” Atsumu asked. “Wait...so...Midori didn’t lie?” you asked again. Just realising that Midori already told you that your boyfriend was there.

“Oh my god...how much did I say?” you pressed your palms on your face and dropped them to your lap. Atsumu smiles.

“You said a lot! You said too much that it made me learn a lot.” Atsumu reaches your hands the moment it gets on to the table. He clasped it with care and so much gentleness even when his hand is calloused and rough from the intense training for so many days in a week.

Atsumu sighs and hangs his head low. “I just realised that all this time, our relationship is one-sided” you gasped and the grip on his hands gets tighter. “I...took you for granted. I never gave you a comfort space to live in, a shoulder to cry on, and I have never...expressed my feelings for you.” You were trembling and Atsumu fully connected your fingers with his, interlacing it together hoping that neither of you will let it go.

“All this time you were always there for me, no matter what I was struggling with, no matter the time and place you would rush and hug me and tell me that it will be okay but I let you cry on your own whenever you deal with the same problem. I made a big mistake, and I swear to my life that I will make it up to you.” You got up from your seat and went to the sink along with your empty bowls. Atsumu got there too, hugging you from behind.

“I am so sorry for being late, I love you. I love you so much that it hurts when I see you get hurt because of me.” Atsumu hugged you like he would make you dissolve in his body, it was so tight and warm and comforting it felt like home.

Miya Atsumu is your home. You are his home. And so he kisses your hair, your neck, your shoulders to make sure you won’t disappear before him, to tell you that what he said is true.

You turned around. Holding his head in your hands.

“Atsumu, I love you too, and I missed you so much.” You smiled as the tears dropped, and Atsumu thinks this sight of yours hurts him as much as it makes his heart feel warm. It was a mixed feeling, but he knows that the perfect moment is right there, he holds your waist and your neck and kisses you on the lips with so much need and passion, to tell you that he loves you.

Your hands went to wrap itself on his neck, occasionally stopping by to run your hair through the blonde locks you love so much. He kisses in deeper and languid motion; it makes your head drowsy, worse than what the alcohol did to you but the sensation is nice. The alcohol was bitter and you hated it, this kiss tastes sweet and flavourful and you love it.

Atsumu continues while he carries you towards the bedroom he left you in alone last night, slowly putting your body on the messy bed who still has the scent of you from last night. It is supposed to gross you out but Atsumu is making it harder for you to breathe so nothing really matters, and Atsumu loves the scent as much as you love his oozing warmth that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He continues peppering kisses along your entire body, just like the night when you first spent together. Shirts off, pants off, underwear off. There’s nothing in the way of the both of you in the intense love-making session. Atsumu loves the way his name rolls on your tongue as he nibbles addictively on your neck, your chest and your tummy that is filled with the food he made for you, the love he had in store from his heart is delivered into you with so much ease. He plans to deliver some more as his kisses turn more passionate as the clock ticks, tongue intermingles and liquid drooling out of each other’s hot mouth.

Atsumu is already so eager to get inside you but he always has to prioritise you before him so he asked you. “Can I-can I get on with it now?” he asked, trying to recollect his breath at the same time while he looks for a particular wrapper in the drawer of your bedside table. “It’s fine, Atsumu, I’m on birth control.” You smiled at him and he smiled back, caressing your cheeks, touching your lips and tucking your hair behind your cute ears he loved to kiss so much. “You know, you mistook the birth control pills for aspirin that’s why I rummaged through the whole cupboard to look for one.” You gave him a glare so cute he continues kissing you. “My bad, baby. Can I get in now?” He asked with a teasing little smirk displayed on his stupidly handsome face.

“Yes, you can Atsumu.” You kissed him on the cheeks and hugged his neck as he entered. Inches by inches you sucked him in and he would kiss your temple to make you feel better after the stretch. The time away clearly made a lot of changes between the two of you, and it all makes this event more admirable than the ones before, because of the heartfelt confession you shared with him in the morning. All he wants to do is kiss your body like it is the only thing in this world worth worshipping. You are the most beautiful thing that ever happened in his life anyway, and he would never regret anything in his life anymore.

After the both of you peaked, he released into you, stayed there for a few minutes and took it out after he finally made your deep furrowed eyebrows disappear. You finally relax after the soothing time with your dearest one and he plopped himself next to you.

Atsumu opened his arms and you found him inside it, getting smooches here and there as he hugged you. He would play with your hair, draw stars on the naked back of yours, and you would draw circles on his chest as you listen to the small heart beat in him.

His heart was beating because of you.

“Hey, that noise in there is because of ya.” Atsumu kissed you on the forehead.

“Oh really, yer not special, Miya, listen to mine!” you said with a glare after hitting him playfully on his chest.

“Uhuh...can I kiss it? Like this?” Atsumu continues his attack on your chest and you laughed loudly as he starts skimming his fingers on your waist and your tummy. He was smiling and laughing into the attack.

Atsumu thinks that even if it is true that he is a fool, at least he is a fool that is so foolishly in love with you.

#Miya Atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu angst #haikyuu x reader #atsumu angst #atsumu reader #atsumu reader smut

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emo-and-confused · 4 years ago

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Out of context things my Global Perspectives teacher has said:

Information: This was a 10th grade zoom class for the academy program at my public high school

“I know you’re all fans of K-pop, right?”

“You are not allowed to record. If I find out you are recording, I will find you, and I will destroy you.”

“Please ask a question, I’m so bored of talking.”

“I don't like listening to myself talk. My wife disagrees but-“

“It’s basically a “do you know how to read” quiz. so if you don’t know how to read, I don’t know how you got here.”

“Be prepared for a lot of dead jokes. Cause they’re fun. Cancer jokes are fun too. My dad died of cancer, so I guess I have the right to make them.”

“I have very little sympathy. If your grandma dies.. we’ll talk. If your grandma keeps dying, I’ll have to ask some questions.”

“I don’t text and drive, but I email and drive.”

“Do not copy me, I am not a lawyer.”

“I almost got killed so many times. I should've got killed, like legally. I still have both my hands which is surprising. so, I have so many stories of Saudi Arabia.”

“My most favorite child of mine, my dog.” (he has three human children)

[internet fluctuates] “Play the dinosaur game? What’s the dinosaur game?” (he learns to play the dinosaur game)

“Let me know if anything is going on. If your dad is currently dying of cancer, and you want more cancer jokes, please tell me.”

“I will drive to their house and cough on them and give them coronavirus.” “I will threaten you with biological abuse.”

“Have I told you my suicide Christian joke yet? No? Can I tell you guys my suicide Christian joke?”

“I don’t know my mom’s phone number. I don’t know my dad’s either.. but that’s for different reasons :)”

“Not the dirt on your shoes, the coronavirus in your lungs.”

“Speaking of addiction... nevermind I can’t tell you that yet.”

[to me] “You should not lie to yourself, I’m sorry that you do.”

“This is why you guys are so depressed, you guys don’t sleep.”

“You guys did great, give yourselves a pat on the back.... wow, only a few of us did that. The rest of you guys are losers.”

“I’m so white, I can’t roll my r’s, I’m sorry-“

“I just wanna get off the camera and go cry again.”

“Teah, Canadians, boring! Stop apologizing all the time! We get it, you like hockey!”

“Welch? Nobody cares about the Welch. They’re just smaller english people.”

“Don’t be stupid like me.”

“All of your teachers used to be stupid. Now some of them are less stupid”

“l don’t recommend making out with people with aids.” “Here’s a better suggestion, stop making out with people.” “You know who you should be making out with? Your spouse. Get married and then make out.” “You should not be making out with Jesus. That’s gross.”

“You know what else is dumb? The speed limit. Speed limits are dumb, yeah- you know what else? Tires! You don’t need them! They’re dumb! You don’t need oil changes! Yeah, that’s dumb! You know what else is dumb? Taxes! Screw the man!”

“No, the holy spirit will not get rid of aids” [pause] “Well—-“

“We can talk about pedophilia another day.”

“No wonder you all are addicts.”

“If you’ve been eating the same breakfast for the past 7 years, you might have a mental disorder.”

“If I’m ever on the show Naked and Afraid, please don’t watch, cause I'll be naked and afraid.”

“I know you’re not used to a grown man caring about you, cause you haven’t seen your dad in five years. It's okay. I wish he was around more often.”

“I got hit on at Busch Gardens and it was amazing.” “I haven’t been hit on in ten years.”

“If I ever get killed by the government, man, I want it to be a firing squad. That’s a badass way to go.”

“Do you guys wanna see me, in high school, as a Dr. Pepper can?”

“We might not learn anything in this class but at least we have fun.”

“It is possible that I might have made some Dr. Pepper commercials. And it is possible that I might have made some Dr. Pepper music videos.” “Who says I'm not a Dr. Pepper shareholder? I have never made that claim.”

“Did I tell you about that time I waterboarded a kid? No? Ah, well that’s a story for later.”

“Yes, I do believe in Santa. I believe he is Satan.”

“I'm just trying to give you legal advice.. I am not a lawyer though, so don’t take my legal advice.”

“You didn’t go to sleep until 3am? I've been up since 3am! We swapped!”

“Murders have experience, I wouldn’t let them near my children.”

“Is anyone here a flat earther? I promise I won't make fun of you. Unless you’re {Con}.”

“I wouldn't let any of you near my children. The only one of you I would let watch my daughter is {Con}.” [Me, in chat: ‘why me??’] “Why? Because I feel like she could put you in your place. She's three and a half and has no filter. She would insult you to your face.”

“Welcome to my bedroom. I tried to say that as creepy as possible, I hope it worked.”

“[Con] have you killed anyone this morning?”

“Guys, I’m gonna announce my bias right now. I’m a round earther/”

(the class he says he’s quitting) [Me, in the chat: ‘who’s gonna call me out in the middle of class for no reason now :/’] “Who’s gonna call you out in the middle of class? uh... Molly! Your new job is to call {Con} out and tell them what a terrible person they are.”

“So yeah, I was almost possessed in Sri Lanka.”

“{Con}, stop. Just because you’re possessed now does not mean you can roll your eyes when I say I was almost possessed.”

“No, Kaine didn’t come into school. Kaine hasn’t left his room, in like, eight months.”

#out of context #school #high school #this man kept making fun of me for no reason smh #like it targeted me as the student to call out at random times #he genuinely cared about our mental health #and gave us mental health days #HOWEVER he was a white cishet male and was extremely privilaged so sometimes he would say things and there were a little off #and he would have no idea what he said was slightly abelist/sexist/etc #he was the teacher you would like at first and then he would keep talking and you would remember #oh yeah this dude has an insane amount of privilege and doesnt know it #high school is fuckin weird man

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puckinghell · 4 years ago

Text

Acts Of Service | Elias Pettersson

Summary: When people have different love languages, sometimes it’s hard to understand what the other is trying to say. 4 times Elias shows you he loves you, and the 1 time you tell him. Words: 7.5k (whoops) Note: This concept was very interesting to explore. Also yes, this entire thing was written because of that one picture of Elias in that blue sweater stepping out of the car like a fucking GQ model.

----

(Some time ago)

“Didn’t you say there’s an apartment free in your building?” Brock asked as soon as you answered the phone, forgoing the “hello”.

“Hello, Brock, my very good friend, how nice to talk to you! How are you doing?” you deadpanned.

At least he had the decency to sound ashamed. “Ah, yes, hi. Sorry. I’m just in a hurry and it’s important.”

You frowned. “Why? Are you looking to move?”

“No.” Brock laughed. “Stetch would kill me. No, it’s about the rookie. Petey? I told you about him. Swedish, quiet, best fucking hands in the league.”

Yes. Brock had told you about the rookie, although you still thought it dumb to call him that. Brock was basically still a rookie himself.

“What does that have to do with my apartment building?”

“He said no to having a billet family but everyone on the team thinks it’d be good for him to have someone to kinda look out for him a bit. He’s never been to Canada before this, you know, and he’s never lived on his own either. His English isn’t that great and everything is new for him. And since you’re such a caring, loving person, we thought…”

“You thought I could babysit him?” you finished for Brock.

“It’s not babysitting. Just, being friendly if he needs anything. Obviously we’re there for that too, but it’d be nice to have you so close by.”

Close by would be an understatement: the free apartment was across the hall from yours.

You weren’t sure if this sounded like something that you would necessarily want to do, but you did feel a bit sorry for Elias: you’d met him at a team thing earlier that week and he’d looked completely lost in the midst of all the Canadian hockey slang that you barely managed to follow, even after having been friends with Brock for years. He mostly kept to Eagle, spoke in Swedish, and his eyes flickered nervously across the room whenever anyone else approached him.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I’ll talk to my landlord. But you owe me, Blondie.”

Brock was happy enough that he didn’t even call you out on the nickname.

“Have I told you lately how much of a lifesaver you are?” You lean across your desk, resting your chin in your hands. Elias looks mildly amused as he hands you the papers.

“Nearly every day,” he says, “but then I save your life every day, so that seems fair.”

You grab the papers from his hands.

“You’re a lifesaver and the love of my life, Petey.”

You think back to when Elias just moved into your apartment building, only because Brock thought he needed someone to look after him. You could laugh, now, thinking about how wrong he’d been.

Elias is the most self-sufficient, independent person you know. You don’t think he’s ever needed anything from anyone. Like in hockey, where he can make the play and score the goal all at the same time, Elias has his life together.

Unlike you.

Despite the fact that Elias hadn’t needed much help from you, you had become very fast friends. His quick witted sarcasm always managed to make you laugh and he liked how upfront and honest you were with him about things. It was easy, too, to spend time together. With him living just across the hall, you found yourself wandering to his apartment whenever you were bored, and he showed up at yours often when he didn’t feel like cooking.

Just because he could cook, didn’t mean he always wanted to.

And ever since the two of you had become friends, Elias had your back. When you needed someone to water your plants, or feed your cat Puck – Brock had named him – or, apparently, bring you the important work papers that you forgot at home after having worked on them all weekend.

You groan as you flick through the papers. “I thought I was going to die. Without these I can’t finish my presentation.”

“When is it?” Elias asks, eyes searching behind you. You know he’s looking out for your asshole of a boss, who will use any excuse to yell at you, especially the unannounced visit of a friend.

“Tomorrow. I got all the content in these papers here, but I still have to make the PowerPoint.” You sigh. “It’s still so much work.”

“Oh.” Elias’ face lights up. “Almost forgot. Brought you this.” Triumphantly, he reaches down and comes up with a paper bag from your favorite coffee shop.

The words fall off your lips in a gasp. “You didn’t!”

“Strawberry scone and a large caramel macchiato with soy milk.” Elias grins. “I also got you a chocolate chip cookie for later.”

“Marry me,” you proclaim, as you make grabby hands for the bag. The coffee is precisely what you need and your mouth is already watering at the idea of the food.

“Get me a ring, then,” Elias jokes, as he starts getting up from the chair.

Something tightens in your stomach, so you quickly take a bite of the scone: anything to push those feelings to the side. It works a little, and at the very least it tastes amazing.

You’re just friends. If you were gonna be anything more, Elias would’ve made a move already. Or, if you’d been brave enough, you would’ve: but he’s never said anything to make you think he’s interested and quite frankly, you’re not that brave.

“Thank you,” you say, mouth still full of scone, and Elias wrinkles his nose at that as you knew he would.

“I’m going to the store now,” he says, “anything you want me to pick up for you?”

“Wine?” you ask, hopeful. “I’m gonna need it after today.”

Elias rolls his eyes at you, but when you come home after the most grueling day at work there’s a bottle of rosé sitting in your fridge, next to a bag full of your favorite Thai take out food.

Love you, you quickly text Elias, even though you know he can’t answer because the game is about to start.

You take some time showering and putting on comfortable clothes, then situate yourself on the couch and put on the game. It has already begun, and you know it’s not gonna be an easy one, against the Bruins.

It’s not until the first intermission, when you check your phone, that you see there’s a reply from Elias waiting for you.

It’s just a simple heart emoji, but it makes your heart race anyway.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I can barely hear you.” Fiona’s tone is disapproving, and you pull your mouth away from where you’d pressed it into your arm to scream.

“I said, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me!”

She laughs. “It’s just a car, Y/N.”

You don’t necessarily like your job, but Fiona is one of the reasons you’re still putting up with it. She’s not just a colleague anymore, slowly turning into a friend and someone you confide into about everything – even about your Elias problem – and you love her, but sometimes you could murder her.

“It’s not just a car,” you bite. “It’s my only mode of transportation, because you know how much I hate taking the bus, and it’s broken, and I probably can’t even afford to get it fixed. And now I have to walk home, and it’s raining.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Fiona admits.

After a long day at work, you couldn’t wait to get home and watch The Bachelor until you fell asleep, your cat in your lap. However, when you finally got away from the office and stepped into your car, it was clear the universe had different plans.

It didn’t start.

After trying approximately 15 times, you’d screamed, nearly cried, hit the steering wheel, and then went back inside to scream and cry a little more at Fiona’s desk.

“I just wanna go home, Fi.” You know you sound miserable, but you honestly can’t help it. Taking the bus always heightens your anxiety, so you avoid it at all costs: however, walking home in this pouring rain doesn’t seem like much fun either.

And Fiona can’t even bring you home, because she takes the bus to work like a normal person.

“There’s a simple solution to this, you know,” Fiona says. She starts to organize the papers on her desk, a clear sign that she’s getting ready to leave the office as well. “You could just call…”

“No,” you interrupt her, knowing exactly where she’s going with this. “I can’t call Elias. He’s got the boys over today and I won’t interrupt his fun with my misery. Besides, he does too much for me already, I can’t ask him for more.”

“Right,” Fiona drawls, “but when he hears that you were stuck here and didn’t call him…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to.

Elias would be furious.

One time, you were on a night out when you got a little too tipsy and didn’t realize your phone had died. By the time you noticed, all your friends had already jumped in their respective Ubers, but you had been too busy chatting with some girl you didn’t know to order yours, and now you couldn’t because you didn’t have a phone.

You knew you could’ve asked any random person to order you an Uber, or at least to borrow their phone to call Elias – it’s not like you didn’t know his number by heart – but that felt like too much. It had been 3 am and he had a game the next day, so you decided to walk home.

When he found out the next day, he got so mad he didn’t talk to you for 4 days. Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore and just sat on his couch pouting at him until he spoke to you again.

“Something could’ve happened,” he’d muttered, explaining to you why he got mad in the first place. “And I’m your best friend, and you should know me enough to know that I would much rather you wake me up than you walk home alone.”

You did know that, and he was your best friend, and you’d promised him you’d never do it again.

It’s only that promise, that causes you to reach for your phone.

“I’m texting him, but if he’s busy, I’m walking,” you tell Fiona stubbornly. She ignores you, which is probably fair enough.

Hey, you busy right now? Are the guys still there?

The answer comes right away. What’s wrong?

Damn, he knows you too well. You quickly explain the situation and before you know it, Elias is on his way to come get you, and Fiona is bidding you goodbye after you promise her you’re fine on your own for the twenty minutes it’s gonna take Elias to get there.

You’re just checking your email on your phone when you hear the bell at the front door.

“I’m coming!” you call out. You hurry to grab your bags and then walk quickly to the door, where Elias is standing with his car keys between his fingers.

“So Bella finally gave up, huh?” he asks, a sly little smirk on his face. He always teases you with the fact that you named your car.

“Yes, and I know you told me,” you sigh, and it’s clear that he immediately – and correctly – reads your mood.

Without a word, he opens his arms, and you gratefully fall into them, hugging him tightly to your body. There’s very little in the world that brings you more comfort than one of Elias’ hugs: although being on Elias’ couch wearing one of his old hoodies watching some stupid reality show might come close.

“Let’s go home,” Elias finally mumbles, and he holds out an umbrella when he lets you go.

It’s raining really hard, and you know he has to park his car a little bit away because there’s no parking in front of your office, so you take it.

“You could’ve just called, I would’ve ran out,” you tell him sternly, but he shrugs.

“But then how would you have gotten the umbrella?”

You would tell him you’re not made of sugar, but as soon as you step outside the rain clatters loudly against the fabric of the umbrella and you realize you would’ve really, really hated to not have it, so you stay quiet.

Instead, you walk after him as he runs to his car and opens the passenger door for you. It’s still running, and the heater is on: only then do you realize you’re quite cold.

This morning they said it would be nice outside, so you didn’t bother to take a coat.

It’s quiet in the car for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the silence that only comes when two people understand each other, and combined with the soft music that is playing on the radio it lulls you into a false sense of comfort.

Until you realize something.

“Oh God,” you groan, “I’m gonna have to call someone to tow Bella to a mechanic.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Well, you could just leave her there.”

Normally you would’ve at least playfully punched his arm for the sarcastic tone in his voice, but right now you’re too busy freaking out.

“And how am I gonna get to work tomorrow? Don’t you dare say you’ll bring me cause I know you’ve got morning practice and it’s super out of your way. Fuck, why did this have to happen to me?”

You let your head fall against the window. The glass is cold against your cheek and it’s enough to stop the spiraling in your brain at least for a second.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice has lost all sarcastic edge. It’s gentle now, and he’s speaking low as if not to startle you. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll call the tow truck and the mechanic and get your car fixed. And Brock lives close enough that he can take me to and from practice and you can just take my car to work.”

It’s… a reasonable solution, but once again something that Elias has to go out of his way for, even just a little bit, and you feel something warm bloom inside your chest.

“Okay,” you answer, the stress already ebbing away. “Thank you. You’re the best.” You reach out and place your hand on his knee, squeezing slightly. “Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Elias mumbles something incoherent. You think you see some color on his cheeks, but surely that’s just because the heater is on, because there’s no way he’s blushing over something you said.

You turn off the heater, and let your thoughts wander as Elias drives you home.

Traveling is fun, but traveling for work is instantly a lot less fun. You really don’t know how Elias does it.

You’re feeling run down and jetlagged when you come back from your work trip, which is ridiculous cause you flew to Toronto, not to freaking Europe. But it’s late at night and the three days you were away were so busy you can barely remember sleeping at all.

Fiona slept on the plane, so she looks a little more alive than you when your feet touch the ground at Vancouver airport.

“Is Elias coming to pick you up?” Fiona asks, as you’re both walking through the gate.

You shake your head. “I’m sure he would’ve insisted if he could, but he’s in California right now. They played the Kings tonight and they’re playing the Sharks the day after tomorrow.”

“I wish I was in California,” Fiona says wistfully. It’s cold and wet in Vancouver and it wasn’t much better in Toronto. The tiredness doesn’t help: it feels as if the cold of the night is slowly creeping into your bones.

“Come on then, I’ll drop you off.” You thank Fiona and follow her to her car. Normally you wouldn’t have minded taking an Uber, but right now you just wanna get to bed as soon as possible.

“If I fall asleep, just let me sleep here,” you mumble, resting your head back against the head rest. Fiona laughs as she starts the car.

“No way, you’ll freeze to death.” She squints outside. “Do you think it’s gonna rain?”

“It always rains,” you say, despite the fact that it’s not raining at the moment.

Fiona turns onto the highway. “So, are you finally gonna put up that bookcase you bought?”

Involuntarily, you groan. “Stop, don’t remind me.”

Your old bookcase is big and ugly, and it has been a thorn in your eye ever since you moved in. The person that lived there before you left it there, and you only kept it because you couldn’t really afford not to.

Four weeks ago, you finally allowed yourself to buy a new, prettier bookcase.

But…

“It’s just so big,” you whine, repeating the excuses you’ve been giving Elias every single time he raises a judgmental eyebrow at the old bookcase still standing in your living room. “It’s gonna take forever to take it apart and then it’s gonna take me even longer to somehow get it all downstairs and get rid of it.”

“And then you have to build the new one,” Fiona nods understandingly. “And you’re not good with furniture.”

“Hey,” you protest, but it’s weak. You’re not good with furniture, which was proven when you tried to help Fiona move in and didn’t manage to help her put together anything at all. Instead she ended up with a table with three legs.

You even tried to read the manual, but it’s just not your forte.

“I’ll do it,” you add, “I promise you I will. Just, maybe not this weekend…”

Fiona laughs, but she doesn’t call you out on the fact that it probably won’t happen during the week either.

Finally, you arrive at your building. You can’t wait to go to bed, and you thank Fiona multiple times before dragging your luggage upstairs. When you open the door to your apartment, Puck comes running up to you, meowing and weaving between your legs.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you tell the cat sternly. “Petey sent me many pictures of you sleeping in his lap and I know he feeds you chicken when he thinks I won’t notice, so you got spoiled this week.”

You lovingly scratch Puck’s ears, before flicking on the light and kicking the door behind you in the lock.

Instantly, you notice the difference.

Your apartment isn’t big: real estate in Vancouver isn’t cheap and your job isn’t great. You got this place mostly for the location, and you like the big windows in the apartment and how it manages to get in light even during the darkest of winter days.

One corner of your living room, however, was always darker than the others. The bookcase took away the entirety of the white wall, and it created a dim lit, sad looking corner.

Now, it’s open and bright, as your new bookcase stands proudly in its place.

There’s only one person who would’ve done that.

The phone rings a few times, but you know the Kings game ended a while ago so you let it ring. After a while, Elias picks up.

“Sorry for the background noise,” is the first thing he says. “We’re on the plane. Taking off in a few minutes, probably.”

In the background, you hear some yelling. Probably Jake.

“You put up my bookcase,” you blurt out, ignoring Elias’ statement. “You put it up and all the books are in it and the other one is gone.”

Elias sounds a little smug when he answers. “Well, it’s not like you were ever gonna do it.”

“Thank you.” To your own horror, you can feel tears burning behind your eyes. “Elias, seriously…”

“It’s nothing.” You can hear Elias’ smile even over the phone: you know everyone always makes fun of his deadpan tone when he talks to media but with his friends, his voice always betrays everything he’s feeling. “I know you were worried about it, and I know how much you hated that old one.” He laughs. “I get why now, by the way. It took me and Brock like four hours to get that thing out.”

“Brock helped too?”

“He did.” Elias is silent for a while, but in the background you hear another voice. “Brock says to tell you that I forced him. But that’s not entirely true.”

Entirely. You know Elias definitely did force him.

“Tell him thank you too.”

“He says you’re welcome,” Elias says, quick enough that it makes you think Brock didn’t say that at all. “We’re about to take off so I have to put my phone on airplane mode. But call me tomorrow okay? I wanna hear about your work trip.”

“Okay.” For some reason, you can still feel the lump in your throat. You didn’t notice it momentarily, while you were focused on Elias’ and Brock’s bickering, but now it’s back, and with a vengeance.

Fuck. You just…

“I miss you.” You blurt it out before you can stop yourself and if anyone would ask, you would blame the exhaustion and the fact that Elias can’t see how wet your eyes are over the phone.

“I’ll be back soon,” he answers softly, and his voice is gentle in a way that makes you think he knows about the tears, anyway. “And when I am, we’re gonna take a whole night to eat food and stare at that bookcase, because it needs to be appreciated after the effort I had to put in to build it.”

You laugh before quietly saying goodbye to Elias and hanging up the phone.

In the kitchen, Puck sits in front of the fridge. When you open it there’s a pan with chicken.

For Puck the note next to it says, and you send Elias a picture of Puck with his chicken.

“He spoils you,” you tell your cat. You decide to ignore the fact that he kinda spoils you, too.

When you open the door to your apartment, you’re met with the smell of garlic.

After yet another shitty day at work, you can already feel the lump in your throat building again. You didn’t even tell him, this time. In fact, you carefully avoided his texts because you knew he’d clock that something was wrong.

Fuck. That’s probably where you went wrong in the first place; usually you never ignored Elias’ texts.

“Hello?” you call out into your own apartment.

There’s soft music playing and there’s light coming from the living room, but the amazing smell that tickles your senses is clearly coming from the kitchen, so that’s where you go.

Elias is standing at your kitchen counter, chopping a carrot.

“Hey,” he greets, smiling your way. “I’m making dinner.”

It’s almost too much, how domestic it looks. And how right: like he belongs there in your space, waiting for you to come home.

Suddenly there’s the overwhelming urge to go towards him, so you do. His arm immediately lifts, creating space for you in the crook of his body, and you slip under his arm easily.

“How did you know?” you mumble into the fabric of his worn Canucks hoodie. It smells like him, a scent that reminds you of home as much as your mother’s signature dish.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” Elias hums. His arm tightens around your body. “So I figured you could use some good food and a bath.” His head motions towards the general direction of the bathroom. “I’m running it as we speak.”

God. You love him.

It hits you, then. You knew you had a crush on him, knew you wanted to kiss him and hold his hand and feel his hands on you. But it’s more than that, now.

It’s the realization that you want to share everything with him. The ups and the downs. The bad nights and the bright mornings. You want him in your kitchen, but more than that, you want it to be his kitchen, too.

Fuck. You’re so royally screwed.

Because he does this, and he does so much for you, but he’s never said anything, anything at all, to indicate that he wants that. Or has even considered it, thought about it.

Maybe it’s never even crossed his mind. Maybe he takes care of you like he would take care of a sister.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice is gentle as it pulls you out of your thoughts, back down to earth. “You’re shaking. Go take a bath, and I’ll finish dinner, and then we’ll watch How I Met Your Mother. I wanted to watch the next episode but I waited for you.” His grin is a little lopsided. “Isn’t that chivalrous of me?”

It is, and normally you would tease him for it, but you can’t really think or speak, so you just nod.

“There’s wine in the fridge, if you want a glass,” Elias says. He holds out a wine glass, already waiting for you on the counter.

And who cares that it’s only a Tuesday: you deserve it, damn it, so you open the fridge to find the wine.

You’re met with more than just that.

“You bought groceries?” you ask, your eyes traveling through your fridge. You hadn’t gone grocery shopping in like a week, and when you left for work this morning the fridge was basically empty. Now it’s so full you wonder how you’re gonna close the door.

“How else was I gonna cook anything? You only had cat food left,” Elias tuts. You’re not surprised to find Puck at Elias’ feet, waiting for him to inevitably slip him some human food.

“Did you get…”

“Your coconut yoghurt? Yes.”

He did, and he got basically all your staples, and nothing you wouldn’t buy yourself.

“Honestly,” you say, as you finally reach for the bottle and pull your head out of the fridge. “I don’t know what to say, Petey. Thank you. I had such a sucky day and now it’s already endlessly better.”

This time you know you’re not imagining the flush on Elias’ cheeks.

“It’s fine,” he says. “You should go take that bath before it goes cold.”

You want to say more: to tell him time and time again how amazing he is, how much he means to you, how thankful you are. But you know once you start, you can’t be trusted to not say the one thing you don’t think he wants to hear.

So you say nothing, and simply go to take your bath.

But you think about it.

You think about it all throughout Christmas, where you don’t see Elias at all. You think about it during NYE, when you get a drunk SnapChat from Elias with his brother, right at midnight.

At least, you figure, he’s not kissing any girls.

You’re not kissing any boys, either. You’re at a NYE party with Fiona and it’s fun, it is, but it’s not the same as it would be if Elias wasn’t all the way in Sweden.

You miss him like a limb, and you know it’s not fair because he rarely gets time to go home to Sweden and he deserves that time with his family, but you can’t say you didn’t wish his time off ended already.

When it finally does, it’s not Elias you see first. Troy is throwing a late New Years party, just to welcome everyone back to Vancouver as they get ready to start the season back up, and when you arrive at his house it’s early enough in the evening that there’s only a handful of people there.

“Y/N!” Brock calls out, opening his arms to give you a big hug as you enter. “Missed you!”

You laugh. “Get off of me, you giant. I’m gonna drop the wine.”

“Not the wine,” Troy says dramatically, tearing it out of your hands. His eyes are sparkling when he thanks and hugs you, and then Brock is ushering you into the living room, where Jake is talking with Quinn.

Or talking at Quinn. To be honest, you never really know when Quinn is paying attention.

“Y/N!” Jake exclaims, much like Brock had. “I’m glad you’re here, we need your input on something.”

“Okay?” you ask, curiosity instantly taking over. Whenever Jake and Brock get together, it promises to be an interesting evening.

“We’re trying to decide Brock’s love language.”

It’s sudden enough that you laugh. “His what?”

“Love language,” Jake explains. “Like, how he shows people he loves them. He says it’s quality time, but I think it could be physical touch. He’s always touching people.”

“Jake is deflecting because his love language is physical touch,” Brock scowls. “I think I know my own love language, Tuna.”

“Hold on.” Unfortunately, you have to press the pause button on their discussion. “What options do we have?”

You’ve got no idea where they got this from, but it doesn’t really matter. You’re always down to share your opinion on stupid stuff with your favorite boys.

“There’s gifts, quality time, physical touch, words of affirmation, and…” Brock pauses, and you can nearly see the wheels in his head turning.

“Acts of service,” Quinn offers, which proves that he was actually paying attention.

“Mine is physical touch,” Jake says determinedly. “When I care about someone, I always wanna be touching them, and when I’m in love with someone that’s like twenty times worse.”

“Poor girl,” Quinn mutters, and the conversation gets paused in order for Jake to put Quinn in a headlock.

“I think yours is quality time, actually,” you tell Brock when Jake is done murdering the rookie. “Your ex was always on her phone during your date nights and I remember it drove you crazy.”

“See,” Brock says proudly. “Quality time baby. If I’m there I’m there.”

“What about yours, Huggy?” Jake asks. “Physical touch would make sense, since you’re called Huggy.”

“I’m not called Huggy,” Quinn deadpans. His face is devoid of any emotion, but you know him well enough to recognize the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He reminds you of Elias, when he does that. “And if we were going by nicknames your love language would be fishing.”

Everyone cracks up on that, and then the doorbell rings and Bo arrives.

The topic gets put on hold, then, because Bo is instantly talking about Gunnar’s first Christmas and Brock is talking about becoming an uncle again and you feel warm and happy on the couch with your wine, squeezed between Brock and Troy.

Until, a little later, you realize someone is missing.

“Where’s Petey?” you ask Troy. “Isn’t he coming?”

Troy shrugs. “Should do. But you never know with Pete.”

It’s not entirely true: if Elias promises he’ll be there, he will be there. But, to be fair, he usually doesn’t promise that to anyone but you, and you hadn’t asked him to come, this time.

You figured he just would.

“What about Petey’s love language?” Brock asks idly, not knowing he’s opening Pandora’s box for you. “Definitely not words of affirmation, huh.”

Troy laughs.

“Nah, Petey’s an acts of service guy. He’s always doing shit for Y/N.”

You would protest if you trusted your voice not to shake. As it is, you stay quiet and hope the flush on your cheeks gets mistaken for a wine flush, and not an Elias flush.

Brock brightens. “Oh, yeah! Getting her car fixed, making dinner, building her stupid bookshelf, feeding her cat… He is a typical acts of service guy.” He bumps against your shoulder playfully. “I hope you appreciate his showing of love, Y/N. He rarely does that shit for me.”

Troy snorts. “That’s cause he��s not in love with you, Boes.”

“He’s not in love with me either!” you squeak, unable to stay quiet any longer. You know if you don’t derail this trail of thought very soon, it’s gonna end badly for you.

Both Troy and Brock look unimpressed, at that statement.

“Yes, he is,” Brock says slowly, as if explaining something to an unruly child. “He drops whatever he has going on to do small things that make your life easier. That’s literally the same as him screaming I’m in love with you from the highest rooftop in Vancouver.”

“He’s not like you,” Troy continues, a little more gentle. “When people have different love languages, they don’t always understand what the other is trying to say. Your love language is words of affirmation. You’re always telling Petey how amazing he is. But he doesn’t see that as a declaration of love, or whatever. He thinks you tell everyone that they’re amazing.”

You do, to be fair, but not as often as you tell Elias. Because he’s…

Well. Amazing would be an understatement, actually. He’s everything to you.

Things are starting to make sense, like puzzle pieces fitting into place. Suddenly, you start wondering if there’s more to his acts of service than plain friendship, or him being a good guy.

It’s not like he does stuff like that for all his friends. He helps them out, sure, but he always goes above and beyond for you, usually not even needing to be asked.

But he’s not in love with you, surely? He hasn’t said anything…

But maybe words aren’t his thing. Not like they are yours: the way you can’t stop yourself from gushing into Elias’ ear even when you know you should stop.

What if Brock and Troy are right?

You don’t get much time to think it through, because that’s when Elias finally appears in Troy’s living room, looking endlessly cool in his blue sweater, wearing his glasses. He’s sending death glares at Jake, who wolf whistles from the corner, but then his eyes meet yours and they soften.

“Hi there,” he smiles, reaching out to you. You immediately jump up and launch yourself at him, any previous conversation about the two of you momentarily forgotten as you curl your body into his, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Missed you,” you hum into his shoulder, and you’re rewarded with a grin you can feel against the skin of your neck.

“Are you sure hers isn’t physical touch?” you hear Brock ponder, and you would flip him off if you could be bothered.

You can’t. All you can be bothered doing is plastering yourself to Elias’ side and not leaving him alone even for a second, the rest of the night.

It works at least for a while, until he asks: “Do you want another drink?”

“I’ll go with you,” you say, not willing to part with him yet, and you ignore the knowing look Brock shoots you as the two of you find your way to the kitchen.

Elias immediately goes for the wine, because he knows you better than anyone else.

“I asked my dad about the job,” Elias mentions casually, as if it’s not a big deal at all. “He thinks he can get you an interview.”

“Wait, what?”

Suddenly your heart is ticking in your throat. Before he left for Sweden, Elias had mentioned that his dad knows a guy who works for a similar company as you’re working for now: apart from the shitty boss you have or the ridiculous low salary you get paid. It’s your job, but better, and Elias promised you he’d get his dad to ask if there were any open positions.

There were. And you sent in your application not thinking there was gonna come much from it, but now…

Something warm washes through your chest, like your heart grew three sizes. Of course he asked, of course he made it happen. Looking out for you, always and at any time, from any distance.

“It’s not a done deal,” Elias warns, oblivious to your mental breakdown. “But he said he thinks they’ll like you and he’ll put in a good word for you.”

You squeal and throw yourself in his direction once again. Elias laughs as he catches you, fingers curling in your hair where your face is pressed against his chest.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

“It’s about time you get rid of that dumb job.” You can hear the frown in Elias’ voice. “They don’t take good care of you at all, it’s not good for you.” The distaste is obvious and it’s adorable. You pull away.

“I don’t need them to,” you say, carefully. You can still hear Brock’s words in your voice, and you figure it’s worth a try, probably. “Because you’re always there to take care of me.”

Elias’ cheeks darken substantially.

“I mean it when I say I don’t know what I’d do without you, Elias.”

“You’d be fine,” Elias waves away the compliment as you figured he would. But this time you’re not backing down.

“Maybe I would be. But I wouldn’t be as happy.”

They say when you really love a person, you’ve got to show them. But you’ve never really known how to do that, instead you always use your words to tell them. But it seems like Elias isn’t believing you, not even now.

And you’ve got to fix that.

It’s not until you’re in Elias’ car on the way back home that you bring it up again. The party wasn’t really the time and place, but the conversation with Brock and the guys has been nagging in the back of your mind since it happened.

If you didn’t realize Elias’ acts of service meant something, maybe he doesn’t realize your words of affirmation mean something. And even if it doesn’t mean he’s in love with you – you’re really not that sure about that – you need him to at least know how much you appreciate him.

“You know I’m always there for you, right?” you start, carefully breaking the silence in the car. Elias shoots you a glance from behind the steering wheel.

“What?”

“Like, even if I’m maybe not as good as you are at realizing what you need me to do, if there’s ever anything I can do to help make your life a little easier or better I wanna do it. I’d do anything for you.”

It’s too honest, probably, and too much all at the same time. But Elias doesn’t look that surprised. In fact, there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You make my life better by just being you, Y/N. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you wonder how you’re gonna get through this conversation. But it’s one that needs to be held, so you press on.

“What is your love language, Elias?”

Now he frowns. “Have you been talking to Brock?”

Of course Brock talked to Elias before he talked to you. The traitor.

You decide to ignore that, for now. You’ll talk to Brock later.

“You know my love language is words of affirmation, right?”

Elias shrugs. “Brock did say that, but I didn’t know what you thought it was.”

“And yours is acts of service,” you hazard a guess. You keep your eyes firmly on Elias’ face, which is the only reason you catch the slight change in his expression.

Like a wall, crossing over his features. He’s trying to protect himself, although you have no idea why. Does he not get where you’re going with this?

“I can tune it down if you want me to,” he says, a little grumpily. He’s staring straight ahead at the road, stubbornly refusing to look your way.

And oh God, he’s truly not getting it, and this is going the exact opposite way you want it to go.

Troy did say that when people’s love languages don’t match, they don’t understand what the other is trying to say. But you honestly don’t know how you can make it any more clear to Elias.

Well, except…

“I love you,” you blurt out. “Like, in love with you love you.”

The words ring loudly in the quiet car. For a second, nothing about Elias’ expression, almost like he didn’t hear you. You can almost feel your heart sink into your stomach.

Then, he pulls over the car.

It comes to a stop at the side of the road, two wheels on the pavement and two still on the road. It is, objectively, not super safe, but it’s also 3am and there’s no other cars to be seen. Very carefully, without looking at you still, Elias turns on the hazard lights.

And then finally, finally, he turns to you and kisses you.

You weren’t expecting it but it doesn’t really matter: it’s like your heart and head both light on fire, and everything outside of the car simply disappears. It’s just you and Elias, and his lips on yours and his hands on your body.

It feels right. Like it was always meant to end up like this.

After what feels like ages, he pulls away. He’s smiling, and his eyes are bright blue in the dark car.

“I thought you said those kinda things to everyone,” he admits, quietly. His thumb is rubbing your side, his eyes fixed on that spot. Almost as if he can’t really believe he’s allowed to do that.

You don’t want him to ever do anything else.

“I thought you did those kinda things for everyone,” you shoot back.

Elias raises one eyebrow. “That bookcase weighed at least 300 pounds.”

You can’t help it: giggles are escaping your lips and suddenly you’re both laughing. The tension in the car dissipates instantly, and suddenly it’s just Elias again, your best friend.

Your best friend that you’re now allowed to kiss. So you lean in and press your lips against his again.

After all, kissing is a love language you think everyone understands.

(+2)

“I’m home!” Elias’ voice sounds through the empty apartment, and you immediately leave your spot behind the kitchen counter to run into the hallway.

With a squeal, you fly towards him, and he catches you easily as you knew he would.

“Hey, babe,” he laughs quietly, pressing a kiss into your hair before returning the hug fully. “Is that my sweater?”

“Maybe,” you admit, as Elias’ hands make their way under his own blue sweater, that you definitely steal from him most evenings. “Missed you. And I’m very proud of you.”

“I missed you too,” he answers. “Watched the game?”

“Obviously.” You roll your eyes, even though you know he can’t see it with your face still buried in his shoulder. “A hat trick, huh? I think that needs to be celebrated.”

“Oh?” Elias pulls away then, one eyebrow raised and a cheeky twinkle in his eyes.

“Not like that,” you scold him, lightly punching his arm. “Or, maybe like that. But first, I made Kalops.”

At the mention of his favorite Swedish food, Elias’ face lights up. A while ago, you asked his mom for her recipe and it’s one of the only Swedish dishes you can make, but you make it well.

“Also,” you continue, as you take his hand and start leading him towards the kitchen, so he can sit at the counter while you cook as he always does, “I called the electrician so the TV is already fixed. I know you could have done it, but I decided I’d much rather use that time to hang out with you. I took Puck to get his shots at the vet and I also used my free afternoon to take your car through the car wash.”

When you reach the kitchen, you twirl around towards Elias and his arms immediately circle around your waist.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” he mutters, taking the opportunity to kiss you once more. “But thank you. I love that you took the time to take care of that for me. And I love you.”

“Look at us,” you tease, lightly tugging at the ends of Elias’ hair. “Speaking each other’s love language like that.”

“Perfect couple,” Elias agrees, and you smile back at him.

Somehow, you and Elias managed to create a language of your own: one that you could speak with nobody else. But luckily, you don’t have to.

Cause he came home to your shared apartment like he always does, and well. That’s the biggest act of service he could do for you.

#elias pettersson #vancouver canucks #nhl fic #elias pettersson fic #elias petterson one shot #elias pettersson imagine #nhl writing

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nugnthopkns · 4 years ago

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dance me to the end of love (i)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential spoilers for the west wing if you've never seen the show

series masterpost: here

a/n: hi!! i am so incredibly happy to finally be putting this fic out into the world. it means an awful lot to me and i can't wait to share the little world i've created :)) x

Magdalene is content with where she’s ended up.

Denver is wonderful. Her friends are there, her cat is there, and it’s the perfect place for a fresh start. She arrived in the city nearly six years ago – a wide-eyed University of Denver freshman and has stayed put ever since. Her hometown of Aspen holds a few too many bad memories, but is close enough that she can return if an emergency calls for it. So far she hasn’t left, too engrossed in finishing her degree and moving on. There’s a job offer lined up with the university’s library upon graduation that Magdalene is ecstatic about. It means she gets to stay right where she is – where she’s comfortable.

☼☼☼☼

The sun might be shining as she exits her apartment building, but it’s cold for March. Magdalene pulls the thick scarf her best friend Bette got her for Christmas higher up her face and walks as quickly as possible to campus. There’s a brief meeting to attend with her advisor before grabbing lunch with Bette, and then her plan is to spend the rest of the day holed up in the library working on her thesis. It’s due in two weeks, with the defence in just over a month, and Magdalene is incredibly nervous. Though she’d gone through submitting her undergraduate thesis two years ago, presenting her master’s research was going to be a lot harder. She’s heard through the grapevine that the committees are being tough this year and she doesn’t want to fail.

Dr. Williams is waiting for her in his office with a smile on his face. He’s a tall man, with thin facial features and wire glasses that box him perfectly into the intimidating professor stereotype. “Miss Stevenson, please sit,” he gestures to the chair across from him.

“Gerald,” she sighs, “You can call me Magdalene, I don’t mind. Besides, it makes you quite the hypocrite if you insist I call you by your first name but you won’t use mine.” There’s no malice in her voice, just a decent amount of teasing.

The older man scoffs but concedes. “I suppose you’re right. Well then Magdalene, tell me, how are your final edits coming along?”

Magdalene spends nearly twenty minutes detailing all the elements she has tweaked since their last meeting, from the title to the citation style. She’s out of breath by the time she’s done, rambling at an impressive speed, and takes a big gasp of air while the professor mulls over her words. Dr. Williams doesn’t say anything, causing Magdalene to shift anxiously in her seat. “Sir, is there something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing,” he beams, “Everything is perfect. It’s a shame you don’t want to continue researching. You’d make a fabulous academic.”

The compliment makes Magdalene’s heart soar. It means a lot, especially coming from the person who has seen her cry over the oxford comma. “Thank you sir, but I belong in the practical realm. Someone has to file all the documents you obsessively scan.”

She leaves the building soon after, promising to stop by after she drops off the final draft in a few weeks. It’s a bit later than she expected and hopes Bette won’t be mad. There’s nothing the blonde hates more than poor time management, but Magdalene prays she’ll understand. It wasn’t that long ago and Bette was scheduling her own appointments with advisors on how to graduate. Barn Owl Book Company is located halfway between the school and her apartment, making it the perfect spot to meet. In addition to being a used book store, Barn Owl sports one of the best cafés in downtown Denver. Bette is perched delicately at her friend’s favourite seat, a bay window converted into a small nook, and typing furiously on her phone.

“Sorry I’m late,” Magdalene apologizes, “Williams talked a lot more than I expected him to.”

Bette looks up and smiles, shoving a cup in the other girl’s direction. “As always. How is he?”

Sliding into the booth, Magdalene fills her friend in on what’s been going on in their former professor’s life. Bette graduated with a minor in Classics, and it was Magdalene's major, but the former decided not to further her education and is instead doing full time charity work for the Colorado Avalanche. Her boyfriend Tyson is one of their star players, and the two of them are so smitten it makes Magdalene sick. Conversation quickly turns from school to life, which she’s grateful for.

“So,” Bette says, “Are you in for the trip this summer? I’ve got to confirm the reservation in a week or something.”

“I don’t know Bee, I'm going to be the new girl. Asking for time off like two months into the job would be rude.”

“Linny,” the blonde whines, “Please? I want you to come.”

Magdalene scowls. Bette knows just how much the nickname sours her mood but she chose to use it anyway. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps with quite a bite. “Can someone else take my spot if I decide not to go a little closer to the date?”

“Of course! Gravy said he’d fill an extra spot if one comes up so we don’t lose the deposit,” Bette blabs before trying to switch gears entirely. Magdalene cuts her off.

“Who’s Gravy?”

If her friend is exasperated by Magdalene’s lack of knowledge surrounding hockey, she doesn’t show it. Bette calmly explains that Gravy, who’s real name is Ryan, is a defenceman with the Avalanche and a good friend of Tyson’s. She also makes a point of mentioning that he’s single, to which Magdalene rolls her eyes. Bette has a masterplan for her life – which includes her best friend becoming romantically involved with an Avalanche player so the two of them can live the better half life together. As the best friend, Magdalene is constantly barraged with potential players who are looking to date. Once she went on a few dates with Mikko, but that ended fairly quickly when the two realized they were better as friends. Every time since she’s turned Bette down as gently as possible, not wanting to get involved with anyone. Her life is just starting, and Magdalene wants to be secure before settling down.

The conversation eventually shifts to what Magdalene plans to wear for both her thesis defence and graduation. Bette is fashion savvy, while Magdalene is decidedly not. Her everyday wardrobe consists of collared button-downs and sweater vests, which is supposedly never going to back a comeback, according to Bette at least. The blonde eventually wears Magdalene down, and secures a position as stylist for the graduation ceremony. There was an attempt at the thesis defence, but the other girl insists she needs to be as comfortable as possible on such a stressful occasion.

A glance to the clock on the opposite wall has Magdalene stretching her arms and giving an apologetic glance to her friend on the other side of the table. “I should go,” she says. “I’ve got to put in some serious work on my citations today, and you know Caligula doesn’t like it when I’m gone all day.”

Bette rolls her eyes, but there isn’t any frustration behind the gesture. “I swear to god Mags, your cat has more separation anxiety than I do. Speaking of, I’m supposed to pick Tyson up at the airport and I’m running behind.”

“Tell him I say hi,” Magdalene says as she wraps her arms around Bette for a quick hug.

The two girls part ways on the sidewalk, with Magdalene heading back to campus and Bette sliding into the sleek Audi she shares with her boyfriend. Headphones find their way into her ears, and Magdalene listens to a random comedy podcast. Once tucked safely inside the library she’ll put on her favourite lo-fi playlist and concentrate, but for now she just enjoys the funny anecdotes of stories past.

It’s quiet in the library for a Tuesday, though Magdalene isn’t complaining. Her favourite table, the one she swears up and down is the only reason she ever gets anything done, is open, and she all but sprints to place her bag on the worn leather chair. While setting up her work station a few of the librarians come over to offer their congratulations for her upcoming job. News certainly travels fast around here, Magdalene thinks, but accepts their generosity with a smile on her face. They leave her alone soon enough and the tedious work of double checking the formatting of every single citation in the sixty-five page paper begins.

Hours pass, and Magdalene stays working in the library until as late as she possibly can. Caligula is going to start to worry about the length of her absence soon and his anxiety response of knocking over plants is not a mess she feels like cleaning up. She packs up her laptop and walks the short distance home as fast as possible.

“Little boots, I’m home,” Magdalene parrots in a sing-song voice as she slips her jacket off her shoulders and onto the hanger. At the sound of his nickname, the small cat bounds into the entryway. “Hi darling, did you miss me?” Magdalene gets an obnoxiously loud purr in response that she takes it as a yes. She reaches down to pick up the tiny animal before continuing further into the apartment, scratching behind his ears as she does so. The two of them settle into the respectably sized couch, where they stay for the rest of the night watching reruns of The West Wing before Magdalene falls asleep.

☼☼☼☼

“You fucking did it!” Bette shrieks as she bounds towards her best friend. Magdalene braces herself for the oncoming assault, and manages to keep them both upright after Bette jumps into her arms.

Her thesis defence had just finished, and the committee found Magdalene a worthy candidate for the Master of Information Science qualification. The presentation itself was open to the public, so Bette and Tyson sat in the front row to support Magdalene, but were escorted out for the conversation that followed. The two girls had developed a code so the news could be shared in a subtle way, though Bette threw the original plan out the window as soon as she saw her friend give a sneaky thumbs up when the conference room door opened.

“Congrats Mags,” Tyson says sincerely, doing his best not to add to the growing spectacle, but Magdalene can tell he wants to give her a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” she smiles softly, “And thank you guys for coming. It means a lot.” As two of her closest friends, both Bette and Tyson know that her family situation is rocky at best, and having them act as her support system means more than she’ll ever be able to articulate.

The couple shares a knowing look before engulfing their friend in a hug. “We’re always going to be here for you,” Bette whispers, “No matter what.”

Magdalene’s smile is so genuine it crinkles her eyes as she wraps her arms around Bette and Tyson’s shoulders and leads them out the door and into the sunshine. The group continues to the parking lot, where they climb into Tyson’s car and drive off campus in the direction of Magdalene’s favourite restaurant. Though she had tried to convince her friends they didn’t need to celebrate, she failed, and Magdalene soon finds herself laughing hysterically over a plate of carbonara as Tyson tells a story about the shenanigans the team got up to on their last road trip.

There’s a game tonight, and Bette has somehow convinced her into attending. Magdalene knows she should go, expand her social horizons a little, but all she wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep for three weeks. Her one condition is that she can go home straight after the game without being guilted into following the group to whatever nightclub they’ll celebrate the win or drink away the loss in. Tyson has to get ready so he drops the two girls off at Magdalene's apartment complex. She’s in charge of getting Bette to the rink, and she’ll leave with her boyfriend after the game.

Once inside the confines of her home, Magdalene promptly lies on the floor. “Holy shit,” she sighs, “I did it. I fucking did it.”

“You did!” Bette says as she lies down beside her best friend. “I’m so fucking proud of you, and Tyson is too. Even if he won’t tackle you in public to prove it.”

The comment garners a laugh from Magdalene, which alerts Caligula to the presence of others in the apartment. He pads over the rug currently being occupied by two adults, and snuggles into the small space between them. Bette and Magdalene continue to lay there, petting the cat and looking back fondly on all the times Magdalene called her friend in tears because she didn’t think she could push herself any farther. Bette was always there to pick up the slack, editing whatever section Magdalene was working on or to bring over a hot meal. Her support earned her the top spot in the acknowledgements section of the thesis.

Ball Arena is already crawling with people when Magdalene pulls into the small lot for player’s and their families. Normally she parks with the general public, but Bette insists they watch this game from the better halves box, and these spaces are closer to that entrance.

“Stop dragging your feet,” the blonde chastises as Magdalene takes her time cutting the engine. “I want to get a glass of rosé before they sell out.”

Sighing, Magdalene follows her orders. “Don’t you have a special bar in the box?” she asks while locking the car.

“Yeah, but the other girls are absolute fiends. They’ll drink it all before we get there with no remorse.”

The girls climb the stairs to the better halves box, Bette chatting excitedly about the game, but Magdalene stops just before the entrance. She’s met most of the others on multiple occasions and has nothing to worry about, but she can’t help but feel anxious. Her life is so different than everyone else’s in the space, and it feels like cheating when she’s there because she isn’t romantically involved with anyone on the roster. Bette likes to joke that she’s her better half, but Magdalene knows it’s said just to calm her nerves.

“It’ll be fine,” Bette whispers while squeezing her hand, “And if you get too uncomfortable we can find some seats in the nosebleeds.”

Once inside Magdalene’s nerves dissipate. Most of the other wives and girlfriends pay her no mind, but the ones that are especially close to Bette congratulate her on passing her defence. It warms her heart a little, and the small group Magdalene finds herself in settles down to watch the game unfold.

It’s a fairly intense one between Colorado’s division rival St. Louis. Both teams are fighting for first place in the conference, and a win for the Avalanche would put them three points ahead of the Blues instead of one. Players from both sides are amped up, and more than once a scrum at the net has turned into a dog-pile. Colorado is outplaying the other team, but have still managed to find themselves a goal short heading into the final period. At the buzzer Tyson takes the face-off and is immediately shoved by a member of the opposite team. He goes down hard, and Bette squeezes Magdalene’s hand so tightly she fears it will lose blood flow. Silence falls over the arena as Tyson doesn’t immediately get up. The inside of lip finds its way between her teeth and Magdalene bites down hard, worried about her friend. She’s so focussed on Tyson that she doesn’t notice a fight breaking out.

“Holy shit, Gravy is going to town!”

The remark is made by someone Magdalene recognizes as Gabe Landeskog’s wife, and it makes her peel her eyes off of Bette’s worried features and scan the ice for some action. Sure enough, a very tall man is laying right hooks to someone who looks significantly smaller than him on the Avalanche blue line. The referees let the fight continue until Tyson drags himself off the ice and onto the bench before separating the men and throwing them in the penalty box. Magdalene can tell words are still being exchanged from both sides of the glass, but she’s more focussed on the fact Tyson doesn’t make his way to the dressing room – a good sign that allows Bette to drop her hand and let out a shaky breath.

Nothing of great importance happens until MacKinnon ties the game with seven minutes left. It happens while the Avalanche are short handed, and the goal seems to light a fire beneath the team. Magdalene may not know much about hockey, but she’s smart enough to notice the insane amount of energy all the players suddenly have. Time ticks by slowly and before she realizes it, the final face-off is taking place. Luckily it’s in the St. Louis zone and won by Colorado. The puck is tipped back to the same player who got in the fight for Tyson, Gravy, and he one times it right into the back of the net. The buzzer goes off not a second later, and the entire team piles on top of the player who just won them the game.

Bette and Magdalene join in the shrieks of the other partners, jumping from their seats in excitement. Eventually they make their way down to the hallway outside the locker room and lean against the brick while they wait for Tyson.

“You don’t have to stay,” Bette insists, “I can wait by myself.”

Magdalene shakes her head. “No way. I want to make sure he’s okay too. What good is a friend with a black eye?”

The other girl laughs at her friend’s stubbornness but doesn’t shoo her away. Once Magdalene has made a decision it’s hard to get her to sway from it, and Bette knows better than to push. Besides, who is she to deny her friend a bit more social interaction? Magdalene has spent the past six years practically holed up in the library and deserves to stand in a crowded hallway.

The friends chat idly while they wait, with Magdalene sharing some of the most ridiculous questions she got asked in her defence interview that morning. She’s mid story when Tyson exits the dressing flanked by a man dressed sharply in all black.

“Hey guys,” Tyson greets, dipping his head to place a kiss to Bette’s cheek before doing an elaborately goofy handshake with Magdalene.

“Good game baby,” Bette compliments sweetly. She then turns her attention to the boy standing awkwardly on the fringes. “You too Graves.”

He smiles shyly, muttering out a small thanks. It’s then he seems to notice the final member of the group, and offers his hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Magdalene.”

She puts two and two together on the walk to her car. The Ryan Magdalene just met is the same who will take her spot on the trip, fought someone in Tyson’s defence, and scored the game winning goal. Though they’ve only said a few words, she likes him. He seems genuine, and those people are the rarest to find.

☼☼☼☼

Magdalene is walking across a graduation stage for the final time in two days. However, she can’t find anyone to take the third ticket. The University of Denver has a stupid rule where all graduates must have three guests attend the ceremony. Bette and Tyson are obviously occupying two of Magdalene’s seats, but she’s having trouble filling the third.

“I can ask Tys if one of the guys is free,” Bette shrugs. The two girls are sitting in the window of Barn Owl drinking iced lattes and discussing what Magdalene should wear to the ceremony.

“It’s okay,” Magdalene says, “I don’t want to bother anyone. Maybe I’ll just ask June.”

Her friend’s eye roll so far back into her head Magdalene isn’t sure they won’t stay there. “You can’t ask your boss to watch you graduate Mags! Besides, Gravy owes Tyson a favour and was already looking for something to do. I’m sure he won’t mind wasting a few hours as long as he gets drinks out of it.”

There isn’t a better option, so even though she barely knows the guy, Magdalene agrees. “Make sure he gets this?" she sighs, handing her friend an envelope with a single ticket in it. "I have to go. Caligula should be done at the vet soon.”

“Say hello to little boots for me,” Bette giggles as she waves goodbye.

Hours later, tucked into her couch with a glass of wine in one hand and Caligula playing with the fingers on the other, Magdalene realizes she invited a complete stranger to her graduation and how that could be a terrible idea. Sure, Ryan sounds like a great guy from the way Bette and Tyson talk about him, but he’s only ever spoken three words to her. Since that game she’s gone out with the team a few times, but the man with the piercing stare is yet to make an appearance. Magdalene considers that perhaps he’s more like her than his profession gives him credit for, and she feels a twinge of guilt about being worried he’d cause a scene at the ceremony.

There isn’t any more time for her to fret over the third and final guest on the list. At the last minute Bette decides there’s nothing in Magdalene’s closet that’s suitable for her to wear, so a trip to a local second-hand store ensues. While it’s nice that her friend has taken their carbon footprints into consideration, Magdalene wishes it didn’t have to happen an hour and a half before the ceremony is supposed to start.

“We have to be there in twenty minutes Bette,” she frets, tapping her foot nervously against the tile flooring.

If they can’t find whatever it is Bette’s looking for, Magdalene will have to walk across the stage in denim cutoffs and a faded t-shirt with Neil Young’s face on it, which is something she’s hoping to avoid at all costs.

“Have no fear, Mags,” she says with a knowing glint in her eye, “For I have found it.” Bette holds up a hanger that is holding a beautiful long sleeve dress adorned with a whimsical floral print.

Magdalene can’t help the gasp that escapes from her. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, “But let’s hope it fits.”

The dress does in fact fit, and the workers are kind enough to let her wear it out of the store. Bette drives at a speed that might not be the safest to travel at in downtown Denver, but she gets to the school with minutes to spare. She shoos her friends out of the car so she can go pick up Tyson and Ryan, and Magdalene checks in with little hassle. The pool of graduates is fairly small, so she chats with a few classmates while they wait for the call to put their gowns on. Time passes quicker than expected, and soon Magdalene is being directed to her seat. She zones out while the dean gives a congratulatory speech and they go through the first few names. At one point she looks backwards into the crowd to find Bette, Tyson, and Ryan all giving her a thumbs up. The nerves she didn’t even know she had settle.

A faculty member signals for Magdalene’s row to stand up, and she smoothes her dress before dutifully following the person in front of her. Giddiness bubbles in her stomach at the thought of being done school forever. A hand from the stage crew give a cue, and Magdalene appears on the stage as her accomplishment is broadcast through the microphone.

“Magdalene Stevenson is being awarded a Masters in Information Science in Archival Studies and Records Management.” It feels so good to finally be finished that she lets a tear slip as she shakes the hand of the staff member handing her the package with her diploma in it.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur, and before Magdalene knows it her friends are approaching to congratulate her. Bette and Tyson wrap her in a tight hug, murmuring praise in her ears. Ryan stands awkwardly to the side before Bette drags him into the celebration. The four of them stand in the courtyard where the ceremony was for much longer than needed. Bette is crying enough to refill Sloan Lake if there is ever a drought and is yet to let go of Magdalene’s figure.

It’s only when the event staff ask them to leave so they can tear down the stage does Magdalene turn to leave campus for the last time as a student. She’ll be back in a few weeks as an employee, but deep down she knows this is the last time she’ll ever feel such a deep connection to the place.

“Victory is mine, victory is mine! Great day in the morning people, victory is mine!” Magdalene yells, quoting Josh Lyman as she skips down the path towards Bette’s car.

Both Bette and Tyson are confused at the sudden outburst, not knowing what she’s talking about, but Ryan responds without missing a beat. “Should I bring you all the muffins and bagels in the land?” His response doesn’t clear anything up, but it elicits a giant smile from Magdalene, who laughs and nods in confirmation.

Sitting in the back of Bette’s Audi, on the way to a graduation party she’s supposed to know nothing about, Magdalene decides that she wants to get to know Ryan Graves better. From what she’s garnered from Bette and Tyson he’s a class act, standing up for friends and giving good advice. He likes The West Wing and showed up to a stranger’s graduation, so how bad can he be?

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: see what magdalene's graduation dress looks like here // the quote from the west wing is from 1.02 if you were curious!

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy (add yourself to the taglist!)

#ryan graves imagine #ryan graves x oc #ryan graves fic #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #dmtteol

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another-tmnt-writer · 4 years ago

Text

You Fell From the Sky - Part 2

Leonardo x Reader

Author: Admin Mo

Summary: After falling from the sky and landing literally in the arms of your favorite turtle, it takes some adjustment to live in another reality, but with the help of the leader in blue, you’re getting used to it.

Note: Let it be known that I wrote the first part of this before I knew reality shifting was a thing, but now that I know it is……let me tell you, I am tempted…

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 1.6k

It had been three weeks. Three whole weeks living in the lair. You were over the moon. Honestly, it was spectacular. However, after three weeks without a phone charger (you’d been using it very, very sparingly and had it turned off most of the time) your phone was now at one percent. So, you popped into the lab, where Donnie was at the moment.

“Hey Donnie?” You asked tentatively, standing in the doorway.

“Oh, hey (Y/N)! Can I help you with something?” He asked, his voice friendly. He looked up at you, giving you his full attention from whatever he was working on.

“Um, do you have a phone charger I can use?”

“Of course!” He pulled open a drawer on his desk that was absolutely filled with charging chords of every time, meticulously organized with twist ties. “What kind do you need?”

“iPhone.” You said.

He reached into the drawer and handed you a ten-foot chord. “Here you go.”

“Thank you!” You smiled. “What are you working on, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t mind!” He scooted over to let you see his screen. “I’m working on figuring out how to open an interdimensional portal right now. Sorry it’s taking me so long.”

“Don’t be sorry. This is literally groundbreaking work. You’re a genius, but I definitely didn’t expect you to do it overnight.”

“Well that’s reassuring.” He chuckled. “I’ll keep you posted. Don’t want to keep you here any longer than we have to.”

You knew he was kidding about the last bit, but your heart sank a little when he said it. You liked being at the lair. You liked spending time with the guys. Sure, you wanted to go home at some point, but you wished it didn’t have to come so soon.

“Thank you, Donnie.”

You left the lab to find Leo lingering just outside. He looked concerned, his arms crossed, head tilted, blue, blue eyes focused on you. “You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“No reason. You just seemed a little down.” He answered. He stared at you for a moment before remembering, “Oh, April is here. She brought you some more clothes.”

“Awesome. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it.” He shrugged, leading you back out to the living room, where Mikey was ranting about something to April and Casey while Raph listened and shook his head.

You stared at each of them for a long moment, absorbing. Megan Fox and Stephen Amell were standing like twenty feet away from you. It was overwhelming to say the very least. “Holy shit…”

“Hi! You must be (Y/N). I’m April. This is Casey.”

“Hockey puck has got a bit of a chip on his shoulder, but he means well.” Raph elaborated.

“This is so insane.” You laughed, smiling at them. “It’s incredible to meet you. The boys…told you where I’m from, right?”

“Yeah, they did.” April nodded. “That must have been quite the jump.”

“It was. I’m still…getting used to it, I guess.”

“Well, take your time.” She nudged Raph playfully. “They take some getting used to.”

“Hey!” Raph scoffed, nudging her back. “Ya took some getting used to yourself, O’Neil.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much.” Leo said, his eyes sparkling. “I think you’re fitting in just fine.”

You ignored the way your heart raced when he said it, replying with a smirk, “I agree.”

***

It was later that night. You were in the kitchen, baking with Splinter’s permission. He was in his room drinking tea and the boys were out on patrol. That was the other thing. Every time they left, you felt empty. You knew they’d be fine, but there was always a little bit of worry nagging in the back of your brain. What if they…weren’t?

So: stress-baking. The recipe of the evening? Chocolate chip cookies. They were a classic you were sure the boys would like. Your hair was up in a messy bun and you had some tunes playing from your phone. You scooped out the balls of cookie dough, setting them in careful rows on the pan before sticking them into the hot oven.

You baked for a few hours, rotating trays until you had a batch big enough to feed four hungry mutant turtles, their father, and yourself.

You switched off the oven, and right as you did, you heard their voices echoing through the tunnels until finally, they entered the lair.

“Good night?” You asked hopefully.

“Better now, angelcakes.” Mikey winked and then stopped in his tracks when he saw the steaming pile of fresh-baked cookies. His eyes widened and he gasped excitedly. “Are these for us?”

“Yep.”

“Wow, she bakes, too, Leo.” Raph teased, reaching for a cookie in time with Donnie.

“Thanks, (Y/N),” said the turtle in the purple bandana.

“Of course.”

Leo went in for one last, still reeling a bit from Raph’s comment, his cheeks rosier than usual. He said softly, “Thank you for doing this.”

“Thank you for letting me crash here. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you guys finding me when you did.”

“It’s the least we could do.” Leo insisted.

“Alright, quit yer flirting. Let’s all go watch a movie or something.” Raph insisted, walking out towards the TV. The rest of you followed, and of course when you and Leo went to find seats, the only two that were left were right next to each other.

You settled in, blushing a bit. Raph had a smug smirk on his face.

“What?” You challenged, causing him to chuckle.

“Nothin’.”

As it got later, it also got colder, and you soon found yourself shivering the slightest bit, wishing you’d thought to grab a blanket before the movie started like the rest of the guys had.

“Are you cold?” Leo asked.

Instead of telling him you weren’t like you wanted to, you nodded. Without hesitation, he pulled half of his large blue blanket onto your lap, letting you share his warmth. As if you weren’t blushing enough before, he just had to be a gentleman and fluster you even further.

“T-thanks.” You could have punched yourself for stuttering, but Leo didn’t seem to mind. He still kept a polite distance from you, his leg a good few inches from yours despite the blanket that was draped across you both.

You were quiet for the rest of the movie, and when it was over, Raph went to work out, Donnie retreated into his lab, and Mikey went to his room to scroll through TikToks on his phone. That left you and Leo sitting awkwardly under the large blue knitted blanket you were sure Raph had made. Maybe it had been a Christmas present or something. You weren’t sure.

“Not to give you déjà vu, but I’m sorry about Raph.” Leo chuckled. “I asked him to stop, so of course it only got worse.”

“I really don’t mind.” You told him, meeting his clear blue gaze. “That’s what brothers do, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I guess it is. Do you have any siblings?”

“No, unfortunately. I’m an only child. Grew up with my aunt because my parents couldn’t be bothered to actually parent.”

“Mmm.” Leo hummed, nodding.

“I guess that’s probably why I latched onto the idea of you guys so much as a kid. I liked the idea of a sibling bond like that. Working together as a team. Having a built-in group of friends to hang out with.”

“It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but we do work well together.” Leo agreed. “When we’re not bickering, that is.”

You were quiet for a moment, mustering up courage before you said, “He’s right, though. Raph, I mean.”

Leo stared at you, his eyes widening in half-realization. “What…how…what do you mean?” His voice cracked when he asked it, his heart pounding.

“Well…Leo, I’ve had a crush on you since I was fifteen years old; I doubt it’s going away anytime soon.”

He looked at you in shock, pretty sure he’d hallucinated what you just said. All he could reply with was a shaky, “On me?”

You laughed. “Yes, Leo. On you. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I’m not even supposed to exist here.”

“I do. Feel the same.” He blurted. His statement was quick, but it was firm. Carefully, he took your hand in his large, green, three-fingered one and he was reminded just how different the two of you actually were. He was about to let go, but you squeezed his hand reassuringly. He laughed at himself, slightly embarrassed to be floundering in front of you, but it was out of his control. “I’m sorry, I’m new to this.”

“That’s okay.” You smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I promise I’ll do my best to make you happy. Just let me know if I’m doing something wrong. I’m learning, after all.” His thumb rubbed the back of your hand. “And I know that…at some point you’re going to have to go back. But…I’m willing to make the most of whatever time we have.”

“Me too.” You nodded. A yawn slipped from your lips. It was getting late. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was already up. “I think it’s about time I got to bed.” You told him, standing up and setting the blanket on the couch.

Since you’d been there, the boys had created you a makeshift room of your own in one of the giant pipes in the wall, a little one with your own mattress and some bedding Raph had whipped up for you.

Leo stood up too, towering over you as soon as he did. You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Leo replied, smiling at you like you’d put the moon and stars in the sky with your bare hands. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” You echoed, walking off towards your pipe, a new kind of warmth swirling around in your chest.

#leonardo x reader #leonardo imagine #leonardo #leo x reader #leo imagine #leo #tmnt #tmnt imagine #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014

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bqstqnbruin · 4 years ago

Text

8 Letters

OR: 4 times he couldn’t say he loved you + 1 time he did

Ok, here we are with the very over hyped Vince fic! This was inspired by 8 Letters by Why Don’t We and has been swimming around in my head for a while before I realize it fits with this himbo.

Shoutouts to the following (and hopefully this is short because this is not an awards show even though it would be fun to pretend it is): @vincecdunn because Nikki’s the reason I’m on the Vince train so as retaliation I’m just going to keep sending her ideas for more fics to write, @pucksnsticksnhockeyboys and @broadstbroskis for allowing me to come into your inboxes and be annoying and bounce ideas off of, and then @pettypetey and @pumpkinpatchmakar for the ways to say I love you and I’m 100% forgetting people but that’s just because I suck

Other people who wanted to be tagged: @all-time-fanatic @marialovesdean @oyeinpayne @ghstandpucks @maybehockeymaybenot @itzelmunoz and @thecasualyogi (unsure why it isn’t letting me tag you sad boi)

So, here we go, all 7.8k words of this 4+1

______________________

Tonight was one of the first nights in a while that the two of you were able to spend together, Vince on the road on and off for what felt like longer than usual and you just drowning at work. Any chance you got to be together at this point was almost always spent alone in the comforts of your place or his. You were spending it at your place, watching him stand at the stove as he cooked dinner for the two of you.

“God, who you have thought someone could look so sexy stirring pasta,” you admire him, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him.

He laughs, putting the large spoon on the counter, turning around to face him. Vince approaches you, pulling you close to him. His hand finds the small of back, the other tilting your chin up to him. He bites his lip, looking down at you. “You think that’s sexy, just wait,” he says, his lips planted against yours before you can say anything else.

You pull away at the sound of splashing water, seeing the pot boiling over. “Ah, fuck,” Vince releases his grip and runs to turn the burner down, you laughing as he goes back to stirring the boiling bubbles away.

“You know what’s great about this?” you say, sarcasm dripping in your voice.

“Oh no,” he mutters, bringing the pot over to the sink to drain the excess water, knowing that whatever you’re going to say isn’t going to be great for him.

“You get to clean up.”

He puts the now empty pot back on the stove, shaking the remaining water off the pasta in the strainer, “But I made the dinner!”

“Yeah, and then you made the mess.”

He turns to you, a mischievous look on his face. “You’re evil,” he says, lunging at you, lifting you off the ground and sending you into a fit of giggles as you try to wriggle your way free of his grasp.

“Vince!” you squeal, your arms overlapping his. “Put me down!”

“I like holding you, though,” he whines, putting you down without letting you go.

You turn around to face him, putting your hand on his face, tracing a random pattern on his cheek with your thumb. “Hold me on the ground and after you put the pesto on the pasta,” you tell him, giving him a quick kiss before pushing him away. “I thought you didn’t like pesto?”

He shrugs, putting pasta into the bowls you hand him. “I’m not crazy about it, but it’s your favorite, so I’ll put up with it for you.”

You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks over something so simple. “You’re nice,” you tell him, in a sing-songy voice, taking a bite of the pasta.

“Only to you,” he says, sending you a wink that makes your insides flutter.

Properly full from the simple dinner, after you clean the dishes and Vince cleans the stove, you retreat to your bedroom where you planned on spending the rest of the night. “What do you want to watch tonight?” Vince asks you, settling onto your bed with your TV remote in hand.

He reaches his arm out, gesturing for you to come snuggle up next to him, perfectly fitting against him as he kisses the top of your head, the warmth from his body comforting you more than the blankets that covered your bed probably ever would. “Gossip Girl,” you insist, knowing what his reaction would be.

Vince groans, throwing his head back. “Come on, that show is so bad.”

You look up at him, imitating the puppy dog eyes and signature pout he would give you all too often when he was asking you to do something. “Yes. But that’s what makes it so good to watch,” you plead.

He rolls his eyes, giving in and pulling it up on your Netflix. “Now how could I say no to that face,” he tells you.

“You can’t,” you tell him as he pulls up the show.

Letting out a small, “Yay,” you earn a giggle from his lips before kissing him quickly and settling into the show. You start with the first episode of the second season, Vince stroking your arm absentmindedly, laughing at how cheesy the show is. He steals the occasional glance at you, loving how closely you could pay attention to anything in front of you, analyzing, critiquing, admiring what was before you. You did it with anything and everything that you fixated on, something Vince could never do and something he loved about you.

Not that you’ve said you love each other yet. But, you were the only thing he could focus on outside of hockey at any moment.

“The true reason I should stay right where I am and not get in the car,” the two of you watch Blair Waldorf on your screen in her scene with Chuck Bass. “Three words. Eight letters. Say it, and I’m yours.”

The screen cuts to Chuck, his hesitation. “I-I...”

“Thank you. That’s all I needed to hear,” with Blair getting in the car, leaving Chuck standing there watching the girl he knew he loved drive off with his heart.

That part always made you cry, letting out a soft sob at the sight of the character you hated the most, actually experiencing heartbreak, slightly humanizing the demon that you thought he was. Vince, paying more attention to you than the show, had no clue what was happening.

“This is a dumb question,” he starts, watching you wipe the tears that had fallen down your face, “But what are the three words?”

You sit up, your hand placed on his thigh sending a chill through his body. “I love you.”

His eyes go wide, swallowing hard. Given what just happened in the episode, he knew it was ridiculous to think, but he couldn’t help but wonder if what just happened on your screen would happen right now. “Are... are those the words or are you telling me?” he asks, his voice shaking.

You hesitate for a moment. You had been together for five months already. He was the person you trusted the most, no matter how dumb he might be sometimes. You would do anything for him, and you were sure that he would do anything for you. You thought about him constantly, but you had never been in love before. Whatever you felt for Vince was something you hadn’t felt for anyone. “Both,” you decide, seeing the panic wash over his face. “You don’t have to say it back. I’m not gonna leave you if you don’t,” you reassure him.

He opens and closes his mouth like a fish, trying to muster up the courage to actually say what he wanted to. He knows how he feels about you, but, “I can’t say it.” You knew the pain you felt at hearing those words flashed over your face for a moment because of the quick, “I’m sorry,” he let out before getting up off your bed and heading for the door.

“Vince, hey, wait,” you say, chasing after him and beating him to your door. With your back against it, you look at your boyfriend, panicked, breathing fast, hands shaking. “Vince,” you say his name again, hearing it coming from you calming him down, “You don’t have to say it. I promise. Just please, don’t leave.”

He studies your face, the pain that he just caused you still showing. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, dropping his head.

“Hey,” you say, tilting his head up to look at you. “Listen to me when I say this: it’s fine. I don’t want you to feel pressured to say it just because I did. I told you that because I do love you. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. I can’t force you to love me,” you tell him, smiling through it. He had to know it was a fake smile, just using it to hide how you really felt. “You still want to be with me, right?”

He hesitated for longer than he should have, even though his answer popped into this head immediately. “What? Of course I do. Can we just,” he takes a deep breath, trying to find his words, “Do you think we can watch something else?”

You nod, taking his hand and leading you back to your bed. You just fucked everything up, didn’t you? But Vince’s panic and now lack of attention to even the Netflix catalogue he was scrolling through was more worrisome than him not saying he loves you. “Actually,” you say, gently taking the remote from his hands, “Do you think we can talk about this? Like, I’m ok with it, but, I don’t know, you’re kind of worrying me.”

He can’t look at you, staring at the TV instead as the now muted screen flashed with characters he didn’t recognize. “I don’t know,” he lies. “The girls I was with before I met you kinda fucked me up I guess.” You could feel your heart breaking watching him like this, more so than when you watched Chuck and Blair. “I thought I was in love with them, but then it always ended with them using me for my money, because I play in the NHL, for sex. I mean, my purity score thing is so low for a reason, right?” he jokes, you trying to smile even though you could feel yourself wanting to cry. “Fuck, one of them even called Sammy because she liked him more while I was asleep in the bed next to her and asked him to go pick her up.”

You take his face in your hands, pulling him in for a kiss. Using the pads of your thumbs, you wipe away the tears that you got on him, unsure if they were just yours or if he had started crying, too. “I will never do that to you,” you assure him. “I’ll even call Sammy and tell him that you’re better.”

He laughs, sniffling a little bit. “Can you do that every day? Really wear down his self esteem.”

You laugh, giving him a quick kiss, happy that he was at least smiling again. “I’m not going to emotionally destroy a man.”

“But it’s Sammy!”

You, Nikki, and Patricia were sitting on Nikki’s couch together, each with one glass of wine for the night because of the need to drive later, pizza, popcorn, and much more junk food than you would like to admit. Dressed as if you hadn’t seen daylight in years, you all had on sweatpants, sweatshirts, hair tied back, makeup free, everything that would signal to an outsider that you had all stopped caring, but to you, it was just a night in after work. It was a much needed girls night, the stress of work getting to all of you while you sat there with your best friends trying to find something to watch. With the boys off on a road trip, you could definitely use the company. Part of you was bothered by Vince not saying he loves you, but could you really justifiably get upset but that?

“What are we watching?” Nikki asks, pulling up Netflix, practically forcing you to relive the conversation with Vince from the other night.

“Uh, Gilmore Girls?” Patricia suggests.

Without saying a word, Nikki plays the episode she left off on, Rory and Dean celebrating their anniversary together by going out to what was supposed to be a nice, sweet night.

“What do you think Connecticut is like?” Patricia asks about the setting of the iconic show.

“My ex in college was from Connecticut. Nothing good comes from Connecticut,” comes from Nikki, you barely hearing her as you fixate on the episode.

“Gilmore Girls comes from Connecticut.”

Without missing a beat, Nikki says, “One good thing comes from Connecticut.” The two of them keep talking, you barely hearing anything they say as you watch Dean and Rory in the car that Dean had built for her, telling her he loves her for the first time. Rory doesn’t say it back, the same expression on her face that you say on Vince’s that night. “Hey, Y/N, what’s up?” Nikki asks, snapping you away from the show.

“Oh, nothing, why?” you lie through your teeth, your best friends exchanging concerned looks.

“You know that you’re crying, right?” Patricia asks, snagging the remote and pausing the episode.

You reach up, feeling your now damp cheeks, wiping away the tears you didn’t even know were there that were brimming in your eyes. “Oh, wow,” you let out, laughing a little bit. “I guess the episode just got to me,” you lie again. Nikki sits there, eyebrow raised, lips pursed as if to say ‘bitch, please,’ while Patricia just sat there, waiting for you to answer. “I told Vince I love him,” you start.

You get cut off by the two of them screaming, “Oh my god!” and “What did he say?”

“He,” you sigh, debating on telling them the truth or not. “He panicked and couldn’t say it.”

Both of them gasp, you trying to figure out what emotions they felt; anger, sadness, disappointment, you swear all of it flashed on their face.

“Dump his ass!” Nikki yells, loud enough that her neighbors could probably hear her.

You take a handful of popcorn, throwing it at her in response, Patricia laughing and dodging the mess the two of you were creating as kernels flew past her face. “I’m not dumping him! He said he’s afraid of getting hurt,” you tell them once you stop throwing the food at each other.

“Does he think you’re going to hurt him?” Patricia asks, concern washing over her face.

“If he thinks that, you dump him,” Nikki pips in.

“You cut that out,” you fire back, pointing your finger at her. The ridiculousness of the simple action made all of you laugh, forgetting for a moment the conversation at hand.

“Do you really love him?” Patricia asks another question, both her and Nikki with the same expression on their faces.

You feel a soft smile growing on your face, nodding. “I really do. I’ve never loved anyone like I love him. Can we just talk about something else, please?”

They go back to talking about Connecticut, you trying to keep up with their banter.

“Wait, so why did you date that Connecticut boy?” you finally join the conversation, asking Nikki.

She shrugs, shoving the popcorn that was still in the bowl into her mouth. “Connecticut boys have money. I figured I could get some nice shit from him.”

“So you're a gold digger?” you tease her, Patricia nearly spitting out her wine.

Nikki sits there, mouth open pretending to be offended. “Talk about being a gold digger, you’re dating a professional athlete!”

You mirror her look, Patricia laughing as the innocent bystander in this. “Fuck,” is you can muster out before the three of you are laughing together.

“How could he not love that!” Nikki says once you catch your breath, pointing to the smile on your face and immediately making you turn red.

“Are you flirting with her?” Patricia asks

“Someone has too,” she shrugs, winking at you while sipping her wine.

You sit there, in awe of her bluntness. “If Vince were here he would get mad at you.”

“Where are they, anyway?” Patricia asks, changing the subject before Nikki can flirt with you more or make other snarky comments about your boyfriend.

“You see,” you start, setting down your glass of wine, “Vince told me they were going to California but when I checked the schedule it said they were going to play the Florida Panthers tomorrow,” you explain, all of you unable to contain your laughter, “so I think he’s confused.”

The three of you fall back into a rhythm that doesn’t involve talking about your boyfriend who was just about off your mind. After a few hours, you’re all yawning, the single glass of wine having no effect on you as you drowned out the alcohol with more water than anything so you could drive, Nikki kicking you out so she can go to sleep.

While you and Patricia are walking to your cars, your phone starts buzzing, an incoming Facetime call from Vince. You answer, immediately turning the camera away from you, “Hey, babe, I’m walking to my car.”

“And you’re not showing me yourself because you don’t want me to see the guy walking you there?” he jokes, smirking at the camera. He was in the bed in his hotel room, the white sheets pulled up just low enough that his chest was exposed, shirtless as he always was when he was ready to sleep. He knew what he was doing; showing just enough of himself that it would drive you crazy enough to be distracted.

“Yeah, this is the man,” you tease, panning over to Patricia getting into your car, “Say hi to Vince!”

“I’m stealing your girl!” she yells, ducking into her car and shutting her door, Vince’s laugh echoing in the air.

You prop your phone up in the thing your mom got you, suctioned to your dash so you can still see your phone while driving, even though you told her you had Apple CarPlay and had no need for it. Driving down the street, you fall into a mundane conversation with Vince about getting to Florida, teasing him for confusing it with California, telling him about the girls night you just had.

“Come on, show me your face!” you hear him whine. Without taking your eyes off the road, you know exactly the look on his face: those green eyes of his wide like a puppy, his bottom lip jutted out and if he weren’t holding his phone, his hands would be intertwined in themselves under his chin to show you he was begging.

“No, I look gross. My hair is tied back, I have no makeup on, and I’m in a groutfit.”

“Have you ever seen me?”

You roll your eyes, hitting the button to flip the camera now that you were at a red light. “Yes, I’ve seen you. You’re hot,” you say without shame.

“Fuck,” you hear him let out a long and low whisper. You roll your eyes at him, even though you can’t help but blush and smile at the way he was practically visibly drooling over you. “I didn’t know gross could be so beautiful.”

“I look like a Founding Father, shut up,” you say, glad it was dark enough that he couldn’t see the heat rushing to your cheeks.

He laughs again, making you smile even wider at the sound. “Who would have thought I would like sleeping with a Founding Father.”

“That is necrophilia!” you scream, loud enough that you could probably be heard outside your car, drowning out the sound of his laugher. “I never want to hear you say anything like that ever again!”

You pull up to your building, getting out and walking to your place while Vince rambles on about something that Sammy had done on the plane. “Oh!” he says once you unlock your door, startling you and almost dropping your phone, “Look what I got you!”

“You got me something?” you ask him, walking through your dark apartment into your room.

“I saw and I liked it and thought you would like it so I had to get it!” he says like a giddy child. He holds up a small stuffed puppy, shoving it almost too close to the camera, “Can you see the tag on his collar?”

He pulls it away slightly, the letter on it becoming clear. “His name is Vince!” you exclaim, the biggest smile on his face as he holds it next to him.

“Because you say when I get excited I remind you of a little puppy.” He sits there with the small stuffed animal pressed to his face, beaming at his purchase that he couldn’t wait to give you, even though he ruined the surprise he had anticipated because he couldn’t wait until he got home to see you. You take a screenshot, unable to hide how adorable you found him in that moment.

“I love it, Vince. I can’t wait for you to get home,” you say to him, a big yawn coming from him. His eyes get droopy, the way he gets before he’s about to fall asleep, a lazy smile on his face that means he felt the same.

You settle onto your bed, turning on your tv to watch whatever was on. You sit there in silence holding your phone, yawning a few times yourself. “Hey, babe, I’m gonna go to sleep,” you say, leaning over to turn off your lights, “I love you,” you say, forgetting that you're upset over his inability to say it back, seeing that he was already asleep, anyway, unable to return with a response.

III

You were swamped with work, having to hustle on a Saturday to get everything done. Vince was tired of being cooped up inside, only really going out when he had practice or a game, so he was the one to suggest going to the coffee shop half way between your apartments in order to just be somewhere that wasn’t the four walls of your apartments.

“You’re not working,” he says in a teasing voice, watching you sit there staring out the window at the people passing by.

“I just,” you sigh, “I don’t want to do this project.”

“Can I help?” he asks, getting up from his seat and standing behind you, just enough room between your chair and the wall for him to fit and lean against you. “You’re on Facebook.”

You look up at him, an innocent look on your face. “I’m using a rewards system!” you defend yourself. “I was working for half an hour, so I’m watching a video as a break.” You scroll back to the video you were just watching as he rests his hands on your shoulders, rubbing the slightly. You find the video of an artist with a bunch of metal strips, twisting them into a metal tree art piece. You turn to him, eyes wide with excitement, a huge smile on your face that he can’t help but roll his eyes at, mirroring your smile. “Isn’t it cool?”

“You’re acting like a child. That’s my job,” he says, kissing your cheek before going back to sit down.

“That just means you’ve rubbed off on me. Or maybe I’ve rubbed off on you?” you wonder, scrolling to find one more video to watch. The next video is scene from That 70’s Show, and old favorite of yours that you haven’t seen since it was taken off Netflix. Eric and Donna were in a car, probably the Vista Cruiser in one of the earlier seasons judging by how young they look. The captions on, your sound off, you read the scene instead of watching. It was Donna telling Eric she loved him, only for him to panic and respond with, “I love cake.” The smile on your face disappears, looking up at Vince and thankful that he was paying more attention to his phone than he was to you.

You just wanted him to say he loved you. You were sure that he did, and you had told him that you did. But he couldn’t say it. You were constantly going back and forth between being ok with it and being upset by it, knowing that it wasn’t fair to force him to say something if he didn’t mean it, but also knowing that it wasn’t fair to you to spill your guts to him for him to remain closed off.

You take a deep breath, switching back to the tab that had the new marketing pitch you were working on. You get to typing, focusing on the project while you see four other cursors working on different parts, occasionally switching to another section to check one of your partners' work while they do the same for you. You barely notice the people around you, the coffee shop practically packed to capacity as an afternoon rush came in. Vince would look up from his phone, stealing the occasional glance while you take no notice.

You both jump at the sound of someone knocking on the window next to you. Look up, Vince knew who it was immediately, irritated by your “Oh my god!” sqeual as you practically leap from the table to run outside.

Vince watches as you jump into the guys arms, a huge smile on your face, unable to read your lips as you talk with him. The guy was more attractive than Vince had remembered. Fuck, he looked like a model, and there Vince was, a hockey player, mad about it.

“How have you been?” you ask your friend Jack, someone you hadn’t seen in years.

“Pretty good,” he tells you, his arms lingering on your waist once you pull away from the hug you practically forced on him in the first place. “You?”

“Good, busy. Getting out with my boyfriend instead of acting like an old agoraphobic couple,” you tell him motioning to Vince sitting at the table, arms crossed over his chest. You both wave to him, Vince mirroring with a wave and a very unenthusiastic look. “Who’s apparently tired from practice,” you lie, hoping he would buy the explanation for Vince’s unexpected attitude.

“Isn’t he a hockey player?” You look back at Vince who’s now looking down at his phone, nodding, a soft smile on your face as you just stare at your dumb boyfriend. “You really have a thing for athletes, huh?”

You roll your eyes, knowing what he was referencing: Jack was technically your ex, having hooked up a few times, gone out on a few dates, he even brought you to a family wedding of his because you were seeing each other when the invitations went out, breaking up not long after the event. You never called him your boyfriend, and as far as you were concerned, you weren’t his girlfriend, but still, you weren’t just friends. “Hockey players are a little better than baseball players, bub,” you tell him, knowing it would hurt his ego a little bit.

He scrunches his face, pretending to be hurt but laughing anyway. “You always know how to hit a guy where it hurts, Y/L/N,” he tells you, both of you nodding. You were about to tell him goodbye, missing your chance when he says, “Do you think I could meet your new guy?”

You feel your breath stop for a moment, your eyes going wide at the thought of your ‘ex’ meeting your boyfriend. “Uh, sure, if you want to?” you tell him, obviously unsure of the situation that was about to unfold. “Vince?” you snap his attention away from his phone, the two of you standing over him. “This is my friend Jack. We went to school together,” you say, Jack extending his hand for Vince to shake.

Vince swallows hard, a wave of jealousy washing over him as this guy stands in front of him. “Nice to meet you,” he says, a cold tone in his voice. You shoot him a look, Jack taking your seat while Vince pulls you into his lap without you expecting it, planting a firm kiss on your lips. “So, Jack, what do you do?” he asks the guy sitting across from you, holding you tight around your waist as if he were marking his territory.

You look at your boyfriend, confused by why he was acting like this. He sends you a soft smile, his eyes flickering down to your lips, making you melt a little as you turn your attention back to Jack. “I work in marketing.”

“Oh, just like, my girl here.”

‘My girl?’ you mouth to yourself, unsure if either of the boys saw you.

“That’s how we met,” Jack starts, a little confused as well by Vince’s actions. “We were both marketing majors so we had all of the same classes.”

Vince keeps on asking Jack questions, practically leaving you out of the conversation, occasionally kissing your cheek while Jack was talking.

“Wow, you two are clearly in love with each other,” Jack points out, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Vince freezes, his heart racing against your chest as Jack gets up. “I’ve actually got to get going, but it was great seeing you, Y/N. We should catch up again.”

You nod, agreeing with him as he leaves, taking your seat back across from Vince, glaring at him. “What the hell was that?”

“What? I can’t kiss your cheek occasionally?” he scoffs, leaning back in his chair. You watch as he stares out the window, Jack still in his view.

“You never do it like that,” you point out. Then it dawns on you: “You were jealous! Why were you jealous?”

“I was not,” he pouts, his arms crossed.

“You’re so cute when you’re jealous!” you squeal, careful not to be too loud in the quiet environment. His face turns red, his lips pursed as he stares out the window, clearly ready to deny it. You reach over to poke his cheeks, just to agitate him.

He swats you away, hating that you were right. “You think I’m cute?”

“Why were you jealous?” you ask again.

“You think I’m cute?” he says, leaning on the table.

You smirk at him, imitating his body language. “We both know I’m going to win this so you should just answer me now,” you say slowly.

“He’s the guy you dated in college,” Vince says.

“I never showed you his picture.”

He hesitates for a moment, knowing the exact reaction this was going to illicit: “I saw the pictures you posted with him on Instagram.”

You stop and think for a moment. The last time you even saw Jack was a few years ago. “Those pictures were from my freshman year of college. You’ve scrolled that far back on my page?”

He sticks out his bottom lip, eyes wide to give you his puppy dog face. “Sometimes, when I miss you, and I know you’re busy and can’t talk, I scroll through your Instagram so I can see your face.”

You feel yourself melting at his words, the face he was giving you making you love him that much more. “Come here,” you tell him, pulling him up around the table. You take him by the collar down to your level, giving him a sweet kiss. “And, yes, I do think you’re really cute,” you say to him, kissing him again.

Vince watched in awe at his teammates. All of them were drunk, him, for once, being the most sober one around as they entered the bye week that took place around All-Star Weekend. He was waiting for you to show up, anxiously checking his phone to see if you had texted him anything saying that you and Patricia were at the bar. He hated being the only sober one, especially since it meant he would have to play dad if something happened unless you two showed up soon.

“You’re not drinking?” Sammy asks him, two beers in hand. Someone would think one was for Vince, but, no, both were for Sammy as he put the openings of both bottles in his mouth at once.

“I’m waiting for Y/N.”

“You’re whipped!” Sammy slurs, sitting down next to his friend in the booth he was refusing to get up from while he anxiously shakes his leg waiting to see you, rolling his eyes even though part of him knew he was right.

“Stop that,” Vince says, getting up and trying to shake his friend off in the crowded bar.

“You love her, right? I mean you have to love her to be like this,” Sammy insists, something he wouldn’t be doing had he not been drunk. Vince opens and closes his mouth, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted. “Dude.”

“You know I can’t say it,” is all Vince can let out. Sammy knows his past, Sammy knows what has happened to Vince. Saying it would mess something up. Those eight letters would ruin what he had with you when they were out in the open.

“I don’t know how to talk about this with you,” Sammy admits, eyes narrow since he was thinking about it anyway.

“I don’t think I want to talk about this with you.”

Before Sammy can say anything else, like magic, you appear at his side, Patricia in tow. “Hey,” you say to him, kissing him as he wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls away, looking over your shoulder to see Sammy making faces at the two of you, Vince giving him a look that told him to go away without you noticing.

Patricia wanders off with Sammy, leaving the two of you by yourselves. “How far deep are they?” you ask, dragging him to the bar so the two of you could start drinking, knowing you couldn’t drink so much that you would catch up with them, but enough that you wouldn’t have to act as the mother of the group.

“We’ve been here for an hour so I expect someone to be throwing up soon,” he laughs, not dropping your hand when the two of you sit down.

“If you’re drunk, do you have to take care of them?” you ask him, signalling to the bartender to come take your drink orders. You fall into conversation, watching Sammy strike out with multiple girls, Patricia spending the entire night with a single guy following her, something she clearly enjoyed as she milked at least four free drinks out of him.

“Think she’ll go home with him?” Vince asks, nodding over to Patricia as he finishes what might have been this third drink that night. As far as he knew, no one was throwing up, but now, he didn’t have to worry about it if he was just a little drunk.

You shrug, putting down your now empty glass. “If they both want that I guess.” You could feel yourself getting bored and tired, wishing that you and Vince could just leave and go home yourselves. But he looked like he was having fun watching the guys, a smile on his face whenever they did something stupid. You study Vinces face, his slightly pursed lips and his eyes sparkling as he watched Sammy strike out with what was probably his fourth girl of the night, Vince smiling as he couldn’t help but laugh at his friend. Your attentioned is pulled away by your phone buzzing in your hand, Nikki bombarding you with texts.

‘Have Vince watch these with you ;)’

She sends you two clips, both from a Halloween episode of New Girl. Unfamiliar with the show, you tap Vince to have him watch over your shoulder. You watch the two girls get into a limo, one going as far as exclaiming, “Hey, look! I’m in a limo! I wish I could have really long legs so I could stretch them out the length of the limo!”

The camera switches to a guy, telling them to have fun, saying, “I love you,” an immediate look of regret washing over his face, the girl in the limo responding with finger guns while her friend behind her mouthed, ‘No.’

You swallow hard, texting Nikki back yelling at her for it, definitely partially a product of the alcohol. You don’t even bother to look at the second video, afraid of what it would be and what it would bring considering the first one brought an awkward silence in the middle of the loud bar.

“Did you tell them?” he asks quietly, sitting back down next to you.

You straighten your posture, forming a thin line with your lips. “Yeah. I did. It was bothering me more than I thought it would and they figured it out.”

“How would they figure it out?” he snaps, his voice a little louder than it would have been had he not had so much to drink. “That’s not something you can just read on someone’s face.”

You take in a deep breath, knowing that people were starting to turn to look at the fight you were about to have. “Come on,” you grab him by his arm, leading him outside so at least if you started really fighting, they couldn’t kick you out. “Look, we were watching something where someone said I love you and the other person didn’t and I started crying,” you explain to him, feeling tears brimming in your eyes.

The people around you in the city were staring as they walked by, two idiots on a weird night causing a scene in a public. “Y/N,” he says, taking a step towards you and reaching for your hand.

You snatch it away, startling him that you were so quick. “No, Vince. I know I said it was fine,” you sob, “But it hurts. It hurts to love someone who doesn’t love you back. And I know you’ve been hurt before, but you’re letting that get in the way of you and me, and I don’t know how much longer I can handle being in love with you when you won’t even say you love me.”

He drops his head down, tears falling down his face while you were trying to fight your own from falling. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry for being afraid, but I am.”

“Do you love me?” you ask him, taking a step towards him.

He looks up at you, both of you crying. His eyes are red, he looks like he’s in pain. He tries to say something, only to shake his head, taking you in for a hug before either of you can do anything else. You can feel him crying in your shoulder, one hand in your hair, the other at the top of your back. You stand there for a moment in shock, not sure how to react. You react into his hold, trying to calm him down. You had never seen him cry like this before, in fact, you weren’t sure you had ever seen him cry at all. You pull his head off your shoulder. His face soaked with tears. “I think you need to go home,” you tell him, wiping the tears from his face.

He doesn’t say anything, just pulling you in for another hug when the guys and Patricia stumble out of the bar. “Hey, we’re going to go to another bar,” Patricia tells you as you shake your head, signalling that she shouldn’t ask what was going on. “Do you guys want to come?”

“We can?” Vince questions, only looking at you, his face still red from the sobbing he had just done. “Unless you don’t want to.”

“You go with them. I’ll be fine, I want to go home anyway,” you insist, trying to push him off you. If there was one thing you hated, it was the kind of girls who made their boyfriends miss out on things with their friends because they insisted on attention, but you also didn’t want to be with him at this moment.

He smiles at you as you try to force yourself to not succumb to his looks, refusing to let go of you, “It’s not worth going with them if you aren’t going to be there with me.”

“Then don’t go. I’m going home.” You break free of his grip, turning on your heels and walking down the street to go home by yourself.

+one

“Dude, have you seen Nikki’s snapstory?” Sammy’s voice comes through Vince’s phone.

“No, why?”

The concern in Sammy’s voice resonated with Vince, “I think you need to go look.”

Vince puts his teammate on speaker to go find one of your best friend’s story. “I’m looking now, hold on.”

Nikki was in her car, a picture of your favorite flowers in front of her steering wheel, your apartment building in the background. She had captioned it with ‘Bought my best friend flowers to go tell her I love her because her boyfriend won’t say it.’

“Ah, fuck,” Vince mutters, closing out the app.

“What are you gonna do about this?”

“I gotta go,” he says, hanging up before Sammy can say anything else.

-------

You run to the door when you hear the knocking, hoping it was Vince since you hadn’t heard much from him since that night at the bar. Instead, you find Nikki standing in your doorway with your favorite flowers. “What are these?” you deadpan, still a little irritated with her.

“Vince won’t say I love you so I figured I would,” she tells you, kissing you on the cheek and brushing past you. “I love you!” she says, dramatically, plopping down on your couch and putting her feet on your coffee table.

You look at the flowers, biting your lip. You just wanted Vince to say it. But you get it. “They’re just eight letters. He doesn’t have to say it when he can just show it. And you sending that video the other night does not and will not help anything,” you scold her.

You hear her scoff as you go to put the flowers in some water. “You know I was right to send that video. How does he show you he loves you? How could he possibly tell you he loves you without saying ‘I love you?’”

Rolling your eyes, knowing that she’s seen him show you loves you plenty of times. You could either argue with her more over what she did, or just list the ways you knew she was already aware of. “He always makes sure I’m the last person he sends a text to or calls at night and the first person he does that with in the morning. Even if he wakes up in the middle of the night and answers someone else, he’ll still send me another text right after. He’ll give me his pickle whenever he gets them because he knows I love them, even though he does, too. If he sees something on the road that he thinks I’ll like he gets it for me to surprise me with when he comes home.” You can feel yourself starting to cry thinking of all the way Vince has shown he loves you. But you really just wanted to hear those three words. You just wanted that verbal confirmation from him.

“I mean, babe, that’s great, but if he really meant it, wouldn’t he say it?”

You join her on the couch, trying to figure out how to answer. “Not everyone is good with expressing their emotions with words,” you shrug, unable to look at whatever expression she had on her face. “He’s been hurt before, when he’s told a girl that he loved her. I understand why he wouldn’t want to flat out say it to me.”

You get up, going back to your kitchen to at least fake the need for a glass of water. “Well, what else does he do?” you hear Nikki call over the sound of your tap.

You swallow, unsure if listing the ways was making you happy or sad. “He asks me to call him when I get home so he knows I’m safe. He’ll snapchat me funny faces when I’m sad because he wants to see me smile. He’ll even leave the guys if I’m upset and stay on Facetime with me until I’m happy. When we’re in the car he has my playlist on because he wants to listen to my music because it makes me happy. He doesn’t have to tell me he loves me.”

“Yes he does,” you hear from the other room, a voice that wasn’t Nikki’s. You see Vince standing there, bags in hand, Nikki slinking away into the other room to give you privacy.

“Hey, babe, what are you doing here?” you ask him, giving him a kiss for the first time in what felt like forever, trying to take the bags from him when he pulls away. The two of you walk over to your couch, setting the bags down and hearing clinking from inside. “Can I look inside?”

“No, not yet,” he stops you, taking your hands in his to prevent you from reaching in. “I’ll get everything out. Just, just trust me.” He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. “I told you I couldn’t say...it because of the girls I’ve said it to before. And god, I’m the worst for not saying it. But you deserve so much more.”

“Vince, what are you talking about? I don’t need mo-”

He cuts you off, handing you the first thing in the bag. A bottle of your favorite wine, a note taped to it. “You’re my partner in wine,” you read out to him, laughing at the goofy grin on his face telling you that he was proud of himself.

A bag of your favorite coffee grounds is placed in your hands next. “Words can not espresso how much you bean to me.”

A can of your favorite soup. “I ‘canned’ live without you.”

A snack pack of pudding. “Thanks for pudding up with me.”

There was food item after food item with a note taped to it with a different pun revolving around what he thought about you. He went to the grocery store for all your favorites, handing them to you one by one until he gave you the last item in the bags: a bar of your favorite cheese. “Sorry about being so cheesy.”

You look at him, seeing the embarrassed look on his face. His cheeks were red, unable to make eye contact with you but smiling anyway. “Well, now I don’t have to go grocery shopping,” you joke, him laughing along with you, “Vince, I love this.”

“And I love you.”

You can’t help the smile on your face, staring into his green eyes as his expression mirrors yours. “Really? I mean, I knew,” you explain, “But I didn’t think you’d say it. Why now?”

He smiles at you, taking your hands in his. “Because Nikki shouldn’t have to tell you she loves you because I can’t.”

“You’re welcome!” you hear Nikki yell from your room, both of you laughing.

“Oh my god,” he lets out at her obvious eavesdropping, his eyes closed, biting his bottom lip. “It’s not fair to you that you told me how you felt and I couldn’t tell you how I really felt.”

“Vince, you don’t have to apologize,” you try to tell him.

“No, no. I do,” he says, dropping your hands and cupping your face. His thumb traces along your cheekbones as he keeps going. “I chose shitty girls before you, and them hurting me ending up hurting you. I love you, and it shouldn’t have taken me so long to say it. You’re the only one I’ve ever really loved.” He pulls you in for a kiss, soft and sweet.

“I love you, too.”

#vince dunn #vince dunn imagines #dunner #nhl #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey imagines

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