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aceandurmom · 11 months ago

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Harlequin Hearts: The Archivist's Swordsmaster Affair Chapter One

//////////THIS IS ONLY ON TUMBLR, UNDER ACEANDURMOM////////////

Buggy was now an Emperor of the Sea.

Fuck.

Now how the hell were you supposed to do your job in peace!?

It was already hard enough to keep every one of his records, maps, diary entries, accounts, and logs in order. Now he was going to be up your ass about more shit that you didn’t get paid enough to do. Groaning, you threw your hands up in defeat. The news had been released only a few hours ago, but already the cheering and jarring from above you was sign enough everyone knew of the development. There was no way you could keep up with even more of his bizarre requests.

Though you may complain and grumble about the man frequently, Captain Buggy was a wonder. He was kind, saving the freaks from whatever failed them in their past life, giving them a new place to thrive after doing so. He had saved you from an ass of a boss, constantly on you about whatever you had failed to do in his eyes.

Buggy had gone through your work, all the organization and records you kept tidy. He had been impressed, thrilled even while watching you work.

After freeing you from your dick of a boss, he had opened his arms wide. And who were you to refuse such a grand gesture?

–

It had been weeks since the reveal, and it was just now starting to return to normal on the Big Top.

You had gone up to the Captain’s office, needing to ask a question. Knocking softly, you announced your presence.

“Captain Buggy? I have a quick question, sir.”

Leaning in to try to hear a response, you heard none. Figuring he wasn’t in at the moment, you had stepped away.

Only to hear soft curses echo from the other side. Fearing that something had gone wrong as you had never heard your captain in such low spirits, you had rushed to the door. Fumbling around in your pockets, you tried to scavenge for the master key the Captain had provided for you. He had trusted you as one of the more responsible on the ship, so if you ever needed to ask or do something, he had given you access to every room available on the ship. Finding the small thing, you deftly unlocked the door and bursted in the room.

In front of your wide eyes, there was a beast of a man looming over top of your boss.

Buggy was in tears, bleeding from all the scrapes and cuts littering his skin. His left eye was busted, already darkening in a rather large bruise. His detached head was held firmly in the larger man’s hand.

Face turning to see his identity, you stiffened before snarling.

Sir Crocodile, former Warlord that had only just recently escaped from Impel Down. Turning his head, he saw your face.

“And what are you doing with a face like that, little one.”

He was angry, eyebrows furrowed and annoyed at the interruption.

You were not faring much better, rage building up in your chest.

“And what the fuck do you think your doing to my Captain, sir?”

Teeth bared, you moved so that your back not once faced him. You went to your captain’s side, cradling his body there.

“Surely you know better than to simply attack a newly named Emperor of the Sea, I thought you smarter than that.”

“Your mouth will get you in trouble.”

Buggy laughed, elbowing you hard in the side. Grunting, you just ignored the warning.

“And so will your arrogance, Sir.”

“Clown, get your little whore in line before I put their mouth to use myself.”

Buggy’s eyes flashed. It was fine if others attacked and mocked him, but not the crew he cared for so much. The ones he thought of as family and cared for as such.

“Watch what you say, Croccy, that’s my Archivist you're speaking to. They are not some measly whore.”

Eyebrow raised in thought, the large man dropped Buggy’s head. Confused, the clown swiftly reattached it before watching in horror as he directed his sights on you.

His hook pointed at your chest, pushing you lightly.

“So you're the one in charge of the clown’s accounts?”

Nodding, you confirmed the fact. Eyes narrowed, the reptile leaned in further.

“Then you're the reason the clown is in trouble now.”

“I beg your pardon? I have every loan, purchase, payment logged in that room up there-”

Pointing up, you continued.

“There is nothing that I have missed. It is literally impossible for me to miss any tidbit of information or unpaid debt. My eyes are enhanced by my Devil Fruit, the Read-Read Frit, and you will do well to remember that.”

Hatred colored your voice, not at all phased by the mounting rage in his eyes. Nor were you aware of a sweating Buggy lingering behind you.

“I, uh…”

Both heads whipped to the stuttering clown, Crocodile annoyed and you just as much. Here you were trying to save his ass and he was stuttering in front of a rival. You tried to shut him up, but despite the fearful facade, he was determined to do right by you.

“I hide the records of my loan from Croccy.”

Mouth dropping, you tried to see if the man was lying. Silent, you rose to your feet and turned your whole body to the man.

“You mean to tell me.”

Pausing, you tried to calm yourself by taking a deep breath. Pointing to yourself, you reiterated the importance of you being here.

“You hid one of the records concerning a large amount of money you owed a former warlord and just…..DIDN’T TELL ME!?”

Growling, you launched yourself at your beloved captain. Hands covering his neck, you tried to choke the ever loving shit of him.

Crocodile pinched the bridge of his nose, not at all pleased with what he was hearing.

“Not only that, dear Archivist, but this crew of yours has someone named him the Chairman of the Cross Guild. The Guild including Buggy, Mihawk, and I that is going to be used to palace bounties on Marines.”

Freezing, you glanced back at the imposing figure lingering behind you. Cocking a brow you leaned in further to the blue haired one under you.

“First you were named an Emperor, now you're the Chairman of an organization that will inevitably bring the entirety of the Navy down upon us?”

Deflating, you released the Captain. Leaning back on your hands, you stared at the ceiling, trying to comprehend the situation you found yourself in. Hand laying over your eyes, you spoke to the man you adored like a brother.

“When were you going to inform me of this, Captain? I would have loved to help you or assist if you allowed me to do so.”

Shifting, the clown had the decency to look flustered.

“I didn’t think it would get this unruly, Star, apologies.”

“Apology accepted.”

Standing, you brushed off your knees and faced the other man in the room who had waited so patiently.

“Apologies. I’m the Archivist of the Buggy Pirates and I will extend my services to both you and Mihawk as I know you two have none. Leave a list of tasks for me to accomplish once we land on Karai Bari and I will have them done in ample time.”

Crocodile looked at you strangely for a moment before huffing. Reaching into his breast pocket, he plucked a cigar and tucked it into his mouth. Breathing in, he retrieved his lighter and lit it. Puffing slightly, he withdrew the stick from his mouth before offering you a puff. Seeing no reason to deny, you accepted. Huffing a few times, you gave him back his cigar. Holding in the smoke for a minute, you tried to steady your thinking before releasing the breath.

Reaching a hand out, you offered to shake his hand.

An offer he accepted.

“It’ll be a pleasure to work with you, Archivist.”

Nodding, you reciprocated.

“And you, Sir.”

Smug, the reptile smirked at Buggy before dissipating into sand and leaving the office.

Still, you tried to make sense of what had just happened. Buggy approached from behind, hand gently holding your shoulder before he laid his head on your other.

“I truly hoped not to get you involved, Star. I know how easily you get stressed, I’m sure this was the last thing you wanted to happen.”

He was so quiet, voice bordering on silence as he whispered his sincere apology to you. You deflated, any ounce of anger or irritation leaving. You only nodded, leaning your head on top of his, seeking his comfort even if only for a second.

“I trust you, Captain. I will follow you until the end of the GrandLine.”

He smiled, soft.

“I know.”

–

There was once a time where you would have been appalled at the situation you now found yourself in.

Posture perfect, outfit coordinating with your captain, you stood proud beside him as the rest of the crew scrambled to anchor down the Big Top. The two of you were elbow to elbow, seeking out the other’s presence to ground each other. As the ship was finally bound to the Island, the two of you watched as the Strongest Swordsman appeared with Crocodile on the shore. Nodding to the other two men, Buggy took your arm and assisted you down and onto solid land.

Turning, you bowed to the two and introduced yourself, Crocodile was going to have to sit through it again even if he didn’t want to, you wanted to make a good impression on the raven haired man in front of you.

“Greetings, I am the Big Top’s Archivist. I am offering the two of you my services seeing as neither of you have archivists of your own. My work is done perfectly as I have the Read Read Fruit. Nothing escapes me and it takes me nearly no time at all to read through documents. If you wish for my assistance, simply ask or hand a list off to my Captain. He will ensure it reaches me.”

Crocodile nodded, already hearing the spiel once before. Granted, you had been pissed at the time. Now, you were calm and collected, already knowing what you were to say in front of them.

The reptile chuckled quietly.

“Odd to have you so cool, the last time I heard that you were trying to rip my head off with your eyes.”

Coughing, you blushed.

“Yes, that was a poor choice on my part. I sincerely apologize for that entire situation. Had I known the truth I assure you I would not have reacted as such.”

He waved you off, answering swiftly.

“Nonsense. It was refreshing to see someone stand up for their captain, regardless of who was in the wrong. Your loyalty was proven to me, and I intend on keeping you to that standard.”

Nodding, you tried to ignore the praise freely given by the man. You thanked him before returning to the Swordsman. Raising a brow, you wondered what he would say to you, if he would even need an archivist at his disposal.

The stoic man locked eyes on your own. Stifling a shiver, you tried to ignore being undressed by the man’s intense gaze. You wanted to bare everything to him, no secret left unsaid or rock unturned.

“I accept your proposal. I have a few logs I need organized.”

It was simple, straight to the point.

God, was he attractive.

Clearing his throat, Buggy stepped in front of you, trying to hide you away from the opposing men.

Posturing proudly, the clown announced his presence and reveled in the attention he received. Glancing back at you, he was glad to find that you relaxed even a little bit, now no longer the intense eyes of either man.

Walking along the path, Buggy attached himself to your side, leading the three of you down to the main tent he had established years ago.

“Welcome to Karai Bari, boys! This is the home island of yours truly! I will have your tents erected in a few days max, if you would like anything specifically feel free to request away, my workers are the best this side of the GrandLine!”

You had been to the island a few times in the past. Buggy was fond of the place, taking the freaks he had saved here when they did not desire to become pirates. They established themselves here, safe from prying eyes and other pirate crews. No one really bothered with the place, not aware that they were under the protection of a, now, Emperor of the Sea.

Buggy provided for them in any way he could, assisting them with their livelihood whenever asked. It was another one of the reasons you respected him so much.

The former Warlords simply observed the sight around them, taking note of everything occurring. They had walked through the markets, everyone in a stall and street stopping to wave or greet the clown enthusiastically. The blue haired man smiled back, not once refusing a hug or handshake from any of the villagers.

“It seems you are well liked here, Clown.”

Hawkeye observed casually.

“Captain himself takes care of those who live here under his protection. He knows everyone here and what they do on the island, their role in society. Their names, parents, and children, or even pets are known to him. He is a kind man.”

You responded, not once shying away from their prying eyes. You wanted to prove that Buggy was a good man, a reliable one. If all it took was hyping him up with genuine compliments, then you would do so gladly.

“How long have you sailed with him, Archiver?”

The reptile asked this time, though it looked as if the Swordsman was curious as well.

“Hmm.”

Humming, you thought on your answer.

“I have sailed with Captain since I was 16, he saved me from a former Boss of mine.”

“How old are you now then?”

You raised a finger to your lips, winking at the duo.

“I’ll keep that a secret for now. It is not wise to divulge too much information about myself, now is it?”

Crocodile looked to want to pry, but a look from Buggy had him keeping quiet. Normally, it would not deter him, but…

To be fair, you were his Archivist first. You had only offered your services to the two of them in response to your captain’s poor decisions.

Crocodile was curious of you, of how a man such as the Clown could acquire such a level headed person on his crew. Let alone one that wanted to work on his crew and stand proudly by his side.

Dracule Mihawk was puzzled by you. Someone so put together was willingly standing beside Buggy the Clown without a hint of regret or unease radiating off of you. Not to mention you were a sight for sore eyes, not that he would admit it, of course.

!End of Teaser!

The trio of important men stood around awkwardly in Buggy’s quarters. None of them willing to back down from the schlong measuring competition.

You decided to be the bigger person.

Clearing your throat, you addressed the room.

“Right. Now, what is it that you all wish to accomplish together as the Cross Guild. Surely there are predetermined goals you three have agreed on, yes?”

Circling around them, you made it to the desk under the window. Slipping into the chair, you rummaged through the desk drawers. Finding a slightly yellowed notepad, you reached for the fountain pen in your breast pocket. Uncapping the tool, you went to start writing down their thoughts. Hearing no words enter the space, you looked up over your reading glasses at the trio. Hands gesturing to them, you waved them on. Making eye contact with the reptile, you sighed.

“No??? Nothing? “

Exasperated, you leaned back in the rolling chair.

“So you mean to tell me you set up this little club so that three grown men with powerful status such as yourselves are together for playdates, then?”

Buggy laughed, quickly stifling it once the other two shot glares at him. Crocodile huffed, glaring at the clown before turning back to you.

“We discussed this earlier-”

“Yes, yes, I know of putting bounties on the Navy, but are there any other goals you wish to achieve? Anything specific?”

Hawkeye watched as you grew more and more frustrated at their lack of response. He had to admit, he knew where you were coming from. From what he had observed, you were a pen on paper kind of person, one who desired even the minor details. Having written down or any other explicit goal was doing more than annoy you. Having come kind of mercy, the Swordsman went to open his mouth before the clown stepped in. The Clown was glaring at him from the corner of his eye, feeling very much territorial over his Archivist.

Arms thrown in a reassuring gesture, the Clown approached you with a kind smile.

“Of course I have a plan for all of us, my Star! I wouldn’t join this little crew without a proper plan in place!”

Skeptical, the other two men watched as he tried to calm your ever burning rage. Lifting yourself so that you were bent over the desk, you reached a hand out and grasped the man’s ruffled collar. Getting in his face, you stared into his eyes, trying to detect any hint of a lie.

“Then spill it, Captain. And it better not be some impromptu bullshit that you spout to try to get yourself out of the mess you created and dragged me into.”

Pointer finger straight up, the man corrected you.

“Technically, you joined of your own free will-”

Jerking him closer to you, you pressed your nose into his own.

“You say that as if any Nakama of yours wouldn’t die, kill, or endure hell on earth for you, idiot. If you get involved in something, the rest of us are going down with you, jackass.”

Releasing him, you lightly pushed him away before taking up the pen once again.

“Alright then, go on.”

Sweating and crossing his fingers behind his back, the Clown shook away the nervousness. Shooting a look to the other two men, the man smiled, trying to encourage them to go along with whatever he was about to pull out of his ass.

“I have a plan.”

“Yes, we’ve established this.”

“To take Red Haired Shanks out of the race for the One Piece.”

Silence took over the room, a shock taking over everyone involved.

Sputtering, you tried to understand what was being said to you.

You knew that your Captain adored the man. The two had been Cabin Boys under Gol D. Roger before. They were lovers, ever since they were children. To this day Buggy regularly contacted the ginger man, uttering praise and endearment. To hear him say such a thing….

Unless he knew something the other two didn’t.

Like if the man never planned to pursue the treasure in the first place.

Finally clicking in place, you looked back up to the man you saw as a brother. Nodding, you offered a look of understanding.

“Okay.”

Uttering the acknowledgement, you let the pen write out the goal, effortlessly gliding across the paper. The ink took hold, permanently marking the tarnished paper underneath.

“With this, I attest that the Cross Guild, made up of Former Warlord and King of Alabasta Sir Crocodile-”

Pointing to the man, you continued before gesturing to the other.

“Dracule Mihawk, the Strongest Swordsman in the World and Former Warlord-”

And then to your beloved Captain.

“And Chairman Buggy D. Star Clown, one of the Four Emperors of the Sea, will bring down the Navy and remove Chief Akagami Shanks, another of the Emperors of the Sea, from the race to the One Piece. This, I do declare a witness of the Sea.”

A shudder swept through the room, a stillness taking over even the Ocean outside.

Buggy nodded, already knowing what you had planned from the start.

Mihawk was confused, what exactly just happened?

The reptile seemed to have the same question, going to approach you and ask you personally, he was stopped by a disembodied hand.

“I recommend you don’t take another step. They’re still in the process of solidifying a few details of the contract.”

“What contract, Clown?”

Mihawk had asked, but his tone had not matched Crocodile’s. While Crocodile said ‘clown’ as a kind of insult, Mihawk said the word as his title. It was what he called Buggy, not with his nose upturned, but simply as his name. It endeared you to him, more so than whatever you felt to the failed Conqueror.

“To put it simply, they are writing up a contract with the Ocean itself. Whatever they write with that pen, it is law, not just a promise or a goal. You know of the Read Read Fruit, but there are other abilities that the Fruit allows them to possess.”

“It will do you well to explain them while you’re ahead, clown.”

Buggy paused, trying to think about a good way to explain his Archivist to his new allies.

“You, see, the Read Read Fruit isn’t just about reading through logs or records incredibly fast and being able to process it. It also allows them to write an oath into existence, one that must be met by all parties mentioned. If not, then there are consequences for not doing so. Of course, there are a few other things my little Star can do, but that would be giving away all our tricks too early.”

A wicked grin split across the captain’s face, a knowing glint hidden in his light blue eyes.

This duo was already starting to prove to be more than either Warlord expected.

“So this Devil Fruit they ate, how long have they had it?”

Crocodile questioned, enamored by the seemingly endless possibilities this Fruit seemed to have. Who knows what all they could swear to the Sea-

A knowing glare made its way to the Clown, already he was starting to see how this cold blooded fool failed to conquer Alabasta. He was cunning, yes, but he made himself too obvious. Anyone within a 50 mile radius knew what he was wanting to do.

“Nice try, Croc, but you aren’t making my Archivist do anything they don’t want to do. Not under my watch.”

“Need I remind you who I am-”

Turning to face him, Buggy’s eyes hardened, resolve never burning away.

“It will do you well to remember that I am no mere pirate captain from the East Blue. I am a former member of the Roger Pirates, Emperor of the Sea, and control one of the largest networks across the GrandLine.”

Not stopping there, the clown slowly stepped into the man’s area.

“It will do you well not to forget it, Lizard.”

Spite clear in his tone, Crocodile was taken aback by the sudden change.

Throwing one last glare to the taller man, Buggy swiveled back to his dear sibling.

Clapping his hands, Buggy threw back on his charming smile.

“Star! Are you about done?”

It took a few more moments, but you finished.

Capping the pen, you threw one last glance over the document before you dipped your head to Captain.

“Aye, sir, it’s done. Bound by my blood and the Sea itself.”

Grimacing a little, Buggy forgot how the contract was to be officialized.

Mihawk perked up, not at all expecting words from your mouth. Curious, he surveyed your hands that were currently placing the pen back to its place in your pocket. Your hands were smaller than his, not that that was what caught him off guard, instead it was the gaping wound in the center of your palm. Without thinking, the hawk approached soundlessly. Grasping your hand in his, he rolled your wrist to get a better look at it. From the looks of it, you had stabbed about half the pen’s length into your hand, intrigued, he continued to observe.

“Do tell me, how exactly does this binding contract of yours work?”

Letting your hand lay where it was, cradled in between his own, you tried to explain.

“It is my blood that solidifies the contract, it is what the pen writes in. Without it, the paper is just that- a paper. There is nothing tying you to the words written on it otherwise.”

“That is how your Fruit works in this regard, then?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Finally realizing he had been holding your hand for so long, Mihawk relieved you of his presence. A little glum, you accepted the motion.

Seeing the interaction, Buggy pouted.

“STaArrRRRar, let me help you wrap it uuuppppp, your pretty skin needs to be cared for!!!”

Beaming at the childish behavior, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the man child.

“Of course. Let me-”

“Allow me.”

Mihawk cut in, hand grasping your own and twirling you into his embrace. Flustered, you had floundered a bit before finding your feet. Placing a hand over your waist, Dracule steadied you. Holding out his arm, the man spoke.

“If I may?”

Peering into his eyes, you attempted to discern his intentions. Only to find nothing but pure honesty there.

“If that is your desire.”

Buggy whined louder than before. If that was even possible. Hand chopping at the base of his wrist, he tugged you towards him. Unknowingly dragging Mihawk behind you as well. When the two of you crashed into the Clown, he had flailed before falling on his ass.

Dracule, ever the gentleman, reached out and clutched at your hand. Only for it to be the one you injured just minutes past. Eyes widened a fraction, the man apologized before switching his hand.

“My apologies, I did not mean to further harm you.”

“Nonsense, it was not you intention.”

Crocodile watched the whole thing with a grimace, cringing from the entire situation.

This was his life now.

–

Buggy had managed to pull you away from the other two in record time, insting you accompany him to his room so that he may bandage your palm.

He had sat you down on his bed, leaving momentarily to grab the first aid kit under his bathroom counter. Popping the box open, he kneeled down in front of you. Reaching out, he offered his open hand for you to place yours.

Accepting his request, you laid your hand over his own.

Tentatively, he plucked a pair of tweezers up and held your hand steady. Selecting a cotton ball, he dowsed it in the bedside whiskey he always had readily available. Delicately, he tapped the soaked cloth onto your wound. Hissing, you softly cursed at the man. He smiled at you, too happy to help to scold you at this very second.

“I wish you didn’t go so deep.”

“It is not as if I have not done worse.”

You had caught him off guard. Trying not to laugh at the dark humor, he had stifle the grin.

“I still wish you the same. No matter if you have had worse or no, you do not deserve it.”

“If it gets Hawkeyes to hold my hand like that then I will continue to do so.”

You playfully retorted.

Stiffening, Buggy ignored the comment. Lightly, you kicked his stomach.

In response, the Captain pressed harder with the alcohol.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck you!”

Finally losing it, you watched as your brother started to cackle wildly.

Dear Nika, you loved the idiot.

“Oh shut up, don’t act as if I forgot the little stunt you pulled today. Shanks will be furious with you.”

Sobering from his earlier fit, Buggy eyed you from under his Captain’s hat.

“I’ll tell you a little secret.”

Leaning in, Buggy made to whisper in your ear. As soon as he turned to you, he clenched your hand tightly, causing you to yelp, before wrapping it rather efficiently with a bandage.

“Shanks never intended to go after the One Piece, Star.”

Trying to whisper as lowly as him, as you knew he did not want anyone else to know, you responded.

“I assumed so. You felt rather confident earlier.”

“I can say with 100% certainty that his plans will not change once I inform him of such.”

“I hope you’re right about this, Captain. People change after all.”

“He has been by my side since day one, not once has he left me by myself or out of the loop. He has never not told me about what he was thinking or planning. Star, please, trust me on this.”

Peeling away from each other, you peered down at your Captain. Your brother in all but blood.

“Alright.”

Brightening, he grinned, teeth bared.

“Thank you, Star.”

“Under one condition.”

Deflating, he groaned.

“I knew it. It was too easy.”

“Oh stop your bitching, sir. I only had a quick ask.”

Eyebrows shooting up, he leaned into you.

“Of course, ask away! You never ask for anything! Tell me, tell me, tell me!!!”

Now embarrassed, you wondered if it was wise to ask such a thing from him. Surely he was going to make it a bigger deal than needed.

“I…now I’m embarrassed!”

Hands covering your face, you tried to peel the captain away from your knees. Whining, he only clutched at you tighter.

“Nooooooo, you have to tell me now!”

“Fine…give me a second…”

Respecting your wishes, Buggy only hugged your knees to his chest. Eyes closed, he waited fro you to respond.

You murmured out the ask.

Squinting, Buggy responded.

“Huh? Speak up, dumbass.”

Huffing, you crossed your arms.

“I asked if I could call you my brother, asshat. Now I don’t-”

Unsuspecting, you reeled back at the dramatic gasp and cry of the man next to you. Launching himself up and on top of you, he only held you tight against his chest. Ugly sobbing, the man snotted all over your nice ass shirt.

“O-O-O-OF COURSEE!!!”

Continuing his sobbing, you lay dealing with the consequences of your actions. Exhaling, you pat his back, comforting him in his obvious time of need.

“There, there, Captain.”

“DO YOU REALLY THINK OF ME AS A BROTHER!?”

Playfully knocking him aside the head, you giggled at the foolish man.

“Yes, Captain, I have for a while now.”

Cradling his head, you hugged him dearly.

“You have been the reason I get up in the mornings for years now. I cannot thank you enough for being my rock.”

Sniffing wetly, the clown nodded fervently.

“Brother! Call me brother, idiot! I will not allow you to call me anything else, no more captain or sir!”

“...that’s a little much. I can’t not call you sir, sir. It’s instilled in me.”

“Only in front of others, then!”

“I’ll work on it.”

“Good! Now.”

Questiongly, you looked down at the man.

Hand coming up, but still hugging you, the Clown removed his hat, letting loose the absolute mane of hair underneath. Eyes sparkling, you couldn’t help but comb through it with your fingers.

“Your hair is gorgeous, sir.”

“Brother. But, I know….I can help you with yours if you wish?”

Blinking, you tried to comprehend the offer.

Only to accept, shouting excitedly at the prospect.

Buggy watched you.

Happy.

His little Star was happy now. Genuine happiness and not that pretend shit you used to do in front of everyone.

He was so proud of you.

His Archivist.

His Star.

–

The morning sun offended you, dearly so. Practically screaming at you, the sun roused you from your sleep. Blearily blinking open your eyes, you tried to take in your unfamiliar surroundings.

Only to look down and see Buggy’s face pressed against your side, still asleep.

The night before flashed in your mind, heat raising and taking its place along your cheeks.

It had been a while since you had been so embarrassed. But, it was nice being vulnerable for once.

Finding yourself enjoying your position, you were incredibly reluctant to get up and go do actual work.

At least, until your mind flickered to the two former Warlords more than likely already up and about creating mass chaos.

Smoothing down the clown’s hair, you slowly detached yourself from the man before climbing out of bed.

God, you worked too hard sometimes.

@animefreak818

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years ago

Text

Smash or Pass: Part 3/4 (LA!Buggy the Clown x Reader)

Summary: It's the last stop before the Grand Line and you slink away for a quiet evening. The universe, however, decides to clown on you. Sequel to Kiss, Marry, Kill. Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: 🌶 Explicit! 🌶 Warnings: PiV sex, improper use of Devil Fruit powers. Word Count: ~2.9k.

A/N: 🗣️ 🗣️ HARLEQUIN FORNICATORS COME AQUIRE THY FRUIT-DERIVED LIQUID 🗣️ 🗣️

---

PART 3: In which an understanding is reached, a Devil Fruit is misused, and a promise is kept.

Buggy springs upwards and throws his arms around you, pulling you atop him. He kisses you like a man dying, quick and desperate and full of little whispers. Curses and prayers and your own name all in the same breath, dancing around your tongues.

What choice do you have but to kiss back? You breathe when you can, but he must be hellbent on asphyxiating you, because he allows barely a moment to pass before pulling you back in.

You love it.

You finally put a hand on his chest and force him down as you pull away. He whines like a kicked puppy, eyes just as big.

“Holy shit, are you desperate,” you utter.

Buggy stares at you with those pleading eyes. Wide, shining, rolling rivers. “Join my crew,” he says.

You almost sober up right then and there. He tries to pull you back down and you have to hold yourself back with both hands. “You're still on that?”

"How could I not be?" He says it like it’s a casual good morning greeting.

What's with this guy? “You barely know me! I cut your tongue out, I humiliated you, I said mean shit about your—!”

He yanks you back into kissing him, but a hand goes to your ass this time. Squeezing, groping, stroking. “Knew I wanted you -- the moment -- I saw you -- under the spotlight.”

It’s really hard not to kiss back and you are a weak, weak woman. “You tried -- to kill me -- and my friends -- right before -- and right after.”

He pulls away to kiss your jaw, your cheek, all the way up to your ear. “We were all young and stupid then.”

“That was two weeks ago.”

“Exactly.” He pulls you flush against him before returning to your mouth. What a nice fat tongue he’s got. “Been thinking about you every day since.”

Well, that’s something you have in common. “Thinking about what?”

“Your laugh, your eyes, your lips...” His cock pokes you in the thighs. He moans, long and low, and presses his mouth to your ear. “Your cunt that I just know is dripping.”

Well, it wasn't before, but it is now. Time to give up the ghost. “Been thinking about you too.”

He's the one to pull away this time, eyes wide. “Really?”

You nod. "Remember what you said to me at Arlong Park?"

“I say a lot of things. I like the sound of my own voice.”

You remember. It echoes in your ears in the daytime and haunts your dreams all through the night. It lodges itself between your legs and burrows upwards, pulse by pulse, stroke by stroke, until it erupts from your mouth and finally grants you sweet relief.

It makes you shudder even now. “You said if I joined your crew…” You press your lips to his ear. “You’d screw me to the wall every night and eat my cunt like a wild dog every morning.”

His breath quickens. He swallows. The corner of his mouth twitches up. "One of my more inspired turns of phrase."

“Oh, absolutely." You grin wickedly. “But I understand if you just liked the sound of your own voice. You probably can’t do it.”

Hook baited. Let’s see if he bites.

A low, low growl leaves his throat. The next thing you know, the world is spinning. A pair of strong arms lift you up and off the bed — just arms. No hands. They pin you to the wall.

You shriek in surprise, only for a forearm to clap over your mouth. The other slides up the hem of your shirt and yanks it up and over your head, blinding you.

“Can’t do it, huh?” You hear the jangle of a belt buckle, the buzz of a zipper, and the thud of trousers hitting the floor. “The hell I can’t!”

The shirt finally pops off your head, and you—

Oh. Hello.

Buggy’s naked.

He’s got his back to you as he puts his hair up into a ponytail with disembodied hands. And what a back it is. Broad. Smooth. Muscle ripples with every movement, no matter how slight.

He bends down and dear sweet lord, what an ass. You’ve seen a lot of asses in your day and this one is damn good. You want to dig your nails into it. Slap it. Feel it jiggle. Grip it tight.

Your own hands go to your waistband. You’ve never gotten that zipper down faster.

“You’re gonna eat those words,” he spits. His hands dig around in his trouser pockets.

You don’t hear him. You’re too preoccupied with getting your bra off without seeing the hooks and trying to use telepathy to get him to just turn around already.

He straightens up and surveys the floor, his back still to you. "Oh, where the hell...?"

Fuck’s sake. You slip your panties off and snap the elastic at him. “Buggy!” you bark.

They hit his back and he turns at the waist to glower at you. You can barely make out the tangle on his pubic mound. “What— oh.” His eyes sweep up and down your body like the spotlights he craves. His mouth drops open. “Oh.”

You’re flattered. You really are. “Will you just get over here and screw me already?!”

Finally, finally, finally he turns around.

You’ve seen longer at full mast. In fact, it might be on the shorter side. But… could you even make a fist around that thing? And the flare of the head… There’s a non-zero chance it might not fit. Oh boy.

Bright red blooms across his cheeks and his throat bobs as he swallows. His wayward limbs reattach themselves — hands to arms, arms to shoulders — but he holds them stiffly. “You’re…”

“I'm hot shit, I know.” His cock bobs and your pussy twitches. You notice the little foil packet in his hands. “Wait, you’re gonna get that over that?”

He stares a moment longer, then gives a little shake. “Unless you wanna go without?”

That sounds amazing, actually. Been awhile since you got done raw. But not even you are crazy enough to risk that.

Unless you are. Are you? No, not today. You shake your head.

He grabs a corner with his teeth and rips it open. You watch as he rolls the rubber down his cock. Or tries to, anyways. He tries the wrong side first and has to turn it around, but he does get it on. Barely. It looks tight.

“Might need to go up a size,” you mutter.

He flushes a brilliant red, but doesn’t say anything as he approaches you. His cock quivers with every step like it can barely support its own weight.

He swallows. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looked nervous. He touches your breast, dragging his fingertips along the dip, across your areola, and along the curve of the bottom. “God damn.”

Again. You’re flattered. But there’s more important business to deal with. “Buggy,” you say firmly, “either quit talking and fuck me like a man or don’t fuck me at all.”

Something seems to click. His gaze hardens and he closes the distance between you. He presses his hard, lean body against yours, resting his hands on your hips. He peers down at you.

“You sure you want this? With me?” he murmurs.

God fucking dammit. “Are you a virgin or something?” you spit.

He has the gall to look offended while you stand there unfucked. “No!”

You sling your leg up, grab his hand, and place it under your knee. “Then. Fuck. Me.”

Buggy swallows. He lifts your leg higher and grabs his cock. He lines himself up and, with a nod from you, takes the plunge.

You gasp as he pushes into you. Fuck, this is gonna be a helluva squeeze. You’re lucky you’re already wet.

He chokes. It almost sounds like a sob. “Oh, that’s tight…”

You want to protest. You’re not tight, he’s just packing. But you think better of it. “Thrust,” you hiss.

His voice quivers. “I don’t think I can.”

“Just do it.”

He swallows. His cock moves inside you, up and down and up and down. You hiccup with every push and hiss with every pull, but it gets easier as your slick coats your insides.

Buggy has no such relief. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and whimpers with every movement, breathing like a weight crushes his chest.

You feel a bit of sympathy for him until you look down. He’s not thrusting his hips at all. This motherfucker detached his cock from the rest of him.

He sees you looking and gives you a weak, brows-knit, lips-pursed smile. “Perks of being a Chop-Chop man,” he rasps.

A knock on the door makes you both freeze.

“Everything alright in there?” the matron calls. “If he’s dead, I’ll help you move him.”

You roll your eyes and open your mouth, but he presses his finger to your lips. “Shh.”

He detaches himself at the waist, taking his head and his free hand with it. His hips remain against yours, and his cock still stretches you wide.

You watch in shock as he floats his torso over to the door. He opens it just a crack. “Alive and kicking, thanks. How’re you on this fine evening?”

You have no idea how he can make pleasantries with someone while buried up to his balls inside you. You certainly couldn’t. You know what? Fuck him. You squeeze your walls tight.

His breath hitches, but he keeps talking. Slowly but surely, he wins over the matron. You understand how he has as big of a crew as he does. Man’s got a weird charisma that just turns on and off like a lightbulb. You’re kinda jealous.

“She’s sleeping right now. She’s had a rough day. I’ll keep an eye on her. No, of course. Really? I appreciate it. Thank you. Good night, ma’am.”

He closes the door and draws the lock. He turns to you. That charisma is still switched on and it shows. Despite his current lack of legs, he still manages to saunter towards you.

“Trying to make me break character, huh?” His cock slams into you and your tailbone slams the wall and it all makes you gasp. "Cute."

“I don’t like being ignored,” you huff. “Where’d you get the confidence from?”

He gives a smug smile. “All part of the act, baby.“

You liked the other Buggy better than this asshole. You clench tight around his cock.

He chokes and sputters, eyes going wide. He opens his mouth again and you squeeze again and again he chokes on his words. A whimper escapes him this time, but he shakes it off. “Stop that!”

“Then get over here!”

Buggy scowls. It’s a good look on him. He reattaches himself to his waist and slams his palm against the wall right next to your ear. “You're a real bitch, you know that?”

You drape your arms around his broad shoulders. “Damn right."

He grins. He dives for your mouth as his cock reattaches, and he thrusts his hips in a steady rhythm. Nipping, sucking, licking. Any sense at all goes right out the window. All you can think about is how good it feels to be full.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck. His breath is hot on your skin, all raspy huffs and wordless moans. His moans trickle so sweetly into your ear, like grenadine syrup between the ice cubes of a cocktail.

Something wet wiggles in between your bellies and slides down, down to right above where his body joins with yours. It swirls your clit and you damn near scream.

His hand flies to your mouth, pressing a finger to your lips, before pulling you into yet another kiss. You part his lips with your tongue, ready to dance, but…

…nothing. There's nothing there.

You pull away so hard you whack your head on the wall. “What the—?!“

He slams his mouth into yours to shut you up. Still nothing in there. He kisses you again and again until the urge to scream subsides. The urge to swear does not.

You hiss through gritted teeth. “What the fuck?”

He opens his mouth wide. Teeth the color of old ivory glisten in the light, but no tongue. He leans back slightly. A slab of pink flesh waggles against your clit, making you buck. You look back up at him. He winks that little wink of his.

Perks of being a Chop Chop man indeed.

You wrap your arms around his neck. You throw your leg up around his hip and he grabs it. You hook your other leg up and he grabs that one as well. He lays his forehead against yours, gazing right into your soul.

You gaze back. His grip is a little shaky, but you doubt he'll drop you. “Ready?”

Buggy nods curtly. With a snap of his hips, he makes good on his promise.

You’ve never been fucked like this. Screwed to the wall, stretched to bursting, swirled to oblivion, kissed into silence. You wonder if you died in that brawl and went right to hell, punished by being fucked by the object of your lust for the rest of eternity.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you’d be okay with that. No more getting up early. No more worrying about bounty hunters. No more gazing at the ocean and wondering how you went so wrong in your life that you had to jump aboard a kid's pirate ship just to get away from it all.

All that exists are you and the Devil himself, tempting you to sin with a harlequin’s smile, a silver tongue dancing a tango on your clit, and a cock so thick you feel like you’re being split in half. Any of those alone, you could make do with, but all together? You're doomed.

Speaking of which, you’re close. So very close. You say as much to Buggy, who nods.

With one last swirl, he recalls his tongue back to his mouth with a slurping noise you’re not sure turns you on or off. “Knew you were gonna taste good,” he moans.

You decide it's a turn on. “C’mere."

He leans in, only to yip when you latch onto his neck. He moans your name as you suck, bucking harder with every lap of your tongue and every nip of your teeth.

You only pull away to moan his name. “Buggy…”

The thrusting continues. “Say it again.”

Who are you to deny that? “Buggy,” you purr.

He moans your name again. He presses his lips to your ear and repeats it like a chant with every thrust.

You’re not sure if it’s his tone or the way his cock stretches you or if there’s just something in the air, but whatever it is, it tips you right over the edge.

You’re no stranger to cumming. You’ve been around the block. On your own, with a partner, with tools, without, all of it.

Not a damn thing has ever rocked you the way this climax does. It drags you to the top of a cliff, dangles you over the edge, then hurls you down. You hit every bump and briar and boulder along the way, bringing tears to your eyes and making you scream with every pulse.

But you can’t twitch your cunt closed around a cock this thick. You just twitch and throb and moan until he’s driven wild.

Which he is in very short order. He loses his mind, buried deep inside you, stuttering in his rhythm.

"Gonna... Gonna make you a queen," he whimpers. He thrusts up and up, hard, erratic, so close, so very, very close. "Gonna be mine. All mine. Mine mine mine—!"

One final twitch and Buggy comes undone. He whines into your neck as he pops like a cork, nails digging into your hips.

God alive, you wish he wasn’t rubbered up. You want to feel hot, thick seed painting your insides, filling you up so full that it drips down your leg like syrup when he pulls out.

But alas.

You go limp. He goes limp. Like a pair of stringless puppets, you flop onto the bed. It creaks mightily and you worry it might break, but it holds.

You lay there against him, panting. The orgasm sobered you up a bit, and you come to terms with the fact that you might be kind of a slut.

You're ready to scramble away when his arm slips under your neck and the other wraps around your waist. Buggy pulls you in tight and curls up, holding you tight against him, shivering like a man pulled from ice water.

“You okay?” He whimpers like a dog, burying his face in your hair. You try to crane your neck to look at him. “You don’t sound okay.”

A few moments pass. The whimpers stop and he grows still. Cold hits your back as he releases you. You hear the squelch of semen in rubber and the snap of a knot being tied.

“Sorry," he mumbles. "Big one.”

You can’t help yourself. “Been awhile?”

“Shut up.” He flops back onto the bed and wraps back around you. He inhales deeply, then lets out a groan. “Can't feel my legs.”

And now’s your chance. Bail. Run. Get the hell outta Dodge while he’s in a post-coital haze.

But he’s so warm and you're so comfy and he smells so nice. Like sea air and fancy lipstick. Exhaustion swamps you like a rogue wave. You can’t bear to move a muscle.

"That's supposed to be my line," you say.

He replies with a weak giggle and pulls you in closer.

Heavy, lazy silence fills the room, resting atop you like a warm, thick blanket on a winter morning. You never want this moment to end. Nothing else in the world except you, this bed, and the man curled around you. You suppose the least you can do is keep him company through the night.

You try to sit up to grab the edge of the sheet, but his grip tightens. He mumbles something as a hand wriggles out from underneath you. It grabs the sheet and pulls it over the both of you, tucking the edges beneath your body before returning to its rightful place.

Snug as a bug in a rug, you think. A snug bug rug. Well, two bugs. You and him. Snugs as two bugs in a rugs. Or one you and one Buggy. Snuggy Buggy in a ruggy...

Your half-asleep musings are interrupted by a whisper in your ear. “Did you mean what you said?”

“‘Bout what?”

“About joining my crew.”

He’s still on that? Poor guy. You spare him a pitying smile. “‘Fraid so.”

You hear him swallow. He pulls you in tight against him, burying his face in your hair. He murmurs words you don’t quite catch. Sweet little nothings against your scalp.

Your body fits so nicely against his. His belly presses against your back with every breath. He’s so very warm. And comfortable.

You drift off to the best sleep you’ve gotten in weeks.

---

Part the Last goes up Saturday!

⬅⬅⬅ | To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x reader #kiss marry kill #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece live action #fan fiction #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #emberly writes #smash or pass #the curious courtship of buggy the clown

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siconetribal · 1 year ago

Text

Put it on My Tab (16)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Warning:

Backpack newbie, All the green flags, It is time for...the talk

A/N:

I originally came on here about 45 minutes ago to post this and got completely side tracked and distracted by a draft that was just staring at me for days. (I normally don't see it on the app and I might have been avoiding it because I couldn't decide on what to choose.) Anyways, without further ado, the next installment!

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know!

As always, a huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

Jason waited patiently for her to climb on. He watched her shuffle bit by bit closer to him and his bike. He could not see her face because of the helmet, but he did not have to. He knew the type of face she must be making, and he had to keep his composure to not laugh at how cute this all was. Y/N was not the first innocent young woman he has dealt with, nor the first one to sass him back. She was a weird combination of the two that was uniquely her, and that is what drew him to her. Normally, someone like her would have never spoken to someone like him. Their worlds would have never collided. In reality, anyway. The fact that she’s IAmBatman still throws me for a loop. I would’ve bet big money it was one of the other Robins trolling me. He was about to ask if she needed help when he felt his bike shift from the added weight and her arms squeeze him tight, in what probably was her version of a death grip but ended up as more of a bear hug for him. Yeah, I’ve been squeezed harder by worse. I don’t mind this. He lightly patted her arms.

“I promise, I won’t do anything to scare you. Just follow my body and don’t be too stiff, ok?” He looked over his shoulder to see her try to look up at him, but his helmet was not doing her any favors. He snorted out a chocked laugh and quickly looked forward once more. “Sorry, sorry,” he reached back and hooked his hand under her thigh by her knee, tugging her leg up to rest her foot on a proper place. The motion had her scooting closer, and she jumped again when he pulled her other leg. “Keep your feet here and just enjoy the ride. Did you want me to put on some music? I have Bluetooth in my helmet. It won’t be easy to talk, since you won’t be able to hear well.”

“Music is fine, but how will you hear?” She spoke a little louder to not come out muffled.

“I’ll be fine, I rather you be comfortable.” Yup, she’s definitely having trouble hearing me. “Do you listen to anything in particular?”

“Anything is fine by me, but I tend to do more 90s rock. Linkin Park, Coldplay, or My Chemical Romance are always appreciated.”

“Really?” He looked over his shoulder again to see if she was lying, but was met with his helmet. Right, I forgot about that. He rolled his eyes at his little lapse in memory. Didn’t expect that list from her. She really knows how to surprise me every time. He searched around a bit and managed to build a small playlist of songs for her to listen to. “Let me know if this is too loud.” He played a song and waited until they found a good setting for her. “Hold tight when the music starts and just move with me, ok?” He secured his phone and pulled out his red half mask that covered his mouth.

I don’t think any of the guys I’ve dated have ever been this considerate. He’s not a textbook gentleman, but he’s pretty close. Y/N was genuinely surprised with how much care he was taking with her. She was nervous that he may find her burdensome and tried not to cause much trouble. The tug on her legs caught her off guard, literally pulling her from her thoughts and scooting her closer to him. His voice was a bit muffled, but she was not sure which made it worse: the beating of her heart that was now magically in her ears or the helmet. Either way, she managed to figure out what he was saying and answer.

“Do you listen to anything in particular?”

“Anything is fine by me, but I tend to do more 90s rock. Linkin Park, Coldplay, or My Chemical Romance are always appreciated.” Is that weird to say? Maybe I should've said something more pop or indie? But I like them and they’re my go-to music.

“Really?” she felt him twist, so she looked up, or at least tried to but could only see part of his face.

How do people ride with big, clunky things like these? Then again, this is his size, so it’s probably not so big or clunky to him. She reasoned.

Soon enough, everything seemed settled and as soon as the music started, she tightly held onto him. As promised, he kept to an easy speed which allowed her to take in her surroundings. It was not as scary as she thought it would be. The cars that zipped by were not the best, but Jason clearly knew what he was doing and avoided all trouble. At a red light there was a car revving its engine and some passengers were heckling them, but he seemed to just ignore it.

I wonder, would he have responded to them if I wasn’t here? They’re pretty annoying. This is the third light they’ve stopped at with us and are still trying to get a rise out of him. She frowned, unable to hear them thanks to the music. A bunch of rowdy losers. She tightened her grip on Jason. The pat to her arms surprised her, but it was reassuring. Cici’s right, I need to talk to him about the bill. He’s not going to throw a fit and storm off.

Y/N looked up as they pulled into a parking lot. It was a diner she had seen on a few of the bus rides when the usual bus was not running. She had always thought about stopping by, but it was always a fleeting thought until she saw it again.

“We’re here,” she heard him as the music stopped. “You climb off first, I’ll keep the bike balanced.” She quickly followed his instructions and managed to get off without fumbling, much to her own surprise. Feeling proud, she stood a little taller and pulled off the helmet

“Not so bad, right?” He grinned, his mask hidden in his jacket once more.

“I’ll admit, not as scary as everyone makes it out to be. You were a textbook motorcyclist. I thank you for not trying to give me a heart attack.”

“Bikes get a bad rep, couldn’t let that happen again. Want your bag? It’ll be safe here if not.” Y/N hesitated for a moment. If he does end up freaking out on me, I’ll lose my things. It’s unlikely he would, but I can’t risk it. Who knows what’ll happen. 4k isn’t just some simple bake sale change. “Yeah, I probably should. My phone is there. I should have it on me in case Cici tries to reach me.”

“Say no more,” he carefully handed it to her and took his helmet in return. “C’mon, let’s get some grub. I'm starving!” He led the way inside.

“Well look who it is, back again? Oh, you’re not alone this time?” Y/N looked up at the sound of the gruff voice to a big older guy standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Hey Charlie, what can I say, I like your food. Yeah, I brought a friend, we’ll seat ourselves.” Jason hooked his arm around her shoulders and led her to a booth where there were not as many people. A young woman came around with the sticky laminated menus, pouting at the sight of Y/N. It was evident that the waitress was interested in the handsome regular and Y/N was not off to a good start.

Better not do anything to get her spitting in my food. She nervously smiled, picking up the menu.

Jason watched Y/N as she looked over the choices, a small smile tugging at his lips as he recalled how proud she looked when she dismounted his bike with ease. He was nervous that she may not have liked the ride because of the overcompensating teens that were trying to get him to race, but she had yet to say anything so he let it be

Those dumbasses were lucky they were allowed to keep up with me. I'd been impossible to catch if I was alone. I’m just glad she wasn't annoyed by them. The ride was peaceful aside from that. She was not stiff and followed his lead well, which was great for him. Feeling her pressed against his back made him realize just how much smaller she was compared to him. She was not frail or sickly, but she was comparably weaker than him or many of the other females he has worked with. Then again, none of them are run-of-the-mill either. He realized the unfair comparison. It was different though, a good difference. He could not really put his finger on why it mattered, but it had. Instead of stressing on it, he let the thought come and go.

When they reached the diner, he asked her about her belongings and she hesitated. She was clearly weighing the risks and benefits. It was not shrewd, it was logical. Even though he was a secret vigilante, she should be cautious. If he was anyone else, she could have been a lot of trouble. Hearing her answer was a relief. He had no intention of just up and leaving her, but anything could happen. Duty could call, and he would need to go, and she would be stuck here. The idea of abandoning her did not sit well with him, and he could not figure out why.

Regardless, everything is going pretty smoothly for now, maybe we can have a decent conversation. I need to bring up the money, but she’s yet to even ask for my name. What does a guy gotta do to be inquired about around here!? He propped an elbow on the table and glared at her reflection in the window, chin resting in his hand.

“So, I suppose I should start with a name, huh?” His ears perked up at the words, and he quickly turned to face her. “We’ve obviously met a bunch of times, but I didn’t really think we’d ever meet again after so I never bothered. My name's Y/N Y/LN, what’s yours?”

Did I hear right? Did she just and then just? Have I died? Like actually died-died? “Took you long enough,” he grinned. “Nice to meet you officially, my name is Jason Todd. Now I can change your contact name from ‘Trouble Magnet Barista’ to your actual name.”

“You did not,” he showed her his phone and she whacked him with the menu. He laughed as he dodged the hit.

“You refused to give me your name. What was I supposed to call you? The Expensive Inquisition? Or D.I.D. #1?” He smirked as she scowled at him. “You have no one to blame but yourself for that.”

“I should change your name to Sir Questions-a-lot.” He heard her grumble as she took out her phone and changed his name while he changed hers in his phone. “Something tells you wanted to say more than just your name, what’s up?”

Y/N stared at the words on the menu but paid them no attention. She needed to get her thoughts in order and strike up the conversation without insulting or angering him. It’s not every day some chick comes demanding a large sum of money like that. She glanced at him over the top of the menu. Well for normal people anyway. Trust fund kids with a playboy father might have people knocking on their door all the time. I need to make sure he knows I'm not one of those people.

“So, I suppose I should start with a name, huh?” She finally built up the courage to speak up. “We’ve obviously met a bunch of times, but I didn’t really think we’d ever meet again after so I never bothered. My name's Y/N Y/LN, what’s yours?” She anxiously waited for his response as he simply stared at her with wide eyes. Oh no, did I do that wrong? How else was I supposed to do it? I can’t just say ‘hi’ like we weren’t just with each other!

“Took you long enough,” he grinned. “Nice to meet you officially, my name is Jason Todd. Now I can change your contact name from ‘Trouble Magnet Barista’ to your actual name.”

“You did not,” she gasped when he showed her the screen and she swung the first thing in her hands, which was the floppy menu. Sadly he was able to avoid the feeble strike.

Y/N stiffened at his reminder of why she even brought up their names. He was right. She made the decision to talk to him about the hotel bill. Jason had to have known he broke the machine, but was unaware of the bill that followed. How else would he be so carefree?

“Yes, there is something else.” She set her weapon down and took a deep breath. Just rip it off like a bandaid. “The hotel we stayed at,” she paused for a moment, shifting her gaze from his face to the table. “They contacted me that weekend and told me there was damage to the room. I know you didn’t do it on purpose, but the price to pay is really steep. I won’t demand you to pay all of it since I’ve already started paying it off, but I’d appreciate it if you’d help me with the rest. Which is why I’ve been working like crazy to cover the costs, but it’s slow progress and the hotel is starting to get annoyed with how slow the progress is. Not only that, but I’m afraid they’ll throw me into collections, which will only cause more problems. I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, nor did I want to blame you, but Cici and I are already living tight as is.” She tried to speak as calmly as possible, but her tempo sped up a bit towards the end as her nerves got the best of her. There, I said it! Now all she had to do was wait for him to respond.

Tag: @vbecker10 @wordsfromshona @harlequin-hangout @harpy-space @tild3ath @gone-batty-fics @princessbl0ss0m @dakotali @antiquecultistst

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brockkboeserr · 2 years ago

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one day all my love will come back to me

Spending a mid-degree gap year in the guest bedroom of your best friend who you’ve been in love with for ages seems to be a recipe for disaster until a hook up with a player from a visiting team threatens to change your future forever

pairing: nathan mackinnon x reader; brayden point x reader

warnings: creative liberties taken with the 2021-2022 regular season schedule and the availability/contributions of Brayden Point during the 2022 playoffs, typical angst associated with a love triangle with a hint of unrequited love, sexual themes (not quite smut but more than implied) and the usual (alcohol, swearing, etc.)

word count: 10.9k

a/n: surprise @senditcolton i'm your summer exchange fic writer! i'm so so so sooooo sorry this is late, @wyattjohnston and i were having a hot girl european summer and it's not an excuse but a bit of an explanation. when i saw you had written brayden point twice in your players list, i knew it was time to dust off this fic idea i had last year and do her proper justice. i hope you like it!!! shout out to demi for the many "replace c with C" suggestions on google docs and @thomasschabot for the other suggestions. ok i'll shut up now, enjoy!!

The Avs are up by one with thirty seconds to go and you’re pretty sure you’re going to puke. It’s a good thing everyone is far too focused on the action going on at ice level to question why your gaze keeps bouncing between the good guys and a certain forward on the other team. It’s such a strange feeling—you want with your entire being for your boys to hoist the Cup, but there’s a small part of you that never wants to see the boy on the other team you care for so deeply, so upset. He was right, you both crossed the line past hooking up a long time ago.

“You look hot.”

In any other circumstance, those words from Nate would have your heart going into overdrive. As it stands, your heart is already pumping at a rate you fear is not healthy while you lie on a trampoline with your niece’s sprinkler set up beneath it. For every bitter complaint you’ve ever had about a Canadian winter, the opposing heat waves might just be slightly worse.

“A/C’s broken,” you say like that explains everything.

Nate hums in response like maybe it does before pulling himself up beside you.

Somehow the air around you feels even hotter, precipitation building at your hairline. You fuss for a minute, wiping away the sweat before dramatically slapping your hands down on the trampoline in protest.

Nate ignores you, choosing to instead cheerfully proclaim “This is nice!”

“What do you want?” you ask in response. There are layers to your grumpiness, but for now you can pretend it’s all related to the unbearable heat.

“Can’t a guy visit his best friend?”

You can feel his eyes on you, but you keep yours closed. “Not when it's 34 degrees out and humid as hell and he has to leave his air conditioned mansion to do so.”

“I saw your story and I was coming to invite you to my air conditioned mansion.”

“Is Sidney home?” Your tone is so much more nonchalant than you feel. It doesn’t matter that the aforementioned man went from Nate’s childhood hero to mentor to near-brother; it will never not be weird to have but one degree of separation from the man who’s name is on your town’s welcome sign.

Nate laughs like he can read your mind, but you still don’t glance over at him. You don’t need to, not really. The image of him beside you comes all too easily to your inner mind. His hair’s got a wave from the humidity, his nose tinged red from the hot sun, and his chest golden and chiseled and harlequin romance novel cover-esque—

“You know one day you’re going to have to get used to being around guys who made it to the show. Hell, I'm a guy who made it to the show.”

Finally you turn to look at him and he’s somehow even more beautiful than you’d just imagined. “That’s different Nate. You’re….you.”

He smiles at you and it’s brighter than the damn sun causing you so many problems today. “And Sid’s just Sid. And the guys in Denver are just the guys in Denver.”

His words have your nose scrunching and you promptly go back to laying flat on your back. “Don’t remind me.” There’s silence for a beat or two and then you continue, “Speaking of, are you sure it’s still okay—“

Nate doesn’t let you finish this time. “Yes, I’m sure it’s okay for you to hang around my apartment in Denver while you take a year off from school to figure out what you want to do.”

“Thanks Nate,” you reply and he hums in response. Abruptly you sit up, sliding a little from the slick trampoline surface. “Your A/C offer still standing too?”

He grins this time and you’re damn near blinded. “For you? Always.”

Sidney—Sid waves at you both from his kitchen when you pull up to Nate’s but that’s as far as it goes. Nate makes a joke about banana bread that you don’t quite get, mood souring considerably when you wonder aloud if he thinks Sidney will bring some over.

It’s all forgotten when the cold air hits you as you enter the lake house.

The summer passes by quickly without too much incident—just the nagging of your mother about your future and your own tiptoeing around the feelings you have for your friend.

On one of your and Nate’s last nights before leaving for Denver, your niece pulls him aside and sternly instructs him to bring home the Cup for her.

He laughs, but there’s something in his eye that says he means it when he says he will. That intensity doesn’t waiver, even as his gaze slides toward you. It has you thinking about a future by his side, celebrating those moments with him in a way so much greater than you do now.

The thought doesn’t leave you as you kiss your family goodbye, trying desperately to not let any tears shed at the thought of no longer being a small distance away. Nate’s constant near proximity and the promise of more of it takes away the sting a little, but you fall into your sister’s embrace that little bit more all the same.

Even as you do a final check of your things—two large suitcases, a carry-on and a backpack to house everything you’ll need for the next year—you think about it, of what it would be like to do this every year. What it would be like to pack with the intention of unpacking your things beside Nate’s in his closet. It’s silly, but sometimes you still feel like you’re fifteen years old, realizing you’re in love with your best friend as he goes away to the same hockey school as his idol.

Two flights full of self doubt and Nate sleeping on your shoulder later you’re convinced spending your impromptu gap year at his place is a bad idea. But then he’s smiling and ‘welcome home’-ing you and you step through the door.

Unemployment and a mid-twenties life crisis isn’t so bad from the guest bedroom of a lavish semi-detached in the suburbs of Denver. The bed’s softer than the one in your childhood bedroom. Bigger too. And the closet leading into the attached en-suite has no business being the size it is.

There are downsides of course. You are still unemployed and in the middle of a life crisis. Nathan is woefully unaware of your feelings and likely to never reciprocate. His teammates look at you like they know, though. And there’s the whole banning of any food that brings any modicum of enjoyment that you’re not entirely sure is serious or not.

The teammates that come around are kind to you when you’re around them enough to let them be. A small part of it is the intimidation of them being professional hockey players but they’re good guys and you’ve met many of them before. Really, it’s something more akin to the inherent uncomfortability of your predicament. It’s Nate’s house and you’re free-loading.

Of course he would argue differently if you voiced your thoughts and hang ups but that’s precisely why you don’t.

Nate may have never caught onto your feelings for him, but he’s not an oblivious person. That’s probably how you end up in the family box, being personally invited to brunch with the Better Halves by the best-half-in-charge herself, Mel Landeskog.

You find yourself nodding despite the anxiety of the possibility of making new friends, certain it’s less of an invitation and more of a demand.

She tells you as much, pressing a mimosa into your hand when you arrive at a cute restaurant and a table full of beautiful, predominantly blonde women. If Nate’s teammates were intimidating on a personal level, their wives and girlfriends are a whole other level. Never in your life have you been so surrounded by a group of women so put together—every outfit perfectly on point, every head of hair treated to an expensive blowout, every foundation shade perfectly matched or worse, no makeup needed.

It has you self-conscious, despite having spent ages picking out something to wear and trying to tame your hair into something presentable. The mimosa helps, and so do the compliments from Ashley Kadri. Little by little you open up, and by the end of brunch you have a killer buzz and a dozen new instagram followers and numbers in your phone.

When Nate picks you up, the bubbles have gone to your head. You spend the entire ride back to his place with the back of your head pressed to the passenger side window so that you can grin stupidly at his side profile.

“The girls are great,” you tell him with a silly giggle. His returning smile reeks of satisfaction of a job well done, but you don’t focus on it. “We’re gonna get dinner this week too!”

Although Mel takes you under her wing, it’s Heidy, Cale’s girlfriend who you instantly click with.

She’s every bit as beautiful and kind as the rest of them, but you connect with her on a different level. It’s almost like you’ve known her as long as you’ve known Nate. She shares your love of Taylor Swift and gets your jokes and is more than happy to let you bounce future career plans off her.

You can tell the girls have questions about your relationship with Nate, and truthfully they can get in line behind you. Sometimes, when you’re not careful, it almost feels like you’re not alone in how you feel. Sometimes it feels like you’re high school sweethearts, playing house on the precipice of a greater future.

Nate doesn’t help it himself though. It’s you he calls on long road trips, you he pulls into a giant hug outside the locker room before driving you both home after a game. You who is invited to WAG functions as a connection to him—both informally in a social context and more formally and broadly. Things like charity toy drives and the family box at games. A part of you fears the possibility of playoffs—especially with odds so clearly in the Avs favor—and what it would mean to be so publicly claimed as Nate’s while privately remaining the way you always have been.

It’s Heidy who you confide in. She’s always there to offer her ear, her shoulder, her opinion. And, although she encourages you to share your feelings, she also knows when to back off and let you do it when and if you’re ready.

You don’t think you’ll ever be ready.

With Christmas comes the Better Halves Christmas Tree Auction. It’s Mel’s favorite charity event of the season, she tells you gleefully.

“Every event is her favorite,” Suzanna says behind her back later.

Designated Favorite Human of the Avalanche Children is usually your favorite title, but it means you have one kid hanging off of you when the girls drop the bomb on you.

“So what are you thinking for your WAG tree?”

It’s an innocent enough question, especially when you think it’s aimed at one of the aforementioned WAGs in the family box. Only when there is no response do you look up and realize it’s meant for you instead.

“Sorry, what?”

“Your…Tree,” someone says slowly and you shake your head.

Your tone and words are almost as flustered as you are. “No I heard you. I’m just—What do you—Why are you asking me?”

“Well, Nate said…”

It all comes clear. Yet again, you’re expected to play the part. At great personal cost, mind you. It’s a mindfuck and a half, having to do all the things that you do for a man you love when it doesn’t mean anything.

Your thoughts are invaded with a tempestuous mixture of Nate and your relationship or lack thereof and yet another public acknowledgement.

Truly, you wonder if the others in the box pity you or laugh behind your back.

“C’mon,” Heidy says later, when the final buzzer sounds, cementing another win. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Nate’s,” you correct weakly.

She nods and repeats his name, grabbing your arm and leading you away.

You’re stewing in silence when Nate comes home.

“You okay?” he questions upon finding you in the living room, lit up only by the light filtering in through the large bay window.

The twitch of your eye is the only indication you’ve heard and recognized his words for a long moment. You can practically hear the gears whirring in his head, can feel the moment he’s about to speak again.

Not wanting to give him the opportunity, you ask, “Why?” His brows furrow and his head tits and so you continue. “Why did you say I would do your Better Half tree?”

“It’s for charity…You love charity work.” Nate visibly relaxes and you understand why. He’s not wrong, engaging in charity work has been a big part of why you’re not wallowing in self pity, but this isn’t just simple ‘charity work’ and you tell him as much.

“I love toy drives and helping at the soup kitchen and adoption events at the ASPCA. This is different, this is your WAG tree. It means something. It’s in your name, like I’m—I’m—“ you can’t bring yourself to say it.

“Everything you mentioned you do in my name.” He doesn’t seem to get it, frustrating you further.

“It’s not the same, Nate! All those other things I do as part of the larger group. It’s all facilitated by your team and your teammates ‘Better Halves.’ Their wives and girlfriends. They’ve all made me feel welcome, but I'm not one of them. This implies that I am one of them, but I’m not your girlfriend and certainly not your wife.”

“You basically are.” The phrase has your heart jumping into your throat. Of every daydream or fantasy you’ve ever allowed yourself to slip into, you never dreamed this would be how it all went down—“Without actually being my wife or girlfriend.”

“Right.” Your voice is short and clipped, masking the hurt quickly overtaking you. You won’t cry—you’re stronger than that. So strong in fact, that you lay down a firm boundary. “I won’t do it. Get Sidney to do it or something.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, pausing and then asking, “We’re good, right?”

“Yep.” You feign nonchalance and then wish him a good night.

The pillow holds all your tears and secrets.

The incident sticks with you, despite your many attempts to shake it off. Even Heidy can’t help. She tries anyway.

You’re not his.

But you are. You’re his and you have been for years now. Since he was leaving for school. Maybe even many years before that. Regardless of the true beginning, it doesn’t quite matter. What really matters is this: you’re not sure it will ever have an ending, but you’re almost certain if it does, it won’t be the one you want.

You’re his but he’s not yours.

Part of him is, sure, but you share that part with the other residents of Cole Harbour. The other part with the team and his teammates and their families, with the fans and the haters alike. The part you so desperately want to be yours has belonged to many a woman, but never to you.

It was a lot easier to live in the space between his childhood best friend and everything more when you were separated the majority of the year. A summer chock full of other things to do and focus your attention on to keep the longing at bay and enough distance for the rest of the year to forget how it feels to have him near without really having him.

One of Heidy’s distraction schemes involves hitting up downtown Denver a few nights later.

“But it’s Thursday,” you say when she shows up at Nate’s dressed up like she’s ready to hit the bar.

“I have tomorrow off and you don’t have a job, so,” she replies.

You frown, “Ouch.” She throws a look your way as if to not take it so personally and continues perusing your closet. “I’m not really feeling up to going out tonight.”

“Too damn bad,” she replies. “You can’t just sit here and wallow for the rest of your life.”

“Watch me,” you retort but start to get up anyway.

She smirks and tosses some clothes at you. “Get dressed and do something with your hair. I’ll do your makeup.”

“Where are you guys going all dressed up?” Nate questions when he spots the two of you in the foyer.

“Out.” Heidy is curt, a consequence of her not only being a good friend to you, but also her own awareness of his behavior.

His brows knit together but he soldiers on, “Do you want company?”

“Nope!” She’s much more cheerful now that she’s handed you your coat and bundled herself up. “Don’t wait up!”

Heidy drags you out to Cale’s car, where the man himself sits waiting. You instantly feel bad—between your protesting and actual time spent getting ready, he’d been sitting a while.

“Have you been here the whole time?” you ask as you get in the backseat. He shrugs with a rosy smile as Heidy pushes you in further and takes a seat beside you. After pressing a quick kiss to her boyfriend’s cheek over the center console, of course.

Cale doesn’t stick around after dropping you both off—a wave, a ‘be safe’, and ‘call me when you’re ready to go home’ and he’s gone.

You’re terrible company admittedly, mouth set in a deep frown that doesn’t crack even as you sip your drink. Heidy does most of the talking at first, blabbing away about everything and nothing. Until she sighs, slaps her hand down on the bar top and says, “You need to deal with this. Either you need to resolve things with Nate or you need to get over it, distract yourself with something or someone else.”

You nearly choke on the last of your drink. “Gee, Heidy, could you be any more subtle?”

“I’m worried about you.” She’s so earnest it tugs at your heart.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try. Really.”

She smiles, relaxing into the seat at the bar top.

Just then, the bartender sets another drink in front of you.

“I didn’t order another,” you state politely, attempting to hand back the drink.

The bartender shakes his head, motioning to the table in the corner as he speaks. “From someone at that table.”

It’s a group of athletic men, but only one is looking your way. He’s all intense eyes framed by intense eyebrows, but the look on his face doesn’t match the intensity. It’s…intriguing to say the least. Soft but confident, and definitely interested.

It’s not until one of the other men at the table elbows him that you realize they’re the team playing the Avs tomorrow night.

Quickly you spin back around and whisper to your friend, “Someone from the Tampa Bay Lightning just bought me a drink.”

Her eyes widen and she herself turns around quickly to get a glimpse of your admirer across the bar. You grab at her arm and bring her back to face the bar top.

“Heidy!” you hiss.

“Sorry!” she replies, “What are you going to do?”

You think about it for a second before throwing caution to the wind. Putting on your flirtiest smile, you turn around a lot more gracefully this time. Raising the gifted drink, you tilt it in a ‘Cheers’ motion before wrapping your lips around the straw for a sip. He responds with an identical gesture, although with an amber colored beer bottle instead.

Satisfied, you resume your earlier position while Heidy speaks.

“When I said you needed a distraction that is not what I meant!”

You roll your eyes. “It’s a drink, not a marriage proposal. Relax.”

She does, until you pull her out to the dance floor with eyes only for the man across the bar. Lucky for you—and less lucky for Heidy’s resting heart rate and blood pressure—he’s got eyes for you, too.

It only takes half a song for him to approach and introduce himself. “I’m Brayden.”

You smile and reciprocate, waiting a beat for Heidy to speak too, but she just tilts her nose up. An elbow to her side doesn’t get her speaking and so you introduce her, too.

One of Brayden’s eyebrows raise and you find yourself momentarily mesmerized by the action before quickly explaining, “Big Avalanche fans.”

He nods slowly once, then shrugs. “Maybe I can change that.”

“Doubtful,” she says under her breath, but if you heard it, you imagine Brayden did too.

She doesn’t thaw any, even as the song changes. Nor does she get the hint to take herself elsewhere and so you rather pointedly ask if she can go get you both another round.

Heidy isn’t even able to get out whatever she was ready to grumble before Brayden is offering, pausing to ask what Heidy is drinking. She begrudgingly tells him and he disappears.

“Seriously? You could have any guy here and that’s who you go for?” she asks.

You shrug, “He’s the one I want.”

She softens at your earnest tone. “Okay.”

“Call Cale,” you tell her. “Go curl up on the couch and watch TV together or whatever you would have done if you weren’t worrying about me.”

“I don’t know…”

“Go. I’ll be fine. And I’ll text you if I need you,” you confirm.

She sighs. “I’m waiting for my drink first.”

You laugh and pull her into a side hug. “Love you.”

True to her word, she finishes the drink Brayden brings her—even managing a ‘thank you!’—before slipping off into the crowd and, you imagine, into her boyfriend’s car.

Brayden looks a little concerned at her rapid exit. “Did I do something to make her leave?”

“Besides playing for the wrong team? Nah.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but the concern fades when you wrap your arms around his neck.

It’s all but gone when you press your lips to his.

You dance for another few songs and another drink before your inhibitions are just low enough to drag him in the direction of the bathrooms.

The men’s is empty when you enter, and so you flip the lock on the door and press yourself against him.

He reciprocates, crowding you against the door with his mouth hot on yours.

Your whole body lights up at his touch, coming alive beneath his fingertips. There are no thoughts of Nate or the predicament you’ve found yourself in, just Brayden.

His hands are curved around your jaw, and your leg is wrapped around his waist when he pulls away. “Wait...wait.”

“You don’t want…?” You’re not drunk, just a little bit more sensitive to rejection than you usually would be.

“No that’s—That’s not it at all. I want you, like, really want you.” He kisses you, and as good as his touch feels, being wanted feels that extra bit more. “Not like this. Not here.”

Truthfully, you’ve never been the kind of girl who lets someone hit and quit in a bar bathroom before. Or anywhere really. A part of you that you thought was long buried stirs inside of you and you realize for the first time in a long time you’re feeling something for a man who isn’t your best friend.

Your best friend. Shit. “I have a kind of odd living situation right now, my place isn’t an option.”

“Your parents?”

You bark out a laugh that he immediately covers with his mouth. “No, they’re back in Canada.”

“Your husband? Your boyfriend?” He’s joking, but you can’t help but get the sense there’s an ounce of worry that he’s right. It’s such an inconceivable notion that Nate could ever be either to you that you laugh again.

“No, I just live with a friend who probably won’t be understanding about a strange man in their house.”

Brayden visibly relaxes, pauses, and then says, “I have a hotel room…you’ll have to be quiet though.”

“I can be quiet,” you reply, barely hiding your smirk.

You try your best, really give it your best effort, but no one has ever touched you like he does.

Nate doesn’t cross your mind once.

You sneak out early in the morning, determined to not have a semi-public walk of shame in front of an entire hockey team. It’s almost a success until you run into his captain in the lobby. Feeling your face grow hot, you give him a little nod and escape to the waiting Uber. You can only hope he doesn’t get too much shit, telling him as much using the newest number in your phone.

You’re not nearly as lucky, facing the firing squad that is Nate as you slip into the entryway. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see your best friend awaiting your arrival, if the several messages that popped up when you’d finally opened your phone to send the aforementioned text to Brayden were any indication.

“Where have you been?” he asks and you have to keep from rolling your eyes.

“Out,” you say, calling back to Heidy’s response last night but he doesn’t accept it as easily coming from you.

“All night?” he continues the interrogation.

“I crashed at Heidy’s last night, what’s with the fifth degree, Dad?”

He looks like he was waiting for this moment as he replies, “No you didn’t, I talked to Cale.”

This time you do roll your eyes. “It’s none of your business, Nate.”

“It is my business if you’re under my roof,” he says, doing his best impression of your father for real this time.

You know it’s not his intention, but your stomach drops all the same. The old feeling of guilt and shame and failure floods your veins, and you can tell he notices.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just worried and you didn’t answer my messages.”

“I know,” you say but the words taste bitter in your mouth. “I’m going to go get some more sleep. See you later.”

He repeats the words back at you, but you’re more focused on the buzzing phone in your pocket.

Safe in Nate’s guest bedroom, you slip into something more comfortable, get beneath the covers and open your messages.

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Got fined

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Probably going to get chirped for a month

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Worth it though

You: I would tell you I’m sorry but I’m not

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Me either

If you thought that was the beginning and the end of Brayden you would be sorely mistaken.

Long distance flirting becomes a long distance hook up becomes him flying you out to see him. Any time you protested the latter, you’d find a non-refundable ticket in your email and a ‘please’ in your text messages.

Fall fades into Winter and Bar Guy 💙🤍 turns to Brayden turns to B 💙. As your feelings for him grow, you find thoughts of Nate as anything other than someone-you-grew-up-with fade.

You come clean about the ‘friend you live with’ being Nathan MacKinnon before the first time you fly down to see him, worried that your lie by omission might be a dealbreaker. Brayden only laughs, he figured Heidy’s hostility was more than just motivated by more than sports team loyalty.

The thing about Brayden is he never makes you feel bad about Nate. He is understanding and gracious, never demanding, never unreasonable. A small part of you sometimes thinks about how if the roles were reversed, you don’t think Nate would be quite the same.

Initially unsupportive and apprehensive, Heidy comes around, although her persistence turns from telling Nate how you feel to telling Nate about Brayden. You don’t do either, and she keeps your secrets.

Nate being selected for the All Star Game in Vegas while Brayden isn’t brings a unique opportunity for a week straight in hot, sunny Florida. The chill of Denver isn’t quite as biting as back home, but you’re excited to escape it all the same.

He doesn’t ask you to join him in Vegas, but you do wonder if he thought he didn’t need to.

It doesn’t matter either way, when an errant high stick in overtime breaks his nose and dashes his All Star dreams.

Your first thought upon seeing him bloody and disoriented on the ice is that there is no way you can go to Florida.

It probably looks much worse than it is, the girls try to reassure you in the box, but you’re not convinced.

Nate’s reassurances later don’t do much either. Not with his face puffy and bruised and some dried blood on his chin.

It’s not until he assures you that his mom and sister will be coming down to Denver since they had the time off anyway that you decide for sure you will go.

The day you leave for the airport, his pathetic form on the couch is almost enough to have you last minute cancelling on Brayden.

Nate all but demands you don’t miss out on his account, asking that you ‘be safe’ and ‘have fun’.

In return you hit him with a ‘thanks Dad’ and ‘take it easy’ despite knowing just by virtue of who he is as a person he will be doing the exact opposite.

Thoughts of Nate, broken and bruised, haunt you the entire journey. They don’t fade until you’re in Brayden’s arms. Even then, it’s a dull ache that you do your best to ignore.

Evidently you don’t do a very good job of hiding it, or maybe Brayden just knows you better than you think, because he catches on before you’ve even reached his place.

“You okay?” he asks, gently squeezing your knee where his hand rests.

Turning to look at his side profile, so earnest and sweet, you don’t even think of lying.

“I’m worried about Nate.”

“I get that,” he says and you wonder if he truly does. “I’m glad you’re here with me though.”

Smiling at him, you are too, and so you try to push down the guilt and focus your attention on the man you’re with.

You check on Nate periodically throughout the week, never getting much more than a thumbs up emoji, but at least you know he’s alive.

Brayden wines and dines and, well, you know the rest of the rhyme.

By the time the week is up, you don’t want to leave. It’s strange how meeting one person can change things so drastically. Before Brayden, you would never have dreamed of spending a week with another man when Nate was injured and possibly may have needed you.

It also puts things into perspective for you.

Really emphasizes how much additional emotional labor you put in—and were expected to—in your relationship with Nate. The lines and boundaries had long since blurred, and it took dedicating your time and energy to another man to see it.

If Nate notices the way you pull back even further when you return, he doesn’t say anything about it.

Falling for Brayden is easy. It’s a gentle float down to the ground, landing among a field of flowers to catch your fall. A stark contrast to the free fall of being pushed from an airplane at 10,000 feet by Nate.

Where Nate’s sharp edges have cut you time and time and time again, Brayden’s curves wrap around you and hold you tight.

When you’re not physically with him, you’re texting and calling, and when you’re not doing that you’re thinking about him.

Neither of you make any move to define the relationship further, but it doesn’t sting like the years of being strung along by Nate did. It’s probably because while no words have been exchanged to that effect, Brayden lets you feel how much he cares for you.

You’re nearly found out late in the regular season.

Something about Tampa has started to feel familiar and safe—you try not to think about exactly why that is—and so, despite the knowledge that the boys are in town, too, you’re not as careful as you should be.

There’s an ice cream spot near Brayden’s that you’ve taken to frequenting. As a consequence, it’s also near the arena.

Because it’s so close, you decide to walk there, teasing him the whole way about how one ice cream cone won’t derail his nutrition plan. He’s arguing back, but you know it’s in vain because his sweet tooth and the lilt of your voice will win in the end.

Your hands naturally brush as a result of your close proximity and you take the opportunity to link your pinkies. He smiles softly and you walk in silence for a minute until he breaks it.

“You really won’t let me give you my jersey?” It’s a question that has come up before, but every time it does you wonder if it’s a little bit more serious of an ask than the last.

“I’d rather die. Maybe if you were a better hockey player,” you tease, jumping back to avoid his grasp.

He gasps playfully, thick eyebrows raising with his wide eyes. “Take that back right now.” He takes a step closer to you but you dodge his advances, sliding to the other side of the bench.

“Sorry baby, you know I bleed blue and maroon. Wouldn’t be caught dead in traitor blue.” Not to mention you’d never ever hear the end of it from the boys if someone saw you in it.

He fakes left and you fall for it, giggling madly as he wraps you up in his arms and scrapes his beard against your cheek. “What about just for me?” he asks, kissing your neck once and then nipping at it with his teeth before pulling back to look into your eyes. “In my bed with nothing else on?”

It’s like the already beautiful temperature rises even higher when he presses his mouth to yours. You give in quickly, pressing onto the tips of your toes to get even closer. It turns dirty quickly, his tongue in your mouth and his fingers buried deep in your hair.

And then a familiar voice calls your name.

You pull from Brayden like you’ve been burnt, a look of pure panic crossing your face as you realize you know the body attached to the voice.

It’s JT and he looks like been standing there long enough to figure out what’s going on.

“JT—“ you start to explain, but pause. There is no easy, simple explanation. There are months and months, hell years and years, of backstory and layers to even get to this point.

“I thought—“ He appears to change his mind, stopping his thought mid sentence and switching to a question. “What’s going on here?”

“Brayden and I are, well, we’re.” It’s a struggle to explain what you are to one of Nate’s teammates when you haven’t had this conversation in full with the man beside you. Finally, you land on “We’re together.”

You don’t look over at Brayden to see his reaction.

“How long?” is the natural follow up.

It’s another tough question, but you decide to go with the first time you met and slept together. “Before Christmas.”

“Does Nate know?” he asks. The wild look in your eyes must give you away because he signs and says your name. “You have to tell him.”

You get that, really you do. But at the same time it’s your business what you do and who you do it with, not Nate’s. At the same time, you know it would be a really shit thing for him to find out through someone who isn’t you.

Beyond that, you’re pretty sure right before playoffs isn’t the right time to have that conversation and you tell JT as much. “I know, I will. After the season I’ll tell everyone.”

JT looks less than convinced.

“You know Nate, it wouldn’t do anyone any good while the season is still going on. Please, you can’t tell him.”

JT might be as aware as you are of who Nate is as a person, and he’s certainly more aware of who Nate is as a hockey player and so he agrees despite his clear hesitance. “Promise me, after the season.”

“I promise.”

When he’s gone, Brayden finally speaks up. “You want to go public with us?”

You worry you’ve said the wrong thing, starting to babble about how you’re sorry the conversation didn’t occur privately first, and how you don’t need to go public if it’s not something he wants to do when he silences you with a kiss.

“I want to tell everyone,” he says earnestly and you kiss him again.

JT thankfully keeps his word.

Nate doesn’t watch any other team in the playoffs.

It makes trying to catch Brayden’s games tough, sneaking out to sports bars, watching games on your phone in Nate’s guest room, even flying out to watch a couple home games during the run.

The only supportive merch you sport is a necklace with his number, and on occasion a little blue and white lacy number under your clothes. You’re not offered a WAG jacket—whether that’s due to Brayden knowing well enough you don’t want to be that public or because your reaction to the style of jacket itself was less than positive.

In the back of your mind you recognize there’s a chance it could come down to the teams of the boys you care for most; one Eastern Conference, one Western Conference.

Selfishly, when the first round between the Bolts and the Leafs goes to seven, part of you hopes for it to end right there. Most of you is glad they push through.

On Colorado’s side of the playoff bracket, they absolutely rip through everyone who stands in their way.

You are offered a jacket with Nate’s name and number in glitter, but you turn it down in favor of a lucky baseball cap, though you do accept an unpersonalized crop from Madison.

Some of the girls decide to travel for the away games. You have to turn them down because there are already tickets with your name on them to see Brayden. There’s no way you can—or would—miss any Avs home games, and so instead you end up being one of a handful of supporters in the likes of Toronto, Miami and New York.

It’s a difficult balancing act as the playoffs progress in both teams’ favor.

And then your worst nightmare comes true. The quest for the Cup comes down to your… whatever Brayden is to you and to Nate and the team you’ve supported since he was drafted and all the other people who have come to feel like family.

Whispering to Brayden in the dark of night before the Finals begin, you tell him, “You know I support you, but…”

“It’s okay,” he whispers back, even though he has no reason to match your tone all alone in his home in Tampa. “I get it. As long as you still like me, you can like them a little bit more.”

You giggle, “It’s got nothing to do with liking you, you dolt.”

“Bolt,” he corrects, and even though you can’t see him you know he’s smiling.

“Oh my God, shut up.” You don’t mean it literally but he’s quiet for a second too long. “No matter what happens I’m proud of you.”

For two people who have never properly defined nor publicized their relationship, it might be too heavy of a moment, but his quiet thank you is laced with emotion.

“Go to bed,” you say after another few beats of silence. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The first two games are in Colorado, and the boys take both at home.

“Ain’t over til it’s over,” is both of your boys’ philosophy after the first two.

Nate is positively buzzing, especially after so decisively winning the second, but still cautious—very aware of how quickly a 2-0 lead can turn into the end of the line and empty hands.

Brayden is also cautious, and this isn’t his first or even second rodeo at the Cup final in as many years. You try to kiss it better in a random hallway in the bowels of Ball Arena.

Finally accepting the Better Halves’ invitation to travel to road games, you have a good seat to Tampa taking back some momentum in game three before promptly handing it back to Colorado.

You die and come back to life a dozen times in game four as Brayden and his team hold on.

Game five is to be played back in Tampa, and you spend the night before the game in Brayden’s bed instead of the hotel Nate has paid for. “Good luck,” you whisper against his lips early in the morning before you leave to meet the girls for breakfast.

“You don’t mean that,” he teases, stretching out in such a way that has you considering skipping breakfast—certain teasing and interrogation be damned.

“Good luck to you,” you amend, kissing him once more. “Your team can rot.”

His laughter rings in your ears as you leave.

Mel corners you after breakfast, a familiar offending piece of clothing in her hands. “This could be it,” she explains, offering you the jean jacket.

If it were any year previous, you might have worn it. If you didn’t have Brayden, you might have worn it. If Nate had offered it to you himself alongside a confession, you might have worn it.

None of these things are true, and so you decline. “I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

Her smile has a twinge of sadness and understanding as she replies, “Okay.”

Sitting alongside the girls in the box with your cropped sweater hiding the 21 necklace around your neck, you’ve never felt more torn.

Brayden’s captain nets one early in the first, and you’re not sure you breathe again until Nate’s powerplay evens the score early in the second. There’s an undercurrent of excitement in the box alongside the nervous energy. Midway through the second, Arturri tips it in and Amalie Arena is silent.

It stays like that for the rest of the period until you excuse yourself to grab a drink at intermission. Standing in the long drink line, you spot a little girl in a Point jersey and your stomach twists as you think about how no matter which way this ends, someone you care for will be hurt.

That feeling doesn’t leave as you sit through a scoreless third period. The arena gets loud with Bolts fans throughout, celebrating every blocked shot and turnover. That intensity picks up in the dying seconds of the game as Brayden picks off the puck in the defensive zone.

He rushes up the ice flanked by his linemates, but is momentarily stopped by Cale.

He gets his stick back on the puck and your nails dig into the leather arm of the box seat. Suzanna grabs your hand, assuming it’s worry for her boyfriend and his teammates and you let her think that and hold your hand.

Three seconds.

Two seconds.

He shoots right as the buzzer sounds and Darcy gloves it down like there was never a question of him stopping it.

The entire box explodes in a chorus of cheers—there’s shouting, swearing, crying, laughter and you’re right in the middle of them all. Your boys are Stanley Cup Champions.

Someone grabs you, and then someone else joins in and suddenly you’re in the middle of a dog pile. “They fucking did it!”

You’re so fucking excited, incredibly proud and honestly a little weepy about your favorite people finally getting their hands on their childhood dream. But, a bigger part of the organ in your chest than you want to admit aches for the downturn of Brayden’s head as he skates back to the bench.

An attendant appears and wrangles the rowdy bunch down to the ice. You’ve got Linnea Landeskog in your arms and a giant grin on your face as your feet touch the ice.

“Down please,” she politely states while trying to wriggle out of your grasp. The second she’s down she’s running at her daddy who sweeps her up in his arms.

And then Nate’s on you in a way that you used to long for when you were younger. He’s red and sweaty and out of breath but none of these things stop him from hauling you up into his arms and spinning you until you smack at his chest, demanding to be let down much like Linnea only minutes ago.

He stops spinning but he doesn’t let go, staring up at you with a look he’s never given you before. You’re so caught up in the excitement of it all you barely notice, grabbing his cheeks and shouting in his face, “You fucking did it!”

“We fucking did,” he says like he can’t believe this moment is happening—whether that’s due to you in his arms or the Cup that will now bear his name no one can really say. He kind of looks like he’s about to do something stupid, leaning in ever so slightly, and so you finally succeed at leaving his arms, slipping slightly as you reach the ice once again. Brayden is watching from across the ice, a sad look on his face that you just want to kiss off. You don’t though, just pat Nate on the back once and continue moving, throwing yourself at Cale, then Burky, then Mikko.

It’s a blur of celebrations and photos with the Cup—you even let Linnea convince you to take a photo with her and the Cup, her mom remarking that it looks good on you. When you pull from your photo pose, you give her a questioning look. “A baby and a cup,” she smirks, blatantly looking over at Nate who seems to agree.

You laugh nervously—last year that was all you wanted, the boys to win and Nate to want you in that way. Now? Now you can picture it still, you just picture it with someone else.

Finally, you’re able to sneak away and Brayden has the same idea, telling you to meet him in a closet by the locker room. No words are exchanged as he pulls you in by your hips and kisses you like he needs it to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him and you mean it.

A crinkle forms between his eyes. “No you’re not.”

You kiss him again once, “I’m not sorry the boys won tonight, but I am sorry it was against you.”

“There’s always next year.” It’s far more flippant than you had anticipated, really you thought you’d be dealing with an upset Brayden and that might have broken your heart.

“I thought you’d be more upset.”

“Can’t win ‘em all,” he says and you give him a look to be serious. “So what, we didn’t win the Cup this season. I got you, didn’t I?”

“Fuck off, dont be stupid.” Your cheeks are hot and your eyes are wild.

“I mean it. I’d take you over the Cup nine times out of ten.”

“What about the other one?”

“Need to win another one for us to put our future babies in.”

“Awfully presumptuous for a hook up.”

“This is so much more than a hook up.”

“Yeah,” you admit, sinking deeply into another kiss.

“Besides,” he pauses, “Already got two rings.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Okay I gotta go. Will you come get me later?”

He looks at you like you’re stupid to ask, like he’d go into the pits of hell itself for you without hesitation. “Of course. Now go. Celebrate. I’ll see you later.”

You slip out first, making sure the coast is clear and go find the others. A Stanley Cup Champion hat is placed upon your head and a bottle of champagne in your hand. There’s a celebration in the visitor locker room and then the party moves to a local bar.

Someone shells out the money for a few bottles of vintage Dom Perignon that you indulge in, but mostly you just relish in the happiness of everyone around you. If you’re honest, you spend a fair amount of time avoiding Nate who has a serious look every time you catch him staring.

Shortly before midnight, you slip out of the bar and into Brayden’s waiting car. The bubbly must have gone to your head, because you forgo any verbal greeting in favor of launching yourself over the center console to press your lips to his.

He pulls away and very somberly states, “I can’t take you seriously in that sweater.”

Looking down, you spot the Avalanche crop and laugh as you pull it off and toss it in the back. “Better?”

He hums, fingertip tracing the chain around your neck from your clavicle down between your breasts to reveal his number on the pendant. “Much.”

You sink back into another kiss before remembering where you are, who you’re with and what you’re doing meanwhile the bar you just left is crawling with people you’re not quite ready to come clean to just yet.

“Take me home, Bray,” you say as you relax back into the passenger seat.

You don’t have the power to bring your lover the Stanley Cup your friends were just drinking out of. All you have to offer is yourself, but he accepts it with as much gratitude as your best friend accepted the Cup earlier.

Later, he looks like he wants to ask you to stay, and you think you look like you want him to.

In the end, it doesn’t matter as you fall asleep next to him and somehow make it back to your hotel room in the morning with no one the wiser.

Nate spends a few more weeks in Denver after the win, celebrating with the guys and riding the high of winning it all. You only spend a couple days and then move out of his house and back into your parents.

You don’t tell him about Brayden, content to let Nate enjoy his successes.

As a consequence, you don’t see much of him in July or August. Even when you’re both home, he’s busy with all his other friends and his family, and you’re busy with your niece and deciding on what to do in the fall. You’ve determined the best course of action is to finish your degree and then apply to a masters program in order to change your career path.

The choice, then, is where to do so. You can stay at home, commute an hour each way into the city—supported by your hometown friends and your family. Or you can make the shift to Denver for real, with your found family and with Nate. Or…

The University of Tampa Bay has an excellent program. You know from your time visiting Brayden through the season that the university is right around the corner from Amalie Arena and Brayden’s. It’s awfully presumptuous, but you find yourself daydreaming about the possibility much like you used to daydream about a future in Denver.

Of course, there’s an entire continent of possibilities, hell an entire world of possibilities, but these are the three most attractive options.

There are many discussions to be had, and choices to be made. You don’t want to do either until you’ve had a chance to speak to Brayden in person, but just as Nate’s had a busy summer, so too has he.

He messages you every morning before and after working out while you’re still asleep. Every conversation eventually devolves into some combination of ‘I miss you’ and ‘when can I see you?’

You do manage to spend a few days with him in the Rockies mid-July that fly by far too quickly. Every time you leave Brayden it gets harder and the implications of it all have your stomach in knots when the thought crosses your mind.

It all comes to a head spectacularly the day before Nate’s day with the Cup. You’re at Nate’s, helping to prepare for the post-parade celebration when you’re called away by his sister. She wants your help deciding on which photos to display—it’s a mixture of past and present alongside an elementary school assignment two decades old wherein Nate declared his future profession would be ‘Stanley Cup Champion.’

You’re smiling, lost in the memories when Nate comes crashing into the room you’re in. There’s an indiscernible look on his face, but it reads somewhere between anger, frustration and hurt. The look on your face betrays your confusion, and it only deepens when you see your phone in his hands.

“What are you doing with my phone?” you ask.

His jaw ticks. “Thought it was mine.”

It doesn’t really do anything for your confusion. If anything, it deepens it. “What’s your problem Nate?”

“This! This is my problem.” He finally cracks, shoving your phone in your face to reveal messages from Brayden—under the contact name of the letter B and a heart—wondering when you plan on making the trip to Calgary to see him. Your stomach drops and your heart feels like it’s at risk of falling right out your chest. It was always going to come out, but especially as you crossed the line between sharing body heat with Brayden and sharing your secrets, hopes and dreams.

That being said, it is a shit way for your relationship to come to light for sure, but you can’t help but feel your friend is overreacting. Sarah is looking between the two of you, panicked and frozen like she doesn’t know what to do.

“I think your mom could use some help in the backyard, Sar,” you say gently, and she gladly takes the opportunity to flee. Once she’s gone, you turn on Nate. “I’m sorry that you found out this way, but you had no right to come in here like that. Poor Sarah looked terrified!”

He looks at you incredulously. Now that his sister is out of ear shot, he appears to have allowed himself to lean into his emotions a little more. “I have no right? What about you? Hooking up with some random guy in Calgary? Is that where you’ve been running off to these past few months?”

You know that this is probably the least important part of his rant, but you feel the need to clarify. “He’s not just some guy, Nate. His name is Brayden. And for the record, no. I wasn’t in Calgary, I was in Tampa.

He looks confused in addition to enraged, and so you put the pieces together for him. “I’ve been seeing Brayden Point.”

“You’ve been sleeping with the enemy?”

“Are you joking?”

This is not your friend Nate. This is some angry being inhabiting the body of your friend Nate.

He doesn’t back down. “It was between us and them in the final, pretty sure that qualifies as the enemy!” He pauses for a second and then continues, “How long have you been sleeping with him? During the final? Were you rooting for him instead?”

“Nate—“

“No, don’t Nate me. I bet you were, I bet you wanted them to win, him to win. I bet you were sitting there in the family box, using tickets I paid for, against me the whole time.”

“That’s not fair!” you try to interject, despite the tiny grain of truth to his words. It would be untrue to say some small part of you wanted Brayden to succeed, but your loyalties have always been with Nate and his team.

“Don’t bother. I wouldn’t trust a thing you said right now. Not after this. Not when you know.”

“Know what?” you question.

“How I feel! About you. And me.” The blurred edges start to come into focus. He’s been acting like a man scorned, because in his eyes he is one.

Unable to form any coherent thought, you repeat yourself from earlier. “Are you joking?”

He’s less angry now, slipping further into the hurt brewing under the surface. “It’s always been us. Since we were kids. And now you’re messing around with some guy on another team. I can't believe you!”

The tears start to pool at your waterline, but you’re too stubborn to let them fall. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? You string me along for years and years and years, expecting me to play the part of your girlfriend without being your girlfriend and to wait around for you to figure it out. I am sorry you found out like this, but I’m not sorry about him. I’m not sorry about Brayden.”

He flinches at the sound of Brayden’s name, the anger clouding his eyes even further. “You want him so bad, why don’t you go to him right now?”

“Nate—“ You’re not sure he knows what he’s saying, what the implications of all he’s said really are. What it would mean if you left for Calgary this afternoon. What it would be like if you weren’t there tomorrow to join in his celebrations.

“Go.” When you don’t move he speaks again. “Get out of here.”

He hasn’t raised his fists or even his voice, but you do as he suggests. Calmly, begging the tears not to fall, you walk right out of his house and get in your car and you drive.

Brayden picks up when you call while driving, and there’s a ticket in your inbox before you’ve even made it home.

A short layover in Toronto—and with nothing but the clothes on your back and a small carry- on—later, you’re sinking into Brayden’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but you shake your head where it’s buried in his chest.

“Thank you,” you say, leaving hundreds of words unspoken in your gratitude.

The kiss he pressed to your lips and the way he says ‘Anything for you’ tells you that he understands.

He’s got his own place in an affluent suburb of the city, and you’re grateful for the fact that you won’t have to see anyone else with your puffy, bloodshot eyes.

The last time you’d cried this hard, it had been over the loss of your childhood dog. Nate had been there then, flying in after a late game to hold you while you cried. Maybe you had misunderstood his feelings for you, missed the signs he thought he had laid out so clearly. Maybe that would have mattered a year ago.

It doesn’t, now.

Not when Brayden’s arms feel like home. His warm gaze feels like the sun. His kiss and his touch feel like heaven on earth. His love feels like everything you’ve ever wanted.

Your world nearly stopped in Nate’s living room, but it resumed spinning here in Brayden’s bedroom.

You’re curled up on his chest while he soothingly runs a hand along your spine when you tell him. “I love you.”

His hand stills on the middle of your back, but you don’t panic. Your mind and heart are clear and in unison. He doesn’t make you wait long, cupping the back of your head and tilting your head back ever so slightly so that your eyes meet.

“Yeah?” he asks like maybe he needs the validation.

“Yeah,” you reply, giving it to him.

The grin on his face might be worth everything you’ve been through.

You squeal as he flips the both of you, ending in a position where his arms bracket either side of your head in order to keep from crushing you with his full weight.

“I love you,” he repeats, kissing every inch of your exposed skin.

Tangling your fingertips in the hair at the nape of his neck, you say it again and again and again. It’s a chant and a ritual, told between sighs and moans and whimpers. He strips you of your clothes, taking you apart piece by piece and then putting them all back together.

It is intimate and sweet as he takes you to the highest peak, hearts and limbs and minds all intertwined. There is no doubt, no insecurity, no hesitation. All of the love you have to give is reflected back at you. You and Brayden are two sides of the same coin, destiny and fate and all the good forces in the world have brought the two of you together.

That’s why when, in the dark of his room later, you say yes when he asks you to move in.

Despite the apparent suddenness, your family is more than supportive of you and Brayden. Though that may be because he charmed the pants off all of them the following week when returning to your childhood bedroom to pack your things.

Your niece is delighted when she learns that Brayden’s “job is hockey!” as she so sweetly declares, requesting he win her a Cup too.

It reminds you of Nate and how you haven’t heard from him. You don’t reach out either.

Your time in Calgary is short, punctuated by the bittersweet news that although many of your credits will transfer over, you’re not able to start college classes at the University of Tampa until the second semester.

“Now you can come with me on all my road games,” Brayden says when you tell him.

“Fat chance.”

Training camp sneaks up on you both and before you know it, you’re making the permanent move into Brayden’s bedroom and his life, publicly this time.

The Tampa WAGs are sweet and welcoming, but you find yourself missing the Colorado Better Halves. That’s probably why you agree to dinner with Heidy the first time in the season that the Avs are in town.

You make plans to meet at a cute spot downtown near the arena.

The minute you spot Nate waiting outside, you start to turn around. Not so much as an Instagram like since the day before his day with the Cup and now he’s at one of your favorite restaurants in Tampa like everything is okay?

“Wait,” he says and for some reason you do, pausing mid turn. “I’m sorry.”

That’s enough to have you turning back around to look him in the eye as you scold him. “Really? I haven’t heard a word from you in months and that’s what you have to say?”

“I know,” he says.

“You were really shitty Nate! You knew how I felt and apparently felt the same way, but you just took advantage of me and my feelings for you for years! And then, you made me feel like trash for falling for someone else.”

“I know,” he says again.

“Can you say literally anything other than I know?” you say exasperatedly.

“I—“ he starts and stops with the look you give him. “I don’t have a good explanation for the first bit. You’re right, I’ve been taking you for granted for a long time. I don’t know, I guess I was just scared to lose you if we ever crossed that line.”

“I get that,” you reply. “Why do you think I never said anything either? I’m less mad about that and more mad about you being a giant asshole about me meeting someone.”

He nods. “I know. I was jealous and hurt and I lashed out and hurt you too. I never meant for it to get like this, but the longer it took for me to reach out and apologize the harder it seemed. I am really sorry, and I’m happy you found someone who treats you the way you deserve.”

It’s a sincere apology and one you’re certain he means. Beyond that, you just miss your best friend and so you throw yourself at him in a big hug. He’s startled, but very quickly wraps his arms around you too.

“Things aren’t magically okay, you really hurt me, but you’re my best friend and I’ve missed you so much. There’s been a million times where something happened and I wanted to tell you about it, but couldn’t.”

“You’re my best friend,” he says.

Nate scores a goal during the second period of the game but it’s not enough for the Avalanche.

Brayden comes home the clear winner to find you curled up in his bed. First he undresses and then he slips into bed beside you.

“Glad you made up with Nate,” he says, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Glad you won,” you reply, feeling the way his lips curve in a smile against your neck and knowing he’s about to say something stupid and cringe.

“In more ways than one, baby,” he laughs, caging you in with his arm as you struggle to get away from him and his bad jokes. “In more ways than one.”

Despite the way you playfully try to escape his clutches, the truth is you feel like you’re the real winner.

#nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader #nathan mackinnon fic #brayden point fic #shelb writes

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