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Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under | Nico Hischier

no thoughts, just vibes and fuck boy nico I'm considering this my honorary entry into demi @wyattjohnston's winter fic exchange because I didn't trust myself to finish an actual entry in time but managed anyway (technically, this took me 10 months to finish) enjoy! length: 5.6k words

It’s dark in the club where Nico Hischier presses himself along Hailey’s back for the first time. She lets it happen, barely one drink in and looking for a good time. It’s dark, lit up by the glow of neon, when the man leans close and asks if he can buy Hailey a drink, hands on her hips as they continue to dance. She doesn’t realize who he is then, but he’s a decent dancer. It doesn’t seem important at the moment.

It’s dark as they stumble outside a few drinks and a few kisses later, a car already called and waiting for them at the curb. Hailey doesn’t remember when she caught his name, in between kisses pressed to her bare shoulders, her neck, but she knows he’s Nico now, soft-spoken with an accent Hailey can’t place. 

“I don’t usually do this,” Hailey admits as she slides into the backseat. Nico doesn’t say anything as he slides in next to her, but he keeps his hand on Hailey’s thigh the whole drive back to his place.

It’s dark in Nico’s apartment, too, only a few lights left on before he went out for the night. It doesn’t matter much, anyway. They don’t stop in the kitchen, or the living room. It’s only the middle of October, and there are no outer layers to shed as they stumble down the hallway, though Hailey shivers every time Nico’s hands brush her bare skin.

“I didn’t catch your name earlier,” he says, breaking the kiss. 

“Hailey,” she gasps. She shivers again as his stubble scratches against her skin.

“Hailey, I like that,” he says. Hailey refrains from rolling her eyes. Barely. Her name does sound nice in his accent, she admits to herself. 

Neither of them are drunk, not really, but the room seems blurry around the edges as Nico presses her into his sheets.

An alarm is blaring, too loud, too early. Hailey groans and shoves her face into her pillow before reaching to slap at her phone to snooze that awful alarm. Her phone isn’t on the nightstand beside her where it should be, and Hailey starts to sit up, confused. It’s not until she hears someone swear softly, in a language she doesn’t recognize, that she remembers she’s not in her own bed. She bolts upright.

Nico’s sitting up beside her, shirtless and his hair a disaster. Hailey doesn’t fully remember how she ended up sleeping in one of Nico’s T-shirts, but she’s thankful for it now, though she still pulls the sheet up across her chest as she sits up next to Nico. For his part, he looks apologetic for the rude awakening. 

Nico swears again. “I’m sorry, I forgot I have—work this morning.”

“What kind of job do you have that makes you work at—” Hailey squints at the digital clock on Nico’s side of the bed. “9 on a Saturday morning?”

Nico doesn’t answer, but he shoots Hailey a rueful smile as he rolls out of bed. 

Hailey vaguely remembers being offered a washcloth to wipe off her makeup and generally clean up with, but she still feels crusty. Her eyes itch from sleeping with her contacts in. She heaves a sigh and throws back the sheets to get out of bed. She finds her clothes strewn about the room and reluctantly pulls them back on. Her phone landed somewhere on the floor, too, and she picks it up. Almost dead. 

Hailey manages to call an Uber and scrape her hair into a ponytail before Nico re-emerges from his bathroom. She’s already lingered too long. This isn’t the type of hookup where they sit and have coffee over breakfast. Hailey shouldn’t have even stayed the night. 

“I should—” Hailey starts, as Nico says, “I can walk you out.” “Oh, uh, sure,” she says. 

Now that she thinks about it, she doesn’t quite remember all the steps and turns they took last night to get to Nico’s apartment. So she follows Nico back through his apartment, out the front door, down the hallway to the elevators. They stand in awkward silence.

“My Uber should be here soon,” Hailey offers. She shifts nervously. 

“Good, that’s great,” Nico says.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. There’s already someone on, a boy probably around their age. Hailey starts to step forward, but Nico grabs her by the elbow.

“We can wait for the next one,” he says firmly. Hailey looks back at the boy on the elevator as the doors begin to shut. He raises his eyebrows at them, and Hailey thinks she hears him laugh as the elevator starts to descend again. Nico jams the down button again. 

“Did you know him?” Hailey asks. 

“He’s, uh, a friend.” Nico says. Hailey raises an eyebrow at him. “You don’t need to meet him, I promise.” 

Hailey isn’t about to argue. This walk of shame is already bad enough. 

Nico walks Hailey all the way out the front door of his apartment building. Hailey’s Uber is idling at the curb, and they go their separate ways. Hailey doesn’t look back as she slides into the backseat of her car; she’s not expecting to ever see Nico again.

There’s a phone charger plugged in the backseat of the car, and Hailey plugs her phone in gratefully. She swipes through her missed notifications quickly until one catches her eye from ESPN: Nico Hischier scores goal, assist in Devils win. 

Oh, fuck. 

Hailey puts it out of her mind. Or tries to, at least. She doesn’t actually follow the Devils that closely—she only has the ESPN app on her phone at all to keep up in conversation with the boys in her family about the Giants. Besides, she doesn’t exactly frequent any of the bars in Jersey. She should forget about Nico—his accent when he whispered her name, the way his bracelets brushed her skin when he touched her. He’d probably forgotten about her, by now, anyway.

It’s a few months before Hailey runs into Nico again, at another bar. He spots her first, at a table with her friends. Hailey doesn’t notice him at first, not until one of her friends nudges her with her beer bottle. 

“Who’s the guy over there that can’t stop staring at you?” Beth asks. 

Hailey follows her gaze across the bar, to a rowdy group of guys she’d been trying to ignore all night. She doesn’t spot who Beth is asking about at first, but then she catches the eye of one of them. She wishes she could hide, but she knows Nico’s already seen her. Has been watching her. 

“Shit,” Hailey says. “I hooked up with him once, like in October.” 

It’s December now. There was another time, a few weeks after that first hookup—and only hookup, if Hailey has anything to say about it—that she’d run into Nico again in another dark bar, where he’d bought her another few drinks. They didn’t even make it out of the bar that time, though; Nico had dragged Hailey into a corner and pinned her against the wall, behind an empty booth to make out.

Nico had torn away from the kiss to press a line of kisses down Hailey’s neck. His stubble burned Hailey’s skin as he went.

“Hannah,” Nico had murmured, so quiet Hailey wasn’t even sure she’d heard him at first, but then he said it again. “Hannah, you wanna get out of here?” Hailey had shoved at Nico’s shoulders so hard he’d stumbled backwards, looking confused. There had been a moment before Nico’s face had cleared in realization. “Shit, Hailey, I—”

“Get your own fucking ride home,” she had spit, storming through the crowded bar and out the front door without looking back.

She’s been trying to forget that night since then. She wonders if Nico’s forgotten it, too.

Hailey knows Nico spent a lot of the time in between October and now out with an injury. She refuses to examine exactly why she knows that as someone who “really doesn’t watch hockey” too closely right now.

Several of her friends raise their eyebrows at her. 

“What, he was hot, sue me,” Hailey says. It doesn’t quell the looks she’s getting. She drains the last of her drink. She glances back at Nico. He’s gotten roped back into whatever conversation is happening with his friends—his teammates, probably, Hailey realizes belatedly—so it might be safe to venture over to the bar and get another. 

Hailey is leaning on the bar, waiting for the bartender, when she feels someone come up behind her. The bartender looks their way.

“Her next one is on me,” a familiar voice says. Hailey glances over her shoulder for the first time. Nico is there, close enough that Hailey can feel his body heat. "Hailey," he says. He leans even closer. “Haven’t seen you around.”

Hailey ignores him for a moment to turn back to the bartender with her order. Tries to collect herself.

“Didn’t realize you were looking,” she says. 

Nico grins at her, a little crookedly. “I’ve been—” 

“Busy,” Hailey finishes. With hockey, with other girls, she doesn’t add. She thinks Nico gets it anyway.

The bartender slides Hailey her drink. She turns around, but Nico doesn’t step back. 

“Listen,” Nico starts. Hailey looks over his shoulder, towards the group of guys he was with before. A few of them are already looking in their direction. Hailey meets Nico’s eyes again. “How about—” Hailey cuts him off. “No, you listen,” she says. “I’m here with my friends, you’re out with yours. I’m not looking for anything tonight, Nico, and I don’t think you should be abandoning your friends to leave with me.”

“Eh, they’d be fine without me,” Nico defends mildly, but he takes a step back, unpinning Hailey from the bar. “Next time?” he asks.

Hailey hopes there isn’t another next time. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she says. She doesn’t wait to hear if he answers, just brushes past him on her way back to her friends. 

Hailey’s friends don’t try to hide the fact that they’d been watching the whole exchange. Hailey slides back into her seat next to Beth.

“We can never come back to this bar,” she says. 

The next time Hailey runs into Nico Hischier isn’t at a bar at all.

Hailey’s walking out to her car after a rec league softball game when she hears someone call her name—an accent she wishes wasn’t so familiar echoing across the half-empty parking lot. Hailey turns towards the voice—Nico’s voice—as she tugs the elastic out of the end of her braid, shaking out her sweaty hair. Nico’s jogging across the parking lot towards Hailey. 

“Hailey, hey,” he says as he gets closer. 

“Are you stalking me now, Hischier?” Hailey asks.

“You played well out there tonight,” Nico says earnestly, completely ignoring Hailey’s question. 

Hailey shrugs. It’s a competitive league, but at the end of the day it’s still a recreational league for a bunch of washed up college athletes. Hits and stolen bases don’t really matter anymore. 

“How’d you know I would be here?” Hailey asks. 

“Uh, I didn’t,” Nico says quickly. “Your organization, they partner with Eric LeGrand for charity stuff, and the Devils worked with LeGrand a few seasons back, and I stopped in for coffee today after practice, and he mentioned something about the rec sports—” Nico’s rambling, and Hailey realizes he’s nervous. Nico continues. “I was bored and had the night off when I looked it up I saw a game tonight and—”

Hailey takes pity on him and cuts him off. “And then you got here and saw me playing.”

“Yeah,” Nico says lamely. He seems to recover from his awkwardness and grins at Hailey, flashing his dimples. “Are you doing anything else tonight?” he asks.

Hailey regards her own dirty pants, her janky Crocs. She probably smeared her eye black with sweat, too. Not exactly the picture of beauty. “Do those dimples usually work for you?” she asks instead of voicing any of those thoughts.

Nico takes a step closer to Hailey. The strap of her gear bag is digging into her shoulder, and she steps back under the guise of shifting it to her other shoulder.

“I seem to remember them working on you before,” Nico says.

They’re working on Hailey this time, too, but she’s not willing to admit that right now. “I’ve got work in the morning, and I’m sure you do, too.” 

Nico shrugs. Doesn’t say anything else, just looks at Hailey with his eyebrows raised.

Hailey gives in. “Fine.” She tries to ignore Nico’s triumphant smile. “But we’re going to mine.”

It’s Nico’s turn for the walk of shame this time. If he’s even capable of being shamed, that is.

Nico looks like he might argue, but he says, “Okay. But you’re going to have to give me your address first. Y’know, so I don’t get lost.” He holds out his hand expectantly, waiting for Hailey to give him her phone. There was a reason they never exchanged phone numbers the first time they hooked up. There was also a reason why there was never supposed to be a second hook-up. Hailey disregards both of those reasons as she unlocks her phone and passes it to Nico. 

Somehow, Nico beats Hailey back to her apartment complex. He’s leaning against the driver’s door of his car, face lit up by the glow of his phone screen, but he locks it and shoves it in his pocket when she pulls into the spot next to him and climbs out of her car. 

“Here, let me,” Nico says, trying to reach for Hailey’s softball bag. 

Hailey shoots him a look and shifts her bag to her other shoulder, away from Nico. “I think I can handle it, thanks.”

Nico huffs but follows Hailey the rest of the way up to her unit in silence. 

Hailey’s apartment isn’t as swanky as Nico’s—or as clean, Hailey thinks absently, as she dumps her bag—but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Do you need a Gatorade or something?” Nico asks.

He looks out of place in Hailey’s little apartment, with her hand-me-down couch and Facebook Marketplace kitchen table. Hailey can’t help but laugh.

“Are you this nice to all of your hook-ups?” she asks. 

Nico shrugs, looking a little put out. “I mean, I guess?”

Hailey laughs a little again. “It’s cute, you’re cute.”

Nico scoffs. “Cute?” He takes a step closer to Hailey, close enough to slide his hands around her hips. “Just cute?”

Hailey pretends to think about it, but Nico is kissing her before she can respond. 

Hailey knows that something has shifted before Nico rolls off of her, before she slips out of bed to take a shower. Nico’s still wrapped up in her sheets when she emerges thirty minutes later, shirtless and scrolling through his phone again. Hailey pauses at the end of her bed.

“Don’t you have to be up early in the morning?” she asks. Hailey has work, too, but she expected Nico to ditch her while she was in the shower. Instead, he stretches lazily, dropping his phone to his chest. “Mmm, probably,” he says. He shows no signs of getting up any time soon. Hailey gives up and slides back into bed beside him.

“Probably?” Hailey echoes. 

She resists the urge to poke at his ribs, exposed with one of his arms carelessly stretched over his head, or to trace his collarbone until she reaches the crucifix on his chain, tug on it until he comes over and kisses her again. There’s a tattoo on his arm, bold, black looping lines that cover most of the inside of his left bicep. Hailey gives in and reaches out to trace them with her fingertip. Nico twitches but doesn’t pull his arm away. 

Nico goes on. “We have film review in the morning, but skate’s optional.” He trails off.

“Which means…?” Hailey prods.

Nico does roll over, then, bracing himself on his hands above Hailey. She tilts her chin to meet Nico's eyes. He smirks at her.

“It means I don’t have to be ready to go work out, and I’ll still have time for a nap before our game tomorrow night. I don’t have to rush out of here.”

Hailey fumbles for her phone in the sheets and glances at the time. It’s creeping towards midnight. She stalls, scrolling around until she finds her morning alarm for work. The one where she can be a little lazy with her morning routine and still make it out the door on time. She tosses her phone aside.

Nico’s watching her carefully, brown eyes somewhere between serious and teasing. 

“Well, some of us have to work normal jobs in the morning.”

“What, it’s not like you need any beauty sleep,” Nico says. He leans in for a kiss, and Hailey tilts her chin up again to let him. The kiss nearly gets away from her before she remembers she’s supposed to be awake again in six hours. She pulls away, albeit reluctantly.

“I don’t think I have any NHL approved breakfast foods in my fridge for you,” Hailey says carefully. An offer to stay and an excuse for Nico to leave all in one. “Just a bunch of frozen waffles and frozen breakfast sandwiches.”

Nico shrugs. “There’s always breakfast at the rink.”

Hailey scoffs. “Must be such a difficult life, being a professional athlete.”

Nico doesn’t retort, though he does roll his eyes and kiss Hailey quiet. She grabs at his bicep, presses her thumb into the tattoo there. Hailey turns her head.

“What is this?” she asks. Her finger follows one of the lines again.

“A tattoo,” Nico says. He brushes his hand over Hailey’s ribs, her hip, where she has tattoos of her own. She shivers. “I know you’ve seen them before.” At Hailey’s flat look, he smiles. “They’re the zodiac signs of me and my family,” he says. 

“That’s really sweet,” Hailey tells him. It's surprising, somehow, but Hailey guesses she hardly knows Nico at all.

Nico grins at her again, flashing those damn dimples. Hailey has to kiss him about it, feeling desperate with it, like she might never get to do it again. Nico gentles her, a hand on Hailey's jaw. They kiss, slow and lazy, until Hailey yawns into Nico’s mouth. He pulls away with a chuckle. 

“I should let you get some sleep,” he says. He rolls off Hailey again. He picks up his phone and checks the time, grimaces. “Do you know how far you live from Prudential Center, by any chance?”

Hailey doesn’t think she’s ever seen the Devils play in person. “Grew up a Rangers fan,” she murmurs, already halfway to sleep.

Nico slides out of bed, starts searching for his clothes. Hailey thinks she dreams him brushing a kiss across her forehead as he slips out of her room.

It’s a few weeks later, and Hailey and Nico are walking out of his apartment on a rainy Saturday morning. The elevator dings just as Nico swears and pats down his pockets. 

“I forgot my phone,” he says. He glances at the elevator. “I’ll, uh, meet you downstairs,” he tells Hailey. He looks back at the elevator, and says, to the guy holding the door for Hailey and looking amused, “Play nice.” Nico retreats back down the hall, and Hailey steps onto the elevator, bemused. 

The guy in the elevator speaks up first. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hisch repeat before.” 

Hailey feels her cheeks burn. Nico had texted last night, early enough that Hailey wasn’t in bed, late enough that she was under no illusions about his intentions. And yet, she dragged herself off of her couch and into slightly-more-respectable pants, all the way to Nico’s apartment in Jersey City.

Hailey realizes something. “You were the one we saw on the elevator that one time.”

The boy grins at her and sticks out a hand. “Jack,” he says. “I mean it, though,” he continues, “must be pretty special to get Hisch to come back for seconds.” 

They’ve reached the ground floor, and the elevator doors slide open. “Thirds,” she says without thinking. Four times, actually, if you count that time Hailey rejected Nico in the bar. Five times, if you count the one where Nico called Hailey the wrong name.

Jack whistles. “Our boy must be down bad.” Hailey laughs. “It’s definitely not like that—” She’s interrupted by—saved by? —Nico appearing out of the emergency stairwell nearby. She shuts her mouth and hopes her face isn’t still too red. 

Nico looks between Jack and Hailey suspiciously. “What’d you say to her?” he asks Jack.

Jack laughs awkwardly. “Nothing, nothing, Nico, c’mon.”

Nico continues to regard them warily. “Jack—” Nico starts, but he, too, is interrupted by a fourth person joining their little conversational triangle. 

“You two are going to make us late, and Lindy’ll—oh.” The new boy stops when he notices Hailey standing between Jack and Nico. The look on his face turns sly. “Sorry, Hisch, didn’t realize you were doing something.” Jack makes a noise of protest. “Hey, how do you know she didn’t sleep with me?” he asks. “Dude, I live with you, of course I know you didn’t bring a girl home—” They walk away, still arguing.

Hailey blinks after them, confused. 

“That was Luke, Jack’s little brother,” Nico supplies, watching them head towards the front door of their building. “I’m sorry on their behalf.” Nico checks the time on his phone and grimaces. “Luke was right, though, we really are going to be late.” They start walking towards the front door, where Luke and Jack are impatiently waiting. Nico presses a quick kiss to Hailey’s cheek as they part ways. 

Jack’s words from the elevator rattle around Hailey’s head as she walks to her car, as she drives home. Our boy must be down bad. Is that what this had become? Hailey didn’t know the last time she’d had a hookup stick around and make her breakfast in the morning—even if he had somehow managed to burn the toast—let alone keep coming back for more. When Hailey parks in front of her building, she has a Venmo notification—from Nico: for coffee x. There’s a coffee emoji, too, because Nico’s a dork like that. Hailey smiles down at her phone; they’d been lazy about getting out of bed, until Nico was rushing out the door, and they had to leave their coffees to go cold, mostly untouched. 

Hailey’s cheek burns again with the phantom sensation of Nico’s lips, the ghost of his kiss goodbye. 

It’s a few days before Hailey sees Nico again. On another night off for the Devils, Nico appears at Hailey’s door with a heads-up “On my way. :)” text and takeout. He kisses Hailey hello, a chaste peck as he steps through her doorway. 

“What’s all this for?” Hailey asks, watching as Nico dumps several bags of food on her little kitchen table. She trails after him, curious. “Smells good,” she adds.

Nico grins at her as he starts unpacking the bags. “Wanted to see you,” he says, like it’s simple, like hanging out is just a thing that they do. He goes on, “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got a little of everything.”

Everything indeed, Hailey thinks, surveying her table—it looks like Italian, sandwiches and salads and pastas and what could be arancini. She picks up one of the discarded bags and reads the restaurant’s name.

“Hey, I’ve been wanting to try this place.” It’s just a few blocks away from her apartment. “Always felt too pathetic to order takeout for one,” she says. 

Nico chuckles. “Well, I guess I helped you out then.” He grins up at Hailey, who’s still standing beside the table. “C’mon, sit, we’ve got a lot to eat.” 

Hailey sits obediently, across from Nico. Nico had managed to find Hailey’s plates, as well, and Hailey begins to fill hers with a little of everything.

“How much of all of this,” Hailey gestures broadly at her overflowing table, “is on an NHL player’s diet plan?” she asks. 

Nico looks sheepishly down at his own full plate. “Not much,” he admits. 

Hailey suddenly remembers something she’d seen on Twitter a few days before. She nudges Nico with her foot under the table; he immediately traps her ankle between both of his.

“Happy belated birthday, by the way,” she tells him. A look that Hailey can’t read crosses Nico’s face, but it’s gone just as soon as it appeared. “Had a pretty good game the night before, too, I hear.”

“You watched our game?”

Hailey finds herself blushing. “Saw some of it,” she says. She had thought about texting Nico, both about his three point night and his birthday, but she had chickened out. Thought it might be too earnest for a semi-regular hookup. 

“I thought you were a Rangers fan,” Nico teases. 

Hailey kicks him with her other foot.

Nico keeps their dinner conversation steered carefully clear of hockey talk after that. They slowly work their way through some of the piles of food Nico brought over. Hailey thinks she’s going to be eating leftovers all week, regardless.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Nico asks suddenly during a lull in their conversation.

Hailey swallows her bite of pasta uncertainly. “Uh, sure?”

“Why softball?” “What do you mean, ‘why softball?’” Hailey echoes. She goes on before letting Nico clarify. “I’ve been playing softball forever. I used to toddle around at my older brothers’ tee ball games, trying to take a swing at every baseball I could find.” Nico laughs a little at that. “I ended up playing all the way through college. A lot of my friends were pretty beaten up or burnt out by the time we graduated, but I never really lost the love I had for the game, y’know?”

Nico nods but doesn’t interrupt. 

“I mean, we never, like, won the College World Series or anything, but I liked going out there and playing all the time. When I left college ball behind and started my big girl job, I guess I was feeling kinda lost. Someone told me that New Jersey Play Sports had a competitive division for washed up athletes, it gave me a team again, a reason to get out of my apartment and get active.” She pauses, assesses Nico. He’s watching her intently. “Plus, some of the former college baseball players are kinda hot.” Nico flushes bright red, and Hailey smirks at him. She had actually slept with one of them once, but that had been long before Nico. Nico clears his throat.

“I get that—the, the team part, I mean. I think I’d be pretty lost without hockey.” Nico takes a pensive drink of his wine. “And I don’t think you’re washed up, you looked pretty good when I saw you play.”

“Are you sure you weren’t just looking at my ass in my softball pants?” she teases. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Nico says, holding his hands up in defense. “Maybe a little,” he admits.

Hailey heaves a sigh. They’ve barely made a dent in all of their food, but she doesn’t think she can eat another bite. “I think it’s time to clean up all this fuckin’ food,” she says, pushing her chair back and standing.

Nico stands, too. “Here, let me help.” He reaches for Hailey’s plate, but she holds it out of his reach.

“No way, buddy. You brought the food, I clean, that’s how this works.” Nico makes a face at Hailey, but he hands his plate over. Hailey makes a shooing motion with her hand. “Go find us something to watch on Netflix, or something.”

Nico trails after Hailey as she steps over to her sink. “Oh, are you trying to Netflix and chill me now?” Nico asks, voice low.

Nico places his hands on Hailey’s hips and crowds close behind her, pinning her to the counter.  Hailey tries not to shiver. He presses a kiss to her cheek, then her neck, then to her shoulder. He keeps his face there, buried in her neck.

“I think we’re way past that, Hisch,” she tells him. Her voice comes out mostly normal. Nico releases Hailey, but not without one last kiss on the cheek. 

With the food all stashed in the fridge and dishes done, Hailey wanders back into her little living room to see what Nico’s found to watch. He looks ridiculous lounging on her shitty hand-me-down couch, one of his socked feet hanging over the arm of the couch. He looks away from the TV to smile at Hailey as she walks over.

She can’t resist bending down to give him a quick kiss.

“Bathroom break,” she tells him, tossing her phone down on the cushion next to him. “Be right back.”

While Hailey is in the bathroom, her phone vibrates. Nico digs it out from where it had slid underneath his thigh, intending to set it on the coffee table instead. It vibrates again, then once more, before Nico has the chance to set it back down. Nico glances at the screen. Three new text messages, all from someone named Connor. Hailey has her message previews off, so Nico stares at the three little iMessage notifications until her screen goes dark.

Hailey reemerges from her bathroom.

“Nico?” she says softly. “Is that my phone?” Nico doesn’t release his white-knuckled grip on her phone. Hailey steps into his line of sight, crouches down in front of him when he doesn’t move. “Nics? Did something happen?” she asks. 

Nico manages to say, “You got a few texts.”

Hailey eyes her phone. Nico still hasn’t set it down. “Okay?”

“Why don’t you have your message previews on?” 

She’d had to turn them off when Nico had tried—quite badly—to sext her one night while he was bored on the road in December. She doesn’t say that, though.

“Because apparently the guy I’m fucking is nosy as hell.” Nico inhales quickly through his nose. Hailey pries her phone out of Nico’s grip, barely glancing at it before setting it aside. She’s feeling defensive now, though she still doesn’t understand why Nico suddenly got so upset.

“I didn’t realize you were sleeping with someone else,” Nico says stiffly.

Hailey blinks up at him. “What?” she asks. Then says, “I’m not, what the hell?”

Nico crosses his arms, frowning. “Who’s Connor, then?” His eyebrows, always so expressive, are drawn together. Hailey resists the urge to poke them. 

Hailey crosses her arms, too, mirroring Nico instead. “What makes you think that’s any of your business?” Nico opens his mouth to argue, but Hailey barrels on. “And what makes you think you can judge me if I were sleeping around, anyway? Jack told me how you’re always bringing home different girls, never sleeping with the same one twice. Or how I literally saw you leave the bar with another girl the night I turned you down in October?”

Nico, somehow, frowns harder. He’d been trying to fend off Jack and Luke’s teasing for weeks; he’d lost count of the number of times he’d told them this thing with Hailey was just casual, just another hook-up, even though the rest of his regular picking up and hooking up had fallen by the wayside. Hailey watches him in silence as he struggles to organize his thoughts and respond. 

“I— I haven’t slept with anyone else in—” He breathes out a harsh breath. “A month? Two?” The days all blur together during hockey season. They’d started to turn into: day off, game day, or a day he could see Hailey again. 

Hailey’s face softens. “And Connor’s my brother, you dumbass.” Nico gapes at Hailey. She shrugs and pushes to her feet. Nico grabs at her wrist and tugs until she topples onto the couch, half on top of him. “Think you’ve got a little jealousy problem there, Cap,” she teases.

She likes the way Nico blushes and tries to hide his face in her neck, even though he scoffs.

“I’m not— I wasn’t jealous, I was just—” He trails off.

Hailey rests her head on Nico’s shoulder. “It’s okay, you can say it.”

Nico pinches at the skin above her hip, but he goes quiet for a moment. “I think—” He tries to collect his thoughts. “I think I was worried I’m more invested in this than you.” 

Hailey cranes her neck to look into Nico’s face. He’s resolutely looking at a spot over her shoulder, towards the neglected Netflix screen. She pokes him in the cheek, right where one of his dimples is. He blinks and looks down at her.

“And what is ‘this,’ exactly, Nico?” she asks.

“I really like you,” Nico says. He doesn’t look away from Hailey this time.

She thinks about Jack Hughes telling her Nico was “down bad” in the elevator, Hailey grins at him. “I know,” she says. 

“What?” Nico asks. He looks a little alarmed. “What do you mean, you know?”

“Jack told me,” Hailey says. “Something about never coming back for seconds?”

Nico swears. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Hey, Hisch?” She waits until Nico meets her eyes again. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, because I really like you, too.” 

Nico, somehow, looks surprised. “Really?” he asks.

Hailey pulls him in for a kiss, slow and sweet. “Yes, really, Nico. You are definitely the only guy I’ve hooked up with in—longer than I’d care to admit, actually.” 

Nico chuckles and pulls Hailey in for another kiss. They never do end up watching what Nico had picked out on Netflix.

[sarellathesphinx]

Both square enix and other players can take the idea that Cait has his own personality and sense of will separate from Reeve from my mummified hands

[idkwhatimdoingbutslay]

Ok so fun fact: I paint. Sometimes clothes. And sometimes said clothes is my very own custom merch

I’ve been putting off this one for like……. a year and it still needs A LOT of work

This is what happens when Riot won’t give us anything

[obessivedork]

My Sole meeting Danse and his crew is so funny because it can't happen in game but CANNONICALLY they competently snipe the feral gouls, making Danse think he is dealing with a professional wasteland-hardened tough cookie. But oh-hoh! 'Tis a bait and switch, this doe-eyed (almost Vault fresh) lamb stumbles into the compound with a heavy anxiety shake, asks if the ferals will get back up or if they're contagious, realizes Danse and his crew are military (of sorts) and is IMMEDIATELY suspicious enough to bug out, gets snuck up on by a stray feral while they're backing out of the compound, and FAINTS as soon as they realize one of "those zombies" got so close to them.

[atombonniebaby]

I've had this idea in my head for a while now...

We all know how much Mac hates getting wet so how would he react when faced with the prospect of a "new" New Year's tradition introduced by his Scottish boss?

The original plan was screenshots, but I had to do a write up!...so maybe today I'll get some proper visuals...but for now I hope you enjoy this silly one shot! (And if anyone wants to do some drawings...I'd love to see some of this hilarity brought to life 🫶)

just so we're clear...Deacon's swimsuit depicted below is 100% what I Invision them all wearing variations off...because...why not? 🤣 (Oh...but not Hancock and Danse...you'll see!)

Happy New Year Tumblr Buddies! Slainte Mhath!❤️

Here's to new Wasteland Traditions

"You can't be serious..." MacCready searched the boss' face. Shit-eating grin aside, there was not a single sign of a lie.

"I'm tellin' ye lad... every year without fail... rain or shine." Nate sat down on the couch beside his young companion. "Sometimes even snow." He added after a brief pause.

"So you're telling me you dressed up and—”

"Dressing up was optional... traditionally ye just shed to yer kegs and run right in."

"Run into water?"

"Cauld, sobering, icy waters."

"I guess you Scots really are crazy," MacCready chuckled to himself, "or you're full of Brahmin crap."

"Oi," Nate elbowed him. "It's real. On the day o' the new year, we'd head tae the shore, and strip to our undergarments and bolt intae the sea. 'Tis invigoratin', got the blood pumpin' in a way nothing else did. I dinnae even reckon bein' chased by a Deathclaw could get me heart goin' as fast as that did."

MacCready laughed at the mention of the oversized lizard. "Running from a deathclaw is different. You know you'll die if you lose, running into the ocean is just stupid."

"Hypothermia is nae joke, lad... and it didnae need to be an ocean... could be a river... ye know... like that one that runs aroon' Sanctuary..."

There was something in the way the Scot was talking that made MacCready nervous. That sparkle in his eye was never a good sign. "Not on your life!”

Nate's grin only grew wider. "Oh c'mon! Ye'd be the only one bein' a wee rad-chicken! Preston, Sturges, Codsworth, the settlers around Sanctuary…and even Dugmeat all want tae do it."

"Right... and Dogmeat told you that how, exactly? Did he write it out on the dirt using a stick?"

Nate gave a belly laugh at that. "Gave me a paw."

"You are full of it." MacCready shook his head. "No way in hell am I doing this."

"No even for five hundred caps?”

"Five hundr--" MacCready choked on his words.

"Counted them maself... put them in a nice big jar ...but there is a catch... last man standin' ...or lady... gets it!"

MacCready groaned. This was stupid, beyond stupid, but the caps..."Fine."

"Attaboy!”

Sanctuary Hills Annual Loony Dook.

MacCready stared at the painted ply board sign as if it was personally insulting him. Perhaps it was. If it hadn't existed, he wouldn't have been standing out in the rain.

He glanced at the plastic blue pins of Rad-X piled up in the little shed next to the sign, blankets too. Nate was prepared for everything.

MacCready's laugh was almost incredulous. "Is that why you've been hoarding all the supplies!? Because you were planning this stupid event!?"

Nate laughed in response. "Notice that did ye?"

MacCready sighed. "How can I not notice!?"

"I hardly want folks getting sick from radiation poisoning while they're havin' fun. Now, c'mon, come help me welcome our guests," Nate elbowed him in the ribs before gesturing to the rest of Sanctuary.

"Fine!”

"Let's get the show on the road," Nate smiled, marching off toward the gates where the majority of the settlers were gathered.

"Hey, Blue!” Piper called out to them as they approached.

"Ah, monsieur! It is quite the spectacle you are throwing here today," Curie said as the two came to a stop. "I must say, I am rather excited to try this 'dooken' as you call it. The effects of immersion in such cold temperatures will be most fascinating!"

"Ye'll love it, lass," Nate replied.

"Where the Frick did you get bathing suits?" MacCready asked her, noticing the bright pink ruffled one piece she was wearing.

"As it turns out," Piper began. "Curie has a remarkable sewing ability...she even made something for you..."

"You made me something...?"

MacCready would have blushed if it weren't for how cold he was, the likelihood of any color filling his cheeks was slim to none–even with all his layers!

Curie nodded enthusiastically. "Wi, Monsieur Nate provided me with a list of attendees!"

He did what?

"Here you go!" She handed him a bundle of striped green and white fabric.

"Thanks... I think." MacCready looked at it skeptically. It was a one-piece suit of sorts. Not unlike what the girl was wearing, but with longer legs.

"Deacon's is blue and white, Preston also, but different shades! They look most handsome!"

"Why thank you, ma'am," Deacon appeared behind the doctor. "I think you look very dashing yourself."

"Merci!"

He looked ridiculous, a similarly striped suit to the one in MacCready’s hands, he guessed the red cape was his own addition.

"This IS most invigorating," followed another voice, this time belonging to a smiling tin can.

"Danse...lad..." Nate paused. "Do ye no think that's cheatin', son?"

The ex-Brotherhood Paladin just shrugged. "On the contrary, General. Without the appropriate protective clothing, my Power Armor provides no protection from the elements."

"Without protective—are you telling me you're in your birthday suit under there!?" MacCready blurted out.

Danse simply nodded. "Affirmative."

"General, your friend from Concord has arrived...and he brought company," Preston joined the fold, Minutemen blue in his bathing suit, and still wearing his hat.

"Jacob is here!?" Nate sounded more excited than he intended.

The group glanced at each other.

"Who's Jacob?" Piper asked after him.

Nate just waved her off.

"Does our good General have a secret to share?" A gravelly voice asked from behind them.

"John," MacCready turned to face the ghoul and he couldn't help it. His eyes dropped lower.

What the actual fuck!? Could that even be considered clothes? Red leather Speedo, cowboy boots and his signature hat...that was all he was wearing.

"My eyes are up here, kid," Hancock grinned as the younger man realized what he was doing.

"Wha--I wasn't—"

"You were," Hancock's smile turned into a smirk.

"Well ain't this quite the gatherin' and you thought people would pass up the opportunity for tradition!" Another accent entered their midst.

"I'm only here for the caps...got my eye on a new mod for my rifle," another familiar face pushed through the throng of bodies.

"Aiden's here too?" MacCready muttered under his breath. The ex-minuteman Gunner hunter didn't seem to know where to look as he came to a stop.

"Gotta say, Slick, you got a lotta people who care about ya," Jake leaned against the wooden railings of the bridge.

"Well, ain't you a handsome one!"

MacCready's smile widened. Cait!?

"Uh...thanks..." Aiden mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I uh...I'm just gonna..."

"Don't take it personally, darlin'," Jake smiled. "Aiden's not much for conversation."

"Who else are we expecting, Monsieur?” Curie asked.

"Nick's around, he's keepin' Dugmeat busy so folks can get ready and I do believe Strong is off huntin' fer our supper," Nate answered.

"Splendid! Would your boyfriend like a costume, Monsieur?”

"Boyfriend!? I—"

Nate cleared his throat.

"Thank ya, darlin'," Jake smiled at the doctor. "Much appreciated."

"Hey, Sharpshooter!"

MacCready froze. No...fuck no...he didn't hear that. He refused to turn around and look.

"Mac?"

No.

"MacCready!"

"Beau..." the mercenary reluctantly turned.

Fuck! Sturges was wearing one of those swimsuits too, and the size of him. It was...indecent.

"Howdy," Sturges tipped his head and smiled.

MacCready was dead, dying, or just having some incredibly vivid hallucination. No way. Just fucking no.

"What's wrong?"

"I'd harbor a guess our Merc here is wondering how you can fix his plumbing," Hancock chimed in.

"I—"

"Think he's wondering if your equipment is up to the task," Deacon added.

"That is most absurd," Curie commented. "Sturges is a mechanic, not a plumber."

"A certified handyman," Piper giggled.

"Shut the fu—uh heck up!"

Hancock snorted.

"That's enough...quit teasin' the poor lad." Jake stepped in to defend him.

"Yeah, lay off the kid." Nick Valentine decided to join them, standing by Nate's side, no swimsuit for him...it was almost like he was programmed to wear nothing but his detective gear. "You know how sensitive he is."

MacCready felt like he was about to spontaneously combust.

"I'm gonna go change before I get the urge to shoot someone." MacCready stormed off.

"Someone's touchy," Cait noted.

"More like he can't handle the heat," Hancock countered.

"You should probably change as well," Nick suggested to the newcomer. Knew the fella from all the times he stopped by that information broker who had taken up residence in Diamond City. "The Ron"? Or something like that.

"Right you are, Mister Valentine," Jake agreed. "I will be right back."

"So polite! Monsieur Jacob makes a most agreeable guest," Curie smiled.

"I know, right! He's a peach." Piper grinned. "Got yourself a good one there, Blue."

"No foolin' you lot, is there?” Nate just laughed. "C'mon, we might as well get a move on. It's comin' up to noon soon."

MacCready stood in front of the bathroom mirror. It took him a few minutes to figure out how to put the damned thing on. It was too tight in some places, yet hung awkwardly from his body.

At least his hat matched, because it was staying on.

A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.

"You got lost in there?” Jake's voice carried through the wooden door.

"Just give me a second!"

"Alrighty..."

A few deep breaths, and MacCready was good to go.

"Not a word...not a single freaking word!"

Jake held his hands up and took a step back. "Wouldn't dream of it."

MacCready stomped past the engineer and back towards the group.

"Christ, and I thought I was pasty... lookin' at ye, it's like a white sheet slapped 'er a skeleton."

MacCready glared daggers at the smug looking bastard and wished he had his rifle. How is this bastard not shivering? MacCready could barely keep himself from trembling, and he's standing there, barefoot with no shirt on. Only thing he has on is a pair of red plaid trunks and his glasses.

"Har har... can we get this over with already?"

Nate grinned from ear to ear. "Ye sound like ye don't wanna do this."

"Oh? What gave it away?" MacCready crossed his arms across his chest, the cool air and heavy rainfall chilling his skin.

"All the shivering, mate," Nate gestured to him. "Ye need to move...maybe jog on the spot...keep the blood pumpin'...else ye won't make it tae the end."

MacCready growled at him. "Can you stop patronizing me and just start the damn thing already!?”

Nate looked around the group, taking stock of each person involved. There was a gathering now, a relatively small crowd, but the amount of people willing to participate was surprising.

"Sir..."

Nate near on jumped out of his skin. "Where the blasted hell did you come from!?"

X6-88 lowered his sunglasses and blinked at him. "I arrived via relay at 1200 hours, sir. I was ensuring the young sir was adequately prepared for the festivities."

"Dad?” Shaun emerged from behind the courser.

"Shaun?" Nate was utterly confused. "What are you doing here?"

"Father heard you were hosting an event and thought I should attend," Shaun smiled.

The sight of him. Pajamas, Welly boots and a rain hat, standing beside X6-88 in his ...everything black bathing suit. MacCready's sides ached. He was laughing, unable to control the burst of hysteria that bubbled within him.

"Escaped synths will be shaking in their boots," MacCready managed to wheeze out.

"I believe Ms Curie has made an adequate fit for me... sir," X6-88 said in reply.

It was the boots, the damned combat boots! MacCready laughed louder.

"I do not believe you are in a position to be mocking me, Sir. If my calculations are correct, you have a higher chance of being affected by hypothermia due to your lack of body fat and muscle mass. Perhaps you should reconsider abstaining from the use of cigarettes and alcohol, it would improve your health immeasurably."

MacCready stopped laughing. "Did you just..."

"I believe the term is 'kicking while he's down,' sir."

"A'right...enough eh that." Nate stepped in.

If MacCready didn't know better, he'd have thought the courser was smirking at him from beneath those glasses.

"First things first," Nate opened the shed. "Take a couple rad-x tabs each...Codsworth is gonnae countdown from ten and ring the bell...when he does, ye run in. Simple as that. The last person out wins the prize. We've got fires burning, food grilling and booze on tap...so enjoy yerselves, aye?"

MacCready pulled his cap lower over his brow. This was going to suck.

"Let the games begin," Hancock shouted.

"Okay!" Nate announced. "Everyone in their positions. Codsworth, get ready to count us down, son!"

"As you wish Master Nate!" The Mr. Handy spun in place.

MacCready rolled his shoulders, trying to get the stiffness out of them. He could do this. He had to win. Five hundred caps were on the line.

The merc watched the crowd gather around the water's edge, everyone ready to make a break for it as soon as the robot started counting.

"Are we ready to commence the New Year's celebrations, sir?"

"Aye Codsworth." Nate smiled.

"Very good, sir. I shall begin the countdown now…Ten!"

This was it.

"Nine!"

MacCready bent his knees, ready to sprint.

"Eight!"

A quick glance left and right, and he noticed all the other competitors were doing the same.

"Seven!"

His eyes locked with Nate's, and the bastard winked at him.

"Six!"

Was he planning something?

"Five!"

The sniper shook his head.

"Four!"

He could beat Nate. He's hardy...grew up in a cave!

"Three!"

Focus, Robert. Just focus.

"Two!"

He was doing this for Duncan.

"Happy New Year, everyone! GO!!!”

He couldn't do this.

MacCready darted in the opposite direction as the rest of them.

"Ye wee bastard!" Nate shouted after him.

Fuck you, old man! He was out of there.

"Not on ma watch, laddie," Nate's footsteps pounded after him.

Shit, shit, shit.

"Stay the heck away from me!”

"Och, quit bein' such a rad-chicken!" Nate sped up.

MacCready's heart was racing, and he wasn't sure if it was from running or the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Either way, he needed to outrun the bastard.

"Ye're slowin' down!"

"Like hell I am!" MacCready shouted back at him.

Suddenly, there were arms wrapped around him.

"Got ye! Now intae the drink we go!" Nate lifted him off the ground and over his shoulders.

MacCready struggled in vain. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance! Ye're goan in!”

The world moved in slow motion. He could see Nate's feet running over the grass and dirt as he neared the water's edge. People were cheering, and dogs were barking.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!"

Nate dove forward, releasing his grip on the merc, and they plunged into the icy cold waters below.

For a moment, MacCready floated through the murky depths. Then, he kicked upwards, breaking the surface of the water with a gasp.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Duncan forgive him! MacCready flailed as the frigid temperature of the water hit him. "It's freezing!"

"Aye, it's a wee bit nippy," Nate said calmly, swimming beside him. "Just breathe...in and oot."

"Breathe!?" MacCready screamed at him. "I'd rather—holy shi--"

"See, now ye're gettin' it," the older man was grinning like a madman.

"I'm going to kill you!"

"No if ye freeze...flap yer haunds aboot a bit..."

"C'mon, Mac! Dad knows what he's talking about!” Shaun called from the bankside.

"Your father is insane!" MacCready pointed at the boy.

"Our father!" Shaun smiled and gave him a double thumbs up.

What?

"Get it together, son!" Nate splashed water in his face. "Ye can do this."

MacCready growled and splashed him back. "I hate you."

Nate laughed. "C'mon...I can tell ye're getting used to it."

"I hate you so much," he swung his arms forward, moving them through the water.

"Nah, ye don't...if ye did, ye wouldn't be here now," Nate swam close to him. "It's just water...it cannae hurt ye."

MacCready glared at him. "I'm not..."

"Course not...yer the toughest son of a bitch I know..."

"Tougher than you?"

Nate's grin grew wider. "Guess we'll see."

"Bring it on, Old Man," MacCready's shivering subsided as he kept moving.

"Enough eh the "old" talk..."

"You're over 200...that's old..."

"That doesny count..."

"Says who?"

"Says me!" Nate ducked under the water, and MacCready braced himself for the inevitable.

A sudden tug on his foot, and the merc dropped beneath the surface. The shock of cold hit him once more, and he clawed his way to the top.

Nate surfaced and shook his head like a dog, somehow the glasses on his fat head still stayed on.

"Fun, ain't it?"

"How are you not frozen?" MacCready was panting now.

"Been dookin' since I was a wee lad," Nate answered. "The cauld...it's in ma blood."

MacCready cursed under his breath. "Sure, whatever you say."

Nate just laughed in response. "Another one down..."

"Huh?"

"Seems Piper's given up."

MacCready glanced around. Sure enough, the reporter was making her way back to shore.

"She's smart," the merc remarked.

"Ye did good, lass!” Nate shouted after her.

"Thanks, Blue," she waved before wrapping herself in the towel Codsworth had waiting for her.

"Woo...goddang I can't feel my digits!" Jake's voice cut through the chill in the air.

"Here's hoping your tongue is next..." Aiden drawled.

MacCready chuckled at the snide remark.

"Ma chère, this is most invigorating!" Curie was just... standing there in the water.

"That's one way of putting it," Piper pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

"I can't...I'm out...ye are all mad!” Cait finally relented.

"I have to agree with you," Preston shivered, retreating.

"As long as I outlast the Brotherhood's cheer squad...I'm a winner..." Deacon chittered next to Danse.

"My training has prepared me to withstand all manner of conditions...you should consider admitting defeat while you still can."

"Nah-uh, Tin Can," the spy retorted. "I once disguised myself as a snowman for six hours...wait till you hear where I placed the carrot..."

Danse just grunted at him.

"This is a rush!" Hancock stretched his arms above his head.

"You say that until your bits fall off," MacCready jested.

"How do you know mine haven't already?" Hancock teased him back.

"Ugh...why the hell am I here..." Aiden grumbled.

"Because Slick asked us to be...so quit your complainin'..." Jake answered.

"Ye alright, sweetheart?"

MacCready nearly swallowed a mouthful of water when he heard that. Sturges was staring right at him.

"I'm fi--fine!" he stammered.

"Yer shakin' like a leaf," the mechanic continued, sweeping back his wet hair.

"I'm just...cold...nothing I can't handle," the merc replied, trying not to stare.

"Well good luck to ya...I need a beer." Sturges swam past him, heading toward the bank.

"I'm with him on that one," Aiden followed.

MacCready gazed longingly at the shoreline. It was tempting. He could just give up now.

Nate smirked at him. "Don't ye dare..."

"I wasn't..." the merc lied.

"Sure ye weren't–”

"It appears something has entered my armor! I appear to have been compromised!" Danse's booming voice rang through the air.

"Nothin' in this water but us, big guy," Hancock called out.

"I can assure you, I am not mistaken! There is something alive inside my suit!"

The spy swam closer to him. "Maybe it's a bloatfly larvae...they like to burrow in wet organic materials..."

Danse froze. "What?"

Deacon tried not to laugh.

"I must terminate this creature immediately!" Danse was starting to panic.

"I shall accompany Monsieur Danse in his endeavor," Curie volunteered.

"I'm out...I'm not missing this! Thanks for the swim, guys." And with that, Deacon climbed out of the water.

"Fascinating...perhaps I should join them," X6-88 followed suit.

"I ain't missing this... Tapping out," Hancock was next.

And then there were three.

"How're ye feelin'?”

"Fine..." MacCready answered.

"Naw really, how are ye feelin'?" Nate asked again.

"I feel...alive," the merc admitted.

"Ye still cold?"

"Too numb to tell..."

Nate let out a belly laugh at that. "That's the spirit."

"Slick?" Jake was shivering now. "I think I'm at my limit."

"Aye...let's get ye warmed up and some scran in ye," Nate agreed.

MacCready watched them climb out of the water. Nate gathered up a blanket from Codsworth and slung it over the pair of them.

"Ye coming, lad? Or do I need tae send Strong in tae get ye?"

MacCready watched them for a moment, Nate's arm resting protectively around the engineer's waist as they walked back toward the common area.

He...he won?

"Yeah...I'm coming..."

"Well done Master MacCready! A stupendous display!” Codsworth greeted him as he clambered out of the lake.

"Thanks, Codsworth," MacCready replied.

The Mr. Handy draped the blanket over his shoulders. "Come now, you must be famished after all that excitement."

"I'm starving..."

Nate rested his head on Jacob's shoulder, fresh clothes and a warm fire and an assortment of familiar faces, it was the perfect way to spend New Years.

"I hope everyone enjoyed themselves today," he said softly.

"You know I did, Blue," Piper replied as she sipped her hot chocolate.

"Me too!" Shaun sat cross-legged on the floor with Dogmeat's head in his lap. "This place is pretty great!”

"Indeed sir," X6-88 agreed. "The festivities were quite enjoyable."

"Oh it was most enjoyable indeed, Monsieur! Perhaps we could participate in this 'dooken' again next year." Curie leaned into Cait's side.

"Ye can count me in!" Cait kissed her on the forehead.

"What are you gonna call him?” Hancock asked, his chin propped up by his hand.

"Call who?" Nate frowned.

"His Stowaway," the ghoul said, nodding to the bundle in Danse's arms.

"My desire is to call him Cutler...but I fear I may not be able to adequately tame him..."

"Cutler is a fine name for a Mirelurk," Preston reassured him.

'I think so too," Hancock agreed.

"This is fascinating. I have never observed a juvenile hatchling in this state before," Curie commented as she peered over Danse's arm. "He is so well behaved!"

"These creatures are normally quite aggressive...but this one...I find it...endearing." Danse admitted.

"I know that feeling," Hancock smirked.

MacCready shifted in Beau's embrace, stretching his legs out in front of him before settling into the comfortable warmth surrounding him.

"Happy New Year," he yawned.

"Happy New Year," Sturges echoed, pulling him closer.

An array of voices replied with similar sentiments.

It made Nate proud. Somehow in the midst of chaos, they found each other, and despite the differences they once shared, the prejudices they had held, he brought them together. He only hoped it would be enough to see them through whatever the Wastes would throw at them next.

Nate leaned over and kissed Jake on the cheek. "Welcome tae the family."

[kiraman]

What are you shooting for?

( This, reworked. Cait POV. Set between 1x08 & 1 x09. Caitlyn x Violet. )

Her mother says she's good at finding bad and making it stick like flypaper to her; Caitlyn says: okay but at least no fly dies lonely and squashed under a cruel hand too impatient for their buzzing. How sickening. A small insignificant death. No one wants to listen. No one spares the unwanted things a second thought. Flies, she tells her, they’ve got 5 eyes, see things a different way. They’re harmless.

Caitlyn is bitter; she's the things her mother has buried inside of herself reborn and shining bright like teeth in front of her and mother does not want to feel the bite.

Her mother says,  different is unnecessary, Caitlyn. You’re just bored.  Her voice is oddly thin, as though it’ll snap like a bone crushed under the weight of the walls put up between the two of them. She does not look at her, Cait thinks; she does not see her, she looks right through Cait like she is paper thin, crinkled, and Cait doesn't say anything, she scoffs her off, shuts herself away into her bedroom and locks the door. Before she shuts it, she catches a glimpse of her father, stood at the end of the hallway, his eyes like a hand on her shoulder, squeezing.

But Cait has seen the world through her eyes now, and it’s no longer a cave and she the sheltered small thing inside of it, pretending that she is not afraid; she has come out, stepped into the mouth of the wolf laying in wait at its entrace; she has witnessed, she's testified, dove into the throat of the real world like a bullet, and she's got bite marks where its teeth sank into her body, where she's been viciously gnawed at and spat out, chewed skin and shakiness. She's felt Vi's fury in her blood, her grief in her throat, her hand in hers, a promise. Her hand in hers, her fingers on Vi's cheek. Vi's body next to hers on her bed: a new world. Revelation. Their hands intertwined, a swallowed cry promising devotion. Their heads plunged in a close, trembling darkness, the rushing sweetness of Violet's warm breath, spilling like fire from her parted lips, tickling her chin. The two of them, falling asleep next to each other in her bed. Her sweat on her pillow. Her hand on her thigh. Her back to Vi's chest, the warm, dark shelter of her body.

Caitlyn gets more tired in her bedroom now than out there where the world feels like a net cast over her and she only a fish, thrashing wildly on a dried up riverbed. There’s so much that she doesn't know; she feels half blind, a hypocrite, a liar, and what does she fucking know anyway, she knows nothing; has lived a lie half her life, sheltered, hidden away so that she might not see, not hear, not witness. At dinner, Cait picks at her plate: smoked fish and honeyed plums, exquisitely dark, rich wine flowing; she hears her mother pour her father another glass. She listens to the clink of her mother's black patent heels when she rises from the table to put on music, something lavishly melodious that sounds empty to Cait's ears. She stabs the fish with her fork and laughs. Sharklike, her teeth are gritted, make the bark of it sound stifled. She feels her father’s eyes on her like a question; Cait hears a high note in her head, a buzzing, and whispers to her thoughts: let’s pretend it’s not my fault; I can fix this, I will fix it, I will find a way, I have to, must to, going to.

She wonders if Violet is thinking of her, too. She wonders if she’s alone. She wonders if Vi feels the world close in on her like it has closed in on her too, as if time has dimmed, and color and sound are gone and made strange. Changed. Unrecognisable. Wine is not wine to her anymore, food tastes like murder in her mouth. She’s got nothing and Cait's got everything and there are people dying down there, ugly loveless unwanted things; and here she is, in a glass palace, wine smouldering on her tongue. She feels like she's going to be sick. She pushes her plate away and does not do her mother the favour of returning her stare; her eyes are a rope around Cait's neck but she does not yield under its pulling. She gets up and turns the music off. Cuts the rope off.

She's been chewing her cuticles again. Short, small nails, sleek and perfect, painted a deep shade of dark blue. Cait stares at them obsessively, there’s a chip in her right thumb, and she can’t be bothered to paint over it. She sighs. She tosses and turns, listens to the plashing patter of a dark, hard rain against her window.

But she is better today; 17 hours without her and Violet's absence is a bruise the colour of her mouth inside of her. Cait blinks at the ceiling and suddenly she cannot breathe, the walls are swallowing her up, she's suffocating. There is smoke inside her room, but nothing is burning.

She closes her eyes and it feels like Vi is slowly disappearing. Her fingers curl into her palm, chasing the ghost of Vi's hand in hers. She puts her hand on the bedsheets where she’s been and tries to find her there, but she’s gone, she’s that space at the back of the mouth, where a tooth has been violently removed, but the memory of it still lingers. When she opens her mouth, her voice feels sharper now, like a warning.

She is better… today she is better than yesterday. She only stares at the ceiling for three hours at a time. There’s a fly on her door, a black, big ugly thing, buzzing incessantly and Cait slips out of her bed and opens her window, hopes it will fly away. She doesn’t remember the last time she cried.

She slips in and out of sleep. Her mother’s laughter wakes her up. Caitlyn rearranges the pillows on the bed with painstaking flawless concentration. She sits on the floor and stares at her map, puts her finger over the little sketch of Stillwater Hold, trying to chase something she can hold onto, trying to fold the hours neat enough that she can find some sort of meaning, a sick desire to please, a sicker need to refix the world she’s part of— make it right make something right. Her mother’s voice leaks through her door like kerosene, and Cait shuts her eyes when she hears her call for her.

She found a family of spiders in her room last night. She stayed there and stared at it and brought each one outside. One by one.

She doesn't fall back asleep.

Caitlyn takes a shower and thinks of her; the way the rain had kissed her skin, the back of her neck, dark and slick with rainwater, and suddenly in her mouth she feels the taste of fire again; she blinks and bites into the flame on her tongue until she feels the blood gushing, thick and metallic between her teeth. Cait scoops up water in her palms and watches it run out. Her thigh is throbbing, the water has gone cold and crimson with blood around her feet, and she doesn’t know how long she's sat in it, she must have washed her all off, washed Vi off, (her hand on her cheek, Vi's blood on the back of her neck, her mouth her voice her desperation, her hand in hers; Vi's hand in hers) and suddenly panic gathers in her throat and she pulls away from the water like she's been scalded, she puts her hand on her thigh where her wound has torn open and turns off the tap.

She drips water all over the floor, her feet are cold and she can feel a sharp deep hunger in her stomach. The fly has not flied out the window; it’s there on the bedpost, buzzing when she comes out of the shower. Cait stares at it blindly. Lightning flashes in the mirror.

The fly stills its wings. Streaks of thunder shake the house. A deep dark silence fills the room, suddenly airless. The windows steam up and as she moves to stand at the mirror, Cait inhales, feels the salt in the air, a familiar desperation.

Her bedroom smells like a storm.

When she looks up, Vi's still gone, but part of hers greets her in the shadows.

The world suddenly stops spinning.

[lemuel-apologist]

In thinking about Cait Corrain (after watching ReadswithRachel's and Don't Fret's videos), I do think there is something to be said about the efficacy of instant feedback on your work. It was something D specifically brought up in the context of standup and open mics, but it reminded me of how Rachel brought up that Cait started off writing fanfiction. When you operate in communities online like this, you tend to expect a certain kind of feedback that you don't necessarily get from traditional publishing.

You also don't really, unless you're in a group that operates in the way of instant feedback, get that instant praise, commentary, or, yes, critique that you're used to. You do end up isolated; you do end up alone; and you don't get a feel for what works and what doesn't. When you put yourself out there, it's terrifying, and it's stupid, and it hurts-- not even to be rejected, but to fear being rejected. We all know it does. It's not exclusive to the neurodivergent. That's an intrinsically human feeling.

In the realm of feedback and stupid, human mentality, I know that I, personally, have a tendency to overreact and do dramatic things. That's true even when I'm medicated, apparently. (I'm saying this because I'm coming off of a week that ended in that. Don't focus too much on this part; it's a connection bit.)

The answer isn't to go out and explode, quit, and ruin my entire life-- or, in the case of authors we've seen, be extraordinarily racist, misogynistic, or otherwise lash out in writing or sideways-review because you think you are entitled to a certain kind of feedback you are not receiving. The answer is to take a step back, figure out why you're reacting like that, and, if you have done something like that (in my case, completely imploded; in the case of the relevant author, ruined so many people's debut reviews with racist screeds), figure out how to make amends for it.

D may not be saying that all writers should be less precious with their work-- but I would say to give it a try. Let a friend read it. Let someone else give it a go. The act of creation isn't something that you should bottle up in your stew of isolation. What you make is just as much a part of you as you are of it. It might help you be less possessive of your ideas when the little cheddar goblin pulls at your meninges.

And for goodness's sake, don't blame your racism on your mental illness.

[murderandcoffee]

diversity win! the woman out to kill you is bi

[fruitynancywheeler]

Title: All I WantedRating: E Pairing: Caitlyn/Vi Words: 3,128 Summary: As Caitlyn descended down the halls of Stillwater to meet with the prisoner who caused her only lead to have their jaw wired shut, she didn’t really know what to expect. She imagined a myriad of burly, lumbering men to be the ones pounding against the concrete wall, but the last thing she expected was to see the first and only person she has ever loved.

AU in which Caitlyn and Vi knew each other before everything went down with Silco. Caitlyn, under the assumption Vi died in the explosion, works tirelessly to end the corruption that Piltover inflicts on the Undercity in honor of her lost love.

Violet’s last punch landed on the wall, her body going rigid at the sound of her name. She stood there sucking in deep, haggard breaths, sweat dripping down her body from the exertion of her workout. Caitlyn watched her like a hawk, not believing that Vi was actually in front of her. Seven years hadn’t changed the way her heart still fluttered in her chest at the sight of the woman she loved so deeply. She noticed the pink-haired woman squeeze her eyes tightly shut, shaking her head and muttering something under her breath that Cait couldn’t quite hear.

“You’re not real, go away,” Vi growled louder, taking Caitlyn aback with the hostility in her tone.

“W-what?” Cait stammered, wanting so badly to reach out for her love but uncertain of the reaction she’d receive if she tried.

“You’re not real!” Vi shouted now, moving swiftly towards the bars that separated them to glare at Caitlyn. Her bloody hands gripped the bars, and her face pressed in between them. “You’re just in my head, a ghost. You’re not really here.”

Even though her eyes hadn’t left Vi for a single moment, only now did Cait finally see Violet fully. She noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the pain that was written all over her face, and seeing Vi like this had her heart splitting in two. Vi had been in this horrible place the entire time, all alone, dealing with God knows what.

As if on autopilot, Caitlyn placed her notebook on the floor and stepped over the red line, the urge to reach out, to feel Vi again to prove to herself and to Vi that this was actually real, overpowering the fear of being rejected. She slowly lifted her arm out toward the bars, gauging Violet’s reaction to Cait intruding on her personal space. Vi flinched but made no effort to pull away, so Cait slid her hand between the bar and placed it against the woman’s chest, feeling the rapidly beating heart beneath her fingertips like she had all those years ago when they first kissed. With her other hand, she took one of Vi’s, prying it away from the bars to place it against her own thundering heart.

“It’s me, darling,” Cait whispered, feeling as if she spoke too loudly, it would cause Vi to pull away from her. She couldn’t stop the tears brimming in her eyes even if she tried; the years of pain she had felt hit her like a freight train as she gazed upon the woman she thought she had lost. Her own inner turmoil probably did not even come close to what Vi had dealt with being trapped in this dreaded place.

“I’m really here. With you.”

She watched as Vi’s eyes scanned her from head to toe as if trying to process that what she was seeing wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Cait squeezed Vi’s hand that was still resting atop her chest, hoping to convey that this wasn’t a dream.

Suddenly, the hand that Caitlyn had cradled gently against her was wrenched away. Vi put distance between them, a look of betrayal and anger on her face. The delicate features Cait knew and loved were now stone cold as Vi glared at her.

“You’re one of them,” Vi snarled, her fists clenched at her sides and shoulders hunched like a wild animal, trapped but ready to defend itself from a predator.

“Violet, let me explain. It’s not what it looks like!” Cait tried to reach out again– to get Vi to understand what she’s missed, being locked in here for the last seven years, but the woman she loved took another step back.

“Not what it looks like? How can you walk in here dressed like that and tell me, ‘it’s not what it looks like’?” Vi chuckled bitterly, her voice cracked and sounded slightly hysteric. Her eyes were like daggers cutting into Cait’s heart, but they were so hollow. It was as if all the life that once sparkled in those grey eyes had been completely snuffed out. “Do me a favor and stay the hell away from me, Cupcake.”

The nickname that had once been a fond memory of Caitlyn’s felt like a slap in the face, but she wasn’t ready to give up so quickly. She knew that Vi had to have an extreme amount of trauma to deal with from what had happened all those years ago, and adding whatever horrors she’d had to suffer through here in Stillwater wouldn’t be going to make that any easier. There was also Powder, Silco, and all this madness in the Undercity that Caitlyn knew Vi would dive into as soon as she learned about it because that’s just who Vi was. And Cait would be damned if she let the love of her life go through all of this alone, whether she wanted Cait there for her or not.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Caitlyn said determinedly, ignoring the anger radiating from the other woman. “I’m going to get you out, and I just ask that you please let me explain myself, and if afterward, you still want me gone, then I will respect that.”

She held Vi’s gaze, trying to see beyond the walls that Vi had constructed to try to find her Violet still in there somewhere. All she needed was a little crack in the impenetrable stone, and she could wriggle herself in and pull Vi back to her, breaking down the fortress that had been constructed within the seven years of complete isolation. Caitlyn waited for any type of reaction, and when she’d almost started to give up, she saw an almost imperceptible nod. If she hadn’t been looking so closely, she would have missed it.

“I will be back, I promise you,” Cait said before gathering her things and quickly making her way toward the elevator. She already had a plan set in motion in her head, and it may get her into some trouble, but quite frankly, she didn’t give a damn. The only thing that mattered to her at that moment was getting Vi out of this awful place.

Once she was back on the boat heading into Piltover, her adrenaline wore off, and tears finally started to fall. The pain of knowing that the love of her life had been alive all this time, and she hadn’t had a clue about it, made her feel like her heart was shattering all over again. All the time that they had lost that could have possibly been avoided if she had just stayed all those years ago instead of returning home made her want to scream. She was grateful for the rushing water to drown out the sounds of her sobs so as not to alert the man steering the boat. When they reached shore, she wiped her tear-stained cheeks and quickly made her way home. Cait arranged another boat to bring her back within the hour, not wanting Vi to be in there any longer than she had to.

As she entered her house, she made a quick stop at her mother’s office before heading to her own room, glad that it was late and her parents were already in bed for the night. She’d been in here enough times over the years to know where her mother kept her important paperwork, easily finding the inmate release forms in the top left drawer of the desk. She grabbed a pen and quickly filled out the form, forging Jayce’s signature at the bottom. There was a chance this wouldn’t work, but the Warden hadn’t seemed to care enough to look into the fact that she wasn’t actually an enforcer anymore, so she hoped that he wouldn’t dig deeper now that she was requesting the release of an inmate. All she knew was that Violet was worth the risk of getting caught.

A couple of hours and a very unpleasant chat with the Warden that left her feeling sick to her stomach and anger boiling in her veins later, she was unlocking the cell that had caged Vi for the last seven years. When their eyes locked, it knocked all the air out of Caitlyn’s lungs, seeing that small spark of life in those grey orbs again. It was just for a short moment, but it was enough to give Cait hope that this could work, that they could work.

“What’s happening?” Vi asked, seemingly not believing that Cait had actually pulled this little stunt off.

“I told you I’d get you out of here,” Cait simply said, holding their eye contact so Vi would understand that this was really happening. It wasn’t some twisted joke being played on her. “Come on, before they start getting suspicious.”

“Why would they get suspicious of another enforcer?”

“I told you I’ll tell you everything, but not here. It’s not safe,” Cait quickly promised, trying to stay calm even though her anxiety felt like it was gnawing at her heart.

They quickly made their way out of the prison that had kept her lover locked away from her for years, and it wasn’t until they were back on the boat heading towards the Undercity that either of them released the air that had been trapped in their lungs from the anticipation of potentially getting caught. Caitlyn had very low expectations that her plan to speak to the tattooed man would even work. She really didn’t think she’d successfully aid an inmate to get out of Stillwater, but miraculously, her shoddy plan had worked out better than she could have imagined.

Once they were off the boat, they found a quiet location away from prying eyes near the bridge to get into Zaun to discuss everything. It was nearing sunrise now. Cait had been up all night breaking Vi out of that prison, and exhaustion was starting to hit her. But this was it for her– if she couldn’t convince Vi to trust her, she would end up losing the love of her life again, and she’d be damned if she let that happen.

“You have about five seconds to start explaining what’s going on and why you’re an enforcer, or else I’m heading off on my own,” Vi demanded, her tone still cold and detached.

“I’m not– I mean, I was, but not anymore. It’s complicated,” Caitlyn sighed, feeling frustrated that her brain wasn’t cooperating with her mouth to properly explain.

“Then how are you wearing that?” Vi snarled, a grimace on her face from just looking at Caitlyn. It broke her heart all over again that Violet couldn’t even look at her without obvious disdain. “Seems pretty straightforward to me, princess. I should have known not to trust a Piltie. I should have known you’d be just like every other Topsider–”

“I went back for you!” Caitlyn shouted, not being able to hear another dig aimed at her anymore. Her outburst made Vi’s mouth snap shut, shock evident on her face from what Caitlyn had said. “That day, when everything fell apart– I saw the explosion from my bedroom. I ran as fast as I could, but I was too late. I saw what happened to Benzo and Sheriff Grayson. I followed to where all the smoke was coming from, and I–”

She choked on her words, feeling all the emotions that she had spent so long trying to shove down into neat little boxes so she could continue to move forward. Tears were gliding down her cheeks, but she didn’t care to wipe them away. Caitlyn longed to reach out for Vi, finally seeing some semblance of emotion from the other woman aside from resentment. But she knew it was too soon. She knew that the trust they once had wasn’t there anymore, and it would take a long time to get it back, if they could ever get it back. But the tears that were brimming in those grey eyes that she loved so dearly gave her hope that maybe there was a chance.

“I found Ekko in front of Vander’s body. Saw Claggor’s bloody goggles clutched in his hands. And he said all of you were dead. I thought you were dead,” Caitlyn cried, taking a step forward into Vi’s personal space. If she hadn’t been so tormented by the memories of the past, she would’ve been pleased that Vi didn’t back away. “I mourned for you. Every day for the last seven years, I have mourned for you. I became an enforcer to try to figure out what enforcers were on Silco’s payroll. It wasn’t a decision I made lightly, and god knows Ekko wasn’t pleased with my decision either, but he saw the importance behind it.”

“You’re still in contact with Ekko?” Vi croaked, the first words she was able to speak since Caitlyn had started to rehash the events of the past. Cait nodded in response and saw a soft smile form on Vi’s face. “How is he?”

“He’s so good, Vi,” she whispered. “As good as he can be considering the downfall of the Lanes. He formed his own group. He has a place for orphans or anyone looking for an escape from Silco’s grasp. He’s become quite the leader.”

“You’ve helped him?”

“As much as I can,” she confirmed. “Not nearly enough as I’d like, but that’s why I decided to join the enforcers until my mother got me laid off after an injury.”

“How did you get injured?” Vi asked, almost sounding a little concerned for the ex-enforcer’s well-being.

The momentum of Caitlyn’s explanation died on her tongue with the realization that she was about to break Violet’s heart all over again. She knew the information that she had on Powder would create an enormous amount of pain for her refound love, and she hated that she had to be the one to break the news to Vi. Cait licked her suddenly dry lips as she tried to formulate a way to say what she needed as painless as possible, but deep down she knew that trying to sugarcoat the truth wouldn’t help in this situation.

“After– that day, I thought all of you had died, but…” Cait stammered, choking on the words she so desperately needed to get out. “Silco, he got–”

“He has Powder,” Vi interrupted, a sad, knowing look in her gaze. “I saw him approach her after everything went down. After I blamed her for what happened.”

Cait watched as Vi started pacing, a calloused hand rubbing the back of her neck as she got lost in her own memories of what happened all those years ago. The turmoil Vi was experiencing made Caitlyn want to reach out to her again, but she knew that she shouldn’t, so she stood by and waited for the other woman to process her feelings.

“I tried to get to her when I saw him approach, but then Marcus knocked me out and dragged me to Stillwater.”

“It’s Marcus,” Cait whispered, not surprised but angry she hadn’t found evidence on him sooner. “He’s the one on Silco’s payroll.”

“Yup,” Vi scoffed, hatred for the coward dripping from her tone. “That poor excuse of a man is why Silco has gotten away with destroying the Undercity. Why Silco has Powder. I need to get her back.”

“Vi, you have to understand… she’s different now,” Cait tentatively said, stepping forward to finally reach out against her better judgment to stop the pacing. Her hand gently rested on Vi’s shoulder, feeling her initially stiffen at the touch but relaxing shortly after.

“Different, how?”

“You asked about my injury before, and– it was due to an explosion that she caused. It killed four other enforcers,” Cait explained, hoping the gravity of the circumstances was properly conveyed to the woman who had not seen the outside world in years. “She… goes by the name Jinx now.”

Vi stumbled back from Cait’s touch as if she had been burned, tears immediately threatening to spill from those hauntingly beautiful grey eyes that Caitlyn had longed to look into again since the day she had lost Vi. Vi’s breathing became labored as the words washed over her as if she was fighting off a panic attack.

“This is my fault,” she cried, a tear falling that she angrily swiped away. She looked as if she was about to collapse, and Caitlyn quickly reached back out to catch her. They both crumpled to the ground, Cait’s arm wrapped tightly around Vi’s shoulders as the other girl sobbed into her chest. “This is all my fault.”

“No, darling,” Caitlyn soothed, stroking her free hand through pink hair. “The only one to blame is Silco.”

“I told her she was a jinx. I blamed her for all of them dying. She only wanted to help,” Vi continued to sob, clutching onto Caitlyn’s uniform. “She only wanted to help.”

All Caitlyn could do was hold Violet until her tears stopped falling and her breathing was back under control. There were no reassuring words that Caitlyn could provide the other woman because she didn’t know where this road was going to lead them. She didn’t know if Vi would even want her to be by her side through all of this, so she just held onto Vi while she still had the chance to. The ex-enforcer didn’t know how much time had passed as they sat there together, but when Vi finally pulled back, the sun had fully risen, and the rest of the city seemed to be waking up.

“I have to get her back. I have to get through to her,” Vi sniffled, a look of determination reflected in her eyes. She slowly stood from their seated position, and Cait suddenly felt cold from the loss of contact with her former girlfriend.

“I know you do, but Vi, it isn’t going to be easy. Silco has done a number on her over the years,” Caitlyn warned.

“I have to try anyway. I can’t give up on her again,” Vi said. Her grey eyes scanned Caitlyn’s face as if weighing the decision of whether or not she could trust the ex-enforcer. After a moment, a wrapped, calloused hand reached down towards Caitlyn. “Are you with me?”

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation. Caitlyn immediately grasped the hand extended to her. She wouldn’t allow Vi to slip away from her again after years apart. She was more determined than she ever had been to rebuild the relationship they once shared, even if it only ever led to friendship. Violet was far too important to her to let the other woman do this on her own.

“Always.”

[darkprincecait]

"actually, this seemingly dead magical princess was alive the entire time, and now she's a middle aged divorced mom" is the best plot development I've ever written, I think.

[orchestratedemotion]

I’ve just discovered that there are more Bono/James V fics on Ao3 than there are Lewis/Bono fics and I really don’t know how I feel about that.

[blueskrugs]

More than a Memory | Quinn Hughes

I write quinn now, but apparently only for @matthewtkachuk​. surprise babe! hope you enjoy this one, my latest @antoineroussel​ fic exchange fic! (and it’s not even late!) it was unbelievably hard not to message you about this while I was writing it.

special shoutout to my real-life Sam, who inspired more of this fic than I’d care to admit. 

recommended listening: More than a Memory by Garth Brooks

length: 5.3k words

When you were ten years old, Quinn Hughes was your almost-first-kiss. 

You still remembered the moment as if it were yesterday. In a rare quiet moment in the Hughes household, you were sitting on their living room floor with your eyes closed, where Quinn had told you to wait. You almost flinched when you felt Quinn’s fingers brush your wrist. You cracked open one eye. Quinn was carefully winding a friendship bracelet around your wrist and tying it in a knot. You squeezed your eyes shut again. 

Quinn pressed his forehead to yours. You didn’t dare breathe. 

The back door slammed, Jack or Luke, probably, and you both jolted away from each other. Quinn kneed you in the side as he tried to roll away from you. You were both breathless with nervous laughter—and you with a little bit of pain—when Jack appeared in the doorway. He looked between the two of you for a moment with all the confusion of an eight year old who didn’t understand his older brother.

“Come outside, and play with us,” Jack complained.

It was January in Toronto, and it was cold out. Jack didn’t seem to care about that part. You and Quinn shared a look, but you both grabbed your coats and hats and followed Jack outside.

That had been over ten years ago. 

You and Quinn had grown apart over the years after that day. Once best friends, you quickly felt like you were becoming strangers. Quinn started focusing more on hockey, and your friendship fell through the cracks. It was painful for a while. You missed Quinn terribly, even though he hadn’t gone anywhere. There was a whole year where he barely spoke to you at all, even though you spent all day in the same classrooms. 

Eventually, hockey took the Hughes family to Michigan, and you lost contact with Quinn entirely. You did your best to forget about Quinn, but you kept the thin green friendship bracelet looped around your wrist. 

But that was then, and this is now. That was before you grew up, before you left your family behind and moved across the country to Vancouver. Before, well, everything. 

You didn’t think much about Quinn Hughes these days. You knew he’d been drafted out here, but you didn’t pay much more attention to his career than that. It was for your own sanity, really. Besides, Vancouver was a big city. The odds of you ever running into Quinn were pretty low. 

Or so you thought. You run into Quinn for the first time at the grocery store of all places. You almost don’t recognize him at first, and he doesn’t see you, too focused on the bags of frozen vegetables. You freeze—fitting, for the aisle you were standing in. You debate just turning around and leaving the aisle, but you really need green beans, and they’re the last thing on your grocery list for the week. 

“Excuse me,” you say, edging past Quinn’s cart and reaching for the bag of green beans.

“Oh, sorry,” Quinn says. He starts to move out of the way, but stops, staring at you. You meet his eyes briefly before carefully looking over his left shoulder. “Do I know you?”

You couldn’t remember what you looked like when you were 13 and saw Quinn for the last time, or imagine what he could see in your face now that would still be familiar. Quinn looks the same, yet different. Older, obviously, but it’s enough that you’re not sure you would have recognized him yourself if he weren’t an NHL player in the same city you lived in. His hair has grown out longer than you can ever remember it being, and there’s a day or two worth of stubble across his cheeks. Underneath it, he’s Quinny, but not the Quinn you knew. 

You’ve been quiet for too long. Quinn’s still staring at you, trying to figure out where he knows you from. You could lie. Tell him you’ve never met before and move on. 

What you say instead is: “We went to primary school together, actually.”

There’s a horrifying moment where you think Quinn still won’t recognize you. His eyebrows draw together in confusion, and you wish you hadn’t said anything at all. The moment passes, Quinn’s face clears, and, before you know it, he’s stepping around both of your carts to wrap you in a quick hug. He’s pulling away before you can even convince yourself to hug back.

“Oh my God, of course, Y/N!” Quinn says. “I didn’t know you lived in Vancouver now.”

You don’t have the time to explain all the reasons you left Toronto, so you say, “Yeah, it’s a recent thing. Needed a fresh start, y’know?”

Quinn nods like he does know. He’s moved around enough he might actually know. “I need to get going, but it was good to see you,” he says. “We need to get coffee some time, catch up, yeah?”

You find yourself nodding. Quinn smiles at you one last time before turning and walking away. You realize that you don’t even have his phone number. Whatever. He probably didn’t really mean anything by it, and you’re probably never going to see each other again. For real this time.

The second time you run into Quinn Hughes is actually your fault. You take a personal day off work on a Friday, but you feel too restless to sit around your too-small, too-empty apartment. You Google “ice rinks near me” and end up at Robson Square.

It’s easy enough to rent skates, and you are stepping onto the mostly empty ice before you can let yourself think too hard about it. You don’t know the last time you’d been ice skating. Years, probably. You wobble a bit at first, but it isn’t long before muscle memory kicks in, and you are gliding along as well as you can on the rough ice. It is early enough in the afternoon that it isn’t too crowded, only a few other families and college-aged couples, plus one other lone skater on the other end of the rink from you. It doesn’t take an expert to identify him as a hockey player, but you would recognize that skating anywhere. You had grown up skating alongside him and his brothers in Wedgewood Park back in Toronto.

Quinn isn’t wearing anything Canucks-branded, which is probably why no one else has recognized him. He’s skating in smaller circles than the rest of the crowd, not really paying anyone else any mind. You’re too far away from the door to double back and make an escape, but Quinn still hasn’t seen you, either. You keep skating, praying Quinn doesn’t look up from his crossovers. 

A young child skates past you, then, laughing as they escape their parents. You skate sideways to avoid getting in the way, forgetting how close you’d gotten to Quinn. You are still looking over your shoulder for the kid’s parents when you bump into someone, and you’re both tumbling to the ice. 

You had also forgotten how much it hurt to hit the ice. 

You end up on top of Quinn, your legs tangled together, Quinn’s hands gripping your elbow and your hip.

“Oof,” he says. He looks up at you properly for the first time. “Oh, hi.”

“Hey,” you say, still a little breathless from falling. And maybe a little bit from being so close to Quinn. You choose to ignore that part. 

Quinn winces. “D’you mind-”

“Right, fuck, sorry.” You remove your elbow from his gut. You start to roll off Quinn. His hands tighten for a split second before he lets you go. You were going to start drawing attention to yourselves soon if you don’t get off the ice, but you still lay on your back for a moment, trying to catch your breath.

Next to you, Quinn is already getting to his feet. He brushes the snow off his pants and holds out a hand for you. You debate ignoring it; you know how to skate, and you know how to get up after falling. You certainly don’t need Quinn’s help. 

You roll to your knees and take Quinn’s hand, letting him pull you back to your feet. You drift close for a second, practically into Quinn’s chest. You both took a step backwards. Quinn starts skating again without letting go of your hand, and you have no choice but to skate after him.

Until Quinn realizes you were still holding hands, and he drops yours like he’s been burned. 

You step off the ice as soon as you reach the door, not looking to see if Quinn is following you. You hear him sigh before he steps off too.

You find a bench and begin yanking at your skate laces with numb fingers. Quinn sits beside you and pulls your hand away. He rubs absently at your cold fingertips. You should have worn gloves. 

“Hey, you’re not leaving already, are you?” he asks softly. 

You shake your head. You don’t know. You don’t know if Quinn wants you anywhere near him, or if you want to stick around. This was supposed to be a nice afternoon by yourself, not another one haunted by ghosts of your past.

You miss the days when you knew how to act around Quinn, when you didn’t even have to think about it. 

“What’re you even doing here?” you ask, deflecting. “Surely you have no shortage of access to ice.” It’s teasing, but it feels forced. A reminder of the reason your friendship fell apart all those years ago. 

Quinn shrugs. “It’s nice, sometimes,” he says, “to get outside and skate like we used to as kids.”

You think you might understand, a little. “Yeah,” you say, speaking just as softly as Quinn.

“Haven’t seen you around much,” he says next.

That’s by design, a little bit. It hasn’t been hard, exactly, to avoid running into Quinn at the only place you know you have in common—the grocery store. 

“Been busy,” you lie. You go to work, you go home, alone. You’ve been dragged out to happy hour after work a few times with your new coworkers, but you always duck out after one drink. 

Quinn shoots you a sideways look like he can still see through you, even after a decade. He pulls out his phone, unlocks it, and hands it to you, before squatting down and beginning to untie your skates.

“Well, if you can spare some time, you still owe me a coffee,” he says, staring carefully at his fingers. You look up from typing your number into a new contact. “I owe you coffee?” you splutter. Quinn grins up at you, and you can’t help but laugh. You only have a vague idea of how much Quinn makes these days, but it is definitely more than you.

Quinn follows you over to the counter to return your skates. “You don’t have to leave just because I’m here,” he tells you.

You force yourself to smile at him over your shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, I just don’t think I’d be able to get up after another fall like that.” You’re already feeling stiff and cold from your hard landing on the ice. It might be a little bit to avoid making small talk with Quinn, too. “I’ll text you, okay?”

Your friendship with Quinn begins again in fits and starts after that. You do end up meeting for coffee: one sorta-painful Saturday morning, trying to fit a decade’s worth of the important stuff into an hour and a half. Quinn’s busier than you, practices and games and road trips, but he texts when he can. You find it easier than you expected to respond to his dumb memes and inane small talk. You dodge his attempts to hang out again. You’re not sure you’re ready for that, but you’re not entirely sure why.

Then, Quinn texts you that Jack and the Devils were going to be in town the next week, along with his parents. You didn’t even know Jack had gotten drafted to the Devils. Your heart aches for things you didn’t even know you were missing out on. 

You open the text, but don’t answer it for days. Quinn finally calls you.

“You know, my parents are going to be pissed if they find out you’re avoiding them,” he says when you answer. He almost sounds angry.

“Fuck, hello to you, too,” you snap. 

Quinn huffs. “Hi, you’ve been ignoring me,” he says. “C’mon, they’re looking forward to seeing you,” he adds. “My mom especially.”

You wish you could flip Quinn off right now. Ellen always was your favorite Hughes. You hadn’t even realized he had told his parents you were in Vancouver now. 

“Quinn, I haven’t been to a hockey game in years,” you try. It’s a weak excuse, and you both know it.

“So?” Quinn says. “Listen, my mom already got you an extra ticket, you have to come.” He pauses. “Even Jack is excited to see you,” he wheedles.

“Have you told everyone I moved to Vancouver?” you ask.

“Well, not everyone,” Quinn says. “Just my family, and a few teammates.”

“So, pretty much everyone,” you laugh.

“I was excited!” Quinn defends, but he’s also laughing. “It’s not everyday I run into my best friend after ten years.” He has a point there. “I’ll text you the details, okay?” Quinn is saying, and then he’s hanging up.

You end up getting dragged out to dinner with the four Hugheses the night before the game, despite your protests, citing family time and other shit that Ellen doesn’t buy. 

“You’re taller than me,” you complain, when Jack bounds out of Quinn’s car in front of the restaurant and wraps you in a hug. The last time you’d seen him you still had a few inches on him, at least. 

“You should see how tall Lukey is now,” Jack says. “He’s taller than both of us.” Jack is laughing, but you can hear how much it’s killing him that his baby brother is taller than him.

God, you hadn’t even thought about Luke. “Shit, is he in college now?” That can’t be right. 

Ellen smiles at you over her shoulder as you all head inside. “He just started his second year at Michigan.”

“He’s all the smartest out of all three of us,” Quinn whispers in your ear, a hand hovering over the small of your back. You imagine you can feel the heat of his palm across the distance and through your thin sweater.

It’s easier than you thought to lose yourself in the rhythm of conversation and get swept away in the controlled chaos that occurs with the Hughes family. You argue with Jack over appetizers, and you both take turns making fun of Quinn. It’s familiar, like a well-worn pair of shoes. 

Ellen turns to you after the dinner plates have been cleared away, and Jack and Quinn are bickering good-naturedly over who has to foot the bill. There’s a worried look in her eyes that immediately sets you on edge.

“I’d had no idea you moved out to Vancouver,” she starts. “It’s been so long since your mom and I chatted.” 

For as close as you and Quinn had been growing up, it only made sense that Ellen and your mom had become good friends, too, between supervising play dates and coordinating carpools. You hadn’t known if they’d kept in touch at all since the Hughes family moved to Michigan.

Ellen goes on. “Did that boy—oh, what’s his name—move with you?”

“Sam? Oh, no, that’s…over,” you say. That is the reason you moved across the continent at all. This isn’t the time or place for that part of the conversation, though. “Just me out here,” you say, uncomfortable.

“Sam?” Quinn asks, at the same time Jack says, “Who’s Sam?” Quinn looks worried, while Jack looks delighted by this development. 

You wave your hand in a way you hope seems nonchalant. “Just an ex-boyfriend.” That answer isn’t good enough for either of them; Quinn’s frown deepens, and Jack’s eyebrows go up. “We were together for a while, I don’t know, everyone thought he was it for me, I guess.” You had even thought that Sam was it for you.

You had never been more wrong.

The boys let it go, and you turn back to Ellen. She tsks. “That’s too bad, your mom said you two were so cute together.” 

You had been once, you supposed. “Yeah, well,” you say awkwardly. You’ve probably already said too much. You’re saved by the waitress delivering the bill, reigniting Jack and Quinn’s argument. 

Quinn hugs you tightly outside the restaurant. “We need to hang out more,” he says firmly. “Quit fucking avoiding me.” 

“Language,” Ellen warns from behind you. You laugh at the face Quinn makes. Jack ruffles your hair on the way past. You aim a kick at him, but he dodges you, cackling. You manage to grab onto the back of his shirt and reel him in for a hug, too.

“Missed you,” he admits. “Don’t be a stranger,” he adds. “Quinn knows where you live now, he will find you.” 

It would be threatening if you hadn’t known these boys since you were literal children, and if Jack weren’t still about as intimidating as a puppy. Still, Quinn’s looking seriously at you over Jack’s shoulder, and you don’t doubt that he will start showing up at your front door to drag you out of the apartment.

October bleeds into November. It becomes harder to avoid Quinn and his pointed texts, but the Canucks go on the road for a week, saving you from coming up with excuses. You know Quinn too well to expect that he’d let his mom’s mention of your ex go without an interrogation. 

But you slip up before Quinn gets the chance to confront you. Your anniversary with Sam is—was—November 14th. You buy a bottle of wine and drink it alone in your empty apartment. You find yourself calling Quinn without thinking about it, memories of years past blurring together.

“Hello?” Quinn mumbles when he answers the phone. Shit, you’d forgotten he’s on the East Coast—Boston? Buffalo? You’re not sure right now.

“Shit, sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” You feel like you’re on the verge of tears, and Quinn must be able to hear it through the phone. “Forget it, I’m sorry.” 

He sounds worried, more awake, when he speaks again. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” 

His words set something off in you, and you’re crying in between one breath and the next. So much has happened, and you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to tell the story and do it justice. You faintly hear Quinn sigh on the other end of the line. He’s quiet as you try to collect yourself, the minutes stretching out between you. 

“Am I always going to be alone?” you finally ask. You take a shuddery breath.

Quinn yawns, and you wince, suddenly remembering that you woke him because you were feeling melancholy. “What? Of course not, why would you even ask that?” Quinn doesn’t sound angry, just confused. 

“Everybody always leaves,” you whisper. 

Quinn left. A string of worthless ex-boyfriends before Sam all left. Sam had been the one, you’d thought, the one who would stay.

You ended up leaving before he could. 

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” Quinn says firmly. “Well, except for road trips, sometimes, and back to Michigan for the summer, I guess, but I’m bringing you with me to Michigan anyway, and you know what I mean.”

You giggle in spite of yourself. “I’m sorry for waking you,” you say again, fighting back a yawn of your own. Your head is starting to hurt.

There’s muffled rustling on Quinn’s end that tells you he’s shrugging. You’re still lying on your living room floor. You should probably move, go to bed, something. You drag a blanket off your couch and over yourself. Just a few more minutes. 

You wake up to your phone alarm blaring next to your head the next morning. You groan and roll over. You never did make it to bed, and you’re sore and stiff from laying on your floor all night. You slap at your phone to turn your alarm off. It’s nearly dead, another consequence of falling asleep on the floor. 

You drag yourself into the kitchen for a glass of water and a phone charger. Your call log is still open. The call with Quinn lasted hours; Quinn must have only ended it when he woke up this morning. You should probably apologize for drunk dialing and wallowing, again. 

There’s a text waiting for you from Quinn, too: you owe me coffee again 💤

You roll your eyes and dislike the message to be annoying. 

Quinn shows up at your door a few days later with coffee in hand. He shoulders his way past you before you can make up an excuse about being busy, despite the fact that it’s a Saturday morning and you’re definitely still in pajamas, and thrusts one of the cups of coffee at you.

You take it, suspicious. “I thought I was supposed to be buying you coffee, not the other way around,” you grumble. Quinn got your coffee order right, because of course he did. 

“I’ll send you a Venmo request or something,” Quinn says, unconcerned. “Are you mad at me?” 

You don’t know what you were expecting Quinn to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. “Am I— what?” 

“Are you mad at me? For leaving Toronto?”

You were, once. That anger faded a long time ago, though, softened by nostalgia and simply missing your best friend. “What? No, not any more.” “Not any more?” Quinn echoes.

“I mean, I was, when we were younger, but that was stupid.” It wasn’t really Quinn’s fault, and, seeing how far he’s gotten now, you really can’t blame him for wanting to follow hockey for as long as he could. 

“You said everybody leaves,” Quinn insists. “I left you.”

“Quinny, we were kids,” you say. “I’m not mad at you for something that happened over a decade ago, oh my God.”

“But you said—”

“I’m just tired of dating shitty guys, okay?”

“Oh.” Quinn takes a sip of his coffee. He opens his mouth, ready to argue some more.

“I’m not having any more of this conversation without coffee,” you say. You wave the cup of coffee in your hand for emphasis. 

Quinn drops it after that.

Weeks pass. Quinn grows more insistent on spending time with you, whether it’s at your apartment or his, or sneaking in a breakfast or lunch not-date when your schedules allow. He even invites you to hang out with a few of his teammates, and you spend one surprisingly nice evening squished between Quinn and Brock on Quinn’s couch, playing video games that you’re not particularly good at. You and Brock spend most of the time ganging up on Quinn for some light bullying, much to Quinn’s despair.

You keep expecting Quinn to bring up Sam and your relationship again. He never does, but you see the way he watches you sometimes, the same “worried older brother” look he used to cast upon Jack and Luke. After a while, you and Quinn settle into a rhythm of friendship, not unlike the one you had when you were kids. You talk frequently, you hang out when you can. 

You fan the flames of a childhood crush you thought had been extinguished a long time ago.

“Hey, are you going home for Christmas?” Quinn says randomly one afternoon in December. He’s sitting on your couch, craning his neck around to see you where you’re standing in your kitchen. 

“Uh? No?” You’re still close enough with your family, but they understand why you avoid Toronto pretty much these days. There’s too many ruined relationships haunting those streets.

Quinn huffs. “What are you running from?” His face does something complicated before settling on worried again. “He didn’t, like, hurt you, did he?”

“Sam? No, absolutely not.” You reconsider. “I mean, like, emotionally, yeah, but that was just the break-up.”

Quinn cracks a small smile, but he still looks concerned. “So, you’re really not going home because of him?”

You shrug. “Easier to avoid running into an ex if you’re not even in the same city. Besides, I kinda…cut all ties and got out of dodge. It’s too awkward to go back now.” 

Quinn’s eyebrows furrow like he’s trying to figure out what question he wants to ask next. “You really—” He switches tacks. “Do you—like—I’m going to Michigan, and it’s only for, like, a day, but you know my mom would love to have you, but only if you want, and—” He takes a deep breath. “Do you want to come to Michigan for Christmas?”

You stare at Quinn, unsure how to react. There was once a time when you were as comfortable in the Hughes’ house as your own. That was a long time ago, in a house in a different country. You feel like you and Quinn have been dancing around the question of whether or not your friendship could be something more—that tenuous moment from when you were 10 still not forgotten—and this feels like crossing that unspoken line somehow. 

Quinn looks unsure now, watching you hesitantly from across the room. 

“I don’t know, Quinn,” you say finally. “I don’t want to impose, and you barely get to see your family as it is—”

Quinn waves a hand at you. “Luke will be out in Halifax for World Junior’s by then, and I’m serious, you know Mom would love to have you.” He frowns. “You shouldn’t have to be alone on Christmas.”

It would be nice to not be alone for the holidays. You glance over at your sad little Christmas tree, still undecorated in a corner of your living room. 

Still, “I’ll be fine,” you insist. 

You expect Quinn to let it go, the way he lets a lot of things go with you lately. He’s been careful, afraid to push you into difficult conversations since you reconnected. Instead, he frowns harder and crosses his arms at you.

You’re almost glad for it, mentally preparing yourself for a fight.

“You’re coming to Michigan,” he says firmly. “I’ll book your fucking flight myself if I have to.”

“Q—” you start, but Quinn’s not done.

“What are you so afraid of? What did your ex do to you that you’re so scared to let people in? Ever since you’ve been in Vancouver, you keep everyone at a distance, even me. We used to tell each other everything.”

You don’t have the words to respond. You turn on your heel and stalk off towards your bedroom. You hear Quinn call your name, but you ignore him. You yank your bedside table drawer open, fishing around blindly until your hand closes around the item you’re looking for. You head back towards the living room. 

Quinn’s still standing there with his arms crossed, looking angry and confused and hurt all at once. 

You throw the object in your hand at Quinn. He catches it easily. Hockey player reflexes.

“A ring box? I don’t understand.” He opens the box carefully. Inside, nestled in the velvet, is a beautiful, sparkling engagement ring. Quinn stares at it, open-mouthed. 

“We were supposed to get married,” you tell Quinn. Your voice sounds hollow, even to your own ears. “Sam and I, next summer.” Quinn takes the ring out of the box and turns it over in his hand. It glints in the light. “We’d met in college. God, I was so in love.” 

“I still don’t—I don’t get it.” 

You continue. “I came home from work one day and found him fucking one of our friends. Had been going on for a while, apparently. We were in the middle of planning the wedding, we were about to buy a house, everything. I was going to ask her to be one of my bridesmaids.” You let out a humorless laugh. You realize your eyes are wet. “I cleaned all my shit out of our apartment while he was at work a few days later, hid out at my parents’ for a few days. I think I had everything settled to move to Vancouver within a couple weeks.” 

You watch as Quinn slots the ring back into its box. 

You had needed the distance. It wouldn’t have been long before all of your friends found out about Sam, and you didn’t think you could handle the endless explanations of why your engagement had ended. Plus, Vancouver had brought Quinn back to you, and that was easily the best part of your year.

Quinn finally seems to notice your crying. “Hey, come here,” he says gently, opening his arms for you. You step into them without hesitation, letting Quinn wrap you in a hug. You let yourself linger, safe and comfortable in Quinn’s arms. 

“You know, I used to be taller than you,” you mumble into Quinn’s chest. Those years had been nice. Quinn doesn’t tower over you now, but you’re tucked neatly under his chin. He pinches your side. You jerk and squirm away, laughing.

Quinn grabs you by the wrist suddenly, bringing your hand close to his face to inspect it. “What is this?” he asks, twisting the little, braided green bracelet around his finger until it tightens against your wrist.

You try to tug your hand away, but Quinn holds on. 

“It’s a bracelet, Q, I know you’ve seen them before.” Quinn pinches you again, gently on the skin of your forearm this time. You whine at him.

“I gave this to you,” he says. It’s not a question. He finally tears his eyes away from the bracelet and looks at you. “I gave this to you,” he repeats, “when we were like, ten.”

“Yeah,” you say, helpless. You had no idea Quinn even remembered that day, or giving you the bracelet. 

“You still wear it?” he asks. You shrug. “That was, like, over ten years ago, what the hell.”

You finally pull your hand free from Quinn. You shrug again, uncomfortable. “I didn’t start wearing it regularly until you moved to Michigan.” It had been a nice reminder of your best friend, and after a while, you honestly forgot it was tied around your wrist.

“I almost kissed you that day,” Quinn says thoughtfully. 

If you were drinking something, you probably would have choked. You’re suddenly very aware of how closely you and Quinn are still standing. Quinn pauses. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks, softly.

You nod before you can even think about it, winding your arms around Quinn’s neck and letting him pull you in by the hips. It’s better than it would have been at 10, yet it’s exactly what you breathlessly wished for all those years ago. Quinn’s lips move easily against yours, just as gentle as he always is with you.

When you pull away to catch your breath, you rest your forehead on Quinn’s shoulder. You’re both silent for a long moment.

“I have a confession,” you say.

“Another one?” Quinn squeezes your hip.

“I don’t think I’m ready for another relationship,” you admit.

Quinn squeezes your hip again. “Baby, I’ve been waiting on you since we were kids.” You laugh, smacking Quinn on the back of the head. “Ow, hey. This just means I get to woo you, yeah?”

You laugh harder. “Never fucking say that again, oh my God.”

Quinn sways a little bit, and you rock with him. “I mean it. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

“D’you promise?”

“Promise.” Quinn steps over to the couch, and you let him tug you until you land next to him. You rest your head on his shoulder again. “You definitely have to come home with me for Christmas now.”

You lob a decorative pillow at his head as he dissolves into laughter.

[chamomillles]

i have some opinions on essays in college (as a humanities double major) but i will keep silent for the time being….

[endfght]

anxiety threatens to overwhelm her, with hands shaking uncontrollably to breath coming in and out in sporadic, high-pitched bursts. everything that had happened did so so quickly that nicole couldn't be positively sure what exactly occurred. they'd been hole up in an abandoned park ranger's shack, connor gone with his father and shane to check the traps that they'd set early in the morning, and to scavenge what they could in preparation for the last leg of their journey. she and cait had been attending to a stew brewing in the fireplace when footsteps sounded on the porch, not a second thought given to who they'd belonged to ⸺ until they got heavier, hesitated, and then splintered the door off of it's hinges. they were lucky in the grand scheme of things: the lone man that came through the door was not much bigger than either of them, but the look in his eyes was enough to frighten nicole to her core. their was the briefest of seconds where they were all just staring at one another, and then he lunged; and when nicole opened her eyes, he was dead on the ground and caitlin had a blossom of blood forming in a circle on her pant leg around the blade that had previously been in the dead man's hand.

no— don’t take the fucking knife out.

hands freeze immediately, wide eyes shifting from @innocentsbled's face to the handle sticking out of her thigh. instinct had been to remove the cause of cait's sudden pain ― but sister's ever-rational mind stilled her hand before she could act. ❝ i⸻ what- ❞ jaw hung, voice cuts itself off, words caught in her throat with a lump the size of a fist. she takes a deep breath in attempts to calm herself down, sweaty palms wiped down the sides of her legs, eyes blinking rapidly to keep the tears she hadn't realized were falling at bay. ❝ what do i do ? tell me what i'm supposed to do ⸺ please, cait⸻ ❞

[maxsimagination]

would you write more for kim little please? maybe her dating someone younger on the team and the rest of the girls find out? <3

𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮 - 𝙠.𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚

warnings: none, just an age gap

-------

“kimmyyyy, no i wanna sleep in. pleaseeee.”

i groaned as kim pulled the curtains to our shared apartment. i wanted to enjoy the last moments with her until we had to go to training and pretend we weren’t dating.

it wasn’t because we didn’t think they’d accept us, it was more because kim was 33 and i was only 22.

the team might not think that was bad, but if they knew then it was only a matter of time before the media knew, and it would blow up indefinitely once they knew. we just weren’t willing to risk it right now.

i ended up being dragged out of bed by kim, the scot managing to haul me to the bathroom. i was half asleep but went through my morning routine like clockwork.

we rocked up at the training fields within the next hour, but kim walked in first. we drove there in the same car but walked in separately so people didn’t suspect anything.

“yn!”

“leah!”

i greeted the blonde when i walked in, levelling her excitement with my own. she jumped onto me in a hug, before slipping back onto the floor.

we walked into the dining hall where the rest of the team and staff were, picking up our designated plates and electing to sit at katie’s table. which also happened to have kim at it.

i, obviously, chose to sit next to kim but thankfully no one picked up on that.

we were allocated an hour to eat breakfast before everyone had to actually start working for the day. all the players filed out to the changing rooms where we changed into our boots, and i slipped my hoodie off while i had the chance.

i caught kim’s gaze as i jogged out to meet leah, throwing a cheeky grin at her expression.

leah was up with katie and cait, talking about god knows what. i joined in, but then jonas cut everyone’s conversations short with his yell for attention.

“girls! let’s get started please. we’re doing a jogging warmup lap, then weights.

find a partner once you’ve finished the lap, use each other for spotting. we don’t need any injuries.”

there was collective murmurs of agreement, and we started jogging around the field. i naturally found myself jogging next to kim, as if a magnet pulled us together.

“gym partners?”

i questioned, she nodded.

we made our way to the weights section of the gym arsenal had.

“we are so doing legs first.”

i all but dragged kim over to the leg press to kickstart our session. kim did not want to do legs, she was into training arms, which was very visible from the bicep muscles that she sported.

one of the many things i drooled over.

i had shoved at least 250lbs onto the leg press machine and watched as kim’s eyes bulge at the amount of plates.

“you’re telling me you can safely lift that?”

“nope. but i’m gonna.”

i ended up doing two reps of fifteen, before upping the weight to 300lbs. kim may have had an aneurysm at the amount of weight i was pushing, and making it look like it was nothing. but she still stood behind me, watching, spotting, and dancing her fingertips over my shoulder blades.

it gave me tingles, and was slightly ticklish. what we didn’t know was that leah was looking from across the room, and she knew that something was up.

when the gym session was over and we started actual drills, leah was quick to pin me as her partner for anything. i thought it was weird but didn’t question it.

when we had a break leah took my hand and walked past kim, beckoning her to follow us. leah walked us away from the groups of girls, so we were out of earshot.

“there’s something going on between you two. spill.”

both of us were quick to sputter out some form of excuse.

“no, what do you mean.”

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

leah gave us both one of her stares.

“cut the crap. i see the way you look at each other, the little touches. not to mention you both come into practice witching minutes of each other, every morning.”

i exchanged a look with kim, there was no point in hiding this from leah. she was like the fbi, she knew everything.

“okay. we’re dating. we have been for a year.”

something settled in leah’s expression, now she knew what was going on.

“i knew it.

kimmy, going for the young ones are we?”

leah poked at kim’s side, grinning at the skipper. there was an eleven year gap between us, hence why we had kept it secret for a while.

“shut it, lee. do we need to tell the whole team?”

“it would make things easier. for you that is. but only if you want.”

i look over at kim. she looks over at me. i shrug, i never had a problem with telling everyone, kim was the logic one who knew the ins and outs of the media.

“fuck it why not. they’ll figure out eventually.”

“we don’t have to say anything, we can just walk out there and start acting like a couple. see how long it takes them.”

i throw out the idea with a grin. why not have a little fun with it.

we end up agreeing on my idea. training still had a couple of hours left and jonas gave us a few more drills to do, so me and kim forgot all about keeping the secret and just had fun training with each other for once.

surprisingly, none of the girls, not even the staff, said anything. not even kyra or alessia, of all people.

you’d think that the two most gossipy youngsters on the team would say something. but by the end of training, no one was any wiser. so leah told them all.

kyra let out a very loud, ‘oh my god!’ which caught the attention of alessia, who told lotte, so on and so on. soon the whole team knew and it was like a weight was lifted off our shoulders.

“kimmy, i didn’t know you were into the young ones.”

katie’s irish accent was unmistakable as she caught up with us to poke fun at the skipper. cait walked alongside me, she didn’t tease neither me nor kim, simply said she was happy for us.

you could tell she was true with her words, she was in a very similar situation, when her and katie first got together.

“a proper cougar then, our skipper.”

lotte and alessia laughed as they walked past.

it was funny, all the jokes they threw around, but most of all i was happy that they accepted us.

[scuderiahoney]

On The Horizon

Max Verstappen x reader // Strawberry Wine Pt IV

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

Summary: Like a sunrise over the ocean, there are nothing but good things on the horizon for you and Max.

Word Count: 7.3k

a/n: here she is, part 4 to what was supposed to be a one off story! co-writing credits to @enchantecafe for this one, bc cait helped me workshop basically this entire plot. everyone say thank you cait!!!

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, mild sexual references, non graphic/non descriptive mention of vomiting, the lightest sprinkling of angst

“You know,” Lando says, eyeing you and Max warily. “You two are usually my favorite couple to hang out with because you’re not super PDA-ey.”

“Aw, thanks, Lan,” you say sweetly.

“I said usually,” he says. He wrinkles his nose. “But lately you guys are gross.”

You laugh. Lando’s not exactly wrong. Even now, you’re standing in the paddock, and Max has his arm around your middle. His fingers rest comfortably against your side, holding you close with your back against his chest. He’s chatting with GP, not even paying attention to Lando, but he keeps you there. You’re not complaining.

You know why he’s being clingy. You know sometimes he still wakes up and worries you won’t be in bed next to him. You feel it too- the lurching feeling in your chest when he’s out of reach. The inescapable urge to hang onto him for dear life. So you don’t complain when he pulls you close or kisses your forehead in public or holds your hand so tight you worry you’ll lose circulation. You’re clinging just as tight, fingers twisted in the fabric of his jackets as you follow him through crowds, your hands in his pockets when you’re chilly, your face pressed to his chest when you get sleepy. When he’d suggested quitting your job and taking time off to travel with him, you’d eagerly agreed.

“You’re just jealous,” you tease, and Lando balks.

“Am not!” He squeaks. His eyes light up, and he leans around you. “Daniel! Aren’t they being weirdly gross?”

He beckons the older driver over. Daniel saunters over to the group of you. Max is finally paying attention to Lando, drawn in by his frantic waving. Out of anyone, Daniel is the only one who actually knows that you probably are being weird, and the reason behind it. His gaze bounces between you and Max, and he smiles. Then he turns to Lando.

“I think you’re just lonely,” he says, and you laugh. “I could be your wingman, if you want.”

“You’re an awful wingman,” Max teases him.

Daniel turns to him, a fire in his eyes and a smirk on his face. “Really, mate? You wanna say that again?”

You look up at your boyfriend. Max rolls his eyes, but his lips melt into a sheepish smile. For a moment you’re a bit confused- you were dating Max before you ever met Daniel, so he’s not talking about you. But then you remember him picking you up from the club when Charles called, and then how he brought you to Max, and you start to laugh.

Lando makes a noise of confusion. “Seriously, they’re being weird!” He whines. “Something changed.” He reaches for your left hand, grasping at your fingers. “No ring, so it’s not that!”

Your cheeks go red, and this time Daniel’s the one who laughs. Max pulls you closer into his chest and sighs. You pull your hand away from Lando.

“Yeah, when are you gonna make an honest man out of Mr. Verstappen?” Daniel asks teasingly.

You roll your eyes and shove at his shoulder. Lando’s laughing now, too, and you feel Max’s chest rumble with a giggle behind you. For just a second, you let yourself imagine it. A different scenario, where Lando asks why you’re being weird and then spots the ring on your finger. Something simple and elegant, and then Max is holding your hand in his and showing it off, telling everyone the story. You want it. You want him to ask you.

You snap back into the present moment with a racing heart.

“Maybe we should be asking him that, no, schat?” Max teases, pointing at Daniel. “He and his girlfriend have been dating longer than us, you know.”

You laugh. Danny does too.

“S’not about who’s been dating longer,” Daniel says, brows raised. “It’s about who buys the ring first.”

Lando falls into a fit of laughter at their teasing each other. You follow suit. But behind you, Max isn’t laughing, at least not really. And Daniel’s staring him down. Weird. Soon, someone’s calling Max over, and he leaves you with a quick kiss to your forehead. Lando breathes an exaggerated sigh of relief.

You find out what was going on with Max and Daniel later. You’re in bed in the hotel suite they’ve put Max in this weekend. You can hear them talking- Daniel and Max. Daniel and Lando came over to hang out for a bit after dinner- Lando’s since gone to his hotel, but Daniel’s got a tendency to stick around. You went to bed early, but now you’re awake again, and you decide to grab a glass of water from the living area and see if you can convince Max to come to bed. You stop in your tracks in the bedroom, door partially open, when you hear your name. You shouldn’t eavesdrop, you know. But god, you can’t help but want to know what they’re saying. Besides, they’re not exactly being quiet.

“- don’t know, Daniel,” Max says. You hear the scrape of a fork against a plate. “I don’t want to move too fast, you know.”

Daniel scoffs. “You bought the ring months ago. You still have it, don’t you?”

You slip your hand over your mouth. Your heart clenches in your chest. No. That would mean- There’s no way-

“Of course,” Max says. “But it was before… the break, you know?”

“But things are good now?” Daniel asks.

“Of course. Things are good. Maybe better, you know? I just…” he sighs, and you can almost picture him, staring at the counter, rubbing his thumb against it. “I don’t want to scare her off. That comment you made earlier. She looked like a deer in the headlights.” Max sighs again.

“She looked like she was in love with you. Which she is.” Daniel counters.

“Things are good. I don’t want to fuck it up. I’ll wait until I’m sure.”

“And what if you wait too long?” Daniel asks.

You don’t stick around to hear his response. You close the door and make your way back to the bed as quietly as you can, and then crawl back under the covers. Then you stare at the ceiling. Max bought a ring. Max bought the ring before you asked him to take a break. That means that when you said you needed space, Max had been thinking about asking you to marry him. God, you feel sick to your stomach.

When he crawls into bed a while later, you pretend you’re asleep. You can’t shake the heavy guilty feeling- it clings to your bones. You think of Max, the way you left him asleep in your bed that morning, and how he probably had the ring in his bedside drawer. Next to you, he rolls over and wraps his arm around your waist, presses his lips to the shell of your ear. “I know you’re awake.”

You sigh softly, melt back into him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he murmurs. “Talk to me?”

This is his new thing. It’s helping a lot, actually. He notices you slipping, and he calls you out. Talk to me. You’ve gotten so used to it that you’ve started using it, too. Can I just talk to you? He smiles every time you ask, even if you’re close to tears. Because it means you’re trying.

You want to talk to him. You want to apologize, to tell him you heard him talk about the ring, to beg him to forgive you for leaving him that morning. You think of all the times you woke up without him there and how your chest had ached, and you wonder how awful it must feel to reach for someone who isn’t there, expecting skin under your fingers and only finding cold sheets.

But that’s something you’ve talked about and apologized for already. He won’t understand why you’re upset about it all over again unless you admit you heard him talking, and then you’ll have ruined that, too. If, someday down the line, he does decide to ask you, you don’t want it to be because you know about the ring. You don’t want to pressure him into it.

So you roll over in his arms and wrap yourself around him. “I was half asleep, but I was waiting for you,” you say. “I don’t sleep as well when you’re not here.”

It’s not a lie. It’s not the whole truth, either, but it seems to work.

He kisses your forehead, and then your lips. “I’m here, now. Whenever you need me, I’m here.”

…..

You love the ocean. The sounds, the beautiful blue expanse of it, the sand between your toes. You love Max on vacation even more- skin sun warmed, a hazy smile on his lips. So when he suggests a trip to Greece for the summer break, you don’t even have to think about it. He rents out a little villa at a beach resort, one where you’re only steps away from the water and a short walk from everything else you could possibly want. The first night you’re there, you barely make it through a quick room service dinner before you fall asleep, exhausted from the last few weeks of traveling.

The first full day there, though, is magical.

You wake up just after sunrise, pale morning light filtering in through the curtains. Max is still asleep, snoring softly. His hand is resting on your back. You lay there and trace his face with soft fingertips. The slope of his nose, the jut of his jaw, the line of his brow. You could watch him sleep like this forever, you think, as you brush your thumb over his Cupid’s bow.

He wakes up eventually with a flutter of his eyelashes and a stuttered sigh. You take the opportunity to press yourself close and worm your way into his arms. Max isn’t always cuddly, but when he’s only half awake he’s much more receptive to it. He laughs when you press your face into his bare chest, and he wraps his arms around you happily.

“Hi, my love,” he murmurs, squeezing his arms around you tightly. “Good morning.”

“Hello,” you say back drowsily. “Missed you.”

He laughs. “I was right here.”

“I know,” you say.

You didn’t mean for it to be sad, but suddenly your chest feels tight. Max doesn’t push or prod or question you. He just holds you a little bit tighter, lets his hand trace a line up and down your spine. He bends his head to kiss your temple. Both of you know without having to say it. When you say you missed him, you’re not just talking about now. You’re talking about all the time you were apart. Eventually, the feeling passes. You let out a breath, and Max does too.

“What do you want to do today?” He asks. “We could go get breakfast.”

His voice is scratchy and sleep muddled. Part of you wants to ask him to just lay here with you all day. You think he might agree to it.

“It’s 1:00 in the afternoon,” you tell him, and he lets out a laugh.

“We were tired, huh?” He says.

“I’ve been awake,” you tell him. “Waiting on you.”

His hand slips lower, and he pinches your hip lightly. You squeak and try to squirm away, but he holds on tight. Then his fingers are digging into your side as you try to shove him away. He rolls the two of you over until he’s laying on top of you, and then he drops his whole weight on you. You let out a groan.

“We could stay in bed all day,” he suggests.

“Sounds boring,” you joke, despite the fact that you’d just had the same thought.

Max muffles a laugh into your collarbone. “I can make it interesting.”

You sigh softly when he disappears under the covers. His hands slide down your bare sides, and you think maybe he’s right.

You finally crawl out of bed by 2:30 and head for the shower. Max, of course, tries to follow you, but you banish him from the bathroom, insisting that you want to go do something, knowing he’ll never let you out of the hotel room if he gets his hands on you again. You trade places with him after you’re done, though he tries his best to coax you back under the warm spray of water with him. It almost works. Finally, by 3:30, the two of you set off for a walk along the beach.

“Are you hungry?” He asks.

His fingers are knit with yours, and the two of you walk in step with each other. He’s wearing a white button up, the top two buttons undone. His hair is perfectly tousled, still damp despite your attempts to blow dry it for him after you dried your own. And god, the smile on his lips, that peaceful little grin, makes your heart melt.

“M’starving,” you admit, bumping your arm against his.

He smirks down at you. You elbow him deliberately this time. He keeps your fingers together as he laughs. You never want him to let go.

“Let’s get you some food, then,” he says.

You have a wonderful, very late lunch at a little seafood place right on the beach. You spend the rest of the daylight lounging on the beach with him. He lays out a beach blanket just down the shore from your villa and carries all the supplies down for you- snacks and towels and sunscreen and your book off the nightstand. You lay in the warm sun and listen to the crash of the waves and watch the rise and fall of his back. He’s going to fall asleep on the beach and get sunburned if you’re not careful, so you drag him into the water instead. Waves crash around your legs and tug at your toes. He follows you willingly, knee deep in bright blue. His hands fall to your hips, warm and sandy on your bare skin.

If you could stay right here with him forever, you would. You’d let the ocean swallow both of you whole and hold on tight to him. That fleeting thought passes your mind again, along with the tight feeling in your chest, and you try to push it away. You almost lost him.

Max cocks his head at you and squeezes your hips. “Talk to me.”

You sigh. “I just. I almost lost you. I almost fucked everything up so badly.”

Max doesn’t argue, but he brushes his lips against your forehead and says. “But we’re here now.”

“I just feel guilty sometimes, you know? When we have these nice moments, I feel like I don’t deserve them.” You say.

He nods and then cups your face in his hands. His thumbs press gently into your cheeks. His eyes are like the ocean, wide and blue and washing over you.

“I love you,” he says, so heartfelt it makes your head swim. “And we’re here. I’m not going anywhere. You deserve all of this. There’s nobody I’d rather be here with than you.”

Eventually, standing in the water and staring up at him, the feeling passes. It melts off your shoulders and washes away with the waves. You tell him you love him, too, and watch the words wash over him like water.

Two days later, you share an even later dinner in the fancy restaurant near your villa. It’s a white tablecloth, candles in the centerpiece sort of affair. You almost feel underdressed in your long sundress, but Max tells you you look beautiful and that’s more than enough for you. You have good food and better wine and you hook your ankle around his under the tablecloth. It’s everything you want it to be, and it’s only the first day.

Neither of you really feel like sleeping, even though it’s nearly 2am by the time you make your way back to your villa. The world is dark outside, the sun having sunk below the horizon hours ago. Max is laying on the bed, legs hanging off the edge as you putter around the room, humming to yourself and picking up the clothes you left everywhere while you got ready for dinner. He’s watching you, you can feel it.

“You know what I wish we had?” You voice.

He props himself up in his elbows to look at you. “What, schat? Anything you want, I’ll get it for you.”

Heat swirls in your stomach, and you turn to stare at him. “Strawberry wine.”

Max juts his chin towards you. “You said you didn’t like the taste of it anymore.”

He’s talking about the night where he found you on the rooftop. Your hands fall to your sides, and your chest feels tight again. You wish that feeling would just go away.

“No, I- it’s not…” you sigh. “I do. I was just feeling so guilty, and drinking it just reminded me…”

Max nods in understanding. He pushes himself up to sitting on the edge of the bed. “Look in my suitcase.”

You frown and stare at him. He nods again, and you turn to where his suitcase sits on the dresser. You flip the lid open, face to face with his clothes. When he doesn’t say anything, you dig past the layers until your hand hits glass. Your heart lurches in your chest and tears prick at the corner of your eyes. God, you love him.

You wrap your hand around the bottle and reach for the beach blanket, sitting on the dresser next to the suitcase. You turn back to Max, cradling the bottle of wine to your chest. He’s smiling up at you from the bed.

“You should find a corkscrew,” you tell him. “And meet me on the beach.”

Max laughs as you step out of the sliding glass door and head for the ocean. Then you hear him scrambling to follow.

“I was going to save it for the last night,” he tells you when he meets you on the beach. “But this seems perfect.”

You hold the bottle out to him. “Why wait?”

He takes it from you and pulls the cork out with expert precision. You watch the way his arms flex as he does, lit up in pale moonlight. He hands the bottle to you so you can have the first drink. It’s warm and far too sweet, but it’s exactly what you wanted. You sigh happily and hand it back to him. He seems to brace himself before he takes a drink. Anxiety blooms in your chest.

“I still like it,” he reassures you, knowing you’ve caught the look on his face. “I just. I got sick once and threw it up. It’s not as good on the way back up.”

You frown, taking a step closer to him. The sand is cool between your toes. When you grab his hand, it’s warm and firm.

“You got sick? When?” You ask.

The look on his face makes your stomach lurch, and suddenly you wish you hadn’t asked.

He tilts his head. “Do you want to know now?”

It’s going to hurt, you know. You get glimpses of Max, of what he went through when you were apart, and they tear you to shreds. But in the same way you owe him answers to how you’re feeling, you owe him this, too. He’d been hesitant to tell you things at first, worried you were only trying to punish yourself. But he understands now, though he still gives you the chance to back out each time.

You nod. He sighs and sits down. You sink onto the blanket next to him and rest your head on his shoulder. He takes another sip from the bottle before he hands it to you, and then he tells you.

It was the night he came home while you were there gathering stuff to take back to Audrey’s with you. He’d had Italian food and a bottle of wine, asked you to have dinner with him. Space, Max. You can remember how you said it, the tired defeat in your voice. How small he looked sitting in the kitchen. You’ve often wondered what would’ve been different if you’d just sat down with him that night.

He tells you then, on the beach under the stars, what happened after you left. How he’d tossed his food in the trash, put yours in the fridge like maybe you’d come back for it. Then he took the bottle of wine onto the balcony, stared at the lights of the city, and drank the whole thing.

“Sugary wine on an empty stomach,” he says, lightly. “Not a good mix.”

You don’t laugh. You never do when he tells you these things, despite how casual he tries to make them sound, how he tries to play it off. He’s trying to protect you by joking about it, you know. But the thought of him throwing up all alone, in the home the two of you made together, makes you feel sick. You wrap your arms around his upper arm and try not to cry. He grabs your knee with his other hand.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “I’m so sorry.”

He shushes you and rests his head against yours. “We weren’t ready to talk,” he says, so sure of it that you just know he’s right. “If you’d have sat down we both would’ve acted like nothing happened and then…”

You’d have ended up right back where you started, sooner or later.

You sniffle. “Yeah.”

He takes another drink. “I love you,” he says, because you think he thinks if he says it enough you might really believe it again. “So much. More than strawberry wine or racing or anything in the whole world.”

You press your hand over your mouth. “I love you. You are my whole world, Max.”

The time slips away like sand through your fingers. You sit and talk and talk, about everything and nothing at all. You kiss and hold each other close. The stars shine above your heads, and the moon lights up the water. You draw designs in the sand with his fingers. Waves crash on the shore and wash them away, and you think each one washes away just a little bit more of the pain you’ve been feeling. You dig your feet into the sand, press your hands to the ground, and breathe deep. Next to you, Max watches and laughs and wraps his arms around your shoulders.

“My sweet strawberry,” he murmurs into your hair. “I missed you.”

You know he’s not talking about now. In front of you, you see the sun begin to peek up over the horizon. You blink through a fresh blur of tears and hold onto his elbow. Sleep is pulling at your bones, but the sun is rising and painting everything pink. You stand up, take his hands, and drag him to the water’s edge. He chatters about your dress, about how much he likes it and doesn’t want the saltwater to ruin it. You turn towards the sun, your back to him, and pull it over your head, leaving you in your bra and underwear.

He chokes, and when you turn over your shoulder to look at him, he’s searching the beach frantically. “Nobody’s awake,” you tell him. “It’s just us.”

He’s grinning at you then, cheeks rosy pink even without the help of the sunrise. And then he pulls his shirt over his head and hops his way out of his shorts. You run into the waves before he can get to you, and he follows, fingers reaching for yours.

When he wraps his arms around you, both of you tumble into the water. You come up for air next to him in the pink sea. He kisses you between laughs, waves crashing around you, and it mends another piece of your heart. His too, you think.

…..

You see Daniel in the paddock at the first race after the summer break. He greets you both with hugs and then reaches for your left hand. He sighs dramatically and rubs his thumb against your empty ring finger, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“He’s got absolutely no balls, does he?” Daniel teases.

Next to you, Max scoffs.

You look up at Daniel and sigh forlornly. “I got my nails done and everything, Danny.”

Max chokes on a laugh. “You would’ve gotten them done either way, we were on vacation!”

You shrug and look up at him, winking conspiratorially. Daniel is already off on a tangent about nails and beaches and perfect proposals. But you watch Max’s face, the way he smiles down at you, and you hope he knows you’re ready. That you’d follow him anywhere if he just asked you to. He ignores Danny’s ramblings and kisses your temple. Nearby, Lando sees it and groans loudly.

…..

In the early fall, for the first time since the break, Max heads off to a Grand Prix alone. He leaves you behind in your shared apartment. It feels strange. It didn’t used to be like this- both of you were good at being independent, at understanding you couldn’t be together all the time. But now you sit at the kitchen island and stare at his empty seat and wonder why you didn’t just go with him.

This feeling will fade, you remind yourself. If Max was here, he'd reach out and hold your hand. But he’s in another country, in a hotel room somewhere, probably already asleep. You have to get used to being alone sometimes. You sit at the counter and scroll on your phone and try not to think about how quiet the apartment is. When you’re finished eating you join the cats on the couch, finding comfort in other living beings and the way they remind you of Max. You think back to when you were first seeing each other, the way they followed you around and Max called them traitors. They still seem to like you more most days.

You wake up hours later with a dry mouth, face smashed against the couch cushion. The tv is still on, playing some show that definitely isn't what you were watching. Someone’s phone is ringing on the show.

No. Wait. Your phone is ringing. You scramble for it, heart racing when you see Max’s face on the screen.

“Max?” You answer.

You hear a soft sniff, and then a huff. “I was trying to get your voicemail. Did I wake you?”

“No,” you lie. “I was up. M’watching-“ you rub your eyes and stare at the TV screen. “Watching Say Yes to the Dress.”

“At 3 in the morning?” He says, bewildered.

“It’s 3am?” You ask, sitting up. “Shit, I should go to bed.”

You can almost hear Max rolling his eyes. “Did you fall asleep on the couch?”

“I was awake,” you insist. “Hold on, why were you trying to get my voicemail?”

Max sighs. “Schatje, you should go to bed.”

“Max.”

“I woke up and you weren’t here,” he admits. “I haven’t woken up without you since the break… and I can sit here and tell myself everything is fine but I wanted to hear your voice.”

“So really, it’s better that I answered,” you tell him.

He sighs again. “Yes, but you should be sleeping.”

“I haven’t gone to bed without you here since then,” you remind him. “I might be avoiding it a little bit.”

He hums. You hear the sheets rustle on his end. “Why don’t you go lay down in bed, and we can talk until you fall asleep?”

It sounds nice, so you agree. You head for the bathroom and brush your teeth while Max tells you about his day. You put the phone on speaker while you change your clothes and tell him about the cats and the lady at the coffee shop that morning who complimented your outfit- he, of course, asks for pictures. Then you lay down in bed, clad in nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of underwear, and snuggle deep into the blankets. You wrap your arms around his pillow, press your nose in it, and close your eyes. As he talks quietly, you can almost pretend he’s there.

When you wake up and he isn’t next to you, tears spring to your eyes. But the cats are curled up in bed with you, and the sheets still smell like him, because he hasn’t been gone long and he’s coming back, sooner than it feels. You’ll make it through this, and when you see him again you know he’ll hold you close and kiss you and tell you he loves you. And then he’ll beg you to never let him sleep alone again.

You remind yourself that soon enough you’ll be back to traveling with him. You’ve just missed out on a lot of time with friends in the past few months, busy reconnecting with Max and yourself. Both you and Max had thought maybe it was a good time to do a trial run, to remember what it’s like to be away from each other. At first, it sounded like he was suggesting space, which had nearly sent you into a tailspin, but he explained and you realized he was right. Honestly, though, you hate it, so you’ll be taking him up on his offer to follow him across the globe for the rest of the season. You’ll have to go back to work and your normal life eventually, but not yet.

When you tell him that, he’s all smiles and no complaints.

“I missed you like hell,” he says.

“Yeah, I missed you too,” you reply.

…..

When the winter break finally starts, after Abu Dhabi and all the other little events he has to go to post season, you and Max fly home and sleep for nearly 12 hours. When you wake up, the sun is low in the sky, your mouth is dry and tastes awful, and there are lines from the sheets pressed deep into Max’s cheek. He smiles at you from his spot on the pillow, and then he kisses you even as you protest about your probably awful morning breath. You think back to the first time you woke up in bed with him, how timid you were then, how you’d brushed your teeth before he even woke up. Now here you are.

It’s 9:00 in the morning, and Max suggests going for a drive. You tease him, ask if he hasn’t done enough driving this year, but you agree anyways. You ask where to, and he says it’s a surprise. The two of you take your time getting ready, having nowhere to be at any specific time for the first time in what feels like forever. You throw on a sundress and comfortable shoes and bring along a light jacket. Max grabs drinks and snacks for in the car, and then you’re off.

He drives like he knows where he’s going, despite the fact that the route doesn’t seem very familiar to you. He’s not headed to Nice, or Italy, or towards any of your favorite breakfast restaurants in Monaco. But you love him, and he has this excited smile on his face, so you don’t ask questions.

You play music from your phone on the way, a mix the two of you started when you first started dating and have continued to add to since. It’s mostly your music and songs you think he might like, but he adds a few every so often. Here Comes The Sun by the Beatles comes on, and you both look at each other with wide smiles. He takes your hand as you both sing along. You think about months before, how burned out and worn down you were, and how happy you are to just be next to him now. Here comes the sun, indeed.

Eventually, he maneuvers the car through the French countryside. You spot a little roadside farm stand and tug on his hand. The sign boasts about fresh flowers and fruit, and Max squeezes your hand in response.

“Want some flowers?” He asks.

“Always,” you say.

He pulls into a parking spot. You follow him out of the car and up the path to the farm stand. There are rows upon rows of flower bouquets, vegetables, bread, and…

“Strawberries,” you say, softly. “It’s December, how do they have fresh strawberries?”

It should be impossible. You know when to get the best strawberries- the middle of July, when they’re fresh picked. But these are bright and red and you swear you can almost smell the sweetness. You turn to look for Max, who’s inspecting the flowers, trying to pick the perfect bouquet.

“Max,” you say, and he looks up at you with a smile. “Strawberries.”

He raises his brows and grins widely, making his way to you. He nudges your shoulder with his, looking down at the containers of berries.

“You want some?” He asks.

“I mean, yeah, but- it’s winter, it’s so far out of season,” you say. “How are they fresh?

“We grow them in the greenhouse,” a girl says in a heavy French accent. You look up at her, and she’s smiling at you. “You like strawberries?”

“They’re my favorite,” you say.

“Would you like to see?” She asks, pointing behind her. “They’re perfect right now.”

You look at her with wide eyes, then look to Max. “Can we?”

“Of course,” he says, the soft look on his face that he reserves just for you. “You go ahead, I’ll meet you in there. I left my phone in the car, you’ll want pictures.”

He scurries off and leaves you alone with the girl. She waves you along towards the domed greenhouse. When she opens the door, warm air pours out- it’s not cold outside, really, but it’s much warmer in the building. You step in and breathe in the humid air, and it smells like strawberries.

There are rows upon rows of the plants on tables, growing wildly, covered in berries. Tiny white flowers dot between the green leaves. There are little round string lights hanging from the ceiling, lighting up the greenhouse even on the cloudy day. You take a step towards the aisle, then stop yourself, but the worker nods. You stroll between rows of strawberry plants, a little haven in the middle of the countryside in France.

“We sell them here, and then we also send them to a winery just down the road,” she tells you. “We grow them all year. The farm owner, his wife loves strawberries.”

You smile softly, running a finger over one of the delicate leaves. “So do I,” you say.

You hear the door open, and Max steps inside, looking around with a soft grin. His eyes are lit up. You wave him over, entranced by the tiny white flowers.

“I’ll leave you two to explore,” the girl says. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

She shuts the door behind her. Max makes his way towards you. His footsteps fall softly on the ground. You have the urge to pause this moment forever. He steps up next to you and slips his hand into yours, fingers intertwined, slotted together like puzzle pieces. If you could hold onto him forever, you would.

It’s just. Forever sounds nice, doesn’t it. His wife loves strawberries. How romantic. How sweet. That’s love, in its purest form, isn’t it? To know what your person likes so much that you’ll defy nature to give it to them. Build a greenhouse and fill it with plants just for them. You’d move the world for Max. You know he’d do the same for you. And that’s enough- that’s more than enough, it’s everything you’ve ever needed and the strawberry on top, too. You feel his thumb brush against the back of your hand and think you’d be happy with just this, just him, forever. You don’t need a ring or a piece of paper to tell you that. His hand in yours is enough.

And then you turn and find Max kneeling down, a little black box in his hand.

Your heart is suddenly racing, all the air sucked out of your lungs. Tears fill your eyes immediately, but you’re smiling so wide you think it’ll split your whole face. Max keeps one hand linked with your left one, and you raise the other one to cover your mouth. You’re going to cry before he even says anything. You glance up at the ceiling to try to will the tears away, but then he says your name and you’re drawn right back to him.

He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. “Liefje,” he says, voice wavering with emotion. “I love you so much. I have for a long time now. And I want more. I want forever.” He opens the box, and you don’t even bother looking at the ring. “Will you-“

“Yes,” you squeak out, before he can even really ask if. “I love you, yes, I-“

He laughs, slides the ring onto your finger with shaky hands. And then you’re reaching for him, pulling him up towards you, desperate to kiss him. His lips meet yours and that last little piece of your heart falls into place. Because yeah, forever sounds pretty great.

He holds you close, and you rest your head on his shoulder, your hand on his chest. He reaches for your hand so he can look at the ring on your finger. There are tears in his eyes, now, too. You brush them off his cheeks with a shaky thumb.

It washes over you, suddenly. “Oh my god, you knew!” You say, wide eyed. “You didn’t just see the sign and ask if I wanted flowers, you-“

He laughs and cups the side of your face in his free hand. “I knew. I found you strawberries in the winter.”

A love so big you’d defy nature to give them what they want. His love is so big you’re not sure you’ll ever feel like you deserve it. But he stands there and holds you and whispers the sweetest things in your ears, and you know it’s true. You know it because it’s exactly how you feel about him. You’d give him the world if you could.

“I love you,” you say.

It’s all you can say, it’s everything, and it’ll never be enough to explain how you feel. You think he gets that, though.

He takes pictures of you in the strawberry house, has you hold your left hand over the plants to get the perfect photo. He admits that he’d had the worker take some photos through the door, too, on a nicer camera that the owners of the farm had offered when he planned this whole thing. They’ve promised to send the pictures later. When you leave the greenhouse, the worker is smiling knowingly. She hands you a bouquet of white flowers and a large container of strawberries, and says they’re a gift. You wonder if there’s a way to keep the strawberries forever. You wish there was.

As you walk to the car, you see an elderly man standing at the house nearby, his wife clinging to his arm. They’re waving. You and Max wave back, and your heart fills with warmth. It feels like a blessing.

“Where to now?” You ask.

He shrugs, grin wide as ever. “It’s lunchtime, and I hear there’s a winery down the road.”

You talk his ear off on the drive, about how much you love him and the ring and the strawberries and how you hope the wine is as good as your wine. He laughs and tells you he loves you too, and that he hopes the same. It’s only when you see the sign out front that you realize.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, tears already forming in your eyes again. “Oh my god.”

He laughs, puts the car in park, and leans over the center console to pull you close. “All this time, and we never knew this place was this close, huh?”

On the sign, there’s a logo. It’s one you know well. You’ve seen it countless times on bottle labels and corks, the ones that sit in his bedside table and in your jewelry box. It’s your wine. For a split second, the feeling is back- you don’t deserve this, a tight weight on your chest, crushing your rib cage. But Max is holding you, and there’s a ring on your finger that says he wants you forever. You didn’t lose him. You figured it out together, the way you always do and always will.

And now he’s brought you to the place that makes the wine that started it all. He brought you to see where they grow the damn strawberries. Back to the very beginning of it to start a new future.

“I love you,” you repeat, because you don’t think you could ever tell him enough. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, schat,” he says, pressing the words right into the skin of your temple. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He slides the ring off your finger at the table inside the winery, even though you protest immediately. But then he turns it over, holds it out to show you the inside. A tiny strawberry, engraved in the metal.

“So you always have strawberries,” he says. “No matter what time of year or where you are.” Then he slides the ring back on your finger before tapping on the stone. “And to remind you that you always have me. No matter when or where.”

You let the tears run down your cheeks at the table and hold onto his hand tightly. He’s tearing up again, too. Neither of you seem to mind. How could you, when there’s a bottle of strawberry wine in a bucket on the table in front of you, and forever on the horizon ahead of you?

…..

Two days later, when you finally make it home- he’d booked a hotel for you to stay at for a couple nights with the deepest tub and softest bed you’ve ever seen- you take him by the hand and drag him to your bedroom. He starts laughing, like he thinks he knows what’s happening. But you drag him to your nightstand instead of the bed and slip your hand into the drawer, coming out with a thin black box that you hand to him.

“I knew you’d want to be the one to pop the question, but I knew when that did happen… I would want you to have something, too,” you say, softly.

Inside the box is a gold cuff bracelet. He picks it up and turns it in his hand, thumb brushing against the smooth metal. You watch him look at the inside of it, and when he sees the strawberry engraved there, tears fill his eyes. He slips it on.

“I cut a little piece off the cork from the first bottle,” you tell him, as you rub your thumb against his wrist and the bracelet. “And they ground it up and mixed it with the metal. I’m sure it, you know, got hot and burned up or whatever, but the essence is there,” you say with a shrug. “So that wherever you are, you’ll have that with you. I mean. If you want to wear it-“

“Liefje,” he says, voice wavering. “Thank you. I love it. I love you.”

The look on his face is so soft it makes your heart melt. He kisses you then, and you feel the bracelet press against your jaw as he holds your face in his hands. You press your left hand to his cheek and you know he feels the ring there, too. Love in physical form, finally resting on your skin and his instead of hidden away in bedside drawers. It’s almost relieving. Like something you’ve been waiting a long time for has finally fallen into place.

Check out the final part of the series, Love Of My Life!

a/n: did you catch the dialogue from the poll? hope so :) thanks for reading!

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