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edie-baby · 3 years

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mr & mrs | liam lawson x reader

Summary: You and Liam were teammates at Hitech for 2021. You had the biggest crush on him, but you were sure he didn't see you as anything more than a little sister. But oh, how a few basic questions could uncover the truth between you.

Warnings: swearing, and I think that's it?

When you walked into work in the Hitech Grand Prix building this morning, you didn’t expect to be playing the fucking newlywed game with your crush. And if you’re being honest with yourself, crush is a light way to put it. You were head over heels for your F2 teammate and best friend, Liam Lawson. There was just something about the New Zealander that always had your heart racing, your legs buckling, and your stomach dropping.

So when you were directed into the garage for a ‘different background’ from other videos you had done with Liam, your stomach lurched. Here this gorgeous man was, in all his Kiwi glory, hair waxed back but falling out of place, jeans hugging the toned curves of his legs and ass and giving you a glorious view of his bulge, and the fucking blue sweater. The same blue sweater he had worn the last time the two of you did a video that had reduced you to a stuttering mess when you first saw him.

But now it is worse. So, so much worse. He was standing in a garage. Around cars, and tyres, and grease, and all of the inanimate objects you found so sinfully appealing, and he was just right in the middle of it looking like that. You just about turned around and walked right back out.

“Mighty Mouse! There you are. I was starting to think I’d have to be the brains and beauty of the operation.” Liam called once he spotted you, and suddenly you remembered why you had never tried making a move on him. He treated you like a little sister. Nicknames like ‘kiddo’ and ‘mighty mouse’ were a regular occurrence, and they never failed to make you squirm.

“Well, you struggle to be anything but the brawn, and I think I’m even starting to overtake you there.” You teased, pushing yourself to stay casual, platonic, familial. There was so much opportunity to flirt with him, but the few times you had tried were brushed off, so you had given up many moons ago.

“Ouch Princess, that hurts.” Liam mocked, his hand cradling his chest and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would be to fall asleep against his chest, curled up after a rough night of-

“Who’re you calling princess, princess?” You shot back, cutting your thoughts off before they continued developing and became an issue. Liam laughed, his arm slung around your shoulder while the two of you walked over to the team that were in charge of running your activity for the afternoon.

“Ok, I don’t know if you guys have heard of it, but this game is called Mr and Mrs, one of you will have a whiteboard and wear headphones while the other tries to guess what the answers to the questions you’re writing down are. Make sense? Ok, great, let’s do an intro and go from there.” One of the guys explained quickly, and you began having flashbacks to an awful 80s game show called The Newlywed Game, and blushed profusely. Having you and Liam in a video titled ‘Mr & Mrs’ was sure to get the fans going, and you couldn’t blame Hitech’s PR plan.

You and Liam settled into the wheely chairs from the office next door, Liam positioning himself in frame of the camera and fixing his stupidly perfect hair when you came barreling toward him with your chair, legs tucked up high so you didn’t cop a chair arm to the knee. Liam screeched when you finally hit him, almost toppling off the chair in surprise while you spun slowly, laughing freely as you did so.

Liam looked over at you, your head thrown back in carefree laughter, the yellow sundress that covered your body made you look radiant, and he was sure he had never seen a sight so beautiful before. Your laughter calmed down, and as you looked over at him, he couldn’t help but send you a lovestruck smile, his eyes dopey with admiration. You blushed slightly, laughing as the team asked if you could do the intro again, but actually introduce what you were doing.

Liam slid out of the frame, and you followed his movements as you could tell a fierce battle was about to commence. Kicking off the ground with force, you tucked your legs up onto the chair again, spinning into Liam so fast, you couldn’t actually see his face before you crashed into him. The two of you exploded in laughter again, laughter and smiles were common between you, and Hitech’s Instagram was full of photos and videos of you and Liam smiling at each other, or doubled over in laughter, clutching onto each other.

“Hi, I’m Liam Lawson, and this is Y/N, we drive for Hitech in Formula 2.” Liam began once you had slowed down your laughter. He kept a firm grip on the arm of your chair, holding you close and still, as your chair really liked spinning around.

“And we’re here to play Mr & Mrs, another game in our long series championship to see who the better teammate is.” You finished, gesturing to yourself subtly, but Liam caught it and pushed your chair away jokingly. As much as you loved the man and wished you could be more, you wouldn’t give up this relationship you have with him for something that might work.

MR & MRS | EDIE-BABY

“Liam, what is Y/N’s favourite colour?” The same guy from before asked, one who Liam still didn’t recognise due to the facemask and hat he was wearing. Nevertheless, he held up a whiteboard where the question was scribbled in messy writing, three multiple choice answers written waiting for not only Liam’s, but also your answer. You had airpods in your ears, connected to the blaring music playing from one of the Hitech employees’ laptops, a whiteboard in your hand that you quickly scribbled out an answer to.

Liam looked over at you, holding the whiteboard to your chest protectively so he wouldn’t cheat, but there was really no way that he could.

“It’s not an answer listed here, but her favourite colour is a light brown. She always says it calms her down because it reminds her of a cafe she went to once back home.” Liam spoke, watching you as he answered. You didn’t hear a word he was saying, bopping your head along to the 2000s hits pumping through the earphones. Liam pulled one of them out, his head nodding over to the camera while you proudly turned the board around, thinking you had gotten one over on Liam.

“My favourite colour is light brown, because it reminds me of the Brew Cafe in my hometown, and it brings a really nostalgic and calm feeling.” You stated, watching the faces of the employees morph from business to shock. You looked over at Liam, who had a smug smile on his face while he listened to your answer.

“There’s no way you could have known that!” You protested, glaring accusingly at the dirty blonde. He laughed in response, and you couldn’t have felt happier in any given moment. Not even the top step of the podium could compare to the warmth spreading in your chest. Little did you know, Liam was feeling the exact same way.

“Y/N earphones back in, Liam your next question. What is Y/N’s favourite song at the moment?” The same guy asked, yet this time there were no multiple choice answers. Liam’s eyes widened, turning to look at you to think of any songs he had heard blasting from your speakers or earphones recently, or something that you had ranted excitedly to him about. He spoke to himself, mumbling about artists and songs he could remember falling from your lips. You twirled a piece of hair around your finger, thinking about the answer to the question, when suddenly it hit him.

He had to wait a few moments as you were slowly writing down your answer, still not 100% sure of yourself. It was only after you had taken an earphone out that you jumped, furiously rubbing out the answer on the whiteboard and writing a new one, looking much more satisfied with the new answer. The team counted down, and as Liam spoke, you almost dropped the whiteboard.

“Feeling Something Bad by Ellise. She’ll start singing it randomly when she concentrates, which is usually a giveaway to what songs she's been listening to recently.” Liam said his answer so confidently that it made you feel as though you were inferior because he knew your favourite song and it took you a decent minute to think of it. Liam got another point as he had gotten two of your answers right, and you were starting to feel competitive.

“Alright Liam, who does Y/N get along with best in the F2 paddock? Oscar Piastri, Dan Ticktum, or you?”

“Oh, oh. Well, she hangs out with Oscar a lot, but I don’t know if she would say they get along better than we do? Like, she’s closer with Oscar but we get along best, if that makes sense? I don’t think it does. I’m gonna say Oscar because I don’t want to be rejected, but I really hope I’m wrong and that she says me.” Liam rambled, finally deciding on Oscar, and when you were told to turn your board around, Liam’s heart sank a little. You had written Oscar, and as you began trying to defend yourself, Liam waved it off and laughed to hide the disappointment in his eyes, but you could see it clear as day. You tried to move on like he did, to keep playing the game like you didn’t hurt her best friend and crush.

You began trying to cheer the Kiwi up, dancing along to the songs playing, and occasionally belting out the chorus. He was laughing along, finally joining you to sing when you were screaming the lyrics to Promiscuous, dancing all around the garage and trying to pull him up around with you. While you were dancing with some of the employees off camera, being recorded for Instagram, Liam was still in frame of the main camera, a fond smile on his face, and anyone who had looked at him could see that he was completely and utterly whipped for you, but you were too caught up in Nelly Furtado to see it yourself.

It was your turn to answer questions now, passing Liam the whiteboard that had a little love note written on it.

I’m going to crush you.

You wrote, and Liam thought it was adorable how competitive you got in trivial games like this, but it always made him try even harder just to give you some semblance of a battle.

“Y/N! How old was Liam when he started karting?” The guy you had begun to think was not an actual Hitech employee asked. The three ages to choose from scribbled on the whiteboard. You studied them for a moment, and could see Liam in the corner of your eye writing out his own answer.

“He was seven, because I remember him telling me that there’s regulations in New Zealand that you can’t race go-karts competitively until you’re seven and then won the race.” You explained, remembering the story he had told you easily, it was one of your favourites, purely because of the joy on Liam’s face when he recounted it.

He turned the board around, showing the exact answer you had given, and he gave you a cheeky smile in response to your silent gloating about getting a point. There was nothing cuter in his eyes than you getting so worked up about a game.

“What is Liam’s pre-race superstition?” Before the board with the question and possible answers came up, your mouth blurted out the answer you already knew all too well.

“He gets in the car from the left.” You practically yelled, and Liam looked at you with wide eyes, not hearing your words but seeing the excitement at knowing the answer.

“How did you know that?” One of the Hitech PR asked as her main priority was to stir up more rumours about the two of you, as it was always good for the team’s press.

“Because I’m just as superstitious about getting in from the right side, so when he found out, he asked the team if we could switch around how our cars are placed in the garage so that we could meet in the middle, do our little ritual, and then get in the car from there.” You explained, watching as Liam wrote down his answer with no idea of the words you were saying.

When Liam turned the board around, he explained the exact same story you had, and you giggled when he finished, showing off a proud smile before putting the pieces together that you had already run the same spiel.

“It’s quite cute that the two of you explain things using basically the same words.” That same PR lady stated. And you almost rolled your eyes, almost. But you caught Liam blushing slightly, and a small, stupid part of you began jumping up and down, because not only did someone think your relationship with Liam was cute, but he blushed at that.

“It happens when you spend so much time with someone. I’ve started picking up Kiwi slang, and he’s learning some of my slang. You don’t realise it until you say something to someone when he’s not there and they’ve got no idea what I mean. It’s so normal for Liam to always be by my side, and me by his that when I’m with other people it feels weird.” You started on a ramble, something you were known for. And then just would… not… fucking… stop. The press officer looked satisfied, but as you had finally gotten your mouth to stop moving, you were scared to look over at Liam.

“Whenever she’s not within arm’s reach, I feel like I’m missing something.” Liam spoke quietly, and you gulped as you heard his words. The man was going to kill you, surely. This little production crew didn’t give a shit about your blossoming romance though, as they hurried you through to the next questions. You and Liam barely looked at eachother, your answers shorter and much more vague than they were before. You just wanted to get out of this chair and go freak out in an empty office somewhere.

“Well, the winner of this round is Liam, which means he has officially overtaken Y/N in the Hitech championship. How do you guys feel about this one?” The producers asked. You would usually have felt a bit of a blow to your chest finding out you had been beaten in two ways, but you truly couldn’t think of anything except your proximity to Liam.

“I think we found out a lot, and I’m glad to finally be ahead in the championship. I think it’s the only time I’ll ever be able to beat Mighty Mouse in anything.” Liam chuckled, reverting back to your ‘little sister’ nickname because he felt like the distance would help him process his emotions.

“Hey, you already beat me in height, age, and supercar experience, you gotta let me have something.” You whined, you looked over at Liam with a pout and puppy eyes, unintentionally making his heart pound out of his chest.

“Well you’re the cuter one of the team, and you’re a hell of a lot smarter than me, so I’d say you’re winning enough. Plus you’re higher up in the drivers standings than me.” Liam replied, leaning closer to stare into your eyes, barely two inches between your faces, you blinked slowly, afraid that any sudden movements would scare him away.

His large hand reached up, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, then coming to rest at the side of your neck, his thumb resting on your jaw.

“I don’t think you realise what you do to me.” You mumbled, leaning forward very slightly to nudge your nose against Liam’s. His breath hitched, eyes boring into your soul in a way that made you freeze.

“It can’t be any worse than what you do to me. Looking as beautiful as you do, all I want to do is hold you, keep you close, show you off to the world, and I want to call you mine. I want to take you home and show you around my hometown, I want to introduce you to my parents, to take you to parties with my friends, I want to curl up in your apartment watching Harry Potter movies, and I want to dance around the kitchen with you at 2 in the morning making pancakes. I want to live my life with you.” Liam confessed, and for a few moments, you felt as though you couldn’t breathe.

You lurched forward, balling your fists up in that stupid blue sweater and pulling him closer. Liam’s eyes closed instinctively as your lips met, the coconut lip balm you applied before you came into the office was shared on your tongues, Liam’s exploring your mouth with vigor. You had never imagined him to be this passionate, this intense. But you had no complaints, his hands tugging you forward until you fell onto his lap, legs slotting in beside his own to straddle him on the wheely chair.

You broke away for a moment to catch your breath, eyes surveying every square inch of Liam’s face to commit it to memory. He truly was a gorgeous man, and you hoped you would get to see him like this many more times to come. He caught the look in your eyes and dove back into your lips, his teeth capturing your bottom lip in a bruising grip, a whimper escaping your lips before someone clearing their throat interrupted you.

“I guess we have everything we need for the video. Thanks you two.”

#Liam lawson #Liam lawson fanfic #Liam lawson x reader #Liam lawson imagine #Liam lawson fanfiction #f2 2021 #formula 2 #hitech gp #f2 fanfic

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amjustagirl · 3 years

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Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her.

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance

Wordcount: 7.8k

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics.

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!).

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time.

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out.

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter.

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball.

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party.

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back.

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air.

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory.

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head.

Why on earth did he agree to this again?

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’

His glare softens by a fraction.

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting.

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here.

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down.

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’

‘Hm.’

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews) when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey.

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively.

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender.

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree -

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek.

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest.

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness.

Then he takes a breath.

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end .

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands.

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn.

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts.

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders.

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even worse .

Much, much worse.

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand.

He ends up face planting directly into her chest.

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – ,

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt.

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed.

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.

He takes her hand with a rare smile.

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband.

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees.

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough.

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product.

He appreciates that.

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal.

He likes that.

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify.

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules.

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer.

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls.

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently.

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings.

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together.

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes. He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so I know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb.

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks.

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’ on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way.

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod.

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other.

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north.

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself.

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant.

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course.

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night.

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands.

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence.

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify.

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle.

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind.

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’.

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze.

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before.

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze.

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant.

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways.

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day.

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on.

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially.

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time.

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands.

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss.

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her.

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain.

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars.

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up.

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer.

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air.

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands.

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look.

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either.

He finds himself wondering about them.

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text.

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two?

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion.

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’.

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him?

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers.

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card.

Oikawa Tooru .

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further.

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer.

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’

He blinks. That was unexpected.

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance.

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt.

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb.

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’.

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined.

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache.

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’.

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance.

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause.

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her.

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground.

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales.

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’.

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him.

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips.

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips.

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no – it’s always going to point towards her.

They move in together after that.

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards.

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife.

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while.

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep.

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much.

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold.

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning.

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob.

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly.

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other.

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell.

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes.

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way.

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back.

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’.

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them.

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in -

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place.

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open.

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’.

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal.

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat.

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath.

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.

He waits.

Then his phone buzzes.

Ah.

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.

“Omi?”

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first.

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind.

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what I want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’.

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face.

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles.

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date.

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again.

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two.

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more.

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party.

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association.

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread.

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name.

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make.

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’.

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake.

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out - pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead.

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability.

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud.

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser.

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist:

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

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motherjoel · 4 years

Text

shameless (spencer reid x fem!reader)

summary: you’re known as the office flirt but reid can’t take the shameless flirting anymore

a/n: i honestly don’t know how i feel about this one its very cliche but i felt like writing it lolll

wc: 3.4k

warnings/includes: gunshot injury, basic criminal mindsey stuff

“Woah, pretty boy got a haircut!” teased Morgan as he walked to his desk in the bullpen. Spencer shied away from Morgan’s teasing hands, ducking just in time to avoid his hair being mussed. He told himself he didn’t want or need the opinion of anyone, especially not Derek Morgan, but he couldn’t help the racing of his heart when you walked into work with two coffees and a paper bag in hand. You couldn’t help the smile that took over your face when you made eye contact with him- he blushed at the attention, this time welcome.

“Wow! Hubby’s got a fresh cut!” you said, setting a coffee on his desk and running your fingers through his hair. He blushed at the nickname- it was a running joke that you were his work husband, and you both happily played along. Morgan scoffed when he didn’t flinch at your touch, jokingly annoyed. “It looks good, Reid,” you said more quietly before settling in at your desk across from him. He nodded in thanks and pursed his lips at an attempt to hide his smile.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, d-did you know that the average American cuts their hair every 3 to 4 months? Statistically speaking, this is long overdue,” he said, turning his attention to the paperwork in front of him.

“You know I love any haircut on you baby! With that bone structure…” you teased, satisfyingly leaving Spencer flustered.

“Damn Y/N, what’ll it take for you to flirt that shamelessly with me?” asked Morgan, leaning on your desk with his mug of coffee in hands.

“All you had to do was ask, hot stuff,” you said, squeezing his arm and standing up to bring some pastries you had bought before work to Garcia.

The two of them watched you leave, Morgan shook his head and sat back down. Spencer reluctantly began to speak.

“You two… you make it look so easy,” Spencer said, commenting on his lack of flirtation skills. Morgan looked up, confused.

“What, you wanna learn to flirt?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee with a raised eyebrow.

“Forget it,” Spencer said, focusing on the coffee you had gotten him, admiring the way you wrote “hubby” in swirly handwriting on the cup.

“Wait… I know what this is,” said Derek, turning his swivel chair so his body faced Reid. “You like Y/N,” he smirked.

“N-wha?” Spencer asked, sputtering into his drink.

“You didn’t even bother to deny it! Damn Reid, I should’ve noticed sooner. You got it bad,” Morgan laughed, shaking his head.

“I just- ugh,” Spencer groaned, putting his head in his hands. “She flirts with everyone, Morgan,” he huffed. “She just thinks of me as… as entertainment. I’m just a game to her, just a way to pass the time at work,” he ranted, getting increasingly frustrated.

“Oh, you got it bad…” Derek teased, getting the attention of Emily who was a desk away.

“Reid’s got it bad? For who?” she asked, intrigued by the love life of the resident genius.

“I don’t have anything for anyone,” Spencer defended, blushing furiously at this point.

“Pretty ricky has a thing for a certain agent…” Derek said, widening his eyes and nodding his head at your empty desk. Emily gasped.

“Reid, you should totally ask her out! You two would be adorable,” Prentiss said. “Nice haircut, by the way,” she commented as she sat back down at her desk. Spencer was considering a hat.

“So… have you seen Reid’s new haircut,” Garcia asked, wiggling her eyebrows at you as she took a bite of her croissant.

“Yes, yes,” you smiled at your hands. “He looks very… handsome,” you decided.

“I bet that's got you all hot and bothered, huh?” she asked, nudging your leg that was leaning on her desk.

“God Garcia, I just said he looks handsome!” you swatted her arm with a laugh.

“Come on, I’m no profiler but I know all that ‘work husband’ stuff is just your way of getting out your true and deep feelings for boy genius,” she said, trying to pry some information from you. Knowing Garcia, you had tried to keep from exposing your crush to her- once she knew something, the whole team knew it. But at this point, you felt like it was obvious how you felt about him and you didn’t care to deny it any longer.

“Okay. Maybe I… have a little crush on him,” you blushed and looked at your hands, avoiding the elated gaze of Penelope Garcia.

“Oh. My. Gosh. You guys are going to make the hottest couple, I mean with his bone structure and your, well, everything, your babies are going to be beautiful.

“Right! His face was chiseled by the greek gods or something,” you giggled, excited to finally be able to discuss your crush to a teammate and friend.

You gossiped for a bit longer before beginning the work day. You wouldn’t lie- you stole more than a few glances at Spencer’s new haircut. Every so often, you would meet his eye when he was already looking at you, you smiled and winked at him and he just widened his eyes and averted his gaze.

“So, what’re you doin tonight Reid?” you asked, getting his attention.

“Oh, uh, not much. I might… read,” he said, mentally face palming himself at the dull response.

“Well, what about coming to my place and cracking open a bottle of wine? We can play some tunes, get to know each other…” you trailed off as he looked at you with wide eyes. Before you knew it he was storming off into the break room, seemingly upset. You sat with an open mouthed stare, turning to JJ. “What was that about?” you asked and she shrugged,

“Should one of us… go after him?” she asked, and you nodded and stood up to follow him. He was standing in the break room, leaning against the counter and looking at his hands when you walked in. He was startled when you entered, looking up at you quickly.

“Spence, is something wrong?” you asked, tentatively walking closer to him.

“When you flirt with me. Is it a joke?” he asked, looking at you intensely.

“Well… I…” you stuttered, not wanting to tell him the truth.

“Because you really take it too far. I mean, is it that much of a joke, the thought of being with me? You just can’t even fathom looking at me as anything other than your nerdy friend,” he said, leaving little room for you to speak

“Spence-” you tried to interrupt.

“I know I’m stupid for even thinking you’d like me, I mean I was stupid enough to fall in love with my best friend and now I’m stupid enough to tell her but I did and now things are gonna be weird but I can’t just sit here and let you touch me and joke-flirt with me for a laugh, because it’s more to me, Y/N. It’s,” he said, his voice breaking as he looked at you. You were speechless, and Spencer seemed as if he just realized his confession. Without another word, he stormed back into the bullpen and continued to work. You stood in your place, stunned for a moment, before making your way back to your desk.

You were silent the rest of the day, only speaking when spoken to. You didn’t know how to process the information- he loved you. He loved you and you just stood there, silently as he spilled his guts to you. The guiltiness you felt lingered the rest of the day. You didn’t know until that moment in the break room earlier that what you felt for him was love, too. From the movie nights turned sleepovers in your apartments to the french movie festivals where he would whisper-translate in your ear, you’d have this familiar feeling upon seeing him. You assumed it was just a very strong crush, but nobody had ever made you feel this way. When he confessed his love for you, the ache in your chest screamed love. And you didn’t know how to tell him.

The team was called in for a case the next day, so your plan to pull him aside to talk was foiled. The case went on for a couple days with little to no leads, and they were left with one option- to go undercover. The plan was that you and Spencer would pose as a husband and wife (fitting) at a fancy restaurant. The unsub was kidnapping and killing the wives of rich men, and the restaurant you were eating at tonight was his next target. As much as you protested, Hotch insisted that you and Reid were the best options- you did look pretty similar to the victims, but Hotch’s reasoning for picking Reid was unfounded. You assumed that Morgan suggested the two of you as a way to resolve your problems (and as much as he tried to hide it, Hotch always somehow knew about the drama going on). As Emily and JJ helped you get dressed and ready, your anxiety about the night was increasing.

“How am I supposed to go undercover with him when I know… what I know?” you asked, refusing to use the “L” word. After the break room incident, which was overheard by most of the office, everyone seemed to come to their own conclusions about the two of you.

“Y/N, why won't you just tell him that you love him back?” asked Emily as she curled your hair.

“I just… I haven’t had the chance. I mean, he didn’t even think I liked him! How could I not? He’s smart, funny, sexy as hell…” you trailed off, JJ laughing from the bed she was sitting on.

“Well, who knows what'll happen tonight,” JJ said, flipping through a magazine.

“Yeah, catching a serial killer really sets the scene,” you commented, finishing your makeup by applying some lipstick.

You were soon ready to go, donning a silky red dress and black heels. Emily and JJ walked with you to the hotel lobby where Spencer was already waiting with Morgan, deep in conversation. You walked up to Reid, his back turned to you, and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and immediately gulped, unintentionally looking you up and down.

“You look…” he started, unsure of the right word to use. Derek patted him on the back, bringing him back to life. “Beautiful. You look beautiful,” he said with a small smile.

“Oh, well thank you,” you blushed and reached up to adjust his tie. “You don’t look too shabby yourself,” you smiled at him, and you wanted to tell him you loved him right then and there. You decided, however, that it wasn’t the right moment.

“Rossi is already at the restaurant keeping an eye out, as well as some plain clothes officers,” said Hotch as you walked to the SUV that would drop you off. “Remember Y/N, when you hear the signal that the bathroom is empty, excuse yourself to go to the restroom. If we’re correct, the unsub will follow you soon after and we can make the arrest,” Hotch explained as you nodded along. You were anxious for the night ahead of you, but the thought of sitting across the table from Spencer for an hour or two made your heart race more than the serial killer who would target you. You discussed the case on the way to the restaurant in the back seat with Spencer, Hotch and Morgan occasionally chiming in from the front seat.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Spencer immediately put on his act of rich husband. You became hyper aware of his hand on the small of your back as he led you to the table and the way he held your hand across the table once you sat down. When Spencer went undercover, he seemed like a different person- all of the confidence he never had seemed to bloom to life.

“So, hubby, what do you think you’re gonna order?” you asked with a smile, using your old nickname for him. He seemed to get colder and he let your hand go in favor of the menu.

“Um, probably some pasta,” he muttered, reading through the choices. You could feel your heart drop.

“Spence… can we talk about the other day?” you asked, trying to get his attention from behind the menu, which you did.

“Y/N, I hardly think that now is the time-” he started.

“But when will the time be? You’ve been avoiding me at the hotel, on the jet, at the police station, I just wanna talk,” you pleaded, and he seemed to soften a bit.

“There isn’t anything to talk about. I told you I loved you and you just stood there, which I get because you don’t feel the same way. It’s fine, we can just go back to being friends,” he said, seeming actually sincere.

“But that’s the thing Spencer, I just- I love you okay!” you raised your voice, getting some strange looks from the older couple next to you. Spencer's mouth made a small “o” at your confession. “I love you, and you’ve been ignoring me these past couple days and it felt like I was losing my best friend. And I love my best friend,” you said quietly, lightly laughing through your tears. He looked like he was about to speak when you heard in your ear the signal- the signal that the unsub would follow you to the bathroom. It was go time. “Excuse me honey, I have to use the ladies room,” you said, plastering a fake smile on your face and standing up. He watched you with awe as you walked away, before his eyes were trained on the man who was following you. He fit the profile exactly, and it took everything in Spencer not to attack the man right in that moment.

You entered the bathroom and looked in the mirror, pretending to adjust your makeup. You were only in there alone for about 30 seconds before the unsub came in grabbed you, holding a gun to your head. You began to enter panic mode- you didn’t have a weapon on you as the profile didn’t call for it. He wasn’t supposed to grab you right away, and he wasn’t supposed to have a gun. He pushed down on your airway with the crook of his elbow as you struggled against his grip.

“Hello, agent. You think I didn’t notice all of the undercover cops? How naive” he said with a smirk. You could see your reflection in the bathroom mirror, and you were embarrassed about how pathetic you looked. Spencer and Rossi stormed in with their guns raised at you both- the look of panic on your face said it all.

“Daniel, put the gun down,” Spencer said, his gun still cocked at the two of you.

“Are you kidding me? I have your precious agent’s life in my hands and you’re trying to make demands?” he said with a maniacal laugh.

“Daniel you know you’re not getting out of this alive. Look around you,” Rossi said as more agents entered the bathroom. “You’re surrounded. So just put the gun down and we can get you both out of here safely,” Rossi reasoned.

You could feel his grip loosen on you slightly, but before you knew it, there was a sharp pain on your left side. You heard yelling as you fell to the ground, ankle twisting on your heels. The knot in your ankle didn’t compare to the searing pain in your abdomen. You were wet, there was something wet. Your own blood, you guessed. He had shot you. You told Spencer you loved him and you were shot minutes later. You felt pressure on your side as you looked up to see Spencer, hands pressed firmly on your wound.

“You’re gonna be okay, Y/N, just look at me,” he said. You had tried your best to stay awake but the lull of sleep was too tempting. You gave Spencer one last weak smile before you let the darkness take over.

The smell of saline and steady beeping poured through your senses. You opened your eyes and immediately recognized that you were in a hospital. That bastard shot you and you were in a hospital. Looking around the room, you noticed Morgan sitting in a chair in the corner and Spencer sitting in a chair much closer to you, resting his head on your bed. He seemed to be asleep, Morgan was looking out the window.

“Hey hot stuff, how long was I out?” you croaked, fidgeting with your hospital gown.

“Hey, there's my princess,” Morgan said with a smile, pulling his chair on the bedside opposite of Spencer and sitting back down. “It's been a day, but we know a bullet can’t take down Y/L/N for too long,” he joked and rested a hand on your leg. You laughed softly which turned into a cough, immediately waking Spencer.

“Y/N! You’re okay,” he said, grabbing your hand. You smiled at him and Morgan made a kissy face at you before leaving quietly.

“Yes, I’m okay,” you laughed before looking down to see your foot in a boot. “Now how the hell did I do that? I thought I was shot?” you asked, memory still a bit spotty from the night before.

“Oh, that was from when you fell. You twisted your ankle on your heel,” he said, looking at your boot. “Did you know that U.S. emergency rooms treated 123,355 high heel related injuries between 2002 and 2012?” he asked, his nervous habit of rambling making itself known.

“Hm, I can’t say I did,” you giggled. You shifted over on the bed and made enough room for Spencer to lie next to you. “Come here,” you said, patting the empty space. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, as if you were crazy. “I said come here. I was just shot, wasn’t I?” you asked as he sighed and clumsily crawled in next to you, resting his arm under your head. He was on the opposite side of your wound thankfully. You shifted your head to rest on his chest and listened to his heartbeat.

“I was really scared,” he confessed. “I saw you go down and I thought about how stupid it was for me to just ignore you these past couple of days,” he said, looking down at you.

“Spence, it’s not your fault. I mean, I could’ve just said I loved you when you said it to me,” you said and you could feel his breath hitch in his throat. “What?” you asked.

“I just… can’t believe it,” he smiled in disbelief. “Do you really love me? Or were you just going really deep undercover because I would totally understand if you- mph,” you cut him off with a kiss, his eyes closing immediately, body going almost rigid. You pulled away after a moment, eyes still closed.

“Does that tell you what you need to know?” you questioned. He opened his eyes to look at you, still in shock, before he leaned back down and pressed his lips to yours once more. This kiss was longer, and when the entire team walked in during that moment, you swear you’ve never been redder.

“Damn, I guess my princess found her prince,” Morgan teased and punched Reid in the arm, who was still lying next to you. You simply pulled him closer, resting your hand on his chest. Emily and JJ both squealed at the sight and you buried your face in his shoulder.

“I knew you kids would work it out,” Rossi said with pride.

“You guys need to sign a relationship form when we get back,” Hotch said sternly. You looked at him in shock- you were sitting in a hospital bed and this man was talking about forms.

“Damn Hotch, they just got together,” Emily said, shooting you a wink.

“Alright, alright. You have a week,” Hotch joked, and you laughed, ignoring the pain in your side. The team, your family, stayed and laughed with you for hours before all but one of them left. Spencer spent the night next to you in the hospital bed, reciting poems and cuddling you until you both fell into a content sleep.

taglist: @yesimaunicorn, @rigatonireid

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whoacanada · 4 years

Text

Zimbits - Bartender!Jack + NHL!Bitty AU

Prompt: Retired NHL player Jack Zimmermann takes ownership of a sports bar in Pittsburgh and accidentally falls for the Penguins’ (closeted) new left winger.

A/N - just the start, I’d like to get around to more of this; the basic idea was an It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia AU, but I couldn’t manage to make everyone that terrible so Jack owns and operates a gay sports bar and starts crushing on one of his patrons.

“Can’t believe you’ve owned this place since ’89.” Jack coughs, waving the dust away from his face. “Did you ever come back after we moved home?”

It’d be disingenuous to say Jack had been expecting anything other than cigars and whiskey when his father had invited him on a trip down to Pittsburgh to see Mario and glad-hand some Penguins sponsors. In fact, he’d kind of been looking forward to sulking and getting shit-faced, not limping around a condemned building dodging roaches and rats.

“It was an investment opportunity. That was the trend back then, famous athletes buying up restaurants and clubs — I had big plans for this building. Then your mother got pregnant and I realized I didn’t really give two shits about running a nightclub.”

“Realized you were pretty lazy, huh?”

As Bob laughs, Jack picks at the peeling, lacquered bartop, trying not to imagine how many decades of grime he’s just collecting under his nail, the situation made even more disgusting in such close proximity to the glittering gold championship ring his father had insisted he wear to their lunch meeting with the Penguins front-office suits. Jack flicks the gunk away as Bob levels him with a weighty look, hands braced in the air as if outlining a play and not offering a tour of a cobweb-filled dive.

“Here’s my thought,” Bob says. “The bar. It’s yours.”

Jack leans against the counter, taking some weight off his braced leg, and asks, “What’s mine?”

“This place,” Bob gestures around the room. “The whole building. It’s just sitting here, empty, the bar, the liquor license, there’s apartments and office space upstairs, we’d just need to do some renovations and —“

Jack can’t help himself. He barks a laugh and says, “I’m not moving to Pittsburgh.”

“How many times have you and I talked about opening a sports bar? I’d wanted to get this place fixed up so it’d be ready when you retired, but since the final — you could make it a gay bar, even, if you wanted!” Bob says quickly, offering another awkward olive branch. “A gay sports bar. I wouldn’t care.”

“A gay sports bar. In Pittsburgh,” Jack echoes, reaching for a chirp to defend himself, but he closes him mouth as he realizes a sports bar run by a Zimmermann might not be a terrible investment idea. “The building needs a ton of work,” Jack settles. “I just saw a rat.”

“That was a mouse,” Bob dismisses, not bothering to look at the rat still clearly in view. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. Got a dollar?”

Jack pats his pockets, finds a spare looney and hands it over. Bob doesn’t hesitate, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket to exchange for the coin.

“Congratulations. You are now the proud owner of,” Bob looks around helplessly. “I actually don’t know what they call this place now. A Bar?”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Jack swallows against the tightness in his throat, holding the deed carefully in his hands. “Thanks, Dad.”

Bob brings Jack in for a loose hug and they both ignore the soft squeaking coming from the backroom.

Five Years Later

There’s a man examining the announcement board in the vestibule, and Jack knows that posture: the forward hip cant, thick thighs, a small but definite bubble butt — guy’s a hockey player, and he has been for some time.

“Hey. Hi.”

Blondie spins around at Jack’s address. Not quite startled, but something close enough that Jack feels a twinge of guilt. “You interested in playing in our beer league? You look like you might know your way around a rink.”

The man quickly looks at his chest, as if expecting to find something displayed, but relaxes immediately. Jack fights a grin, he was once old hat at wandering into public spaces decked out in identifiable team merch.

“Bitty.” The man squares up to offer his hand; his accent is warm and distinctly southern, not at all what Jack was expecting. “You can call me Bitty.”

“Oh, with a nickname like that, you have to play, now, no excuses,” Jack gives Bitty’s arm a firm shake, surprised at how complementary his grip is; not just an overcompensating bro who’s walked into the wrong club.

“If only I had the time,” Bitty placates wryly. “Is this place new?”

“Been here a few years, but not long. How about you? Are you ‘new’? In town, I mean.”

“Moved for work,” Bitty’s smile is timid, eyes darting around the room looking for other patrons, up at the memorabilia and the various pennants. “First year. Slowly learning the area.”

Jack doesn’t miss the way Bitty’s eyes linger on the Pride flag draped from the second floor railing, but Bitty doesn’t mention it, and Jack isn’t in the business of prying.

“Let me be the first to welcome you to The Bar.”

“I saw that outside, do you not have a name?”

“We weren’t creative. The owner didn’t realize he was filling in the wrong line on the business license so we are literally called ‘The Bar’.”

“That’s actually pretty solid,” Bitty laughs, the sound lifting Jack’s mood easily. “I’ll have to make sure I come back and patron your establishment at a reasonable hour.”

“What you aren’t interested at getting sloshed before noon?”

Bitty laughs, and Jack is enough of an adult to recognize he’s got a tiny bit of a crush.

______

True to form, Bitty slowly becomes a feature of Jack’s early afternoons. The first few weeks, he does little more than quietly purchase a single domestic beer before tucking himself away in a corner booth, hunched over his phone, ball cap pulled low for discretion. Jack gives him space, and aside from a few curious regulars, Bitty is little more than another closeted young man seeking quiet sanctuary.

That is, until, hockey kicks up and Mario hooks Jack up with season tickets beside the bench. It’d taken time for Jack to get comfortable with being in an arena again, especially without the ability to step onto the ice himself, but he’s acclimated and learned to appreciate his new lot in life. He can be happy for his success and mourn the end of his career with equal measure.

(Doesn’t hurt he still gets asked for autographs on the regular.)

Bittle, the new forward traded out of Columbus, spins to whip the puck between Lundqvist’s thighs and the score is 3-2 with a minute left in the third. Jack stands to cheer with the crowd as Bittle’s pulled into a celly with his line mates, and the new angle gives Jack a good look at the man’s sunny face, complete with a familiar, bright smile and missing canine. Jack’s heart leaps into his throat when he realizes Bittle is ‘Bitty’, and Jack can’t help but cheer louder.

________

After the game, Jack does his homework. Pulls up stats pages and articles on Eric Bittle. Looking to link the quiet hottie from his bar with the energetic man he saw tonight on the ice. If Jack wasn’t in love before, he absolutely is after watching highlights from Bittle’s time in Columbus.

The next time Jack finds Bitty slipping into the bar, probably between practice and a good nap, Jack makes his move; filling a pint glass, wedging an orange slice on the rim, and adjusting his shirt before striding to the corner booth as easily as one can with a titanium femur.

“On the house,” Jack says, setting down the glass gently. “Choice goal, Tuesday. Great bounce.”

Bitty’s grateful smile falters, turning into something guarded.

“What goal?” Bitty asks, voice steady, and Jack’s immediately alerted to his misstep. Jack casts a careful eye around the room and doesn’t find anyone watching, kicking himself for not thinking this through. He’s used to playing this game with guys who aren’t quite comfortable, who might be visiting with the wrong people, but he hasn’t had to do the closeted-pro-athlete dance in a while.

“You know, I must have been mistaken.”

“Happens all the time. Very sweet of you, though.” Bitty apologizes and pushes away the beer, but Jack waves him off. It’s the least Jack can do for calling the guy out.

“I should have known,” Jack tries to recover. “You’ve still got all your chiclets. But, between you and me, Bittle’s a spitfire, eh? Crazy soft hands. I’d like to meet him someday.”

Jack whistles low, rapping his knuckles on the table before turning back to the bar, moving slowly enough he catches the way Bitty’s cheeks flare pink at the compliment.

About thirty minutes later, Jack, half focused on counting down the till, nearly misses Bitty’s exit. He looks up to offer a parting wave, and Bitty returns the gesture, flashing a shy, incomplete smile; one canine missing on the left side.

________

“Anything new to report? Sales look good, think you might be able to take some time off and visit your poor parents?”

Jack slides open a window to let some air into his bedroom, not for the first time wishing he’d taken the chance to tear out a wall and convert a corner of the top floor into a balcony. There’s still time — his father never seems to wary of giving Jack renovation loans — but Jack loves his condo and hates the idea of relocating again, even temporarily.

“New distillery opened, cut a deal on some local gin. We’re working on drink specials, if you have any ideas for names I’m open,” Jack eases onto the windowsill and looks down at the line of people waiting to get into the bar. “And I met someone. Think he might be a hockey player.”

“No shit? Beer-league?”

“NHL.” Jack corrects, an edge of caution in his tone he knows his father won’t misinterpret. “Started coming around a few months ago, gave me a fake name. Went to a game last week, scored right in front of me.”

“Well, you going to tell me who or am I going to have to guess?”

“He’s keeping to himself,” Jack holds the curtain steady to catch sight of a particularly flashy person in a glittering teal gown, texting Holster to snag a photo for the bar’s Instagram. “Don’t go hunting.”

“Well, if he needs any help you let me know.”

“What could you do?”

“I don’t know. Talk to . . . someone. I guess.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement.” Jack placates, smiling at the saucy photo Ransom texts back immediately of Holster lifting their favorite Drag Race runner-up above his head like something out of Dirty Dancing.

“So.”

“Mmm?”

“Does this mean you’ve got a little boyfriend, again?”

Jack leans out over the railing and tries to see if the universe has blessed him with a sighting of his favorite new Left Winger. Sadly, it’s Saturday evening and the Penguins are in Dallas, so no Eric tonight.

“Working on it.” Jack offers, rapping his knuckles lightly against the window sill and trying not to think about the way Bittle’s face lights up when he sees that Jack is working. “Think I might really have a shot at something.”

“Well, you know what Wayne always says.”

“I do,” Jack breathes, pressing his forehead against the cool glass, taking in his one-of-a-kind view of the city. “I’ll let you know how it goes. Once he gets back.”

“ — You know, I’ve got the game on right now. I bet you $1000 I can tell who you’ve got the hots for. You have a specific type — ”

“Papa.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

“But it’s the kid we just got from the Blue Jackets, isn’t it. Bittle? You always like the fast ones — ”

“Goodnight, Papa.”

#bar au #jack zimmermann #NHL!Bitty #zimbits #Zimmermann #retired Jack #zimbits fic #look I wrote a thing #it's only been forever #my fic #my stuff #omgcp #check please

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troubatrain · 3 years

Text

together by this christmas tree - p.l. dubois

a/n: happy december, so because The Maine’s Ho Ho Hopefully is a god tier Christmas song and I forgot how to write anything else heres like 5 words of just fluff. big shoutout to @prettyboybarzal for letting me just dump this fic on her for a few days so i could fuck around with the plot you are a queen!!

Pierre was in Los Angeles.

At any other time, he’d be pretty happy. The long West Coast road trip was one of Pierre’s favorites, he got to spend some time with his teammate’s, enjoy the warm weather, and play a few games that would hopefully end in a win. This time, however, he was sulking in his hotel room because he wished he was in Columbus. It was the first day of December, and Pierre knew that meant one thing - You were undoubtedly getting ready for the holiday season in whatever ways you knew how.

You stumbled into Pierre’s life by accident - literally. When Phillip was just a puppy, Pierre had taken him on a run. The French Bulldog pulled him with all his strength, causing you, who’d been looking at your phone to trip right over his leash. You assured Pierre it was fine, but while you were explaining to him that you had dogs growing up and sometimes shit happens your elbow had been bleeding before you could finish your sentence. Pierre offered to help you out, given his own apartment was barely a block away, and you’d been friends ever since. Friends. Just friends.

“Just tell her,” Tex says from the bed next to him, his road roommate having enough of watching Pierre sulk around their hotel room, “I’m tired of this.”

“Tired of what?” Pierre asks, his eyebrows raising.

“This, the thinking about Y/N all the time,” Tex exasperates dramatically, he sighs, putting on his best impersonation of his teammate, “Y/N’s watching the dogs while I’m away. Y/N and I are trying that new French restaurant downtown. Y/N’s favorite holiday is Christmas and I’m not decorating with her. Dude, you’re in love with her, just tell her. I’m sure she feels the same way.”

“What if she doesn’t?” Pierre asks, finally admitting the real reason he’s yet to say anything. Pierre had been rejected a few times in his life, but he never let it get to him. That was because those people didn’t matter the way you did. You knew everything about him. You knew the way he took his coffee and the way he hated being woken up. You knew Pierre better than you knew yourself, and losing that was the first thing that’s ever really scared him.

“Well you won’t know if you don’t do something about it,” Tex sighs, frustrated with his two friends, “Or you’ve got to let her go.”

Tex walked out of their hotel room after he spoke, undoubtedly to get away from Pierre’s energy that was clouding the room. Pierre sighs, rolling over to the otherside of his bed and pulling up your contact. He did the math internally in his head for a moment, trying to figure out if you’d be asleep or not - smiling to himself when he realized you were probably still up.

“Shouldn’t you be at some fancy LA restaurant?” You chirp, smiling on the other side of the phone when you pick up the Facetime call. You were home, but Pierre could see two familiar figures snuggled together on her couch. You had become Pierre’s accidental dog sitter at the beginning of the season. He put finding one on the backburner, and when it came close to the start of the season, he was coming up empty. You offered three different times before Pierre finally came to his senses and said yes, not because he didn’t trust you, it was because if he had to watch his dogs love you as much as he does - he was never going to recover.

“Shouldn’t you be decorating for Christmas?” Pierre smirks, knowing exactly what the first day of December meant to his friend.

You loved Christmas, like in the type of way that made Pierre envious that anyone could be that happy from a holiday, and the first day of December was the day you went all out. A tree got put up in your apartment, a fake one because hauling a real one up to her place seemed like it would be too much, decorated elaborately in gold and white. You’d get dressed up in a set of Christmas pajamas, one’s that Pierre would scrunch his nose at but he secretly adored, and when he’d make fun of you for it - you’d just pout and call him a grinch.

“I thought I’d wait for you this year,” You mumble, hoping the lighting in your living room would hide the blush on your cheeks, “Speaking of Christmas…”

“I told you three times I don’t want anything,” Pierre reminds you, the argument sprung up twice a year, on Pierre’s birthday and the second the holiday season started. Pierre really had all he could want, his family and his friends were healthy, the team was doing well, and he could buy any material thing he wanted. His answer wasn’t a total lie, because he couldn’t think of anything he wanted besides you.

“You’re the worst,” You whine, throwing yourself back on the couch dramatically, Pierre watched Georgia spring up from next to you, the puppy dropping sloppy kisses all over your face. He thought about what Tex had rambled on about just before he called, that he had to just tell you, but you deserved it to be perfect. So he made a decision, he would tell you by Christmas and he’d spend every moment before that proving to you that he could be the man you deserved.

***

Pierre sighed, stepping back and looking at all of the pine needles that were scattered through his freshly washed BMW. He was going to have to get it cleaned, but the smile on your face would be worth it once he lugged that tree through your apartment building. It was part of his plan, one Tex had called stupid just three hours prior, but Pierre knew it wasn’t. You loved Christmas, and as much as you tried to never show it, you did always get a little bummed out that the tree in your apartment wasn’t real - something that not even the prettiest decorations could fix. So, Pierre decided he was going to fix it, and he was going to give you the best holiday you could ask for.

Pierre buzzed up to your apartment, the tree in his hands while he made his way up to your floor, holding up on his end of the promise he made to stop being a Grinch and help you decorate, “Special delivery.”

The snowman mug, undoubtedly filled with coffee and a tiny bit of sugar because that’s how you always drank it, slipping right out of your hands and onto the floor. The handle snapped off, but that seemed to take second place to the scene in front of you, “Is that-”

“A real tree? Uh yeah,” Pierre nods slowly, trying to not let the grin growing on his face show, “I know you say it’s not a big deal for your tree to be fake but-”

In all of the time you’d known Pierre, you were always his softer side. To the rest of the world, you almost seemed too sweet for the tattooed hockey player who wasn’t afraid to back down from a fight, but it wasn’t entirely true. Pierre had a softer side, one you’d seen shine through when he saw his mom or when a kid could stop him for an autograph, but they were never just random acts of kindness. You wrap your arms around his waist, taking a big sniff of the fresh pine scent that was sweeping through your apartment, “This might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“This is the nicest thing I’ve ever done for someone,” Pierre jokes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, “Where are we putting this thing?”

Once you had the tree in the stand, it was time to get to work. The real reason you waited for Pierre wasn’t because his lack of holiday cheer was a crime, even though it was, it was because then you could hang up decorations using a ladder. Pierre was keeping the smile on his face, not because he was happy that he had a Santa hat hanging from his head or that he was untangling string lights for you while he wrapped them around the tree, but because you would show him every ornament you had with some sort of story as to why you bought it.

“Do you have a favorite ornament?” You ask, snapping a picture of Pierre’s confused face while he untangled the lights. He looked silly, the hat that you placed on his head was hanging off, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth while he tried to untangle the lights. He looked up at you, and you could see him thinking for a moment before he answered you.

“I do actually, I had this little Canadians skate that I used to steal off the tree to play with as a kid,” Pierre finally settled on, smiling to himself when he could practically see himself at seven trying to steal that ornament off the tree. His mother would scold him, and tell him there’s a million other things to play with but it just wasn’t that stupid plastic skate, “My mom used to get so mad at me for taking it but, I loved it.”

“So you didn’t always hate Christmas?” You tease, a giggle escaping through your lips.

“I don’t hate Christmas, I’m just not obsessed with it,” Pierre defends, “But maybe I liked it more when I was a kid.”

“Well be more like seven year old Luc, and get decorating,” You joke, tossing an ornament at him.

Three hours and two broken decorations later, the tree was propped up in the corner of your living room. It looked perfect, because there was nothing that could stop you from decorating that tree flawlessly, but Pierre was sincerely proud of himself for how much he’d actually helped. You were happy, standing in front of it with the gold star that went on top in your hand, “Well put it on.”

“Shouldn’t you do that?” Pierre asks before you shake your head no and try to hand him the topper. Pierre stays planted in his spot, knowing if he looked at you for just another minute you’d explain yourself.

“I’m too short to get up there and I don’t feel like getting out a ladder-” Pierre scoffed before you could finish your sentence, ducking down and hooking your legs over his shoulders without a second thought. You squeal, latching your hands on any part of him you could to stop yourself from losing your balance, “You could’ve just done it.”

“Hang up the star before I drop you,” Pierre teases, loosening his grip on your thighs like he was going to let you fall. Your laugh filled your apartment, and Pierre knew that had to be his favorite sound in the world. You place the star on top of the tree, Pierre stepping back so you could admire your work.

“Perfect?” You ask, your eyes scanning over the twinkling lights that seemed to just hang from the tree flawlessly. Pierre didn’t look at the tree before he answered, his eyes still trained on you.

“Yeah it’s perfect.”

***

The first snow in Columbus could not have come at a better time. Pierre had an afternoon game, and by the time he’d been out of the arena on his way back to his place, the snow was starting to just cover the ground. You had been at his place all afternoon, baking away pieces for a gingerbread house because you told Pierre buying one was unacceptable. You practically destroyed his kitchen, the counters covered in flour and pieces of gingerbread dough. You had Christmas music blasting over the speaker, lost in your own little world until you heard the door open.

“What happened in here?” Pierre asks, his suit jacket slipping off of his shoulders while he took in the sight in front of him. His kitchen was a mess, the dishes piled high in the sink while the entire place was flooded with the smell of gingerbread, “Did you rob a bakery?”

Pierre picked up the candy that was neatly placed in different cups on the counter. He looked at you with an amused smile on his face, “I didn’t come here to fuck around, and neither did you.”

With your words came a bright green apron for Pierre, he unrolled the fabric taking a deep breath and reminding himself that if he wanted you to know he cared about you, he was going to have to suck it up and build the damn house.

As it turns out, building the damn house was harder than Pierre thought. The cookie kept crumbling, the house kept sliding apart and Pierre couldn’t construct a roof to save his life. You, on the other hand, were working tireless at the most well constructed gingerbread house he’d ever seen. You were lost in your own little world, mouthing along to the Christmas music playing in the background. It would have been cute, and at any other time Pierre probably thought you were downright adorable, but not while another cookie broke in his hands.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Pierre growls, a pout on his face while he swiped the cookie crumbs from his hands.

You laugh at his disgruntled state, his back was hunched and his face was red. It was what he looked like after a bad game, except your friend who prided himself on acting like a tough guy was absolutely defeated by a simple gingerbread house. You drop the pastry bag that was in your hands, “You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed!” Pierre yells, stepping back in frustration, “It’s the house it won’t-”

“Luc, listen to yourself for a minute, it’s not the house’s fault,” You explain gently, you walk behind him and place both of your hands on each of his arms, “Try again and calm down.”

Pierre didn’t want to finish the house, but if your hands were on him he wasn’t going to tell you to take them off anytime soon. Your hands were wrapped around his arms lightly, your chin resting on his back while you peeked around his arm. He grabbed the bag and you rolled your eyes at how tense he was, “Do you hold hockey sticks that tightly, jeez.”

Pierre turns around, giving you a glare and raising his eyebrows. You stifle a laugh, trying your best to keep it together despite how hilarious you found his mood to be, “Quit making fun of me and help me.”

“Okay, okay,” You nod, running your arm along Pierre’s arm while you watched him try and squeeze the frosting out of the bag, “Slower Luc.”

Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner. Don’t get a boner.

Pierre’s mind was racing, trying to drive his focus in the direction of the house, and not the fact that you were standing behind him. The air in the kitchen was thick, the same weird sexual tension that seemed to creep up when the two of you were alone for too long was back and stronger than ever. Your fingers ran along Pierre’s tattoos absentmindedly while you whispered simple directions that were turning Pierre’s brain to mush. He couldn’t think of anything else beside the fact that all he wanted was turn around and press his lips to yours, but he couldn’t just do that.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, while your logical side told you that you were simply telling Pierre how to build the silly little house and this shouldn’t feel so sexual - but it did. Pierre touched you all the time, a hand on your back while you guys were out, a kiss on the forehead whenever he hugged you and you never thought anything of it until you realized he didn’t do that with everyone. So you panicked, ignoring the little voice in the back of your head that reminded you that you wanted him, and pretending like it never happened. That wasn’t easy, and every minute you spent with Pierre you could feel yourself falling into him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

The moment was ruined by the sound of a cookie sheet hitting the floor, and the sound of a scared puppy’s feet running away in fear. You both jumped, your hands flying off of Pierre when the realization that you were doing it again washed over you. You were letting yourself pretend like this could lead somewhere and that one day Pierre would choose you and it would all work itself out. Except that was just hope and hope wasn’t going to stop your heart from getting broken.

“You should shower, I’ll start cleaning,” You offer, moving around the kitchen to clean so you could hide the blush on your cheeks.

And a cold shower was probably what Pierre needed.

***

This wasn’t part of my Christmas activities.

You were whining while Pierre drove down to the arena, the Blue Jackets family skate was that afternoon and he insisted you went. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, but you couldn’t stop yourself from reading into things. He’d never brought you to the skate before, so why now?

“Isn’t this on that silly list of Christmas activities?” Pierre reminds you, tapping your leg lightly with his free hand, “Or do you just not know how to skate or something?”

“Well…” You start, Pierre’s eyebrows raising while he focused on the road ahead of you, “I don’t-”

“You eat Christmas cheer for the entire month of December but you don’t know how to ice skate? When were you going to tell me?” Pierre teases, chuckling while he shook his head at you.

“It never came up!” You defend, crossing your arms at him for teasing you, “And I didn’t tell you for this exact reason.”

Pierre made fun of you for the rest of the ride, teasing you that you should skate with his teammate’s kids who were practically toddlers and were probably better than you were. You walked into the arena behind Pierre, immediately smiling at the familiar faces of his teammates and their families. You made your way to his stall, Pierre telling you to sit he could get your skates laced up. You bit your lip, watching his hands work at the laces as delicately as he could. You were sure he was rougher with his own, but Pierre’s touch was always light as a feather with you.

“Too tight?” Pierre asks, breaking out of your trance from his too big veiny hands.

“No it’s fine,” You squeak out, and you could hear Tex snickering to himself next to you.

Pierre wasn’t a bad teacher for someone who almost tossed a gingerbread house across his apartment just a week prior. He was slow, his fingers laced with yours while he pulled you along and tried to help you skate on your own. It was a failure, and you looked like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time, but Pierre refused to believe you couldn’t get better.

“You guys disgust me,” Tex chirps, hopping onto the bench next to you while you watch Pierre play tag with Savvy’s kids. You raise your eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, “You’re both so disgustingly in love with each other why won’t you just admit it?”

“Because Pierre’s going to find someone else who won’t be me,” You sigh, picking at your nails. You told Tex this once before, when you were wine drunk and sad about the date Pierre was on, “He’s just my friend.”

Tex wanted to scream, lock you both into a room and force you to talk about your feelings. He wasn’t going to do that, because he didn’t want to be the demise of what he thought might actually be something, but god did he want to. You both were frustrating the hell out of him, and if Pierre didn’t nut up soon he was going to take matters into his own hands by New Years.

“You don’t know that, if you told him-” Tex tries his hardest to reason with you, make you see that it’s worth the jump because Pierre was on the other side waiting for you.

“So he can flat out reject me and never speak to me again? Really I’m good,” You huff out, swinging your leg over the boards to get back onto the ice. You were doing okay, until you started to push yourself forward. Two steps later, you were on your way to face plant into the ice until you felt two arms wrap around your waist.

“Easy there,” Pierre laughs, stopping you just before you fell, “You’re not an expert now.”

“You’re such a bully,” You tease, avoiding Tex’s gaze when Pierre intertwined your fingers to pull you across the ice. Tex watched you both, the shared laughs and longing stares were just proof to him that if people did have one person for them, you were it for each other.

Only if you could get it through your heads.

***

The Savard’s threw a bigger Christmas party than you’d ever seen before in your life. You loved David and his wife, given Pierre introduced you to them as his adoptive parents the first time you ever came over for dinner with him. It was your favorite version of Pierre, the one who let David’s kids paint his nails and color the black and white ink on his arms. You walked up the well decorated driveway, your heels clicking against the pavement while you made your way inside.

“You need to go see your boy in the kitchen,” You hear Seth call over to you, grabbing your attention as soon as you walk into the house. You wave hello first, making your way into the kitchen to see a sight that you were most definitely not expecting.

Pierre was sitting on a candy cane throne, a big Santa hat on his head and equally as red suit to match. He had one of Nick’s kids on his lap, listening to the little boy about the train set he’d been writing to Santa about since Thanksgiving. Your heart grew about four sizes at the sight, you walked over and tapped Pierre on the shoulder, “Can I borrow Santa for a minute?”

“Are you Mrs. Claus?” The question was a simple one, and the two big brown eyes that were looking up at you were the only thing that didn’t stop you from saying yes.

“Mrs. Claus huh?” Pierre teases, pulling you onto his lap while you watched Nick’s son make his way back to his mother.

“I wasn’t about to ruin his Christmas,” You shook your head, running a hand over the white fur on the jacket Pierre was wearing, “How’d you get sucked into this?”

“I was going to say no, but then I knew you’d at least laugh at me,” Pierre admits, a blush creeping up his neck. His hands were wrapped securely around your waist like for a moment he could just pretend like he had you, “Wanna tell the big guy what you want for you Christmas.”

“Hmm, nothing,” You settle on, “And you won’t know until you finally tell me what you want.”

The sound of cheers flooded the kitchen, and when you went to look at what all of the ruckus was about you realized that you were the ruckus. Seth had a shit eating grin on his face while he held the mistletoe above your heads. You knew you were flush, the heat on your cheeks made it clear while Pierre looked like he was a pale as a ghost. He planted a kiss on your cheek, telling Seth to fuck off before you pushed yourself off of him, muttering an excuse about needed to use the bathroom.

You had your palms against the sink while you tried to catch your own breath. This was the reason you never made a move, because you knew it wouldn’t end in some sort of heartbreak. It was clear Pierre didn’t want to kiss you, and that was enough for you to let him go forever. You wiped the tears that were welling up in your eyes, deciding that when you walked out that door Pierre was your friend and your friend only.

“Where are you going?” Pierre caught your arm when you tried to leave the party, the idea of going home for a good cry was far better than a rowdy holiday party. He looked insane, his eyes wild while he panted to catch his breath after he searched the house in a panic for you.

“Home, I’m just not feeling well-” You come up with an excuse fast, hoping the quicker you spoke the quicker you could get out of there.

“Is this about Seth? I’ll kick the shit out of him,” Pierre promises, latching onto anything that would fix your mood.

Your feelings were something Pierre was an expert at, probably because he never seemed to take his eyes off of you. He knew when you were upset just from your body language alone and you were definitely not happy. Was it from Seth trying to force the idea that you should be together or was it that he didn’t kiss you? It had to be the first, because if it was the latter then Pierre fucked up his entire plan to make you see that he loved you.

“No it’s fine, really I just think I should go,” You were begging Pierre not to fight you on this, so he wasn’t going but he was going to be damned if he let you slip through his fingers.

“Stay, Tex and I were about to sing Christmas karaoke,” Pierre offers, dragging out his words, “I’ll let you pick the song.”

Pierre and Tex ended up serenading you with the worst rendition of All I Want For Christmas Is You you’d ever heard. Their dance moves were a crime, and they were definitely the two most tone deaf people you have ever met, but their heart was in the right place. The mistletoe incident was forgotten for the moment, your attention directed at the silly drinking games you were playing with your friends. You sat on the kitchen counter in the Savard’s home, your head leaning on Pierre’s shoulder after you’d taken your fourth shot in the span of an hour. A hangover was definitely on the horizon, but for the time it wasn’t going to kill your buzz.

“I hate when you do that you know?” You poke Pierre’s side, grabbing his attention from the crowd of people in the kitchen.

“Do what?” Pierre asks, a bold hand landing on your thigh.

“Make everything better somehow, it’s pretty fucking annoying Luc,” You tease, taking a look at his face for a moment. Pierre smiled before he answered you, the kind where his teeth would show and you could see his little vampire teeth you loved so much.

“I’ll always make it better Y/N.”

***

You’re coming over right?

Pierre sighs at your question, your voice flooding the speaker in his car while he drove home from his game. It was December 23rd, and he wanted to sneak in a nap before his middle of the night flight to Montreal to see his parents for Christmas. He’d just finished an afternoon game, one where the team lost and Torts lost his mind on them before he shipped them off to Christmas break tired and angry, but he wasn’t going to miss out on seeing you before Christmas. He made a promise to himself he’d tell, come clean once he felt like you knew he loved you. Maybe you did, and if you didn’t you were in for one hell of a surprise.

Pierre took a quick right in the direction of your place, deciding you couldn’t wait any longer. His brain was switched to autopilot and when he opened your apartment door with the key you gave him forever ago, he realized what this was. You were sitting on the couch, a gift box in your hand that was undoubtedly for him and it hit Pierre like a freight train.

He didn’t get you anything.

Pierre could’ve punched himself, calling out every name in the book because he was an idiot. He spent so much time focusing on spending time with you, and going along with all of your silly little Christmas things that he didn’t even realize he forgot to get you a gift at all. Pierre just knew whatever was in that bag was thoughtful and perfect, and he was walking in empty handed.

“Open it!” You exclaim, your excitement couldn’t be contained. Honestly, you were surprised you made it this far without spilling the beans about the gift.

You hand Pierre the box, and he opens it slowly, pulling the top of the box off and gasping at what was inside. The skate ornament was the same as the one he mentioned when you were decorating your tree, the blue and red Canadians logo faded a bit, “Is this…?”

“I called your mom and asked her for it,” You admit sheepishly, a little embarrassed to admit just how often you did talk to Pierre’s parents. He didn’t call often, mostly because he simply would forget, so his mother would start just calling you instead, “I know it’s silly but I thought maybe it’d remind you that the holidays aren’t all bad-”

“I love it, it’s perfect,” Pierre whispers, letting the ornament dangle from his large hand, “I fucked up, I uh, shit, I forgot to get you something.”

You laugh, practically falling to the floor while the giggles take over your body, “Luc, you sucked it up all month for me that’s enough.”

“It’s not, I did all of this so you’d know that I loved you and when I told you it would make sense,” Pierre starts to ramble, pacing around your apartment, “And I couldn’t even be bothered to remember to get you a damn gift.”

“You love me?” You repeat, just to make sure you’d gotten clear what’s been up with him since the start of the month. You felt the shift, the extra acts of kindness that just weren’t normal for him, but you knew if you read into it you might end up disappointed.

“I’m hopelessly in love with you, like one of those romantic Christmas movies you love so much,” Pierre admits, looking at you with the softest eyes you’d ever seen. You stood in front of him, dumbfounded that your best friend just told you he loved you, “Please say something.”

“Do you know what I want for Christmas?” You ask, taking a bold step forward and wrapping your arms around Pierre’s neck, “This year I want you alone.”

Pierre closed the gap between the two of you, and it felt like the entire world had stopped. The bustling city outside didn’t matter, Pierre’s flight in a few hours didn’t matter, and the brutal loss he’d taken hours later was on the backburner. Right now, Pierre’s hands were wrapped around your waist while your lips were pressed against his and he would have rather died than let go of you in that moment.

“So I don’t have to get you a gift right?”

“No you still do, but you can kiss me again first.”

#pierre luc dubois #pierre luc dubois imagine #my writing #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

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jockcoded · 2 years

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Olympic WoHo Newsletter 2/4

While preliminary games have been happening for a few days now, the opening ceremony this morning marked the official start to the Olympic Games. Even before that, things have been exciting in women’s hockey, so into those games after a news update!

NEWS

Finnish head coach Pasi Mustonen will be returning home due to a family emergency and will be replaced by assistant coach Juuso Toivola, anticipated to take over behind team Finland’s bench after this season.

Silke Glud of Denmark injured against China, no update on status but leaves Denmark without the top scorer in Denmark’s women’s league.

After Brianna Decker was forced to leave the tournament after an injury, coach Joel Johnson said the US will consider their options after choosing not to take taxi squad players.

Game recaps for Denmark vs China and Russia vs Switzerland are below the cut, as well as previews of the upcoming four games by @sonnymilano.

GAME RECAPS

DEN [1], CHN [3]: Marlene Frandsen scored the first Olympic goal in Denmark’s history, holding a 1-0 lead until late in the 2nd, when Lin Qiqi (Leah Lum) tied it for China. Danish netminder Cassandra Repstock-Romme was impressive as anticipated, but China dominated possession throughout. Lin Ni (Rachel Llanes) scored with 50.9 left in regulation, and Denmark pulled Repstock-Romme soon after, with Lin Qiqi sealing the deal on the empty net. Full game details via the IIHF here.

ROC [5], SUI [2]: Switzerland didn’t get the rebound they wanted after losing 12-1 to Canada, with Russia beating them in their 1st game of the tournament. 22 year old Polina Bolgareva led an understaffed Russian team with a hat trick. Lara Stalder recorded another goal for the Swiss with a second coming from star Alina Müller, but a game plagued with mistakes wasn’t enough to push them past the Russian team. Full game details via the IIHF here.

UPCOMING GAMES

CAN vs FIN: during their meeting at worlds, Finland go off to a 2-0 lead before losing 5-1. After Canada took 14 PIM against Switzerland, special teams will be even more key for Finland, after they scored twice on the PP against the USA. With Daoust out, Canada needs to keep trusting their young players, including skilled puck moving defender Claire Thompson (1-4-5 against Switzerland). Elis Holopainen could provide depth offense for Finland, with 2 shots of 15 in 16min playing time. Goaltender matchup is expected to be Desbiens for Canada and Keisala for Finland.

CZE vs SWE: Sweden wasn’t able to recover from their slow start against Japan, but will be looking to carry the momentum they gained later into this game from the start. Maja Nylen-Persson stood out last game on defense with a goal, 3 shots, and a team high 22 min of ice time. Czechia’s offensive depth has proven a threat, though, something missing for a lot of Group B teams. Denisa Krizova scored, recorded 3 shots, and was on the ice for another in 13 min of ice time. In net, likely Soderberg for Sweden and Peslarova for Czechia.

DEN vs JPN: after a close game at the 2021 worlds that saw Japan win 1-0, this will be the 2nd appearance for both teams. Japan only played 3 lines against Sweden, with defender Aoi Shiga playing over 32 min. Repstock-Romme and Fujimoto are both expected to start again, Repstock-Romme after her 29 save performance against China the day before. Josefine Persson is a player to watch, with 5 of Denmark’s 23 shots on goal and 23 min of ice time.

USA vs ROC: Russia is another team with strong offensive depth, key against Switzerland, with Bolgareva’s hat trick in 13 min of TOI. Their tendency for penalties has hurt them in past tournaments as well as yesterday, which USA should be trying to take advantage of. USA did only score on 1 of 4 powerplays against Finland, giving up two PP goals against, and Russia has proven they can score both shorthanded and on the PP. Abby Roque will likely be stepping up in place of Decker, with a 71% face off % against Finland, making her the player to watch.

SCHEDULE: PRELIMINARY ROUND

2/4 11:10 P.M. Canada vs Finland (Group A)

2/5 3:40 A.M. Czechia vs Sweden (Group B)

2/5 3:40 A.M. Denmark vs Japan (Group B)

2/5 8:10 A.M. USA vs Russia (Group A)

2/6 3:40 A.M. China vs Japan (Group B)

2/6 8:10 A.M. Switzerland vs USA (Group A)

2/6 11:10 P.M. Canada vs Russia (Group A)

2/7 3:40 A.M. Czechia vs Denmark (Group B)

2/7 8:10 A.M. Finland vs Switzerland (Group A)

2/7 8:10 A.M. Sweden vs China (Group B)

2/8 12:15 A.M. USA vs Canada (Group A)

2/8 3:40 A.M. Japan vs Czechia (Group B)

2/8 8:10 A.M. Russia vs Finland (Group A)

2/8 8:10 A.M. Sweden vs Denmark (Group B)

#olympics #women's hockey #woho #beijing 2022 #wohonews22

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13uswntimagines · 4 years

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Complicated (Emily Sonnett x Reader)

Request: maybe the reader is really uptight and cold all the time until she meets emily and they somehow click + maybe the teams reaction?

Author’s Note: Hey dudes, so i know that this is a bit of a stretch for the prompt, but i just couldn’t seem to get this idea out of my head. I really hope Y’all like it! Let me know what You think!

You were… complicated. A stoic person with seemingly no heart. Someone with a massive aversion to touch and who most of the team had never seen smile. Or at least that’s how you were introduced to every newcomer to the team. They were warned to stay away from you, to avoid you in any of their shenanigans or face the consequences.

You were never overtly rude- just detached, uninterested, completely and totally unapproachable by all accounts. Your aggression on the field was bar none and some of the vets had learned that pushing you led to the same result off the field.

It was safe to say that most of the team was terrified of you and your stoic exterior, so they let you be. Well, except for a particular blond defender that you knew. You would never admit it out loud, but you had a bit of a soft spot for the bubbly defender. And she was determined to break through your tough outer shell.

You sighed, staring with thinly veiled boredom at the women in front of you. Bonding nights were obligatory, but forced participation in the games they chose was not. Sure, you guessed you were technically playing truth or dare with the women, but no one dared call on you. You didn’t want them too.

“Alright Sonny, your turn,” Alex smiled, sobering from the embarrassing story Sonnett had just been dared to tell. You leaned forward slightly, interested in what the woman would do. She sent Lindsey a mischievous smirk. “Well, I think I should pick the only person who hasn’t participated this evening,”

“Emily that might not be a good idea…” Kelley started, glancing worriedly at you. There was a reason they didn’t fuck with you.

“Y/n, truth or dare,” Emily asked, raising her eyebrow at you, completely ignoring frat daddy senior. The rest of the team held their breath as you cocked your head to the side and squinted your eyes.

“Truth,”

“But that’s boring,” Emily huffed, pouting. The corners of your mouth twitched at her adorableness and you rolled your eyes goodnaturedly (something that didn’t go unnoticed by a majority of the team's veterans).

“Fine then, dare,” You raised your eyebrow, leaning back in your seat. The vets released their breath, glad that this was going well.

“Yes!!!” she cheered, pumping her fists. Your lips twitched again into a playful smirk. She tapped her chin in thought, surprised she had gotten this far. You began to hum jeopardy theme under your breath, waiting for her to decide. And the vets yet again shared a look of disbelief. Emily was the only person who brought out this side of you.

A mischievous smile broke across her features when she had finally thought up her dare. She wanted to do something that no one on the team had done. “I dare you to let me touch you,”

Your smirk disappeared, your lips forming a tight line, your shoulders tensed, all humor evaporated like smoke. You didn’t do physical contact, just the thought made your skin crawl. “No,” you said sternly.

“Oh come on. I’ll be gentle. You might even like it,” Emily pleaded, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You frowned. That was part of why you didn’t want it. You were terrified that you would like the comfort of her touch, and then what happened when she left? Everyone always left.

“No, I change my mind. I chose truth,” You shook your head.

“You can’t do that,” Emily whined.

“I just did,” You said cooley, clasping your hands together, the glint in your eye just daring her to try and challenge you.

She opened her mouth as if to respond, but Alex beat her to it. “Sonnett just let it go,” Alex said, eyeing you carefully. They didn’t need an explosion from you, frankly, she was surprised that one hadn’t happened already.

Emily’s pout deepened. She crossed her arms like a small child, and just like that the tension left you.

“Fine, but you have to answer the question I pick,” She huffed.

You nodded once, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent a smile at her cuteness and gesturing for her to continue.

Alex grabbed Kelley’s hand to prevent her from gaping at you. You never ever flipped back and forth between agitated and playful so quickly.

“Why won’t you let us touch you? Like even a hug or a high five?” Emily asked, staring you in the eyes.

You blinked, pursing your lips. “I don’t like it.”

“But how do you have a relationship when you won’t let people get close to you?” Emily pressed, refusing to stop this line of questioning. She really liked you, despite your brooding, and how did you have a relationship with someone who you couldn’t touch. That sounded like some fifty shades of grey bullshit and she wasn’t here for it.

“I don’t. I’m going to bed,” You said stonily, standing and stalking towards the door, tired of this impromptu interrogation. Why was Emily so obsessed with touching you anyway?

*****

The silence that followed the slam of the door was defining, the team frozen by your sudden outburst. Emily’s mouth was left hanging at your reaction. Sure she had been warned of your moodiness, but with your playful behavior, in the beginning, she thought that it may have been safe to ask. To try and break past one of those walls.

“You’re lucky she likes you kid,” Tobin said quietly, still watching the door.

“You call that liking?” Emily snorted in disbelief.

“She let you ask the question, that’s more than any of us have ever gotten,” Christen smiled sadly, patting Emily’s knee.

You didn’t do games or get-to-know-you questions. Hell, the most the team had heard you talk was during strategy meetings. The last time someone had tried to get you involved in the team's bonding games, Abby Wambach had taken the field with a black eye (It wasn’t intentional, but pin the medal on the cutout was maybe not the best choice of games).

“You also almost got her to smile,” Megan added kindly, trying to brighten her spirit. You liked Emily, and you always seemed to brighten around her. She didn’t want Emily to give up on you. You both deserved to be happy.

“Why is she so grumpy all the time?” Emily asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

“It’s complicated,” Kelley started, and Emily rolled her eyes. That was all anyone would say about you, and she found it entirely inadequate in describing the situation.

“Y/n was hurt a long time ago, by the only person she’s ever loved. Just give her some time,” Christen said gently rubbing her back. It wasn’t their story to tell, but you liked Emily, and she would bet her hat that you would tell her eventually.

****

“Emily this is a bad idea,” Rose whispered, huddling against the wall just behind the dining-room door. Sam and Lindsey nodded their agreement.

Emily rolled her eyes. It wasn’t like they were gonna dump water on anyone. It was just confetti’s.“It’ll be fine guys, it’s just a prank,”

She shushed the girls as footsteps approached. She stepped out behind the door, preparing to throw the confetti on her poor, unsuspecting teammate, only for strong hands to grip her wrists and pull her into their tall frame.

“Whoa, there hot stuff,” You chucked, catching the woman, a smile hinting on your lips, the confetti bucket trapped conveniently between your bodies.

“Oh, shit” Lindsey breathed out.

“Sorry Y/N we-...” Rose stuttered, both women stopping when your gaze met theirs. All humor was gone from your eyes, and your lips curled slightly. They shrunk as far back from you and Emily as much they could.

You glanced down, softening at the woman in your arms. “Try to time your pranks better next time, alright?” A smile hinted on your features at the woman’s too quick nod, and you squeezed her shoulders lightly, nodding back once.

“Ice Cream tonight?” You asked, completely missing the glances Rose and Lindsey were sharing.

“Yeah, sure,” Emily smiled, eyes wide. You nodded, a soft smile playing across your lips. You squeezed her shoulder and leaning in to place a very soft kiss on her cheek before heading off.

“What the fuck just happened?” Emily whispered, watching the slightly giddy way you walked away.

“I think Y/N just asked you out,” Lindsey mumbled in disbelief. For a person with seemingly no heart, it was strange to see you acting so soft with their Disani.

“She touched you,” Rose said, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide.

“Touch, she kissed her cheek,” Lindsey snorted.

“Yeah, she did,”

*****

Emily didn’t know what she expected from your ice cream date, but it certainly wasn’t your shy smiles and adorable jokes. You were warm and inviting with her (at least you tried to be) and Emily immensely appreciated the effort. For someone who everyone thought had no heart, she thought yours was beautiful. Hesitant and shy but very sweet.

You had been polite, and courteous, even going so far as to insist that you walked Emily back to her room. You paused in front of her door, saddened that your night was about to be over. This was so different for you, but with Emily, opening up felt so much less scary.

“You know, I could have walked here by myself. You’re only like 2 doors down,” Emily joked, and you rolled your eyes at the woman, pulling her hand to your lips.

“Hmm, I know, but I wanted this to be perfect,” You smirked against her hand.

“Well, it was pretty good,” She laughed, thoroughly enjoying your playful nature. She just hoped it didn’t disappear when you were around the others.

“Just pretty good?” You asked, insecurity obvious in your tone. You never let someone get this close, you didn’t want to be a disappointment.

“No, amazing,” she smiled reassuringly, taking a step closer to you.

“I have something that will make it even better,” You murmured leaning in, draping the hand you were holding over her shoulder, and resting your hands on her waist. She tilted her head up, connecting your lips in a slow sweet kiss. Her hand traveled from your shoulder to toy with the collar of your dress shirt, and you tensed lightly. You relaxed when her tongue probed your lips, and you hesitantly parted them, your tongues sweetly touching. Her hand traced down your collar and settled on your chest, just above your heart, and she ran her fingers over the raised lines she found there.

You pulled away when air became, resting for foreheads together.

“Wow,” The breath from her words famed across your lips, and you felt a light pink bloom across your cheeks.

“Good wow?” You asked.

“Fantastic,” She hummed, leaning up and connecting your lips again. The fingers not on your collar tangled in the baby hairs at the back of your neck, and you sighed into the kiss.

You pulled away, a sudden smile breaking across your features.

“Does this mean you’ll go out with me again?”

“Absolutely,” she giggled. And you pecked her lips again, before pulling away to open the door for her. She leaned heavily against it and watched you retreat back to your room (totally not missing your little celebration that was not so different from Carli’s goal celebration, as you headed back to your room). She snorted. Cold-hearted her ass.

*****

In the eight months since your date, you and Emily had only gotten closer. She was like a magnet, always drawing you back to her. You had gotten better about touch, and allowing your playful side out around the team. You loved her, and you would do anything for her. She was your person.

You plopped down on the pitch, breathing heavily after your team (cool beans) beat Alex’s team (hot stuff) in the scrimmage. You had played alright, scoring 4 goals and leaving the other team’s defense useless. You were broken out of your thoughts by a blond shadow. You placed your hand on your brow, squinting up at the woman.

“Good game, even though you didn’t really have to do much,” You smirked up at her, taking her outstretched hand to stand up.

“Well spending all that time in the attacking half really made me tired,” She laughed, and you rolled your eyes at her.

“Hop on,” You smiled, gesturing towards your back.

The team was stunned, watching as you lifted one Emily Sonnett for a piggyback ride. What was even more surprising was the large smile plastered across your face at her repeated calls of giddy-up.

“Is she?” Alex asked, unable to decide if it was the touching or the smiling that she was asking about.

“Yep,” Kelley murmured back, smiling when you set Sonnett carefully on her feet and kissed her forehead. She melted a little at how softly you cradled the woman’s face.

“She looks happy,” Alex hummed.

“She deserves to be. They both do,”

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #emily sonnett x reader #emily sonnett imagine

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aphrodite-would-be-proud · 3 years

Text

You're with Reiner, it's a snowy day but his cousins followed your footprints in the snow.

{ Reiner x reader | tw: none | fluff, wholesome | modern }

{ "February Morning in New Hampshire" by Frederick John Mulhaupt 1871 - 1938 }

It's Gabi and Falco who arrive first, Colt dropping them off at your house with their winter gear in their backpacks.

Well...it's more like a very excited Gabi and a still sleeping Falco who you're carrying to the couch right now.

Gabi's jacket, gloves and boots are all in military print, she picked them herself.

You check Falco's backpack and you aren't surprised to find a captain america themed Jacket and flash boots.

You might as well convince Reiner to also wear his caption america jacket so they're matching.

After a while, Zofia and Udo get dropped off by pieck, who also was kind enough to buy some candy for everyone on her way here.

That gets Falco waking up instantly.

Udo is already wearing his jacket and boots, he said his mom insisted he wears them beforehand.

It's space themed! It's actually really simple but adorable.

Zofia puts on her own gear, it's uni colored and seems pretty nromal till she reaches for the hat.

It's a winter hat that's frog themed with it's eyes poking out of the top.

Falco and Gabi are instantly drawn to it and she gets complimented on it.

She won the best gear competition, that you weren't even aware was happening, with a frog hat.

The moment they step oustide, the four of them look at each other. A silent declaration of war.

Everyone is throwing snowballs at everyone

It's actually Zofia who threw the first ball at Gabi and pretended it was Falco who did it.

Falco was actually planning on defending Gabi against the snowballs, he was so sure they'll end up teaming up.

But the second he turns around, a hopeful smile on his face, he's under attack by Gabi's snowballs.

She actually has a mean throw, she isn't on the school baseball team for nothing.

While Gabi is distracted, Zofia sneaks up behind her with a particularly big ball of snow.

Her shadow is looming over Gabi who started to turn around, but Zofia was faster so with a cold look on her face she throws the snow at-

Zofia falls down, a snowball has hit her straight in the knees.

Gabi moves away, looking behind her fallen assassin, she spots Udo standing there, snowballs surrounding him, arm stretched from just throwing one at Zofia.

An alliance is formed.

Long story short, they dominate the field, Udo just whispers plans into Gabi's ear who executes them.

He manges to build them a defence wall of snow while Gabi kept the other two out of range.

Zofia and Falco realise that to defeat Gabi they must take down Udo...but to take down Udo they must get past Gabi first.

Who said kids can't experience what utter fear and desperation is, because Zofia and Falco learned a life lesson that day.

After that sweet bonding Experience, they get back inside the house when it's around sundown.

You and Reiner watched the whole thing go down from the window while drinking hot chocolate, it was by far better than any episode of game of thrones you've seen.

What's surprised you was how quickly the tense atmosphere faded between the four the second the walked through the door. It's like nothing happened, they're smiling and joking with each other's again.

They all share a blanket while they huddle on the couch.

Reiner has already started pouring them some hot coco and preparing snacks, you join him and help him cut the sandwiches in different shapes.

Falco always takes the heart shaped sandwich when he thinks no one is looking.

Udo really likes the star one, he loves biting each end before eating the circle in the middle.

Zofia likes the strange shapes Reiner experiments with every time, he secretly gets so happy when he sees someone picking it.

This time he attempted to make it butterfly shaped, it looked really nice.

Gabi hogs the dino shapes ones. As a result, Reiner started purposely adding more veggies in it, to try and make up for the veggies she flicks away during lunch thinking no one notices.

Reiner seems to be busy typing something on his phone, when he notices you watching he pulls you to the side away from the kids.

"It's a secret between the older cousins" he says, "each year we try to guess who will win the snow wars, there's a betting table and everything" he explaines while showing you the group chat

"Bertolt was actually the one only who made a bet on Gabi and Udo teaming up, no one else saw it coming." He continued while scrolling through long paragraphs of different people complaining about losing, most belonging to Porco.

You could recognise all the names in the group chat, even Colt and Annie were on in it.

Looking at the top right, you could see the group's creator, Zeke.

#reiner braun x reader #reiner braun #aot reiner #reiner x reader #snk reiner #reiner🕯#Aot #Snk #kiddo gang🕯#wholesome #aot gabi #aot falco #aot udo #aot zofia

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hockeyboysiguess · 3 years

Text

three french horns -> three goal horns | n. mackinnon

a/n: and like clockwork, here is fic number three in my 12 days of christmas series! i wrote this one a while ago and i hurt myself re-reading it to proof it, so i hope you all like it! rest of the christmas series linked here.

word count: 4,037

warnings: alcohol, drinking

“Hey, Nate?” you called out from the living room when you heard the back door open, signaling his reappearance in the house after letting the dogs outside.

“Yeah, baby?” he asked as he stomped his boots on the mat, shaking the last bit of the early Denver snow off.

You asked the question you’d been asking him since two weeks after his birthday, the same question you’d been asking a variation of for the three months before his birthday. “Nate, what do you want for Christmas?”

The sound that left Nate’s mouth was barely human, a groan coming from deep within, from the place that never knew what he wanted for any major gift giving holiday of any kind. You tried to be original, get sentimental things, but it was hard to buy for someone who could literally buy anything they ever wanted. Nate didn’t have big, expensive wishes, so if he wanted something, he often just bought it on the spot and you were none-the-wiser until it showed up at his house. This penchant, this bad habit, carried throughout the holiday season; it was a perpetual state of being for Nathan MacKinnon. This meant that items Nate ordered for himself were as likely to show up December 24th as any other day of the year, which was eternally infuriating as a person in his life trying to buy him gifts on the semi-regular basis.

“I don’t know,” he answered you, like he did every other time. “I’ll like it because it’s from you.”

That response was sweet the first, second, and half-sweet the third time he’d used it on you. Now, that response was worn out like an old pair of jeans, with holes in the thighs and the knees hanging together by a thread, absolutely unusable at this point in time really. Yet Nate continued to say it, like that string of seven words didn’t light a fire in your stomach completely unlike the kind crackling under the stockings on the mantle right now.

“Nate,” you groaned, all too similarly to how he had when you asked your question. Spend enough time with a person and you pick up their habits. You and Nate were a completely unoriginal example of that. “You know I hate when you say that.”

Nate rolled his eyes and shrugged, “Well, I don’t really know. A hat trick? But you can’t get me that, I’ve got to get that for me.”

The infamous illusive hat trick. While it wasn’t those dreaded seven words, you were pretty sure you had heard about this hat trick that was alluding him every other day at this point. In all fairness to Nate, the amount of times he had scored twice in the first two periods of a game this season and been held off the scoreboard in the second was absurd. Commentators were joking about it, his teammates were chirping him over not one, not two, but three missed empty netters that would’ve sealed it, even though Nate liked to say those didn’t really count as hat tricks. Greater than all of that, Nate was starting to incredibly frustrated with himself and his performances. You knew Nate was a competitive guy before you even went on your first date with him, but his competitiveness ran deep and honestly you weren’t sure your relationship would work if you were even an ounce more competitive than you were. Nate had to win, he had to achieve his goals. This goal was quite simply just three goals, but it continued to be just out of reach this season and coming up on the holiday season, pushing the halfway mark, Nate was starting to think it might not happen this year.

“You’ll get one, Nate,” you sighed. “You’re so close and you’re too good not to get whatever you put your mind to.”

“I got a good feeling about the game tomorrow,” he replied, sliding up next to you on the couch to throw a Christmas sweater-covered arm around your shoulders. “My good luck charm is going to be there, right?”

Nate wasn’t superstitious in the slightest, but he said he always scored more whenever you came. Statistically, a complete lie, but it made you feel special all the same. He kissed your temple softly as he relaxed into the couch cushions next to you.

“So, what are we watching? Classic or trashy Christmas?”

That question itself somehow encapsulated every single reason you loved Nathan MacKinnon, despite his pension for buying his own Christmas presents, his overly competitive nature, and the difficulty that came with trying to buy him a present. Nate didn’t love Christmas movies; he wasn’t a hater like some people you’d dated before, but you adored them, both classic and trashy alike. Nate jumped on board with whatever you liked, no questions asked. He always said you didn’t sign up to date all of his teammates that walked through the door scrounging for homemade food or the long hours alone, the least he could do was be as supportive of the things you liked as you were about hockey for him. Nate’s support came in casual, steady waves of constantly and consistently showing up, no matter how tired he was, no matter how long the day before had been. He might fall asleep twenty minutes into the movie, but Nate was here and active and present for as long as he could stay awake. He’d cross deserts and move mountains for an hour with you, and some days that’s what it took, but Nate showed up and jumped on board, which made him the easiest person in the world to love in spite of everything else. It made him the only person you wanted to spend this Christmas and every other one in the future with.

The next day, with his last name on your back and a Santa hat on your head, you found yourself in a position that felt all too familiar this season. You were watching the ice with eager eyes among the other wives and girlfriends. Your breath caught in your throat halfway through the first when you saw two seconds after him that there was nothing between Nate and the net but open ice and a goaltender. You slowly stood up, leaning forward as if those all important inches would help you see the ice better. You didn’t miss the puck sailing over the blocker’s side of the goaltender, or the eruption of cheers from everyone around you as the goal horn rang out, hopefully the first of three for Nate this evening. Mel hugged you, as if you had anything to do with Nate scoring. You adjusted your hat, pulling at the fluffy white edge until it sat a little less haphazardly on your head as you cheered.

“Two more, right?” Mel waggled her eyebrows at you and you rolled your eyes.

“For my sake, I hope so,” you laughed.

Going into Christmas break without this elusive hat trick meant the next four days would be spent with Nate’s mind half at the rink, trying to scheme and plan and game his way into a hat trick, as if the part he was missing was anything other than luck. Maybe he didn’t need regular luck though, maybe just a little bit of Christmas would do the trick tonight. Your third beer in, a vain attempt to calm your nerves with alcohol, and five minutes into the second, on the power play, you watched as Nate easily sailed in his second goal of the game from the high slot, causing the ever familiar cheers and the ringing of the Avalanche goal horn to sound out across the arena.

Two down, and hopefully one to go.

“Hatty watch,” one of the other girls sang out from behind you, giving your shoulders a squeeze.

You let out a loud, long breath, causing a wave of laughter to ripple across the other women around you. Mel teased you about it; they all did. Nate’s quest was well known among the group, something they were equally supportive and teasing about.

“He’ll get one,” Mel assured you with a comforting pat to your leg. “He’s too good not to.”

You really thought he had it. You watched as Mikko and Nate peeled off from the defenders caught on an odd change, leading to a two-on-one with a lone opposing forward doing his best, but poor, impersonation of a defensemen. Mikko passed the puck to Nate, which Nate passed back easily and set himself up for the perfect slap shot on the return. The quick passing had sent the other team’s player sprawling over the ice. It was just Nate and the goaltender, who was frantically shifting his eyes from Mikko to Nate, tilting back and forth on the ice. Mikko’s pass was perfect, right on the middle of Nate’s tape and Nate was ready for the pass. It was tracking high glove side, exactly where Nate wanted it to go, right into the back of the net. The goalie was facing Mikko, two key seconds behind the actual action. Except out of nowhere, the Grinch stole Christmas and Nate’s hat trick when the goalie’s glove suddenly appeared in the path the puck was taking and wrapped around the puck, just on the wrong side of the goal line for Nate.

The referee blew the whistle and signaled no goal. Nate’s hands dropped down, stick hanging low. His head tilted up toward the ceiling of the arena and you could practically hear the groan rise from deep in his chest. It was absolute robbery at its finest and the entire arena knew luck wasn’t on Nate’s side that night. You slumped down into your seat, preparing yourself for yet another two goal game and a frustrated Nate waiting for you in the tunnel when it was over. There were another twenty minutes left in the game, but if the first half of the season had taught you anything, third periods weren’t where Nate racked up anything other than wins and assists, both of which he loved, but he just wanted a third goal, just once. Mikko and Gabe each having one already this season, all six goals involving Nate as either the primary or secondary assist, didn’t help either.

“I think you need to pray or something,” Mel told you with a laugh. “Pray to anything and anyone out there at this point.”

You cleared your throat and looked up at the ceiling of the Pepsi arena, “Santa, I know this isn’t how you take requests,” Mel and the girls around you were already laughing, “but please, pretty freaking please, can we just get some Christmas miracle magic vibes in here? It’s all he wants for Christmas. Please and thank you and I hope you have a Merry Christmas.”

“Are you supposed to say amen if you pray to Santa?” someone behind you asked.

“Look I’m not opposed to it,” you sighed. “It just didn’t feel like the right ending when I was asking for a Christmas miracle.”

The girls all laughed and you just stared up at the ceiling. Maybe Santa might grant your unorthodox request delivered via an even more unorthodox method. Maybe you should’ve written him a letter and dropped it into one of those charity red mailboxes at Macy’s. Maybe Nate just wouldn’t be getting the one thing he wanted for Christmas and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. You knew he was joking when he asked for a hat trick for Christmas, but joking or not, it was the only thing he even sort of mentioned wanting. If sending out a Christmas wish audibly in the middle of the Pepsi arena was what it took, you were more than happy to do it.

You grabbed your fourth and fifth beer together during the intermission, knowing full and well that you didn’t want to miss a second of one of Nate’s shifts in case something good happened. If after all of this time, all of this waiting, all of Nate’s back and forth debating, if you missed his hat trick goal because you were grabbing another beer, you would have to guess that higher powers didn’t exist and the hockey gods loved laughing at you and maybe Christmas wasn’t that magical after all.

The third period was half over when you finished your fourth beer. Your right leg had been bouncing on the concrete since the period started. Nate was getting some good looks, and added another assist to his point tally for the night, but you and everyone knew what he actually wanted tonight. A slashing call with eight minutes to go put the Avalanche back on the power play, and you knew Nate was going to fight to play every bit of those two minutes he could get, which meant you were about to be in for a mentally exhausting two minutes. Mel offered her hand to you, already knowing you would need her to ground you through this.

The first shot on the power play from Mikko ended up in the opposing goaltender’s glove. Nate lined up for the next face-off and you swore you didn’t breathe as soon as the puck left the referee's hand. Nate swept it back easily to a waiting Gabe. You gripped Mel’s hand hard, grateful you both did this for each other often enough that she didn’t mind. Nate slid up through the low slot and you saw the stars aligning as Gabe sent the puck perfectly in Nate’s direction. Nate was already ready for it when it came, the puck on his stick for less than a second. Your eyes went wide and you felt like you were about to break Mel’s hand as the goaltender shrugged his shoulder up to block Nate’s shot, but he came up short and the puck hit the back of the net.

You were screaming as you jumped to your feet, arms wrapping tightly around Mel as someone else hugged you from behind, again like you’d done anything other than practically give yourself a heart attack watching it. Nate was surrounded by his teammates on the ice, earning a swift pat on the top of the head from Gabe. A glance up at the Jumbotron showed you the wide, bright smile on his face, filling with relief and absolute joy. Mel grabbed your hat by the pom pom and chucked it down towards the ice, making you laugh and a smile that rivaled Nate’s come across your face.

“Finally,” you breathed out a sigh of relief as the arena calmed itself, calming you with it.

You plopped back down into your seat, hatless with half a beer and your pride in Nate left to coast you through the next ten minutes. You knew Nate was going to be in a good mood, and you just wanted to get through the next ten minutes of the game to get to him and congratulate him yourself. The score was heavy in favor of the Avs and they weren’t in any danger of losing this game, so you got to drink your beer and let out a long breath you’d been holding since Nate first came home after back to back two goal games in October without a hat trick in sight.

You were practically bouncing on your heels as you waited in the tunnel for him, fingers fussing with the frayed edge of your denim jacket to get out some of your anxious energy. The second he rounded the corner, a wide, gorgeous smile on his face, you ran toward him. Nate wasn’t the type for large public displays of affection, but satisfaction from your incredibly competitive boyfriend was a hell of an influencer and he opened his arms wide for you. You jumped into him and he stumbled a second before catching you easily, one hand guiding your legs around his waist, the other supporting the back of your thighs.

“Congratulations,” you mumbled in his ear as he laughed at your openly shared excitement for him.

“Thanks, baby,” he told you, the smile he was wearing evident in his voice.

“Proud of you always,” you reminded him as you untucked your head from his neck.

You said it after every single game, win or lose, five points or no points, goal or no goal, you told Nate you were proud of him after every single game. The stats sheet didn’t matter to you. You loved him and you saw the grueling work he put in every single day, every single second he was on the ice. You were proud of him no matter what, and it was one of the thousands of reasons he had come to love you for. Your support, your pride in him and the work he put in never wavered. It was steadfast, something hard to come by in a life as crazy as he lived. You were his rock, his home, and he felt it like the gradual, comforting warmth from sitting by the fire on Christmas Eve, when the world seemed a little more good than it actually was, when you told him you were proud of him.

Nate smiled as he pressed a soft, quick kiss to your lips before gently guiding your feet back to the ground. He pulled you in tighter, collapsing you into him as he let out a long breath that had been holding his tension for months, caught in the hollows of his chest, finally working its way out into the open air. It had been haunting him, like a ghastly Halloween hangover that dared to last until Christmas. Thankfully, it was December now and Nate felt lighter and freer than he had in months.

“You got what you wanted for Christmas,” you mumbled into his chest, causing his chest to vibrate with laughter.

“Guess I sort of did, yeah.” He kissed the top of your head softly. “Ready to go home?”

“Ready for four days of you and me time?” you teased him a little.

Despite your teasing, his response was entirely genuine, “Been looking forward to it for weeks now.”

Your smile in response to his words stuck with you the entire way home. Nate loved you in actions, but sometimes it was nice to hear words from him as well. You kicked off your shoes at the front door, just in the knick of time before the dogs could come and greet you both.

“Want me to crack a bottle of wine or champagne?” you asked Nate as he dropped his bag by the front door.

“Champagne,” he told you before dropping a kiss to your temple. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

You slid into the kitchen, dogs hot on your heels, as you made a beeline for the champagne in the fridge. You’d slid it in before you left for the game on the chance Nate finally got his hat trick tonight. You hadn’t wanted to drink warm champagne if that was the case and now, holding the cold bottle of champagne and two flutes, you knew you had made the right decision betting on your boyfriend tonight. He rounded the corner into the kitchen a few moments later, game day suit still on, jacket and tie lost back in your shared bedroom.

“Glad you got yourself what you wanted for Christmas, Nate,” you smiled teasingly at him as you started to fuss with the gold foil over the champagne cork.

“Before you pop that,” he told you, reaching a hand out to place over yours as you worked on the foil covering the cork, “I, um, I have something for you.”

“Nate, it’s December twenty-third,” you sighed, setting the bottle down on the cool stone counter. “Can’t it wait a couple of days?”

Nate smiled softly at you, a smile that seemed to mean he knew more than you in this exact moment, “I’ve actually been holding on to this gift for a long time and I think tonight is the perfect night to give it to you. Are you okay if I blow up Christmas a little bit?”

You sighed again and gave Nate a stern look up and down, but the softness in his blue eyes and the innocence in his lazy smile pulled you in and had you nodding in approval. Your nod caused nerves to dance in Nate’s eyes and his hands to slide into his pockets, fidgeting with their contents. He shifted softly from one foot to the other. His eyes dropped to the floor for a moment to watch his feet move before he slowly lifted his head back up in time with a bounce on his heels.

“Okay, here we go,” he mumbled softly to himself.

He cleared his throat before speaking, “I told you I don’t know what I want for Christmas. Hell, I told you that I didn’t know what I wanted for my birthday and that was back in September. The truth is I’ve known what I’ve actually wanted the whole time. The hat trick was nice and all, but it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

“Whatever it is, you could’ve told me,” you chided him a little.

Your words were met with an anxious smile and more shuffling of his feet across the floor. He shook his head softly and let out a tight breath before continuing.

“The only thing I want for Christmas is something you can give me, but you can get it for me,” he told you softly, his voice shaking as he spoke, the nerves in his eyes and his feet and his hands tightening and constricting his voice resonating in his chest.

Nate slowly pulled a hand out of his pocket before purposefully, and painstakingly slowly, dropping down on one knee in front of you. Your hands flew over your mouth on instinct and your eyes clouded over instantly. Nate smiled softly at your reaction, trying desperately not to let what he hoped your actions meant take over and make him too hopeful of your answer to his question to prevent him from asking it. He carefully opened the small black box in his hand to show you your early Christmas present, a beautiful ring nestled among the black velvet inside.

“For Christmas, I’d like for you to say you’ll be my wife,” he continued slowly and as steadily as he could. “The thing I’m most proud of, of everything I’ve ever done, is being your partner. I love you so much more than I say, but I hope I show it enough that you want to sign up for me forever because it’s just you. It’s just you forever, for every single day, every single holiday, every single moment. I want to spend every single Christmas for the rest of my life with you. So, what do you say? Will you be my wife? Will you make my Christmas wish come true?”

The cliches hung thick in his words, but the emotions behind them, the sentiment was so true you could feel it in the very core of who you were. Nathan MacKinnon saw you, faults and gifts and everything in between and loved you in the steadiest, most true way you had ever known. In the light of the Christmas tree, in the home you built together, with the life you build together palatable around you, Nate was asking you to build the rest of it together. You didn’t have to think about your answer.

“Yes, Nate. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Nerves gave way to relief which even more quickly gave way to joy on Nate’s face as he slowly slid the ring he’d had tucked in the back drawer for months onto your finger where it belonged. Nate let out a long breath at the sight of it finally on your hand before slowly standing up in front of you, his hands reaching out to cup your face gingerly.

“Best early Christmas present ever,” you told him with a wide smile on your face.

He smiled back just as widely and happily as you grinned at him, “Merry Christmas, my future wife.”

#nathan mackinnon #nate mackinnon #nate mack #100% certified canadian beef #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon fanfic #nathan mackinnon fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl blurbs #nhl imagine

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tf2-hellhole · 4 years

Note

How about some Among Us hcs? Like if the mercs see their S/O playing the game and want to give it a try? If you could do how the mercs would react to being the crewmate and their reaction to being the imposter, that would make my year. Thank yooouuuu!

Scout:

Scout loves all sorts of games, so he’s so excited to try a new one with his S/O.

He actually prefers being a crewmate, because he enjoys all of the little tasks.

He’s following his S/O around like half the time as he’s learning the mechanics, no matter if he’s playing crewmate or imposter, which gets him kicked early on several occasions.

It’s really easy to tell if he’s the imposter, because he’s really, really quiet during the discussions.

He’s really bad at first and gets caught several times the first few games where he’s the impostor, but he catches on after a while and gets pretty good.

Soldier:

He insists on being the color red every single time.

As a crewmate, he’s excellent at tasks but horrible at discussions. He calls like half the team sus and then is the first person kicked because he’s acting like a really defensive imposter.

Will target anyone who susses his S/O.

He always laughs at the animations he sees when he gets killed.

He’s also a horrible imposter. The first time he was the imposter, he actually excitedly announced it to the server. He was obviously ejected quickly.

He tries to get super strategic as an imposter, though he fails miserably.

Pyro:

Pyro loves the hats and pets in the game.

As a crewmate, Pyro typically sticks with their S/O, despite the fact that they could be the imposter

Lowkey gets salty if their S/O kills them; they betrayed Pyro’s trust.

Pyro is a terrifyingly excellent and calculated imposter. They very believably imitate a crewmate and are not against sacrificing the other imposter if there is one for their own survival.

Despite this, Pyro will never ever kill their S/O, even if they have the perfect chance to. Pyro will also defend them every discussion.

Demo:

Demo fumbles with the game a lot the first few times and has a little trouble picking up the mechanics and controls but he gets it eventually.

When he’s a crewmate, he will intentionally try to creep out his S/O and the other players by following them around. This usually gets him ejected early on in the game.

Gets a little pouty when he gets killed but he gets over it quickly.

He’s not a very good imposter. He’s decent at getting good kills but he always forgets to vent when he’s killed someone in a secluded area.

He always hisses a “Yes!” under his breath after a kill

Heavy:

He’s very confused by the tech. He’s like an old person being given an iPhone

As a crewmate, he’s actually very good at finding out the imposter, mostly due to the fact that he’s very suspicious of everyone, even his S/O. He’s good at being able to tell who’s an imposter through actions/ verbal diction and stuff like that.

He’s not very good at tasks, but he won’t leave a task until he finishes it.

The first time he gets imposter, he turns to his S/O and says, “(Y/N), why are (other teammate) and I’s names red?” because he still doesn’t really understand what’s going on.

But other than that, he’s a pretty good imposter. He figures out the strats pretty quickly.

Engie:

Engie is able to pick up the game controls and mechanics pretty easily, but he still struggles the first few games.

He thinks the little characters are very cute.

He’s a very strategic crewmate; He always plans a path to get his tasks done as quickly as possible. He still ends up taking a long time the first few games because he’s trying to figure out the controls.

He gets ejected early because he wasn’t paying attention to the location names and didn’t know any, so when he got asked where he was during a discussion he didn’t have an answer.

He’s a pretty decent imposter once he gets to play it a few times; he gets good at defending himself in discussions so he’s very good at convincing the crewmates someone else is the imposter.

Medic:

It takes a lot of convincing to pull him away from work long enough to play a few games; But luckily he really enjoys the game and wants to play more in the future.

He’s generally a very good crewmate, but he has a tendency to get distracted from his tasks.

He’s always very suspicious of everyone, even his S/O. Because of this, he refuses to be alone in a room with anyone, even if it’s been basically confirmed that the other person isn’t an imposter.

He’s a pretty good imposter. He’s very good at picking the right time to kill someone and getting away or pretending to find the body, but he’s decently good at defending himself in a discussion

He thinks the killing is the most fun part, but he does enjoy the manipulation during discussions.

Sniper:

Sniper takes a little while to catch on to all of the mechanics of the tasks, but other than that he catches on quickly.

As a crewmate, he’s kind of a lone wolf. He’s never around other players, and will leave if they enter the same room as him. This usually makes everyone very suspicious of him.

He’s very calm during discussions, so it’s sometimes really hard to tell if he’s lying or not.

As an imposter, he always goes for his S/O first, just to annoy them. He always laughs when he sees them frown at him as the death animation plays.

He’s excellent at killing the other players, but he’s horrible at defending himself in discussions. It becomes easy to tell when he’s the imposter: if he’s calm, he’s a crewmate, and if he’s really quiet or takes a while to respond, he’s an imposter.

Spy:

He’s very confident during the first match and starts trash-talking the other players, except for his S/O of course.

As a crewmate, he’s often by his S/O’s side to make sure they don’t get killed, though he also likes to run off and disappears for like a whole minute

He’s a very sore loser when he’s killed and will talk shit about the imposter to the other dead crewmates.

Unsurprisingly, he’s an excellent imposter. He’s very good at getting away from bodies without anyone seeing, and is even better at defending himself in a discussion.

He’s absolutely not against throwing the other imposter or his S/O under the bus for his own gain.

#tf2 #teamfortress2 #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 demoman #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #tf2 x reader #tf2 x s/o #tf2 x y/n #tf2 x you #tf2 headcanons #tf2 imagines

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reifromrfa · 3 years

Text

Surprises: Vanderwood x MC | Mysme RBB fic

Hi guys! I’m sure you’ve seen this project in the fandom, there are a lot of talented artists and writers who are a part of it ^^ This piece is for the @mysme-rbb and it was such a thrill to write it! I’ve missed writing for the fandom and I’m glad I got this opportunity to do so <3 Even luckier that I got paired with two amazing artists!

For this first collab, I got paired with the wonderful GLX ! Please check out their instagram HERE! We’re super lucky to have collaborated on a character we both love: Vanderwood! So I hope you enjoy the story and I hope I can write for everyone again soon ヾ(@^▽^@)ノ PS: I’ll edit this post with the link to the art once it’s out! ^^

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Surprises

In collaboration with gl.artsy

"Hurry!"

Vanderwood chuckles and closes the car door, hoisting bags and baskets on his arms and shoulders. MC laughs and hugs the beach towels to her chest, grinning widely.

"Sorry...I'm a little excited," her grin turns sheepish but Vanderwood shakes his head, his smile mirroring her own. Seeing her this happy makes him feel things he hasn't felt before --pleasant feelings. Feelings...that a secret agent just doesn't have the luxury to be thinking about, much less feel. But he's not a secret agent anymore --he has a legal job now, one where he doesn't have to risk his life everyday or dirty his hands. Hell, the dirtiest his hands can get with his new job as Jumin's bodyguard is cleaning up after his cat.

With his free hand, he reaches for hers and weaves their fingers together.

Today is their one-year anniversary and Vanderwood wants everything to be absolutely perfect. He's not one for grand gestures and romantic stuff, but he knows celebrations like these matter to girls.

In the past year he's been with MC, he's gotten used to watching those cheesy romantic chick flicks. Never in his life did he imagine he'd be forced to watch those kinds of shi--stuff. But he's braved through The Notepad, A Stroll to Remember, Crazy Silly Love...and he's learned a lot from those movies. For one, his girlfriend ends up crying every time they watch the shows together.

Every. Single. Time.

But he'd see how immersed she is in the scenes where the guys make a big move for the girl. Vanderwood would notice how she heaves a deep sigh and wipes her eyes, a dreamy smile on her face.

Ha...he's new to this relationship thing but he's not stupid; Vanderwood knows how this works. The bigger the gesture, the happier MC will be...

...right?

He's startled out of his thoughts when MC tugs his hand, pointing at a spot on the beach. "Over there! There's a free spot there!"

Vanderwood follows after MC and starts setting up their towels and beach umbrella. This is the first step in his grand surprise for MC today: spend the morning at the beach, a place MC rarely went to. The excited look on her face is all the confirmation he needs; he did good, choosing this as the start of their date.

MC sits on the towel under the shade of the umbrella and takes off her wide-brimmed hat, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When she opens them, she turns to Vanderwood. "Baby, this is perfect. The skies are clear, there's a breeze and there's not much people; it's almost like we have the beach to ourselves!"

Vanderwood chuckles, sitting beside his girlfriend and reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. "You like it?"

At his touch, she blushes and smiles, nodding her head. "I do, Vanderwood. I really do."

He leans forward, lips quirking up into a smirk. "Good...that's real good, MC." Vanderwood can see the blush on her face deepening as he inches closer and his own heart races, eyes darting to her slightly-parted lips. As he draws nearer though, he hears a whooshing sound through the air and a distant yell: "LOOK OUT!"

His reflexes kick in and Vanderwood pulls MC against his chest then pins her against the ground, using his body to shield her from whatever it is --MC doesn't even have the time to process what's happening. But she feels herself warming, eyes fixated on Vanderwood's tense expression, at the way he's hovering on top of her, holding her protectively against him.

A second later, their umbrella is knocked over and a spray of sand flies across Vanderwood's back. He turns away and shields MC's eyes, a million thoughts already flying through his mind.

"Could it be that some agents found me? How many are there? How am I gonna get MC safely to the car? The taser's in the bag, if I could just reach it in time

"Vanderwood turns his head to look for the target-

-when his eyes fall to the white volleyball lying on the sand near them.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry, that's my fault!!!" A kid with blonde hair is running up to them, waving his hand and trying to bow at the same time. Vanderwood's eyes narrow. Wait a minute...isn't that-

"Yoosung?" comes MC's voice.

Sure enough, Yoosung's purple eyes widen as recognition dawns and he laughs, running faster. Right behind him is the silver-haired actor and Jaehee Kang, all dressed in their beachwear. Zen smiles when he spots the two familiar faces but it only lasts for a second --the moment he realizes the position the couple are in...

"YA!!! Vanderwood! What are you doing!" Zen glares at Vanderwood, pointing an accusatory finger at the Silver Spoon's bodyguard. Vanderwood narrows his gaze at the actor but hurriedly straightens himself, his face feeling warm.

"Baby, are you okay?"

"I am...what was that all about?" MC takes Vanderwood's hand and he pulls her up just as Yoosung stops in front of them, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Sorry! Zen hit the ball too hard and I received it wrong so it went flying...I didn't know it would end up here where you guys are! I didn't even know you two were going to be here too!"

Vanderwood rubs the back of his neck, wishing they'd leave him and MC alone. It's not that he doesn't like them, but today he'd like MC all for himself. "Ha...yeah, what a coincidence."

"Ya, you!" Zen jabs a finger at Vanderwood's chest, eyes blazing. "What the heck was that!"

Vanderwood looks at Zen with a deadpan look on his face. "I thought there was a threat, so I was defending my girlfriend. Will you stop having perverted thoughts?"

MC giggles. "It's true, Zen! He was just trying to protect me~"

"That's very quick thinking." Jaehee pipes in, picking up the ball. "I suppose that's what makes you a great bodyguard, Vanderwood."

"Ha...thanks." Vanderwood feels awkward still, but for an ex-agent with no family and no friends...his life's shaping out real good. Still, friends or not, he wants these people to go away and let him pamper his girlfriend. "So, now that that's settled-"

"OH! Why don't you two join us in a game of volleyball? Please!!! I'm tired of picking up the ball all the time!" Yoosung begs them, hands pressed together in front of him.

"Aww, that sounds fun! We're game, right, baby?" MC says, winking at Vanderwood. To the others, she says, "The two of us will be in a team against you guys! You'll see, Vanderwood will carry our team!"

Vanderwood can't help but feel proud at MC's words. Okay...maybe one game of volleyball wouldn't hurt. After that, they'll go back to their spot and maybe he can go swimming with MC, or get some cool drinks.

Yoosung, Jaehee and Zen stayed with them the entire time. After volleyball, they took MC and Vanderwood to their rented cabin and shared their meal. Vanderwood and Zen ended up grilling meat and seafood for the rest but it was actually fun. The non-stop chatter and laughs, the volleyball games, seeing MC enjoy herself --okay okay, it's not so bad that their first date got interrupted. But of course, Vanderwood has more tricks up his sleeves.

A long drive and a shower later, Vanderwood and MC change into more semi-formal attire as he drives them to one of the fancy restaurants in town. The restaurant is situated atop a building, with the entire floor encased in glass windows so guests can dine with a view overlooking South Korea. It's fine dining and Vanderwood has never been to a classy restaurant while off-duty; to be honest, something like this kinda suits Jumin Han more...but Vanderwood doesn't want to take MC to their regular dining spots. No, for this special day she deserves something special too.

As they're led to their seats by the hostess, Vanderwood once again intertwines his fingers with hers. "I heard this place has the best seoullangtang."

MC tugs at his hand, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "Baby, this place is really expensive...you didn't have to."

Ha...oh no, doesn't she like it?

"It's our anniversary," he tells her, lifting their hands and then turning hers so he can kiss the back of it. "Don't even think about that, baby."

MC turns red at Vanderwood's blatant display of affection. Usually, he's more reserved and careful when they're in public; she assumed it's because of his past and she didn't mind. But today, he's been more touchy and showy...MC has to admit, it's giving her heart a pleasant workout. They're seated right by the window and Vanderwood is the perfect gentleman, pulling her chair out for her and helping her onto her seat. MC feels shy all of a sudden as Vanderwood slides into his seat across her. With the dim lighting from the restaurant, the candle in the middle of the table casts Vanderwood's face in a warm glow and MC unconsciously swallows, entranced by him.

Their previous dates were never this fancy and she's not complaining --she loves wherever they are, be it the beach or the supermarket, a fancy restaurant or McFonald's. As long as they're together, she's happy.

But seeing her boyfriend all dressed up in a crisp button-down shirt and a coat, hair tied into a half-ponytail, brown eyes staring at her --she can't help but feel the depth and seriousness of their relationship. Today is their anniversary, which means she's spent 365 days with this man...more than that, of course. Ever since they met, her days have been full of color and life. MC reaches across the table for his hand and holds it tightly in hers.

"I love you, Vanderwood."

Vanderwood's glad it's kinda dark because his heart does that weird little thing and he feels his cheeks burn as a smile spreads across his face. "I love you too, MC."

She mirrors his smile and it's strange but MC feels like she did the first time she met him in person, nervous and intimidated, but at the same comforted by his presence and intrigued. This once mysterious man is hers and though she knows she's barely scratched the surface of all that he is, she can't wait to learn more about him everyday, for the rest of their lives.

"Baby, order whatever you like, okay? Haha, don't be worrying about the prices." Vanderwood says as they open their menus. MC's eyes are skimming through the dishes (half of which she can't even pronounce because they're in different languages) when she hears the sound of a familiar voice.

"I didn't expect to see you both here this evening."

Vanderwood tenses. No freaking way...

But he's been hanging around that voice for months now and he'd recognize it anywhere --his boss, Jumin Han. Vanderwood reluctantly looks at the man standing beside their table, the leader of the RFA at his side. Jihyun at least looks apologetic for barging into their date.

"Jumin! Jihyun! What a coincidence!" MC exclaims happily, smiling at them. Truth be told, she was looking forward to spending more alone time with her boyfriend, but she also doesn't want to be rude to her friends. "Did you guys just arrive?"

"Yes. A business colleague recommended this place. I would have asked for a private room but Jihyun preferred to stay close to the windows."

Jihyun laughs good-naturedly at Jumin's words. "This place is popular for their stunning view of the city, after all. We should get going to our table, Jumin, let's not bother them..."

"Have a good time, boss, Jihyun." Vanderwood gives them a little wave. "Nonsense. We haven't seen MC in a while. Perhaps we should ask for a bigger table and dine together."

You've got to be kidding me.

"Jumin-" Jihyun tries to interrupt, but Jumin is already gesturing for the host. In mere minutes, Vanderwood and MC are seated with Jihyun and Jumin. Of course...it's not all that bad. He didn't have to be so formal with his boss since they're outside of work, and Jumin knew his way around the menu; the meal Jumin ordered for them was mouth-wateringly delicious. Vanderwood had no idea which ones were good, so he's grateful for that part, at least.

But seriously...this was starting to get annoying. Would the RFA be popping up at his planned dates with MC? Vanderwood represses a sigh though, and fights the itch for a cigarette.

They enjoy their meal and, realizing he has no choice but to endure it, Vanderwood relaxes and allows himself to enjoy the company.

All of a sudden, they're bathed in a hue of colors and MC's eyes turn to the windows, widening with surprise. The sky is lit up by fireworks --something Vanderwood had arranged for. Her eyes are bright and her smile is priceless. As the fireworks paint the night sky with streaks of brilliant color, MC feels a peace inside her, knowing that's exactly what she was thinking of moments before. Vanderwood is like the scene outside, illuminating her life with the most dazzling colors.

And while MC gazes at the beautiful display, Vanderwood stares, enchanted, at the woman who brought light to his life.

The last stop of the evening is the last showing of the latest romance movie, a movie MC has been waiting for. Vanderwood settles into their comfortable lazy boy couches, glad he paid for these seats.

"I'm so excited, I've heard a lot of good reviews already!" MC whispers to him, leaning close. Vanderwood chuckles.

"Baby, it's gonna be amazing." He leans closer to her, stealing a quick kiss in the dark theater. MC bites her lower lip as he pulls away, wanting to tell him how much she loves him. But the movie starts and MC has to stop herself from squealing in excitement. She keeps her hand locked with his, eyes focused on the screen.

Vanderwood feels relaxed now, knowing no one can interrupt them, knowing he can enjoy this moment with his girlfriend and sneak glances at her cute reactions.

But just thinking those thoughts has jinxed the situation. The doors to the cinema creak open and Vanderwood picks up the sound of popcorn bags and two hushed whispers. He glances at the empty seats beside him and sighs.

"Oh! If it isn't Mary and MC!"

Vanderwood curses inwardly and almost slaps his hand to his face. No. No freaking way. No damn way.

But after some shuffling sounds, Saeyoung plops down on the seat beside Vanderwood with Saeran occupying the other.

"Ohoho, I didn't know you were into romance movies, Vandy~" Saeyoung whispers before leaning forward in his seat and waving at MC. "Hi, MC! Thanks for restarting this guy's heart! If you ask me, you should have used a tase-"

"Ya! Shut up!" Vanderwood says, a little too loudly. The audience shushes him and Vanderwood slinks into his seat while Saeyoung covers his laughs with a hand.

For the duration of the movie, Vanderwood has to put up with Saeyoung's reactions and his hushed side comments. At some point, popcorn starts to fly towards the brown-haired man too, bouncing off his hair. Saeran shakes his head, heaving a sigh as Saeyoung takes another popcorn and throws it subtly to Vanderwood. The ex-agent was ready though; he catches the popcorn and throws it back to Saeyoung, who slides down his chair dramatically.

"I've been hit...Saeran ah, save yourself~~~"

Vanderwood glances at MC's face to watch her reaction and he's surprised to see her eyes fixed on him. She's biting her lower lip, trying to stop herself from laughing. Vanderwood smirks, reaching out and freeing her lower lip from her bite.

"You want a shot at the idiot?" Vanderwood murmurs near her ear. MC nods and takes a piece of popcorn then tosses it to Saeyoung, who's crawling up his chair as quiet as he can.

Saeyoung gasps and flops back down on the ground, holding his chest as though he's wounded.

"Sneak attack! Saeran, help m-"

"No."

"Okay no ;;;;"

Vanderwood stirs, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn.

Damn, what time is it?

Yesterday felt so long --with all that happened, Vanderwood feels exhausted and a little disappointed at himself for failing MC. Everything should have been perfect, but as luck would have it, the RFA just had to meddle in all his plans.

He lays in bed, blinking away his sleepiness, wondering if he can do anything today to salvage their anniversary. Absently, he reaches beside him, wanting to pull MC to his side and wake her up with kisses --but his hands come up blank.

"What the-?"

His head whips to the empty space beside him and Vanderwood sits up just as the door opens. MC comes in, balancing a small tray table filled with food.

"Baby, what are you doing?" Vanderwood asks, bewildered. He starts to move from the bed but MC makes a sound and continues moving towards him.

"No no, you stay right there," she says, eyes staring at the orange juice sloshing inside the glass. "Don't get off the bed, baby!"

Vanderwood freezes, unsure what's happening. Finally, MC lays the tray table on the bed and beams at Vanderwood. "Happy anniversary, baby!"

The brown-haired man blinks, surprised. Then a soft chuckle escapes his lips. "MC, baby...did you do all this for me?"

MC shrugs, her smile wide enough to light up the room. "Maybe~"

She carefully sits on the bed closest to Vanderwood, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Baby, yesterday was amazing! I wasn't expecting those surprises at all."

Vanderwood's brows furrow. "What do you mean..? MC...I...was gonna apologize-"

"What? For what?"

Vanderwood awkwardly scratches his cheek, not sure what to say. "Uh...ha, 'coz I didn't intend for the RFA to show up. And I mean, anniversaries aren't supposed to be celebrated like that...right? The movies we watched, the celebrations ain't like that."

Giggling, MC leans towards her boyfriend and kisses his cheek. "Oh Vanderwood, it was perfect. I had so much fun, even more so because our friends were with us celebrating our special day with us.

Without the RFA, you and I would have met in a different way. But I like our love story, because everything that has happened so far has led us to this moment, baby." She holds his hands, cheeks turning red. "I loved watching you play volleyball and grill our lunch, I loved listening to you talk with our friends, I loved catching my boyfriend all dressed up to take me on a fancy dinner, and I loved that you sat through another romance movie with me, all the while having a popcorn battle with Saeyoung."

MC squeezes his hands and all of Vanderwood's doubts vanish; his eyes fix on her, his heart beating loudly against his chest.

"Vanderwood...the girls in those movies we watch get one big gesture per movie but I got three amazing dates in one day. My friends were there to celebrate a special day with me: the anniversary of the day I promised forever to the love of my life. And I-"

Before MC could finish her speech, Vanderwood closes the gap between them and meets her lips for a kiss, pulling her close to him without toppling over the tray. MC's hands clutch the front of his shirt and her eyes close, her body tingling as he pours his emotions into their kiss.

"MC," Vanderwood says breathlessly, leaning his forehead against hers, "I love you. I'll keep takin' you out for dates, keep celebrating this day with you every year. 'Coz it's the day you and I got together, the day my life started to make more sense..." He gives her another peck and pulls her closer, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "But every day you remind me that there's more to life than fighting and running. Every day, I wanna see you smile and hear you tell me you love me."

MC giggles and wraps her arms around him. "I love you, Vanderwood." She lays her head on his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart, a heart that's tied to hers. "Yesterday was amazing but today I'm keeping you all to myself."

Vanderwood chuckles, reaching for a piece of bacon and holding it near her lips. MC takes a small bite from it and Vanderwood takes a larger chunk. "You and me all day, huh?"

MC nods, reaching for her phone. "You and me, all day, everyday." She holds the phone away from them, opening the camera app. "Happy anniversary, baby~"

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Thank you so much for the opportunity to participate, @mysme-rbb :) I had fun and kudos to the mods for an amazing project!

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Check out my other Mysme writings here!

Mango Shake/Ko-fi is always very much appreciated (ᵔᴥᵔ)

I’d be honored to write your story <3 (Commissions are full and closed atm ;A;)

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waezi2 · 3 years

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Re-reading Yu-Gi-Oh (part 1)

So... I bitch a lot about Yu-Gi-Oh. When I don’t complain about it online and accuse it of scamming kid me, I ridicule the story and the many holes in the game rules.

But I actually used to love this manga with a burning passion. I bought it because I was fixated with the cards, but instead I got traumatized. In an awesome way.

So I decided to re-read the manga about the possibly best known TCG game in the world and see how it started, how it evolved, and if the story still holds up.

So, I’m reading chapter 1, and we have to talk about the art.

The art style at the beginning was chunky and sometimes downright awkward. But it was still very enjoyable. The characters were very expressive and the tone of the style could swing quickly from wacky and rubberhose like to eerie and brooding depending on the situation. It makes you forgive odd-looking legs and hands that becomes massive. It is clear that it is someone’s first project.

So, this is Yugi. Possibly the cutest and meekest punk kid who ever lived. Yugi is not an outdoor person, so he spends most of his recesses inside the classroom. He brings a ton of games to school, hoping that someone might wanna play with him, but all of his classmates prefer to go outside and do stuff like basketball. And being a short teenager who practically looks like a little boy means he is not a desirable team mate in any ball game.

This is totally just a theory, but I think Yugi’s signature punk hairstyle is his way of trying to look a bit more edgy to try do something about his cute appearance.

... Yeah, it’s not working. He still looks like a fricking Gummibear.

As Yugi is minding his own business, we meet two familiar faces.

... their names are actually Jounouchi and and Honda, but most people know them by their American names, so I will just refer to them as Joey and Tristan.

It’s so odd to see their old designs. Especially Joey since his hair is not as big and square like as it is today. And what the fuck is up with Tristan’s face?!

Anyways, while Yugi decides to play with the most valuable game in his collection, Joey and Tristan decides to mess with him. They make an interesting bully duo where Tristan is more loud and is clearly having more fun bothering Yugi who is too short to put up a fight while Joey seems more stoic and is almost annoyed by Yugi for being a pushover. He even tells Yugi to be a man about it and at least try and take the game back from him by force. So while Tristian just enjoys picking on Yugi for the heck of it, Joey seems to sincerely dislike Yugi.

Luckily, Yugi doesn’t have trouble with bullies as such since he is friends with Tea who is so tough that she actually intimidate Joey and Tristan with sheer attitude. That’s actually impressive.

... A shame she is most of the time just the damsel in distress.

Tea is the only person in class who hangs out with Yugi since they have been friends since kindergarten. And she doesn’t mind staying inside at all since a ton of the guys are jerks who only wanna play basketball with the girls since it gives them an opportunity to look up their skirts.

Yeah, there is a lot of that in this manga. Most of the males in this series are kinda horny. the humor often relies on it, which downright creepy at times.

Even Yugi finds basketball more appealing now that he knows about the skirt-looking.

Lewd panty-shot aside, I think it is a nice detail that Yugi is as pathetic as the rest of the dudes in school, he probably just doesn’t have the courage to try get a look. It makes him less of a pure hero.

Altight, let’s stop talking about Yugi being a closet creep:/

Yugi shows Tea what his greatest treasure is: A LITTERAL treasure.

Yep, this is the famous Millennium Puzzle, practically the mascot of the series. It’s an ancient puzzle found in an pyramid that Yugi got from his grandfather who runs a game store. The puzzle is extremely valuable, both because it is from ancient Egypt and it is made of gold.

... And Yugi brings it to school where Tristan and Joey pushes him around...

Yugi has been struggling with the puzzle for eight years despite being a game nerd. Even though it is a blow to his not that big ego, he keeps trying to solve it since the box says that if he will be granted a wish if he manage to solve the puzzle.

Meanwhile, Joey and Tristan makes the fatal mistake of talking about picking on Yugi while Ushio is close enough to hear it. He is the school’s hall monitor and rumor has it that he is downright psychotic and is feared by most of the students. Heck, some of the teachers are uncomfortable being near him.

And this guy has decided to become Yugi’s bodyguard, something poor Yugi doesn’t take serious when Ushio tells him that.

Joey and Tristan are unaware how screwed they are as they keep having their fun bothering Yugi without our hero knowing it. Joey managed to steal a piece from the puzzle box before Tea interrupted, and Joey decides to throw the piece in the school’s swimming pool so that the puzzle becomes worthless as it can no longer be solved. I gotta say, that is pretty twisted and surprisingly sneaky of a teen bully. It’s downright creepy.

Speaking of creepy...

This is Yugi’s grandfather Sugoroku. He runs the game shop that Yugi lives in and is a living encyclopedia when it comes to games of all sorts.

And he can’t just tell Tea that she has grown. He HAS to mention her breasts as well. Da fuck is up with all the sex talk and panty shots in this series?! Does Kazuki Takahashi(the author) have some sort of issues?!

Yugi’s grandfather notices that Yugi is STILL trying to solve the ancient puzzle and warns Yugi that the puzzle is supposedly cursed. That the archeologist and his team died mysteriously shortly after finding the puzzle and the last one to kick the bucket said something about a “shadow game” with his dying breath.

That however makes Yugi even more determent to solve the puzzle. If it really is magical then chances are that he will be granted a wish by completing the puzzle.

Personally, I would call the nearest museum and sell the dang thing before it could kill me with it’s insane cursed magic.

Speaking of insane, Yugi realizes that he should have taken Ushio serious when he said he would be his bodyguard.

Yep, the SOB has dragged Joey and Tristan behind the school building and kicked their asses through and through. Tristan is in so much pain that he is barely conscious and Joey is so pummeled that all he can do is watch as Yugi shows how surprisingly brave he is as he demands that Ushio leaves them alone, even refer to them as his friends and that they were just trying to make him a man.

Yeah, picking on someone because they are too timid and demanding that they fight you despite knowing that they hat violence is the right way to make someone a man. Hip hooray for toxic masculinity!

Yugi defending Joey and Tristan results in him getting a beating as well.

One of the interesting things about early Yu-Gi-Oh is the raw and ugly violence. We talking dirty violence where people get kneed in the chest and kicked while they lie down. Not just off-screen, we witness our heroes be pummeled, making the series a bit more gritty and frightening. And this series is not for those with a weak stomach.

Joey is stunned, partly because Yugi defends him, but way more of the short spiky-haired kid’s courage. But Yugi is anything but afraid. After all, he refused to fight Joey, but he still tried to get the puzzle back(not successfully, but he made an effort instead of just squirming).

After Ushio finished kicking poor Yugi’s ass, he tells him to bring him money as “payment” for his “bodyguard service.” And we talking 200000 yen, that’s a lot of dough.

Ushio even pulls a god damn knife(!), just to show how fucking crazy he is!

Yugi goes home to see if he has money enough to pay Ushio, but he only has 1656 yen. In frustration, Yugi decides to solve his unsolvable puzzle, just to think of something else than the brute with a knife who is waiting for him at school.

But what do you know? Yugi finally get the hang of it. He sees that some of the pieces just needs to be rotated differently and he finish it in a couple of minutes.

... Or he WOULD have. He finally sees that one of the pieces are missing, breaking his heart and making his awful day even worse.

But Grandpa has the last piece. He tells Yugi that one of his friends from school had found it and asked him to give it to Yugi. And that he was soaked despite it not raining.

As Yugi is happy about being able to finish the puzzle and returns to his room, his grandpa thinks about that the boy was Joey and that he asked him not to tell Yugi it was him that came with the puzzle piece. Joey also told him about Ushio blackmailing Yugi, so Grandpa secretly puts money in Yugi’s schoolbag so he won’t get in trouble.

And this is where it get’s freaky.

Yep, here it is. the iconic moment Yugi gets blessed by the puzzle so that he can turn into the split personality we refer to as Yami which is Japanese for “Dark”.

Yugi then calls Ushio and tells him to meet him outside school at midnight.

Ushio is surprised as he sees that Yugi is wearing some sort of costume and that he looks way more cocky than before.

Yugi tells Ushio that he has the money he demands, but he has twice the amount. Fricking 400000 yen!

But Yugi only “owes” 200000 to Ushio, so he suggest that they play about them in a dark and twisted game.

Yugi and Ushio take turns stabbing the stack of money placed on their hand. They have to stab hard enough to take more than one single bill. The winner is the guy with most yen bills.

As they play, Ushio seems to be winning... but when it is his turn, he can feel that his hand is way too eager to stab.

This is not just a weird-ass game. This is a “shadow game”, a game that shows your true nature. Ushio’s greed is now collected in his hand, and he so desperately want to win the game that he can’t control it. He realizes that if he stabs, he won’t be able to control his strength and he will penetrate his own hand. Ushio has to either A) give up and keep his hand or B) win the game with one hand less.

Ushio picks C.

Ushio tries to kill Yugi, but that was a mistake. The puzzle has made him super human and he leaps from the ground, evading the knife.

And cheating in a shadow game is a big no-go as the host of the game has authority to punish you.

Yami Yugi curses Ushio with “Illusion of Greed”, meaning he will be doomed to live in an imaginary world where he sees nothing but money everywhere.

Next morning, he is still outside the schoolyard like a drooling idiot who yells about all of his imaginary money.

Yugi has no memory of what happened but is glad he no longer has to be worried of Ushio who is a harmless nutcase. Not only that, he has finally finished his puzzle... and Joey offers him his friendship.

And that was the start of the horror manga turned card game commercial. It has a lot of charm, is very eerie and I think I prefer Yami Yugi’s first look that is more child like. making him look downright creepy.

This retrospective will continue ASAP.

Till then, I’m Waezi2, and thanks for wasting time with me.

#Yu-Gi-Oh #yugioh #yugi moto #joey wheeler #katsuya jonouchi #honda hitomi #anzu mazaki #tea gardner #tristan taylor #yami yugi #atem #manga

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that-other-him · 3 years

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In the belly of the Leviathan

Warmind!Au Destiny story inspired by and tying in with @hdreaper 's own story just posted. Please enjoy!

Fear was something of an old hat to Winter. Memory skips left her anxious, quarantine duty made her anxious, being cut off from Rexy, her frames and the network made her anxious, the anxiety making the memory skips worse made her anxious...

But the fear she'd been living with for the last month blew all of that out of the water.

Ra-1, the fist of Rasputin, the Dragon Ascendant, had personally sent her a message to say that if she didn't start doing exactly what he told her, he'd activate the code-black killcodes built into her Rasputin Exo body, and blow her Exomind into electronic spaghetti. After all, she was wired into the Charlemagne network, and had a documented set of fears he could abuse. She'd gather confidential data for him, she'd send him warnings of Charlemagne's actions, and she'd allow his scientists to try and duplicate Rexy, and the fear of final death would keep her in line.

But.

But but but.

Rasputin's records of her had been accurate...once. Yes, she was still afraid, but her body was no longer a Rasputin model. It couldn't be; that whole area was considered an infohazard now, and her last body was never coming home. And without that final threat, she'd found the courage to do something...stupid.

So here she was, on Ra's flagship in deep space with Charlemagne's blessing. She'd met up with lance troops a few times for debriefs, but recently she'd been allowed to spend time on the flagship itself, ready for Ra to send her where he wanted her. But that same set of interface skills that had allowed her access to Charli's files had also granted access to just a few of Ra's.

Winter paced back and forth in the tiny cabin she’d been assigned. She wasn’t sure if it was some kind of power conservation action, but the light down here barely cut through the shadows. She could have headed up to one of the main decks where things were a bit less claustrophobic, but Ra’s soldiers were everywhere there, and being the only blue-lit Exo on the entire ship guaranteed her the kind of attention that, if things went wrong today, could get her killed. She checked the ship’s clock fruitlessly. Somewhere out there, right now, Ra himself was boots-down on Riis. The data scraps she’d found didn’t say why, or for how long, but there was no question that he was just a little vulnerable right now.

Just a little would have to be enough; her Guardian contacts, who she’d affectionately nicknamed Fireteam Fuzzy, had cut their way through all kinds of monsters since she’d met them, and she’d made damn sure they knew exactly how dangerous he would be. She’d helped Fuzzy find their targets and coordinated some bounties for them down in the Quarantine zone, and when she’d outlined her proposal, they’d agreed to pass it on without question. It could have been typical guardian bravado, but she knew they’d lost friends to Ghostbuster rounds in the attack on the farm a while back. Maybe they actually trusted her.

Maybe that trust was going to get them killed.

Pushing that thought away and herself to her feet, Winter shoved her way past the door and started striding away towards the lifts. One way or another, with the Ira Terra still out in the styx, any news of the strike would take time to arrive, if her information had even been good in the first place. If she was going to stew in uncertainty, she may as well do it somewhere that felt less like a prison cell. Ra may have been a terrifying, merciless, wannabe-tyrant, but the facilities he provided for his troops were actually first rate. She’d find a sim-station no-one was using and throw herself into some story until the guillotine had, one way or another, dropped.

She had made it to the first brightly lit corridor of the barracks floor when her whole body exploded into pain.

Protocols cut in, protecting her mind from the overwhelming agony, partitioning and quarantining it. The feeling of burning alive dipped, sank, then seemed to drain from her whole body into solely her left forearm. When she could see again, she was crumpled against the wall of the corridor, chest heaving, digital heart still pumping on overdrive. It felt unpleasantly like the worst of the memory blips-she was in pain, alone, with no idea why or what to defend against. She cast her eyes down and to her left, and just like with the blips, her circumstances slotted into place. Set into the casing of her arm, where her network interface and uplink were supposed to be, were a smoking ruin of burned and self-destructing circuits. Her only remaining Rasputin hardware, her connection to her frames, to Rexy, to the ship’s system.

Ra-1 had just tried to kill her.

Oh, if she had thought she’d been afraid before, it paled in comparison to the terror that swallowed her now. It felt like her heart was going to burst out through her chest. There was no way her guardians would have told him she was responsible, right? They knew she was undercover, and even in the heat of the fight, he could have sent the kill codes at any time. They’d keep her secret...

...until their dying breaths.

There was a crackling noise that initially failed to cut through the panic, until it resolved unto the familiar voice of the great warlord, and even as the announcement rang out the ship’s engines powered into life and rumbled the flagship into thunderous motion.

“Attention, warriors of the Broken Lance. A guardian strike team has just made an attempt on my life, using information given to them by a traitor within our ranks, Winter-1. The guardians have been dealt with, and I have already ensured she has been rewarded as a traitor deserves. However, an example must still be made. Have her remains gathered and waiting for me upon my return to the Terra. Her masters shall have her broken husk returned to them. A commendation to the squad who has her corpse in my office upon my arrival. Ra out.”

Oh.

Hmm.

Ah, ok.

Winter was pretty sure she’d just lost a minute or two by the time her awareness came back to her. She still felt like she was about to die (fully independent of the hundreds of trained and eager killers probably now closing in on her position) but the freeze instinct was graduating to flight. She had an exit strategy, at Charlemagne’s insistence. It wasn’t a good strategy, but the warmind had explicitly ordered her to try. She reached out with her interface to the subroutine she’d left running on the ship’s server, and-

Ah. Her eyes once again turned to the sparking, melted mess where her interface was supposed to sit. It felt like one of her senses had been scooped out; a huge, gaping wound where the network was supposed to be. Nevermind just the escape protocol, without the access codes built into it, ninety five percent of the systems in the ship would no longer recognise her as a person, including the ones required to log into any network access point on the ship. She knew where her escape protocol was located, and could theoretically trigger it if she could reach an unsecured terminal.

But right now she could already hear tramping boots approaching from the barracks and she had no choice but to run.

She lost count of how many times she blipped as she led a desperate game of cat and mouse through the guts of the ship. The Ira Terra was bigger than the Stultorum had been, back when she’d served upon it, but if the ship ran about the same, the cargo deck mid-flight would be on skeleton crew with nobody caring if an unsecured terminal was technically a security violation. So she kept heading down and back, focusing on that one thought to the exclusion of all else. When she blipped in this time, she was halfway down a corridor created by two shipping containers, moving towards the illuminated sign of a shift breakroom. She took the next step and immediately fell nearly to the floor, sprawling gracelessly and nearly braining herself on the container. Oh-she’d been shot. That explained why her right side and upper leg were one big mess of static and pins-and-needles. She supported herself on the side of the crate and limped forward, conscious of the shouts and stomping boots echoing from somewhere in the distance behind her. She made it to the door, shouldering it open, almost collapsing with relief when her flickering vision was met with the friendly glow of an open terminal. She immediately dragged herself to it, closing the chat and shipwide alert windows to immediately start digging for her protocol.

She must have been five seconds in when she heard the shatter of breaking crockery behind her.

Slowly turning to face the noise, Winter looked into the eyes of the exo washing the dishes in the kitchenette, set into the corner of the breakroom. For a moment, both were still, surprised, the other Exo’s hand still in the air where it had been holding the coffee mug a moment ago. Then his eyes flicked to the screen of the terminal, where a moment ago had been the bounty on the only blue-lit Exo on the ship.

She didn’t even question trying to engage him. She whirled back to the screen, fingers flying as she desperately raced to run the command. The man had no weapons, probably no combat training, but he crashed into her from behind and her leg went out from under her, skull bouncing off the frame of the screen as he tried to wrap his arms around hers, voice bellowing that he’d found her. She was so close it burned, even more intense than the pain. She gripped one of her hands with the other and shoved it over her shoulder as hard as she could, outstretched thumb punching into his optic and causing a very human scream that no amount of mechanical upgrades would prevent. His grip slackened, and she pulled herself out of his arms and high enough to see the screen.

There were shouts behind her, the sounds of guns being brought to attention, the exo at her feet was tightening his grip again, and her vision was fading into black on the edges.

She hit the last key on the screen.

Everything went white, then black, silent and cold.

It was maybe ten seconds before the first ship thundered across her line of sight in the perfect silence of vacuum, the many supporting ships of Ra's fleet rushing to keep up with the flagship as it finished positioning itself for the jump. Even its coasting speed had brought it far enough away from Winter to render it a tiny dot in the distance, before there was a flash of light and the ships were gone.

Her transmat had been a random distance in a random direction, untraceable, and searching for her would delay the ship's travel to pick up Ra. She'd be left behind in the void, passing beyond its signal jamming, allowing the beacon hidden in her circuits to finally begin transmitting. A waiting friendly vessel would be on route to pick her up, provided the fleet hadn't shot it out of the sky.

Which left Winter here, curled in a ball as the moisture on her clothes crystallised. In theory, Exos were built to be vacuum-resistant, but she had a feeling that resistance didn't account for there being two bleeding holes in her dermis.

The thought drifted through her brain as her senses shut down one by one:

Who would claim her first: the cold, the bleeding, or her rescue?

She found herself thinking that she didn't want to die again.

Slowly, the black faded back to white.

#destiny 2 writing #warmind au #Winter-1/2/3

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