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yelena-bellova · 1 year

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Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve: Hold You Close

Plot: A night out with the Greyhounds, a short-lived stint as head coach and a massive data leak bring on a full week for Y/n.

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: language, alcohol, sexual undertones (nude leak), slut-shaming

A/N: What do you get when you write a football fic with very little knowledge of football? This.

To be honest, this chapter feels more like filler and felt very awkward to write. But even if it’s a tiny step, every chapter moves the story along a little bit. Very much a Keeley and Jamie chapter, so enjoy!

——————

Winning suited Richmond.

A four-game win streak had brightened the halls of Nelson Road Stadium. The whole city was in the best mood it had been since the start of the season. Total Football, though it had taken time, was leading them to victory week after week.

After their fourth straight win, the Greyhounds proclaimed a club night. After months of declining, Y/n finally accepted their invitation to join. Going clubbing was…more than a little out of her comfort zone, but the boys weren’t going to take no for an answer. And truthfully, she wanted to celebrate their good fortune just as much as they did.

Sat in the VIP section of a London nightclub, the Greyhounds shouted to one another over the thumping bass. Colin and Y/n were sat in a corner, Colin entertaining her with a story from training the other day. When their glasses were emptied, they headed to the bar to get a refill.

“Okay, fine,” Y/n gestured to Colin’s bottle, “Gimme.”

Colin handed over his vodka, Y/n poured a bit into her empty glass and threw it back.

She grimaced, letting out a groan.

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Colin replied.

“No, it is,” Y/n screwed her eyes shut, “It really is.”

Y/n wasn’t buzzed, but she was certainly more relaxed than usual. It felt good to be out, to be amongst people she liked, to laugh. It made all the lingering anxiety in her head fall hush.

Colin was laughing at her alcohol tolerance just as a man who didn’t belong to their party came up to the bar. He stood beside Y/n and flashed an easy smile.

“You weren’t saving this space, were you?”

“No,” Y/n’s voice was strained, coughing from the vodka, “Go for it.”

The man flagged down the bartender, “Something strong, please. But,” he pointed to Y/n, “Not whatever she had.”

Feeling like she could see properly again, Y/n chuckled. “Smart choice.”

“I’m Paul,” the now-named stranger held out his hand.

She shook it, “Y/n.”

Colin stayed silent beside Y/n, smiling and sipping his drink.

“Are you here with friends?” Paul asked in a thick Irish accent.

“Uh, sort of,” Y/n glanced back the corner of the room the Greyhounds occupied, “After-hours work thing.”

“Ah,” Paul nodded and thankfully didn’t follow her gaze, “Don’t know how many people want to spend a Saturday night with their co-workers.”

Y/n shrugged, trying to give as little information as possible. “Bit of an unconventional workplace.”

“Okay, well, now you’ve got to tell me what you do,” Paul said plainly.

“Ha,” Y/n smiled, “If I do, I’ll never get rid of you. Trust me.”

“No, no,” Paul held up both hands, “You tell me, I get my drink, and then I leave with a useless fact about a stranger whose name I’ve already forgotten.”

Y/n laughed again. This particular club didn’t strike her as somewhere you’d meet a genuinely nice guy. It was a surprise, and if nothing else, it was pleasant conversation.

“You’re…” Paul decided to start guessing, “Personal assistant to some 5-star chef.”

“If that were true, I wouldn’t have so many takeaway menus in my kitchen drawers,” Y/n replied, visions of Christmas dinner two months before flashing through her head.

“Ah,” Paul winced, strike one, “You’re…a dancer and you’re out with your company.”

Y/n scoffed, “I’m flattered, but no.”

Paul pressed a finger to his lips, twisting fully to face Y/n. It was the most polite way of checking someone out she’d seen.

He pointed towards her, “You’re-“

“There you are,” Jamie exclaimed, sliding up to Y/n, “Babe, I was looking for ya.”

Y/n’s mouth hung open, ready to reply to Paul but struck speechless by the interruption.

“Told ya, waiter could’ve brought us refills,” Jamie slid an arm around Y/n’s shoulders and tugged her into his side. “Didn’t have to do it yourself,” he finally took his eyes off Y/n and turned to Paul, “Good night, eh, lad?”

With nothing more than two sentences, Jamie had sent a clear message to Paul that his presence was not required, needed or wanted in the slightest.

“Yeah,” Paul nodded in defeat, “Good night. Hope the same for you,” he gave Y/n a thin smile, “Cheers.”

Y/n awkwardly held up a hand, waving him goodbye, before turning to Jamie. “And what was that?”

“Me savin’ ya,” he answered as if it were obvious. His eyes followed Paul across the room till he was satisfied by the distance. “These places are lousy with creeps.”

“But he wasn’t,” Y/n argued, though it wasn’t really an argument. She hadn’t felt one way or the other about Paul. “He was just nice.”

“I can vouch,” Colin made his presence known again, “Saw the whole thing.”

Details mattered very little to Jamie. The truth of it was, he wasn’t even sure why he had stopped the conversation. The moment he’d glanced over at Colin and Y/n’s spot on the couch and seen it was empty, he went on high alert. Colin could fuck off wherever he wanted, but not knowing where Y/n was unsettled him.

And seeing some guy, creep or no creep, chatting Y/n up and making her laugh felt wrong. Very wrong. So wrong.

“‘Course he was nice,” Jamie replied, “The good ones are always nice at first. That’s how they get ya.”

Y/n watched Jamie mansplain men to her, something she thought was impossible to do. Neither of them really realized his arm was still around her, effectively proclaiming to the club that she was off-limits.

“Well, congratulations,” Y/n took the glass Colin handed her, annoyed yet unable to stop from smirking, “You protected me from harmless small talk with the first person I’ve spoken to outside of work since I started with you clowns.”

Jamie could sense the sarcasm, he didn’t particularly care. The threat had been neutralized. He shrugged, “You’re welcome.”

—————————

A few days later, Y/n was sat at her breakfast table. She watched the busy street below out her window. There was a peace to the hustle and bustle of Richmond that differed from the rest of London. Everyone had a destination, but no one was really in a hurry to get there. It was one of the things that she liked most about living in the middle of it all.

A ‘ding’ from her phone redirected her attention. A Google and Twitter alert. There was a good chance it was pap photos coming out from the club’s night out. A bit late, but still possible.

Y/n held her breath as she reached for her phone. There weren’t a lot of flattering angles to have captured them at by the end of the evening. She tapped the screen to see it was…Keeley…who was trending.

“What…” Y/n mumbled, dropping her fork and typing in her passcode to search further.

Not pap photos. Worse. So much worse.

“What…” she breathed.

There’d been a massive leak of private photos and videos, mostly from celebrities. Among them was Keeley. A racy video of the former model from a few years ago was spreading like wildfire across the digital landscape.

“Oh my gosh,” Y/n whispered as she scrolled various reactions and unfortunate screenshots. She threw her phone down when clips began to fill her feed. The whole country was watching it. Talking about it. Laughing at it.

Y/n scarfed down the rest of her eggs, grabbed her keys and hurried out the door.

—————————

Keeley nearly didn’t answer the door. When the insistent banging didn’t stop, she caved and peeled herself off her bedroom floor. She peeked out the window to see one of the only people she felt like speaking to at the moment.

“I just saw,” Y/n blurted out as soon as Keeley opened the door, “I’m so sorry.”

Keeley exhaled, putting her hands over her face, “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know what the fuck-“

“Hey, hey,” Y/n placed her hands on Keeley’s shoulders and guided her inside, “C’mon.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Keeley continued, barely registering that she was moving and that Y/n had shut the front door, “My family’s gonna see it. The team. Our clients!”

“I know,” Y/n replied, sitting them both down on the couch, “But the clients don’t matter right now.”

They did, terribly so, but Y/n wasn’t going to bring that up.

Raking her hands through her hair, Keeley stumbled for words. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m so fucking embarrassed.”

Y/n rubbed a hand over her boss’s arm, “I’m so sorry, Keeley.”

There was no way to fix any part of the awful situation, but Y/n, just by being there, made Keeley feel 1% better. It was better to hurt with someone than to do it alone. Jack had just left and the last thing Keeley wanted to be at the moment was by herself.

“You came all the way here because you saw?” Keeley asked, struck by the sentiment.

“Well,” Y/n shrugged, “Yeah.”

Since Amsterdam, Keeley had seen Y/n’s walls come down, or weaken at least. She hadn’t pushed too hard on the matter, she rather enjoyed the new Y/n. But this, this was entirely out of character.

Keeley threw her arms around her neck, grateful and in need of a hug.

A few months ago, Y/n would have shimmied out as soon as she could. But this wasn’t then, and she tightly wrapped her arms around Keeley, doing what little she could to comfort her.

“This is fucked up,” Y/n sighed.

“So fucked up,” Keeley whimpered, stuck somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

Y/n pulled back, still holding on, “We’re gonna get you through this. I promise.”

Keeley took a shaky breath, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Y/n smiled, “C’mon, KJPR. Dealing with shitty headlines is our superpower.”

Keeley managed a laugh before digging back into Y/n, the two of them locked in a heavyhearted embrace.

—————————

“No, Miss Jones has no comment on the data leak,” Y/n repeated into her phone, shutting down the fifth reporter of the morning, “Have a lovely day.”

Hanging up, she let her forehead hit her desk. It had been a full day since Keeley’s video hit the internet and she could only pray people lost interest and moved on soon. She had made Keeley promise not to answer any calls, instead forwarding the reporters to her. Most of them were men, but all of them were intrusive.

“A dick pic leaks on the internet,” she grumbled and dragged herself out of her chair, “And fuck all, but armies mobilize for a naked woman.”

Y/n grabbed her notebook and left her office, jogging down the staircase to go about her day as normally as she could.

“Hey, Y/n,” Ted called, exiting his office just as she entered the hallway. A vaguely familiar child was walking beside him.

“Hey,” Y/n half-smiled.

“Haven’t gotten a chance to introduce you,” Ted put his hands on the boy’s shoulders, “This is my son, Henry. Henry, this is Y/n.”

Henry smiled up at Y/n, “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Y/n realized she’d seen him in a picture on Ted’s desk, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hey, listen,” Ted pointed towards the stairs, “I gotta talk to Rebecca, won’t be more than a half hour or so. Would you mind watchin’ Henry?”

“Uh…” Y/n sputtered, “I mean, sure, yeah, but don’t you have training?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ted quickly said, his mind was clearly somewhere else. He felt around his pockets and pulled out a small box. “Yeah, you know what? Y’all are gonna start training for me.”

While Henry’s face lit up, Y/n’s electrified with anxiety.

“Yeah,” Ted grinned, looking to his son, “There you go. You can go back home, tell all your friends you got to coach a football team. How ‘bout that?”

“Yeah,” Henry said with great enthusiasm.

“Uh, Ted,” Y/n waved a hand, “While Henry,” she smiled for his sake, “May be really good at coaching, I’m definitely not qualified.”

Ted waved a supportively dismissive hand back, “Ain’t nothin’ to it. Get ‘em started on warmups, I’ll be down before they really get goin’,” he handed Y/n the box, “Got this for Roy, but he ain’t gonna use it. You go on.”

With Henry looking up at her like she held the key to his happiness, Y/n didn’t have much of a choice.

“Alright,” she exhaled, feigning excitement, “Let’s go coach a football team.”

“Thanks,” Ted kneeled down to Henry, “Listen to what Y/n says, yeah?”

“Will do, Mr. Magoo,” Henry gave his dad a thumbs up.

Y/n’s eyes widened at the phrasing, there were two of them.

“Alright,” Y/n clapped her hands together as Ted left them on their own, “Let me go set this back in my office and we’ll head out, yeah?”

“Okay,” Henry nodded, following Y/n up the stairs, “So what do you do here?”

Y/n sighed, “Well, I help run the social media accounts. I help the boys with their interviews. Y’know how you see football or baseball players on commercials? I help those happen.”

“Wow,” Henry said as they got to Y/n’s office, “That sounds cool.”

Y/n slid her notebook onto her desk, and faced Henry, “Yeah, it kind of is.” Anywhere else, even she would admit her job was boring, but Richmond had changed that. “Let’s see what your dad gave me.”

Opening the tiny box revealed a plastic yellow whistle. Y/n chuckled, Roy definitely wouldn’t be using this.

“So why’d you come to England?” Henry continued to ask questions, “If you’re American.”

Omitting key details, Y/n slid the whistle around her neck. “I came over for school and loved it so much I just never left.”

“Do you ever miss America?” Henry stayed next to Y/n as they descended the stairs.

That was trickier to disguise. If Y/n was honest, she didn’t miss her home country. It was hard to miss the place all her worst memories had occurred. England had been a refuge before becoming her true home.

“Sometimes,” Y/n replied, guiding Henry down the hall, “I have a little sister who still lives there. I miss her all the time…” she smiled, “And Arby’s.”

Henry agreed just as they reached the doors that would take them outside.

“Alright,” Y/n pressed her hands to the door, “Now these guys are the best in the whole country, in my opinion, so we can’t go easy on them.”

“Got it,” Henry nodded.

“We’re gonna have to work them really hard,” Y/n added.

“I agree.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes, “You ready?”

Henry grinned, “Ready.”

Theatrically, Y/n threw the doors open and they marched down the tunnel.

The boys were stretching and conversing and had yet to notice their coaches were missing. Y/n and Henry headed over to the dugout, Y/n thanking her morning self for deciding on wearing sneakers.

“Do you have a favorite player?” She asked.

“Jamie Tartt,” Henry answered without hesitation, “The first time I visited, he signed my shirt.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered with warmth, “That was nice of him.”

“On my soccer team back home, I’m #9,” Henry continued, “Just like him.”

Y/n’s eyes scanned the group of Greyhounds, finding #9 laughing about something with Isaac. There were probably hundreds, thousands of kids who looked up to Jamie Tartt, but Henry’s admiration was something special.

“Well,” Y/n crossed her arms, “We’ll make sure Jamie has plenty to do.”

Clapping her hands to get the Greyhounds’ attention, Y/n and Henry stepped onto the pitch. “Alright, boys, here’s the deal. Coach has appointed me and Henry here,” she put her hands on Henry’s shoulders, “As your new coaches for the next thirty minutes.”

The team was understandably confused but amused once they saw Henry’s bright eyes. Training was to double as babysitting.

“Now, you’re dealing with one of America’s next top footballers,” Y/n jiggled Henry playfully, “And a woman whose life you all have made incredibly colorful, particularly last weekend…” she gave a thick grin. After their celebration at the club, many of the Greyhounds had needed to be poured into cabs. The task fell to the most sober of them, and Y/n had taken little joy in wrangling them into the backseats. “No one’s going easy on anyone today.”

The boys ‘oohed’ and laughed amongst themselves.

“Alright,” she shouted, “One lap,” Y/n gave a sharp blow on the whistle, “Let’s go!”

All credit to them, the team obeyed orders and set off around the edge of the pitch.

As he passed by, Jamie stopped to give Henry a fist bump.

“How ya been, lad?”

“Good,” Henry grinned, his spirits had lifted even higher the moment Jamie walked in his direction.

“Good,” Jamie stood to his full height to face Y/n, smirking, “Don’t get enough of this with Roy?”

With mere inches between their faces, Y/n blew the whistle smugly, “Fallin’ behind there, Tartt.”

Jamie set off with a smile and ran to catch up to his teammates. Y/n being on the pitch was a surprising, but welcome start to his day.

The boys were about halfway around the pitch when Y/n and Henry started forming their game plan.

“What should we have them do next?”

Henry thought a moment, “What about knee kicks? That’s my favorite exercise.”

“I like it,” Y/n walked across the grass to retrieve one of the balls, “But you better be ready to show them how it’s done.”

Henry’s entire face lit up, the glow radiating onto Y/n’s knowing she’d made it happen. She was going to make sure he went home with the best stories.

The Greyhounds came around the bend, well and warmed up.

“What next, Coach Y/n?” Dani asked enthusiastically.

“Now,” Y/n set the ball on the grass and kicked it to Henry, “You’re in the hands of Coach Lasso.”

Y/n stepped to the side to give Henry the spotlight. The boys all cheered him on as he came to join them, holding the ball under his arm.

“We’re gonna do a knee kick contest,” he said proudly, “We’ll see who can go the longest, and,” Henry scanned the group, “Jamie’ll go first.”

Jamie pressed his fingers to his puffed out chest, stepping forward, “I’m honored.”

Henry tossed him the ball, Jamie easily caught it. Y/n popped the whistle back in her mouth and it shrieked.

“Begin!”

Jamie bounced the ball from knee to knee, the team forming a ring around him to watch. They started cheering each time Jamie’s body made contact, Henry the loudest of them all. He kept it going about thirty seconds before losing it.

Y/n spared him a clap, purposefully holding back, “Not bad.”

Jamie frowned at her, the tips of his lips still curling up.

“Who’s next, Henry?” Y/n asked.

“Sam,” he answered.

Jamie launched the ball at his teammate, Sam caught it and they switched spots.

He lasted the same amount of time as Jamie, Isaac lasted twenty five seconds, Dani lasted forty, Colin lasted twenty eight.

“Alright,” Y/n clapped as Bumbercatch finished his turn, “I think it’s time you boys learned from a true professional.”

Henry stepped up, taking Y/n’s smile as his cue, and caught the ball from Bumbercatch. The boys chanted his name, surrounding him in gleeful anticipation.

Henry began to kick, feeding off the support of the Greyhounds. Y/n stepped back a few feet and pulled out her phone, snapping a few pictures for Ted.

Out of all the Premier League teams filled with cocky young men earning million dollar paychecks, Y/n couldn’t imagine there were many who would behave like the Greyhounds. They were jumping up and down, cheering and counting for Henry as he bounced the ball. It was all so genuine, and they didn’t even realize the extent of what they were doing. They were giving Henry memories he’d cherish forever.

Eventually, Henry kicked the ball for Sam to catch and the boys went wild. Jamie leaped into the air and started victoriously running with Henry, the rest of them following.

Y/n hit the whistle, “Well, I think we can all agree Henry’s the winner.”

The team agreed quite vocally.

“You haven’t gone yet,” Henry called.

“Oh,” Y/n shook her head, “I-“

“No, no, no,” Colin pointed to Y/n, “Boyo’s right. Everyone’s gotta give it a go.”

“That’s right,” Jamie clasped his hands together, “Fair’s fair, Coach.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, stepping onto the pitch to supportive hoots and hollers. Sam threw her the ball and she got into position, taking a deep breath. She’d never touched a football in her life.

Dropping the ball, she clumsily passed from one knee to the other. Henry and the Greyhounds cheered her on as they had each other. She lasted about ten seconds before she felt herself losing it and kicked it across the field. It didn’t make it to the goal, but even Y/n was impressed by how far it travelled.

The Greyhounds went wild, making a massive deal of her minimal accomplishment. A few of them punched her in the arm or high fived her.

“Alright,” Y/n laughed it off, “Henry, what’s next?”

“Corner kicks,” he said decisively, “Last one to grab the ball’s a rotten egg. Go!”

Henry took off before he’d finished speaking, the Greyhounds following. They spent the next ten minutes practicing corner kicks, once again, Henry and the boys insisting that Y/n took part. Pulling closer to the net than the pros, she was able to score a goal, resulting in wild cheers. Dani picked her up and spun her around and Jamie slung an arm around her neck the seconds she was back on the ground. When Henry scored, the Greyhounds lifted him up on their shoulders and ran him around the field.

When Ted gathered himself and headed back out to the pitch, he stopped short at the sight before him. His son, having the time of his life, surrounded by the team. And Y/n, facilitating it all, but enjoying every bit of it herself.

Ted smiled, deciding to watch as long as he could until someone spotted him.

—————————

Later in the day, Y/n drove to the KJPR offices. She hadn’t heard anything from Keeley and wanted to stay as close as she could to help in whatever way she could.

Y/n knocked at Keeley’s door and entered, “Hi.”

Keeley was sat at her desk, pouring over something on her laptop. Most likely, it had nothing to do with business. “Hi,” she mumbled.

“Looking at Twitter isn’t going to help anything,” Y/n sighed, entering the room.

Keeley didn’t look up from her screen, “It’s Facebook.”

Y/n scoffed, “That definitely won’t help anything.”

Keeley tore her eyes away, closing out the browser and turning to Y/n. “How bad’s it been?”

“Oh, Daily Mail were eager to talk,” Y/n fell into the chair opposite her boss, “Didn’t think that was the best avenue to go.”

Barely breathing a chuckle, Keeley ran her hands through her hair.

“I’m not letting anyone get close to you,” Y/n reassured, “And the good news is, the press’ll move on within a few days.”

Keeley glanced up with doubtful eyes.

Y/n regretted the words as soon as she’d said them, “Albeit, they’ll run with this all week. But still,” she reached over and held out her hand, “We’re gonna get through this.”

Keeley exhaled and took Y/n’s hand, squeezing like she was her lifeline.

A knock hit the door and they turned to see Barbara. Keeley did her best to appear as if all was well.

“Is now a good time, Ms. Jones?” Barbara asked, sparing Y/n a polite smile.

“Yes, of course,” Keeley answered perkily, “Yeah.”

Barbara came to stand beside Y/n’s chair, holding a single sheet of paper. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

Keeley looked like she was on the verge of tears, “Thank you, Barbara.”

“Um,” Barbara turned to Y/n, “Does someone have the press-“

Y/n held up a hand, “Got it covered.”

“Good,” she nodded, turning back to Keeley and handing her the sheet, “Jack asked me to give you this.”

“What is it?” Keeley asked.

“It’s a statement,” Barbara replied.

Keeley scanned the text before reading it aloud, “”Allow me to first offer my sincerest apologies,” her brows popped up, “”I deeply regret that video that some of you have seen online. I’m beyond embarrassed, and I never should have made this video in the first place.”

Y/n’s lips parted, even Barbara averted her gaze.

“‘I hope you can forgive me while I learn and grow,’” Keeley finished, looking up to Barbara confusedly.

“Jack thought you could post it across your socials,” Barbara said, “But maybe not Facebook, ‘cause that’s just for grandparents and racists now, isn’t it?”

In her despair, Keeley managed to give a gentle smile and Barbara didn’t miss it as her cue to excuse herself.

Y/n sat still at the desk, her mind flooding with rage. If she didn’t know better, she’d think that the “statement” had been written by a man. How could private property leak and somehow it could be turned around to be the victim’s fault? Worse, how could Jack be alright with it?

“Do you think,” Keeley stared at the letter, “I should put it out?”

In answering, Y/n wasn’t just giving business advice, she was wading into Jack and Keeley’s relationship, something that was entirely off limits. Clubbing with the boys was one thing, relationship talk was way too personal.

“I…” Y/n struggled, “I really don’t think it’s-“

“Please,” Keeley’s eyes snapped up to Y/n, “Don’t do that. I need your honest opinion,” she took a breath, “Do you think this is the right thing to do?”

Y/n had never seen Keeley be so firm, nor had anyone ever called her out on her hesitation. It was a snap back to the reality of the situation.

“Absolutely not,” she answered, speaking with total confidence, “This isn’t a statement, it’s shaming. You dare to do what most of these corporate fuckers do with their mistresses with someone you love, someones steals it from you, and it’s somehow your fault?” Y/n grimaced with rage, “You have nothing to apologize for. You’re the one who got screwed over, you’re the one who’s owed an apology. It is not the other way around.”

Y/n paused, trying to collect herself. “Keeley…please don’t put this out. For all women who have ever had something like this happen, just…please.”

Keeley nodded, as if it only confirmed what she was already thinking.

“Look, you and Jack are…you and Jack and you need to talk about this, but,” Y/n sighed, taking Keeley’s hand once more, “Don’t do it.”

The two of them sat in silence, Keeley eventually folding up the paper and rising from her seat.

“Is Rebecca in today?”

“Yeah,” Y/n answered, “Probably expecting you.”

Keeley nodded as she grabbed her purse, “Tea?”

Y/n frowned as she gathered her purse, “I can’t. Ted’s got a presser.”

The women exited the office together, riding the elevator down without a single word spoken. When they reached the parking lot, they went their separate ways.

“Keeley,” Y/n called once she’d reached her car, “Do I need to…talk to Roy or anything? Make sure he doesn’t speak to the press?”

“No,” Keeley paused her keys in their slot. It was an uncomfortable topic, but PR didn’t care about comfort. “Not, uh…no, not Roy.”

Y/n waited to see if there was more to the answer. At least she was spared a deeply awkward conversation with Roy. The extent of their relationship was a mutual love of yelling at Jamie. She just prayed whichever ex of Keeley’s the video was meant for kept their mouth shut.

“Okay,” she decided not to push, “Hey,” she drew Keeley’s attention one last time, trying to keep her smile, “We’ve got this.”

Keeley gave a watery one back. If she didn’t have Jack’s support, she knew she had someone’s. “Yeah.”

—————————

It wasn’t often that there was so much work it warranted coming in on a Saturday. But a resort chain wanted Dani to do an endorsement for them and the only time their PR department could speak was the weekend. Plus, damage control for Keeley had taken up the lions share of Y/n’s week.

She was sat at her desk, returning an email and waiting for the phone to ring. It was kind of nice having the place to herself, but strange for Nelson Road to be completely silent. Usually from her office, Y/n could hear the sound of the boys conversing loudly down the stairs or Ted’s whistle on the pitch.

Her cell dinged, louder because of the quiet. Y/n picked it up to see it was a text from Jamie.

What you up to?

Y/n snapped a quick picture of her desk and fired it off.

Waiting for the call proved to be tedious as the man she was supposed to speak to was late. She began to scroll social media, her phone having alerted her to the fact that Ted was trending. She found that he and Beard had taken Henry to a West Ham match. A photo of the three of them was flooding the football community.

Where she might have resented Ted months ago, or anguished over the clean up she’d have to do, Y/n couldn’t help but laugh. There was a story to be told and she was sure she’d hear it on Monday. It also didn’t escape her that Beard had made a point of coming in full AFC Richmond attire.

“Damn right,” she said to herself.

Knock knock.

“Fucking hell,” Y/n exclaimed, her chair rolling back a few inches.

Jamie grinned, “Sorry.”

“No, no,” Y/n held her hand to her chest, “My heart needed to be reset.”

“What’re you doin’ here?” Jamie asked, shoving into the office.

“Dani’s got a deal with a resort,” she answered, rolling back to her desk, “This was the only day they could talk.”

Jamie nodded, wandering around the room. For all the time they spent together, he never had much of a reason to be in Y/n’s office.

Y/n got a good look at Jamie’s outfit, “And…what are we wearing?”

Jamie turned on his heel, looking down at himself. He saw nothing controversial about the vest, hoodie and joggers combo. “Fashion,” he answered, gesturing down his body.

“Right,” Y/n replied as she checked her inbox. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to his particular taste in clothing. “Where’ve you been today?”

“Eh, stopped by Keeley’s,” he answered, coming to sit down across the desk, “See how she was doin’.”

“Oh,” Y/n replied, glancing back at her computer before two loose pieces in her mind connected and stilled her. Why did Jamie have any reason to check in on Keeley if not…?

“How, uh,” Y/n stuttered, “How’s she doing?” She hadn’t spoken to Keeley yet, unsure as to how she’d handled the conversation with Jack.

Jamie shrugged, “She’s alright. I, eh…” he scratched the back of his neck, “Yeah, she’s okay.”

Y/n looked up and smiled, suddenly feeling like she was intruding on something deeply personal. “Good.”

By now, Jamie was a pro at reading her expressions. If not the intricacies, the general vibe. He pointed a finger, “What’s that face?”

“What face?” Y/n asked.

“That face,” Jamie moved a little closer in his chair, “Everything’s fine but it’s not, you make that face.”

Y/n attempted to shrug it off, wanting to shrug out of the entire situation. “Jamie, I’m fine. I’m glad Keeley’s okay, glad you went to check on her.”

Jamie watched carefully, trying to decode the layers of what she was saying and, more importantly, not saying. He retracted his finger into his fist when he guessed.

“Oh.”

Y/n’s eyes darted up from her laptop screen and back down.

“How’d you not know that?”

“Know what?”

A single laugh and Jamie smiled, “You’re a lot of things, but you ain’t dumb.”

Y/n grimaced, wishing she could disappear into thin air. Moments like these made her miss her boundaries. Isolated as they kept her, they had merit.

“I didn’t know you two…” she awkwardly pursed her lips and stared down at her keyboard.

“All that research,” Jamie smiled at her awkwardness, “Didn’t look into that bit?”

“It’s not my job to know who’s sleeping with who,” Y/n replied quickly, hating how she’d phrased that.

Jamie hummed, “Kinda is.”

Public relations did involve handling all types of headlines. Personal and otherwise.

“Well, you didn’t tell me either,” Y/n retorted.

“I thought you knew,” Jamie enunciated with a laugh.

Y/n couldn’t place what changed, but knowing that her boss and the person who was effectively her closest friend had dated made her feel…uneasy. Knowing such an intimate video had been made for someone she knew, she felt like she’d seen some side of Keeley and Jamie not meant for her to ever know about.

“Right,” Y/n spread her hands over her desk, “Are there any more relationships, past, present or potential, in this club that I need to know about?”

Jamie thought a moment, deciding to exclude any and all locker room talk he’d been present for regarding Y/n. It had started the second she’d walked through the door, dying down and picking back up every once in a while.

“You’re safe,” Jamie replied, finding her discomfort cute.

Any further conversation was blissfully halted as Y/n’s desk phone rang. Finally. She moved to pick it up but was met with Jamie’s hand fending her off.

“Jamie, what-“

Jamie shushed her, nudging her hand away. He lifted the phone off its base and flopped back into his chair.

“Ms. Y/l/n’s office,” he greeted, his Mancunian accent disappearing to turn posh and nasally, “How may I help you?”

Y/n covered her mouth to silence her snort. She waved for the phone with her free hand.

“And she knows why you’re calling?” Jamie continued, sliding away from Y/n’s grasp. “Hold, please.”

He covered the microphone with his palm and smiled. Y/n’s annoyance was a poor mask over her joy.

“It’s for you,” he whispered.

Y/n shook her head and yanked the phone out of his grip. “Hey, Oscar,” she greeted, “Glad we could finally touch base.”

Jamie fell back in his seat, content to wait and watch her take the call. He was happy to stay and bother her as long as he could.

And Y/n would let him, without hesitation.

———————

Heartfirst Taglist: @lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield @thewildestwonderland @sablecities @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @strawberryacethingz @mentalistfan @tortilla-maria1 @katdahlali @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @glitterquadricorn @jamieolivia27 @imvibin69 @katlizada @lil-tracys @fanaticalfantasist @heyitz-julia @cactajuice @peachyy-tea @notalxx @rockchickrebel @anxiety-prime-max @mentalistfan @loveforaugust @jellycolors @actuallybarb @heletsmelovehim @lovinnscarletknight @imfalling-inlove @leslieiscrying @meg-ro @littlemisssunshine192 @beboldbebravethings @maydayfigment @spencerreidsbookclub @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @lemoonandlestars @im-a-weirdo-for-life @mindless-rock (tags cont. in comments ❤️)

#ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso imagine #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #ted lasso x reader #keeley jones x reader #heartfirst

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alchemistc · 2 months

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goon | bucktommy | chapter two

check out the hockey glossary here (updated for chapter two) Prologue | Chapter One

Chapter Two

“That’s a very nice suit,” Josh says instead, phone between two fingers and tap-tap-tapping against his palm. “Also I need you and Buck to do an interview for me when we get into Utah.” Tommy and Eddie both shoot him looks, although Eddie’s is significantly less polite than Tommy’s. “Why.” He doesn’t really frame it as a question, but as they approach the stairs leading up to the plane Josh continues his backward walk, seemingly uncaring of the significant difference in their heights as he keeps pace. “Yeah, you haven’t won a face-off in a year and a half —” “I haven’t taken a face-off in a year and a half,” Tommy amends, but Russo either isn’t listening or doesn’t particularly care about the details.

When Tommy was eleven, three important things happened.

The first — the most important one, had been the birth of his younger sister. He’d spent the months leading up to it pressing his ear to his mothers growing belly, giddy with possibility, talking to her for hours and hours while his mom got pale and tired. He’d been eleven, though, and she’d done everything she could to hide that from him, always happy to wrap him up in her arms when he got home from school, always ready to throw on her game face when Tommy sat on the bed at her hip with one hand pressed to the bump as he told the baby all the cool things he’d learned at school that day, and the games they’d played during recess, and the thing Robert Duncan had said that had made Tommy laugh so hard his teacher had sent him off to the principals office for disruptive behavior.

The second had been the day his mom took him to the mall and bought him a pair of rollerblades — black leather with neon green wheels, even cooler than the ones Chris Harper had gotten for his birthday. He’d spent a month eating shit up and down the cul de sac until he was steady on his feet, and then the next six months spending every weekend with all the rest of the kids in the neighborhood, two nets set up at he end of Cherry Avenue, two streets down from Tommy’s house, borrowing Judy Green’s older brothers retired equipment, setting up pick up games and driving the whole neighborhood a bit mad as they all taught each other whatever arbitrary hockey rule they’d learned watching the latest Devil’s game before their parents sent them off to bed.

And then, at the peak of it all, the day after baby Abigail had been born, Tommy’s dad didn’t come home from the hospital with her or Tommy’s mom. In fact, he barely came home at all, other than to let him know his aunt would be by in a few hours to pick him up, and then he’d been gone again.

The third, as he’d found out six hours later, anxious and fretful in the passenger seat of Aunt Stacy’s station wagon, was his mom dying.

Eleven, and a week later he’d donned his first suit and tie, feeling sad and tired and worn and grown up, peeking over his aunts shoulder at the bundle of wrinkly baby in her arms. His dad had shown up to the funeral late, drunk, and angry, and Tommy — in his infinite wisdom, six days into a world without a mom — had tried to comfort him.

Eleven, and he’d gotten his first black eye to match his first black suit.

Tommy hasn’t worn a black suit since.

Diaz catches him halfway across the tarmac, fingers reaching out to pinch at the collar of Tommy’s burgundy plaid jacket. “Snazzy,” he says, tugging, wheeling his bag behind him and matching Tommy stride for stride, which Tommy finds a little strange until he remembers that Diaz has been keeping up with Buckley’s gazelle-legged pace for going on six years now. “And here we all thought you were gonna rock the henley-jeans combo until coach called you out in a team meeting.”

“I’m not a caveman,” Tommy rebuts, shaking his head to hide the grin. “But I do have to get all my suit jackets altered before I wear them. Not all of us have trim little waists and a forgiving shoulder line.”

Eddie pauses just long enough to twist his wrists and point two fingers at himself, grin a little wide. “Hey, if Buck tries to hand you one of his little cakes, just, like, take it and pretend you’ll try it,” he says, darting a glance behind him, no doubt looking to make sure the coast is clear. Tommy shoots him an amused look.

“What’s wrong with the cake?”

“He’s been trying to crack a gluten free dairy free cupcake. They’re... he hasn’t cracked it.”

Tommy bites his lip, rolls his tongue alongside the inside of his cheek, nearly runs into Josh Russo as he shoots his own look back to try to find Buckley’s mile-long legs amidst the group trailing along behind them towards the team jet.

When he reaches out to steady Russo, the man gives him the bitchiest fucking look Tommy’s ever seen, and completely ignores Diaz, walking backwards and turning his phone screen. “It’s fine, your profile in this lighting is gonna make people absolutely feral.”

It’s a good picture. Tommy doesn’t exactly have too many hang-ups about his appearance, but he used to, and this one is getting all his best angles. He holds up a fist for Josh to bump, and Josh stares at it for a moment like Tommy’s presenting him with roadkill.

He can’t decide whether or not Josh has clocked him, yet. There’s been a few instances where he’s tilted his head a certain way, or made an off-hand comment at the end of practice while he’s mining for content, that makes Tommy wonder if he’s seeing behind all the machismo to his soft underbelly and recognizing something of himself.

“You send me a single screenshot of someone on any social media getting thirsty and I’m shaving my head,” Tommy warns, just to watch Russo’s face flicker through all the stages of grief in about five seconds flat.

Tommy won’t ever admit this, but he’s never seen anyone crack social media interactions like a gay man in a toxic cesspool of a sport, and Josh Russo knows his shit. How often to post his stupid little thirst traps, what sort of questions to ask them when they’re sweaty and tired and ready for a fucking shower, which matchups the fans are most looking forward to, when to leak not-quite-secret shit to give fans a glimpse into the humanity of everyone’s favorite recalcitrant player.

“That’s a very nice suit,” Josh says instead, phone between two fingers and tap-tap-tapping against his palm. “Also I need you and Buck to do an interview for me when we get into Utah.”

Tommy and Eddie both shoot him looks, although Eddie’s is significantly less polite than Tommy’s. “Why.” He doesn’t really frame it as a question, but as they approach the stairs leading up to the plane Josh continues his backward walk, seemingly uncaring of the significant difference in their heights as he keeps pace.

“Yeah, you haven’t won a face-off in a year and a half —”

“I haven’t taken a face-off in a year and a half,” Tommy amends, but Russo either isn’t listening or doesn’t particularly care about the details.

“—and the first one you took as an Av resulted in a brilliantly stellar wrister from our star defenseman through, like, six men in front of the net —”

“Four bodies tops,” Tommy continues, even though at this point he’d be better just accepting that he’s going to be talked over.

“—and with the fight, too, the fans are abuzz, so I’m taking the initiative to lean into some new dynamics —”

“You’re pimping me out because I look good with blood on my knuckles.”

Russo pauses. Takes a deep breath. “Yeah, it was more the absolutely manic smile on your face all the way to the box, that people were talking about. On that topic, how do you still have all your teeth?”

Tommy considers popping out his partials to show Josh exactly how many teeth he’s actually missing, but then Josh will make a face, and Diaz will feel the need to antagonize him, just a little bit, and Tommy would really like to settle in his seat and decompress. He ignores the question entirely. “Can we do it tomorrow morning?”

Russo tilts his head back and forth, considering. He eyes the cut Hen’d taped up after todays afternoon game like he’s trying to decide if he can makeup it away before he remembers that that’s sort of the draw to late season hockey players cropping up for dumb social media shit. “I’ll ask Buck,” he commits, and Tommy sneaks past him up the stairs before he can wheedle any more favors off of him.

Inside the cabin, the broadcast crew is already settled in to their seats, and he takes a few spare moments to say hello. It doesn’t do shit, really, except show respect, but he’s been around the block enough times that acknowledging the staff of any given organization has become habit.

By the time he finds a seat, the rest of the team has already boarded, and Tommy settles in next to Panikkar, who looks about ready to pass out. He’d done half an hour on the bikes after the game while Tommy iced the bruise he’d gotten courtesy the crosscheck he'd received from Eberle while they battled in the corner for the puck.

Tommy pulls out his phone to find a new message waiting for him.

Nash says you’re sticking around, the message from Sal reads, and Tommy opens up the thread to take a look at the last few messages from one of his oldest teammates.

It’s a short turnaround of a travel day, Sunday afternoon game just finished and a quick flight into Salt Lake where they’ll pass out at the hotel (Buckley and Russo willing, anyway) and then be up with enough time for an early morning practice, lunch and a nap before they head to the arena. Tommy is realizing he’s hemmed himself in to a 5 am wakeup at the latest, if Josh is actually serious about mining Tommy’s temporary fame for content.

In the seat next to him, Panikkar mumbles something, already fully asleep in the time it had taken Tommy to fasten his seatbelt and scroll up to Sal’s last few messages, and Ravi’s head is already drifting toward Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy rolls his eyes, but he still ends up shifting his weight to allow for easier landing, when the inevitable trajectory of Ravi’s slumping skull meets its destination.

A year ago, Sal had sent him a random screenshot of the infamous Seguin tweet and a link to an Oliver Peck music video, and then, three weeks ago when the news of the trade broke: See you in a few weeks

Tommy’d replied with a selfie of himself holding up a middle finger, but at the time he’d been pretty sure Sal was right. That was typically what happened — Tommy was used to being the weight that shifted midseason when contenders wanted to make a big move and didn’t have the cap space to do it. It was early — early enough that most trades were still a glimmer in the eye of most agents, the All-Star break still looming, the perfect time to make a move that didn’t mean much, in the scheme of things.

Only that hadn’t happened. The Avs were undoubtedly the team to beat in the conference this year, so he’d expected maybe a week or two up and down the lineup before they shifted him off to Loveland, only playing up if someone was injured. He was a shit defenseman but he knew enough to move from his typical forward position, and he was used to that steady grind, easy to slot in if they needed to reassess an early season injury in the ramp up to playoffs.

And he was hanging it up at the end of the year, anyway, and the foothills of Colorado were a hell of a lot nicer than —

Not the point.

Only.

That hadn’t happened. Instead he’d hopped the first flight out and found a car waiting for him at the airport to take him directly to the arena. It’d been an off day, two days in to a three day stretch of them, actually, so even the team rumored to have one of the most strenuous practice schedules in the league was off that day, when he’d been escorted through the building and straight up to the GM’s office.

Sorry, Tommy shoots off, as the plane starts to taxi. I know you were looking forward to checking out my tits in the locker room, Deluca.

Ravi’s head finally touches down against the meat of Tommy’s shoulder, and he snuffles sneepily before nosing in, a bit. Tommy wishes he’d thought to grab one of the shitty pillows from the overhead bin: Panikkar’s cheeks are sharp.

Just the left one, Sal shoots back. Keep an eye out for 27, he’s had it out for Diaz since ‘21.

Tommy is aware of this. Perhaps a little more incidentally than he knows some of the conflicts Buckley has gotten himself wrapped up in, but he’s done the research on all the little shits on this team who like to chirp and then get their asses handed to them.

He closes out of the thread in time to catch liftoff, and an up close and personal serenade of light snores from the man who has, in three weeks, gone from passive aggressively mentioning all the routines he has in place to work on his speed to being comfortable enough with him to fall asleep on his shoulder.

Two rows up, Cameron has his overhead light tilted over his latest trashy pulp fiction novel, and up another three, Greenway is sulking. He’s been on the outs for weeks, now, and Tommy doesn’t know the exact details, only that he’d thrown a quiet little fit over Tommy’s sustained minutes (all seven a game) and that Chim hates him.

Quietly, Tommy suspects that he’s the piece the front office is trying to move out before the trade deadline, but he hasn’t said a word of it yet. Better to keep his mouth shut and his head down until he’s got better feel for the dynamics. And Christ are there a lot of dynamics on this team.

In the row next to him, Diaz and Buckley have their heads bent over an iPad, one earbud each and their eyes flitting across the screen with an almost disturbing synchrony — two halves of a whole, those two. He likes them both, and not even just because they are a large part of the reason he’s getting enough ice time to justify keeping him on the bench.

Tommy’s caught staring when Buckley flicks his gaze up and over, and there’s a moment where Tommy holds his breath, just like always — twenty-year career and no teammate has ever questioned why he doesn’t have a girlfriend, a bleach blonde wife popping out kids, he’s not about to lose that streak now over an intriguing birthmark and a megawatt grin.

Buck smiles, tilts his head a little, returns to his screen. They have multiple iPads, but these two are practically attached at the hip, and he’s yet to see them reach for a second one when they could just tilt their heads together over game film and discover some weakness they can exploit that even Karen Wilson hasn’t discovered yet.

Tommy, like an idiot, doesn’t look away. He’s got a snoring Ravi nuzzling into his shoulder and he’s still nursing the bruise on his thigh, too wired to sleep and too tired to realize how long he’s been looking at the side of Buckley’s skull until Buckley is saying something softly, and Tommy watches Diaz knock their shoulders together. Too late, he realizes Eddie is shifting, turning his head — he catches Tommy’s gaze with a raised brow.

Tommy feels caught out, but Eddie just tips his chin at Ravi wheezing against his shoulder, grin going wide.

He makes an aborted half-shrug of a movement, reeling it back halfway through so as not to jostle Ravi, and misses the moment Buck turns his camera on the tableau.

Behind Tommy, Chim is in the middle of one of his batty post-game cooldown routines, and he can hear the faint sounds of whatever ballad he’s currently listening to — Celine Dion, maybe? The air is on, and Tommy’s skin feels tight, and the ambient noise is doing nothing to help the squeal of tinnitus he’d never fully lost after his last fight with Deslauriers. He chokes down the urge to reach over and snatch the phone right out of Buckley’s hand — cheeses it up instead, knowing Buck’s snapped probably twenty pictures already.

He can’t prove it, but he’s absolutely certain there are pain inhibitors in Evan Buckley’s smile. When he lowers his phone and grins bashfully, the bruise on Tommy’s thigh fees a little less achy, and the buzzing behind his ears fades enough that Tommy barely notices it.

When Buck turns away again, Tommy makes a concentrated effort to focus on the pattern of the seat in front of him.

He doesn’t grin at all when his phone lights up with four notifications in row: Buck’s curated glamour shots of Ravi drooling on Tommy’s shoulder.

---

"You're good at those," Buckley says, skidding to a halt next to him at the elevators, and Tommy tips his head side to side, twists his neck just enough to catch his profile in his peripherals.

"Twenty years in the league," he intones, trying hard not to smile at how fucking antsy this kid is, shifting foot to foot as they wait for the doors to slide open.

"No, yeah, I just mean --" Buck shifts his weight, tips his chin. "You've got, like, personality and shit, in those. I always feel like a robot trying to figure out genuine human emotions when Josh asks me to do that stuff. But it -- I mean it was nice, to just... You made it easy, is all I'm trying to say."

"You didn't seem remotely like a robot, to me," Tommy teases, watching the numbers above the elevator doors drop. He's a little startled when Buckley smacks at his shoulder, but by the time he's had the chance to do more than blink about it Buck's already moving on.

"It's like you weren't even listening to me, I just said you helped me not be."

"I mean, if you did, it was very subtley implied, actually, so you can't blame me for the misinterpretation."

At his side, Buckley glances up at the numbers, too. "Do you want to grab coffee? I feel like we should grab coffee."

"Aren't you vehemently against caffeine on game days?"

Buckley looks both pleased he'd remembered, and a little bashful, which Tommy can't parse for a minute. "Everyone has cheat days. Besides, it's just Utah."

"Famous last words," Tommy warns, but he's already turning back in the direction of the conference room they'd just left, towards the Starbucks he's pretty sure is on this level. He checks his watch - if they mosey, maybe the place will even be open by the time they get there.

Buckley falls into step beside him and without missing a beat continues the conversation. "Sounds like there's a story to that."

Tommy can see him working through the math in his head. Kid's like a Roledex for NHL facts and stats, so it doesn't take him long to divide by two and get to the conclusion that they'd been playing Philadelphia at the tail end of their worst season on record.

"First full season in the league my team went on a tear. I'm talking barnburners every other night, fifteen home game wins straight — real mensch shit. We were on top of the world. But... season’s winding down, you know, and we didn't start out great, so we're chasing every point we can just to scrape a spot in round one." Buckley's eyes are sparkling the exact same way they'd been, all through Josh's weird word association game he'd had them do for warmups before actually getting into his little question and answer session. "And me — I'm playing fifteen minutes a game against guys like Sid and Ovi, I'm one hundred percent sure this streak is never gonna end. So - two games left in the season, we're scheduled to play the Flyers."

"Coach pulls us in for a huddle before pregame warmups and he tells us to keep our heads down, shoot for the net, get back to basics, don't underestimate them. But half their team are call-ups, at that point, a good third have never played at this level before, right?"

Buck chuckles, clearly already reaching the conclusion, but Tommy forges on ahead anyway.

"So I just say it. Come right out and say the words: Coach, it's just Philly." He gestures wide, hands out in front of him, like he can conjure up the words that had been painted onto the inside of his eyelids for a good four months, after.

"So what happened?"

"We got shut out. Five nothing. By their third string goalie. Guy’d never even been on the bench as a backup before, and he stood on his damn head all game.”

Buck laughs. It’s a sweet sound, echoing off the walls of the corridor they're strolling through, and Tommy feels the edges of his grin going wide, digging crevices into his cheeks as he shakes his head at the memory. They’d scraped the two-seed that year, and gotten slaughtered in the second round, and Tommy had spent the entire summer hearing it’s just Philly parroted back to him by every single member of his team.

“Eddie doesn’t believe in curses,” Buck admits, once his laughter has died down. “He’s the least superstitious person I know.”

“Hope he doesn’t get voted into the All-Star game, then. Sid might read him the riot act.”

Buckley stops dead in his tracks, eyebrows both dancing up his forehead. It brings his birthmark into stark relief against the shitty lighting of the corridor. He shakes his head like he’s clearing a thought. “I forgot you played with him.”

Tommy has to remind himself that Buckley probably knows every team all of his teammates, current and former, have ever played for. “For a year and a half, back when the jock strap was still mostly white.”

Buck grins, again, blue eyes gleaming as he twists himself sideways, sort of grape-vining down the hall for a few moments, body facing Tommy’s. “What’s he like to play with?” he asks, and Tommy barrels on ahead, desperately reminding himself that Evan Buckley is exactly like every other long-legged, bright-eyed, shockingly sweet attractive man he’s ever played with.

Off-fucking-limits.

#bucktommy #bucktommy hockey au #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #guys they INTERACT IN THIS ONE FINALLY

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year

Text

End Game #3 (volleyball captain!gojo x you)

summary: you run practice in your coach's absence and break up a fight between captains.

word count: 2.6k

cw/tags: language, jjk volleyball au, misunderstandings, mild angst but nothing too bad, arguing, reader is a little mean but they're just tired of satosugu's bullshit, satoru is too unserious he literally makes a your mom joke

note: SURPRISE this is so much longer than i anticipated it being. but anyway!!! here's the first look at the rest of the team. maybe at some point i'll post the whole roster, but hopefully some of your faves make an appearance. i'm aware that this isn't really fluffy gojo content but this drabble is intended to explain his actions later on in this little series. thank you for all your support recently!!!!!

likes/reblogs/feedback are always appreciated <3

“No way.”

“Unfortunately, yes way.”

“I thought he was kidding.”

“If he was kidding, I wouldn’t be wearing this.” You smile mirthlessly, gesturing to the workout clothes you donned rather than the typical school-issued uniform. Suguru shakes his head in disbelief, laughing quietly as he tosses you a deflated ball that had rolled away. You catch it with ease and add it to the pile you’ve been working on for ten minutes. From your place on the gym floor, you watched the vice-captain exasperatedly pull out his phone and dial a number. “Who are you calling?”

His dark eyes meet yours exhaustedly, strands of black hair falling loosely from the bun that held it back from his face. “Who do you think?”

It takes a moment for the pieces to click in your head, explaining why the usual annoyance after your last class wasn’t present with chatter and a sugary apple soda. “No.”

“Yes.” He frowns at his phone, furiously tapping the call button again. No answer, you figured.

“He’s the fucking captain!” Unaware of how long you’d had the electric air pump running, you quickly flick it off as the ball in your lap becomes concerningly large. “Tell him to get his ass over here; I wanna throw this at him.” You show him the ball the size of your head, waving it around to get him to look over at you on the floor.

Suguru side-eyes the abnormally-sized ball in your fingers. “You’re gonna kill him.”

“That’s the point,” you reply, bending one of your legs in and stretching out the other, leaning toward the outstretched side. You reach for your tennis shoe, sighing as you take a break from inflating balls. Suguru seems to finally reach Satoru as he pulls the phone away from his ear in pain, distorted panic reaching to your side of the gym.

When the team chat received Yaga’s message saying that you were going to run practice in his absence, you knew half the team would take it as a joke. You were going to take it as one, too, planning to grab a nice lunch that afternoon; however, when the office aide came into class bearing a note requesting your presence at the gym, you kissed lunch goodbye. With the free time before practice started, you successfully repaired the ripped net that had been sitting in the corner of the supply closet for months, ordered new uniforms for away games, and checked the air pressure of practice balls. A glance at the clock and Satoru’s hastily written text confirming practice told you the rest of the team would be arriving soon.

“D’you think they’re going to listen to me, Su?”

“Who? The team?”

“Mhmm.” Doubt sits heavy in your mind as you finish with the air pump, rising on aching legs to return it to the supply closet. “I mean, I’m not Yaga.”

“He would wear that, though,” Suguru smirks, nodding toward your form-hugging leggings and loose-fitting white shirt you’d dug through your bag to retrieve.

“I’m serious–”

“I know you are,” he states firmly, finally meeting your gaze. He looks at you for a moment, subtly narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’s the team you should worry about.”

You cross your arms across your chest, tilting your head to the side skeptically. “Who should I worry about, then?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but abruptly shuts it as three pairs of running steps approach the gym doors, a blur of white shirts and black shorts screeching to a halt in front of Suguru. He looks down at his panting juniors with amusement, taking in their flushed faces and indifferently informing them that they’re late. They huff out apologies in between heavy inhales and exhales, still trying to catch their breath.

You can’t help but chuckle at their earnestness. “Megumi, Yuuji, Yuta.” The three boys stiffen to attention, bracing themselves for stern scolding because of their tardiness. “Relax, I’m not gonna call Yaga.” Their shoulders collectively sag in relief. “Did you see anyone else making their way over here, or rushing too fast?” The corner of your mouth lifts teasingly, and even stoic Megumi becomes slightly pink from embarrassment as they shake their heads. “Go warm up, you three. I’ll announce today’s agenda when your glorious captain arrives.”

The rest of the team trickles in gradually, and you’re pleasantly surprised that you’ve only lost ten minutes of practice when Satoru arrives as everyone finishes stretching. He grins at you in your workout clothes, inhaling in preparation to say something stupid before Suguru cuts him off and tells him to warm up quickly. As much as Satoru was the most powerful on the team, Suguru was the real pillar of the team because he could override his captain’s antics; you silently thank the universe that you didn’t have to wrangle the boys alone.

“Alright, group up!” Your voice cuts through the players’ conversations and they dutifully gather around you. Irritatingly, Satoru stands at your side, sticking his hands in his nonexistent pockets and looking over the team like a pompous tyrant. You peer at him from the corner of your eye, and he averts his gaze submissively, a dog who got in trouble for ripping up the couch cushions. “Please have a seat, Satoru.” Snickers ripple through the group of players at their captain so easily ordered around, and he pouts next to Suguru on the floor.

“So your match with Kyoto is next week–”

Yuuji’s arm sticks up before you call on him, his head falling to the side curiously. “Are we paying for their food if we lose or was that just a rumor?”

“Nanami said that was fake, stupid. Stop asking dumb questions,” Megumi mutters as he swats down Yuuji’s hand.

“Don’t be mean, Megumi. It’s a valid question, and the answer is–”

“Yes!” An uproar of indignancy spreads among the players at Satoru’s satisfied completion of your sentence. “So,” he turns in his seat, sharp blue eyes silencing the protest immediately. “Don’t lose.” The boys tense at the genuine threat in his voice and you shake your head. When he took his role of captain seriously, he was admittedly good at keeping his team in line. But, his sober aura disappears as he turns back to you, holding out a hand for you to continue while you pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Okay, sorry. Guess you’re paying if you lose.” You present your palms regretfully as the team groans and Satoru continues to beam at you. What the hell was he playing at? “Anyway, your match with Kyoto is next week. We’re ranked pretty similarly regarding skill level–”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Nanami deadpans from the back of the group. Yu shushes him insistently and you exhale, electing to ignore his question.

But, the fuse had already been lit.

“I don’t think we’re that bad,” Yuta mumbles under his breath, worry spreading on his face. Yuuji nods his agreement.

“If our captain got his shit together, I’d think we’d do better.” Megumi coughs into his sleeve, and Yuuji flinches next to him as Satoru rotates his head to stare daggers into them both. You’d seen situations exactly like this escalate, but you didn’t have Yaga’s booming voice to get them to pay attention. As long as Suguru doesn’t join, you think. Just as long as–

“As vice-captain, I have to agree,” Suguru drawls nonchalantly. Oh, no.

“Who said you were vice-captain, number two?” Satoru sneers mockingly at the boy sitting beside him, hissing out the last word like a curse.

Suguru goes on the defensive. “Last year’s seniors, idiot. Would have been captain-captain if your incompetent ass didn’t get us both stuck on probation for a semester.”

“Captain-captain doesn’t exist, Suguru.” He waves his hand dismissively, and you try in vain to get the conversation back on track. “Maybe there’s a reason you got on academic probation.”

“And your attitude is the reason you get no women, Satoru.”

“I get plenty, I’ll have you know.”

“Really? Like who?”

“Inquire with thy mother.” A chorus of “ooh” erupts from the team. Inumaki winces like he’d been shot.

“You pretentious asshole. You can’t even pull the person you’ve been after since–”

“Since when Suguru? Go ahead. Use your words. If you bring me down, you’re coming with me.” You stand there, gaping like the rest of the team. It was common for the two to bicker like this, but not with such spite.

Satoru dances his shoulders from side to side tauntingly like a cobra ready to strike. He was starting to get to Suguru; you could tell by the way the vice-captain’s fists clenched and unclenched in preparation to knock out the actual captain.

“Guys–”

“I believe we should focus on the task at hand,” offers a deep voice from the middle blocker in the center of the group.

“Thank you, Panda. Is Inumaki still awake?”

“He is, though he might not be for longer if our superiors continue their banter.”

Meanwhile, Suguru and Satoru whirled on each other, throwing insults back and forth until they both stood up like they were going to fight. Your patience wears thin as you witness the rest of the team space out in real time, and your body moves before you can even think. One minute, you’re standing in front of the whiteboard, facing the team. Half a minute later, your fingers grip the lobes of Suguru and Satoru’s ears as you all but hurl them out the door.

Your voice shakes with rage, and you fight to keep it steady. “If you’re going to continue your little piss match, do it out here. And while you’re at it, go run three laps around the school.” Their faces contort in protest, and you cut them off uncaringly. “No, no arguing. Get out, I have a team to coach.”

When the two seniors return to practice hanging their heads in shame, Nanami is helping run defense drills. “You’re evenly matched offensively,” you stated before you began. “But Kyoto has much better communication that keeps them working like a well-oiled machine. We’re more like, uh, a used car that’s been sitting on the side of the street.” The team’s faces fall, and you’re quick to reassure them. “But, that means that if you can solidify your defense, I wholeheartedly believe that your offensive attacks can overpower theirs. Do your best.”

The juniors, you noticed, took the challenge most seriously, giving their all as they practiced calling for the ball and fully jumping even if they were feints. Megumi was Satoru’s apprentice, but as a first year student, you could already tell Megumi was progressing faster than his mentor did at the same age. It made you happy that, in the same way Satoru had Suguru, Megumi had Yuuji. You only hoped that their egos wouldn’t disrupt practice so much when they were seniors.

Nanami takes the burden of directing his captains what to do while you work with Yuta on his blocking technique. You can feel Satoru’s eyes on you and purposefully avoid them, still bothered by his earlier tantrums.

“I’m sorry about them,” Yuta says quietly, almost too quietly to hear if you weren’t right next to him as you adjusted his arm placement.

“Who, them?” You glance at Dumb and Dumber, still glaring at each other, and Yuta nods carefully. “Don’t be sorry. They just…need to grow up sometimes.”

“I think one of them has a lot more to fix than the other, respectfully.”

“Well, that’s your captain. You either love him or you hate him.”

“And which one are you?”

“Hmm?” Your eyebrows dip in confusion, and Yuta backtracks swiftly, mumbling more apologies and “nevermind”s. You excuse yourself to check on Panda and Inumaki, pushing away the awkward feeling Yuta’s question had arisen in your gut.

Satoru lingers after practice as you lock the gym, longer than Nanami and Suguru who helped you clean up. The sun begins its trek dipping below the horizon, and the warm glow casts a golden radiance over the school. After changing from his uniform and discreetly reconciling with Suguru, he stands against the wall with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. The sunset reflects off the white of his hair, and the light makes his blue eyes look like they’re glimmering. Despite annoying you to no end earlier in the afternoon, you couldn’t help admiring how handsome he looked.

You couldn’t tell him that, though, and you brush past him wordlessly. He easily follows your steps, positioning himself at your side instinctually. “Can we talk?”

“What’s there to talk about, Gojo?”

“That. Calling me by my family name rather than my first name.”

Your blank face becomes a scowl. It didn’t matter if he was trying to get a rise out of you. Was he fucking kidding? His jab at something so relatively mundane as his name sets you off, and your words tumble from your lips like boulders on a cliffside. “I’m furious with you, that’s why I'm calling you that. You acted like a child today. A fucking child. But moreover, you picked a fight with Suguru over something you should have laughed off. I have every right to be angry at you. Just because you’re captain, doesn’t mean you get to disrupt practice, me as coach or not.”

He doesn’t look angry at your tirade, but puzzled. “I’m not allowed to defend myself if they insult my aptitude as captain?”

You sigh and think about getting a bumper sticker that says I am done with Gojo Satoru. “Perception is reality. Your idea of yourself as captain doesn’t automatically make it everyone else’s opinion of you.” He’s speechless at your side; whether that be from shock or purposeful so he can think, you’d never know.

“I’m sorry.” He stops behind you, and you look at him over your shoulder. If you weren’t so angry, you might have felt some sympathy for the genuine remorse dragging on his face. “For fighting with Suguru, for undermining your authority, for acting like an idiot. I’m sorry.” You blink, taking a deep breath before you respond, probing into a conversation you weren’t 100% sure you were ready for.

“Why did Suguru mention something about you liking someone for years?”

His blue eyes widen slightly like a deer in headlights. “Huh?”

“When you were arguing, he said something about not being able to pull someone. Why did the conversation suddenly turn there?”

He avoids your expectant eyes, pursing his lips and shrugging a tall shoulder. “Don’t know. Must’ve been in just as stupid of a mindset as me.” He was lying to you, straight through his teeth, but you didn’t have the energy to decipher why. Instead, you settle for another meaningless conversation as he walks you home while he asks if he can buy you more soda to make up for his actions.

“I don’t want sugar, Satoru. I want…” Your voice trails off while you rest your hand on the front gate to your house, looking back at the boy standing behind you. His throat bobs nervously as he swallows in anticipation of your response. He was giving you that unreadable look again.

“What do you want?” Anything, his eyes said. I’ll give you anything.

A beat.

“I want you to stop acting like being captain is just another position on the team. It’s not. People depend on you. They look up to you.” You laugh without humor. “But what do I know? I’m just the manager. Look, Satoru. They’re counting on you. Please try, if not for me, then for them.”

He nods, bidding you farewell. His goodbye includes three extra words that you hadn’t heard him say before, and they’re so soft that you think you’re imagining them.

“As you wish.”

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen #suguru geto #satoru gojo #jjk volleyball au

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jrob64 · 7 months

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Pet for Rent, Chapter 2/4 (The Idea)

A CS Modern AU Story

Thanks for joining me for chapter 2! Writing this story has been a bit therapeutic for me after losing my Zeke, and adopting Winston has been, too. I hope you'll stay with me for the rest of the story.

Shout out to @kmomof4 who sent Winston the ducky toy he has in the picture. His Aunt Krystal spoiled him with a welcome package the week we got him!

Thanks so much to @hookedmom. I'm lucky to have the best and most patient beta!

SUMMARY: Emma Swan tries to cheer up her heartbroken son by 'renting' a dog from the local animal shelter. When she attempts to do it a second time, she makes a mistake, and realizes the dog has been rented by someone else the same day - a very handsome man named Killian Jones.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Emma, Henry, Killian and Norman/Winston spend more time together. When Henry continues feeling sad about having to leave the dog at the animal shelter, Killian proposes an idea that might solve the problem.

RATING: M (for smut in the last chapter, which can easily be skipped if that's not your thing)

WORDS: 6821

ALSO POSTED TO Ao3 and FFN

Story begins under the cut

Emma didn’t think it was possible for four hours with a stranger to pass so quickly. Sooner than she expected, Killian was looking at his phone and announcing that it was time to return Norman to the shelter. It may have been her imagination, but it sounded like there was a note of wistfulness in his voice.

Henry took control of the dog on the walk back, giving the adults an opportunity to resume the conversation that had been ongoing throughout most of their time together. Emma watched her son handling Norman as he wandered from one side of the path to the other to explore in the tall grass and she commented, “Henry is gonna sleep good tonight.”

“I don’t doubt that. He told me he had his last game of the season this morning.”

“That, in addition to playing fetch and ‘keep away’ with Norman, and all of the running around he did with you, will have him zonking out early.” They walked on a few paces, before she added, “I want to thank you, Killian, for spending so much time with him. Since he doesn’t have a father, he doesn’t get a lot of one-on-one time with a man, so I really appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure. He’s a good listener and a fast learner.”

“Yeah, I kinda wish he had more games left, so he could apply what you taught him. I’m afraid he’ll forget it by next season. You’re wonderful at teaching, and very patient.”

“Thank you, Emma. I truly did enjoy it.”

“The youth league is always begging for people to coach. Maybe you could do that next year.”

Killian looked thoughtful. “Perhaps I could, if I’m still here.”

“Any idea where would you go if you decide to leave?”

“Not really, but it wouldn’t be terribly far away. I want to stay close to Liam.”

When the shelter came into sight, Henry turned around and dragged Norman back to Emma and Killian. “I had fun today. Can we do this again?”

“I’ll have to check our schedule to see when we’ll have another chance to rent Norman,” Emma answered.

Henry shook his head. “No, I mean with Norman and Killian.”

“Oh, uh,” Emma stammered, glancing at Killian, who was scratching behind his ear. “I don’t know about that, kid. This was just an accident and Killian was nice enough to make the best of the situation.”

“But Mom, he had fun, too, didn’t you, Killian?”

“What did I tell you about putting him on the spot?”

“Sorry, Killian,” Henry apologized. “But it did seem like you were having fun.”

Killian reached forward to ruffle the boy’s hair. “It’s quite alright, lad, and you’re right - I had a very good time with you and your mother today. And Winston, of course.”

“You mean Norman,” Emma remarked.

“He still seems more like a Winston to me. Don’t you see the resemblance between him and England’s former Prime Minister?”

Emma took in the dog’s jutting lower jaw, drooping jowls and prominent forehead, and had to admit he did share some physical traits with Winston Churchill. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I do see it.”

“Anyway, at the risk of being too forward, it would be nice to have another day with you and your boy, if you’re amenable to that, Swan.”

Emma thought for a moment, then said, “Henry, why don’t you take Norman to the end of the path and give us a minute, okay?”

He started to protest, but seemed to think better of it. “Come on, Norman. Mom doesn’t want me to hear what she’s gonna say.”

Emma watched him go, her mouth agape over his comment. She heard Killian chuckle and turned to look at him.

“He’s quite a bright young man,” he laughed.

“Yeah, he’s getting too smart for his own good,” she agreed. “But he’s still a little boy and I’m a protective mom. I don’t want to promise him something that’s not going to happen, so if you’re not serious about doing this again…”

“I assure you, Emma,” he interrupted. “I wouldn’t dream of letting him down. If you’re willing to give me your contact information, I’ll send you some options and we can figure out a day that works.”

She eyed him critically for a few seconds, seeing nothing but sincerity in his expression. “I know Henry would really like that.”

“Only Henry?” he asked, quirking a brow.

She couldn’t help but smile. “I have to admit, I had a really good time today, too. So, um, to answer your question, I am, how did you say it, amenable to doing it again.”

His grin made her heart do a pleasant little flip. She made sure Henry and Norman were okay while waiting for Killian to pull out his phone and start a new contact. Once he did, he handed it to her so she could add her information.

After handing it back, they began walking again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him checking the phone screen. “It’s not a fake number, by the way,” she said.

“That’s good to know,” he returned with a smirk, while typing out a text to her so she would have his info. “Is that something you’ve done before?”

“Maybe,” she replied cryptically.

“In that case, I feel honored that you gave me the real thing.”

She giggled in response, giving him a slight nudge with her elbow as they reached the end of the path.

“What did you say, Mom?” Henry asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Killian and I are going to look at our schedules to find a day that works.”

“Yay!” Henry shouted. “How about next Saturday?”

“Calm down, kid. I told you we’re going to figure it out.”

They arrived at the shelter and Killian opened the door and held it for them. David was sitting at a desk behind the counter, tapping away at the computer keyboard. He looked up with a broad smile when they entered. “How did it go?”

“Good,” Emma replied. “Thank you for allowing us to borrow Norman for the day.”

David looked between the two adults standing before him, obviously wanting more details. “Did you…all of you…get along okay?”

“Yes we did, Dave,” Killian said smugly.

There were several seconds when all they could hear was the barking of some of the dogs in the back. Finally, David sighed. “Alright, I guess I’ll just take Norman back to his cage, then.”

“Oh, uh,” Emma said, giving Killian a wink, “one of us will be in touch to schedule another day for us…all of us…to rent Norman again.”

David’s grin told them he knew exactly what that meant.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

“I hear you met my future brother-in-law,” Belle said. It was Monday, and Emma had stopped at the library to return a couple of books and choose some more before her shift at the sheriff’s station.

“News travels fast.”

“Killian always eats lunch with us after church. He told us about the mix-up at the animal shelter and said he had a great time with you and Henry.”

“He seems like a nice guy,” Emma said, moving to a shelf and studying the books more closely than necessary.

“He thinks very highly of you, too.”

Emma shot her a brief glance. “Oh, yeah? What did he say?”

“Well,” Belle began, clearly struggling to be non-chalant, “he said you were very easy to talk to and he enjoyed your sense of humor. He also said he had fun helping Henry with his soccer skills.”

“He was really good with Henry and I, um, I liked talking to him, too. He’s supposed to contact me to figure out another time to rent Norman together. Henry asked if we could.”

“I don’t suppose you protested too much, did you?”

Emma chose a book off of the shelf and studiously perused the summary on the back. “You know I want my kid to be happy.”

Belle crossed the space between them and laid her hand over the book, garnering Emma’s full attention. “To the best of my knowledge, you’ve never once introduced your son to a man you may be interested in dating in all the years I’ve known you.”

“Wait a second…first of all, I didn’t introduce him to Henry - we met accidentally, and secondly, who says I’m interested in dating him? We’re simply planning to rent Norman together again. It’s really not a big deal, Belle.”

“If you say so, but I have to tell you that I’ve never seen Killian so animated while talking about someone. You certainly made an impression on him.”

“I’m sure I did. Dressed in old sweatpants and a hoodie, no makeup, hair a complete disaster - I was a mess.”

“He didn’t mention that. He just talked about how he enjoyed the time he spent with you and how much he’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

Emma could feel her face heating and knew she must be as red as the leather jacket she was wearing. She wasn’t ready to admit that she was just as eager to see him again, too.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

That evening, Emma had just finished checking over Henry’s homework and shooed him off to the shower, when her phone dinged with an incoming text. Picking it up from the kitchen counter, she couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face upon seeing Killian’s name.

K: I’m hoping this message reaches Emma Swan. If I’ve reached someone else, you can blame it on her. It was followed by a smirking emoji.

She shook her head at his ridiculousness, and decided to play along.

E: I’m afraid you’ve been misled. This Emma Swan must be a horrible person. She added a winking emoji.

It took a few seconds for the three bubbles to pop up, then she laughed out loud when she read his reply.

K: Oh, she is a terrible, awful person to give me a fake number.

E: She’s probably not used to giving out her number to random men who just happened to rent the same dog she did.

K: That seems to be a plausible excuse. Perhaps I should forgive her.

E: Oh, you most definitely should.

K: Very well. If I’m ever fortunate enough to see her again, I shall grant her my forgiveness.

E: That’s very gentlemanly of you.

K: I’m always a gentleman.

Emma heard the clothes hamper lid slam in the bathroom, signifying that Henry was finished with his shower.

E: I need to get Henry into bed. I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so, depending on how resistant he decides to be tonight.

K: Tell him I said goodnight.

E: That will probably get him all excited and it may be longer than twenty minutes.

K: I’m willing to wait.

Emma left her phone on the sofa and went to Henry’s bedroom, where he was getting settled under the covers. Sitting on the edge of his bed, she brushed his damp bangs away from his forehead.

“Did you brush your teeth?”

“You ask me that every night.”

“Yes, and half the time you’ve neglected to do it.”

“I just have to brush them again in the morning.”

Emma raised an eyebrow at him. “Did you, or didn’t you?”

He sighed dramatically. “I did. Wanna smell my breath to make sure?”

“Not particularly. I believe you. Ready to say your prayers?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Name three things of thanks,” she said, initiating their nightly tradition.

Henry tapped his chin in thought. “I scored two goals at recess.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah, I used what Killian taught me. Oh! That’s my second thing - meeting Killian.”

“Actually, he texted me while you were in the shower.”

“He did? Did he say when we can rent Norman together again?”

“We haven't had a chance to discuss it yet. He did say to tell you goodnight.”

“Tell him I said goodnight to him, too.”

“I will. What’s your third thing?”

“Umm…we changed seats in class and now I’m sitting beside Avery.”

“Just make sure the two of you don’t get into trouble for talking too much.”

“We won’t.”

“Good. Now, what three things do you want to ask of God?”

“To help me do good on my math test tomorrow, to send me another dog, and to let us see Killian again soon.”

They both folded their hands and closed their eyes while Henry said his prayers. When he finished, Emma read him a chapter of Fantastic Mr. Fox, kissed him goodnight and left his room, turning off the light on her way out.

Picking her phone up from her couch, she scrolled through the text conversation with Killian, smiling at the light banter they shared.

E: I’m back.

When a response didn’t come through for a couple of minutes, she went to her bedroom to change into her pajamas. Then she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and applied moisturizer.

When she went back into the living room, she saw a new message on her phone.

K: Is it okay if I call you? I’m not fond of texting.

She noticed that the time stamp was right after she put her phone down, over ten minutes ago. Instead of answering, she brought up his contact and hit the call button.

“Hello, Swan.”

“Hey, sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“I was hoping I didn’t upset you by asking to call.”

“No, nothing like that. I just decided to do my nighttime routine,” Emma explained. “Henry said to tell you goodnight, by the way. I always ask him to tell me three things he’s thankful for from his day, and you were involved in two of them.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. He scored two goals playing soccer today at recess, because of what you taught him, and he was thankful for meeting you. That’s the third night in a row he’s said that one.”

“That’s very kind of him to say.”

“Well, you made quite an impression on him and he’s eager to see you again. Speaking of which, what does your schedule look like for the next few weeks?”

“It’s wide open, actually. Do Saturdays work best for you?”

“Yeah, because Henry is in school during the week and I work until five every day. I also work one Saturday a month. This coming Saturday is the one I work this month.”

“How about the following week?”

She switched him to speaker and pulled up her calendar app. “That looks good. Henry gets a haircut that morning at nine, but we could meet after that. The weather is going to start getting too cold if we wait much longer.”

“Liam has been telling me to be prepared for a cold winter. He says Maine is quite a bit colder than England during the winter months,” he stated. “Shall we make plans for that day, then?”

“Sounds good to me. Want to meet at the shelter at ten-thirty?”

“Actually,” Killian began, then paused for a few moments before clearing his throat and continuing. “I was wondering if you would agree to me picking up the two of you to go to the shelter together.”

Emma bit her lip, considering his offer. Her gut instinct was to decline because it would seem too much like a date, but her practical side said it was logical for them to make the twenty minute drive together.

She knew he was waiting for her answer and was probably having second thoughts about asking, since she was taking so long. “Um, sure, that would be fine,” she finally said. “I’ll text my address to you.”

“Okay, good. Shall we say ten o’clock? Will that give you enough time for Henry’s haircut?”

“Yeah. It only takes about twenty minutes, if that long. His barber is Jefferson and he’s pretty fast.”

“Liam recommended him and I had an appointment there a couple of weeks ago. He is fast, if a little…quirky.”

“Oh, you mean because he wears the top hat? I guess he’s trying to live up to the name of his shop.”

“Just naming his shop the Mad Hatter of Hair makes him sound a bit eccentric.”

Emma laughed. “He’s harmless, though. His daughter Grace is in Henry’s class and she’s very sweet. Jefferson is raising her by himself. His wife passed away before Grace started kindergarten.”

“How sad. Now I feel bad for judging him.”

“I wouldn’t say you were judging him, just making an accurate observation. I knew him before his wife died and he was every bit as quirky as he is now.”

They continued talking for another twenty minutes. Just like the day they met, the conversation didn’t lag at all as they transitioned easily from one subject to another. Before they ended the call, Killian asked if it would be alright to call her again later in the week and she agreed without hesitation.

Lying in bed that night, Emma smiled dreamily as she replayed their conversation in her mind. She may be venturing into self-imposed forbidden territory ever since Henry’s father abandoned her, but Killian Jones intrigued her and she couldn’t find it within herself to care.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

Killian called Emma four more times over the next two weeks. Their conversations lasted longer each time, until they spent over an hour talking and laughing on Thursday, before their scheduled outing.

He suggested that they take Norman back to Storybrooke’s nature preserve after picking him up, which she thought was a great idea. She mentioned that she and Henry spent quite a bit of time there during the summer, hiking the trails and wading in the creek. Despite intending to visit, Killian hadn’t been able to get there yet and was happy to know his first time would be with Emma, Henry and Norman.

Saturday morning found him taking more time than usual to get ready. He chided himself for being a bit vain, but wanted to make the extra effort for the lovely lady Swan. If things went well, he was planning to ask her out on a proper date.

He had confided his intention to Belle, hoping she would give him advice about where to take Emma, should she agree. Not only did his future sister-in-law present him with recommendations, she also mentioned that she would be happy to watch Henry, and was sure Liam would, too.

Once Killian was satisfied with his appearance, he tried to occupy himself until it was time to drive to Emma and Henry’s house. After going online and paying some bills, washing the few dishes in the sink and sorting his laundry, he still had about twenty minutes left.

His heart sank when he heard the notification for an incoming text, thinking it might be Emma cancelling their plans. He was relieved, then a little apprehensive to see it was from his brother. Belle promised she wouldn’t say anything to Liam about his plans to ask Emma on a date, but they were an engaged couple and couples weren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other. Unfortunately, his former girlfriend hadn’t abided by that rule, since she kept one whopper of a secret from him.

L: Any plans for this afternoon, little brother?

Killian dropped his head back with a sigh. Not only did Liam insist on calling him that irritating moniker, now he had to explain that he did indeed have plans. He was sure he would have to answer questions about what they were and with whom, since he rarely did anything on the weekends.

K: Actually, I do.

L: Oh, really? What are you doing?

K: I’m renting Winston from the shelter again.

L: Great! Belle is working today. Would you mind if I came over to see the little guy?

Killian’s thumbs hovered over his screen, trying to decide how to tell his brother no without sounding rude. Even though Liam was acquainted with Emma, he tended to be over protective, and Killian didn’t want him giving her the third degree or making her feel uncomfortable. Plus, he selfishly wanted to spend time alone with her and Henry.

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was almost time for him to leave. Quickly, he typed a message he was hoping would appease Liam.

K: Sorry, not this time. Emma, Henry and I made plans to spend another day together with him.

As he pulled on his jacket, he heard another notification. Closing his eyes momentarily, he opened them to read Liam’s message, then released a relieved breath.

L: I hope the four of you have a good time, so I can see that look of happiness on your face again.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

“Henry, Killian’s here!” Emma announced, dropping the curtain after seeing his car pull up to the curb.

“Coming!” she heard him yell in response.

She quickly ducked into the bathroom and inspected her appearance in the mirror one more time. She hoped to make a better impression on Killian by applying light makeup and pulling her hair back into a neat ponytail. Her outfit was simple - jeans, sneakers, her favorite light blue blouse, and red leather jacket.

The doorbell rang as she re-entered the living room, but before she could get to the door, Henry sped past her to pull it open. “Hey, Killian!” he said excitedly.

“Hello, lad,” Killian answered, then shifted his eyes from Henry to Emma. She saw him swallow before giving her one of his winning smiles. “Good morning, Emma.”

“Hi, Killian. You’re right on time.”

“Not being prompt is bad form, Swan.” Looking at Henry again, he stated, “Your haircut makes you look a bit older.”

Henry reached up to run both hands along the sides of his head. “Do you really think so?”

“Aye, at least a year or two.”

“Please don’t say that,” Emma said, handing Henry his jacket. “He’s growing up way too fast as it is.”

During the drive to the shelter, Henry talked about one thing after another. Emma wondered if Killian would tire of her son’s constant chatter, but his questions at regular intervals proved he was fully engaged in what Henry had to say.

Meanwhile, she spent the time admiring the man beside her. He was dressed in dark, stonewashed jeans, an army green button-down shirt, and the same black leather jacket he wore the first time they met. His scruff was neatly trimmed and his dark hair artfully combed. His rich laugh at some of Henry’s comments was a sound she was sure she would never get tired of hearing.

When they entered the shelter, David gave them a smug smile that Emma tried to ignore. She knew he was probably patting himself on the back for his matchmaking, but she really didn’t mind, because meeting Killian was, so far, a positive experience.

Norman was extremely excited to see them again, and after everyone got into the car, they were on their way back to Storybrooke. Henry was preoccupied with Norman in the back seat, so the adults finally had a chance to chat with each other. Their conversation was as free-flowing as it had been every other time they spoke in the past two weeks. Emma had never met anyone so easy to talk to, and wondered if it was because their backgrounds were so similar.

During their earlier phone conversations, she learned his father had abandoned his family when Killian and Liam were little, leaving their mother to raise them alone. She shared how she was abandoned at a fire station baby box when she was less than a week old, and had never been adopted. They both had been in situations where they were deceived and misled by the person they loved. Emma came to realize that being able to empathize with someone else made it easier to connect with them, just as she had with Killian.

The crisp autumn weather was perfect for hiking at the nature preserve. They explored all of the available paths and walked along the shores of the creek. The water was too chilly for wading, but Norman enjoyed splashing in now and then when he spotted a particularly intriguing leaf, bug or stick.

After hiking for a couple of hours, they took a break to drink Gatorade and snack on protein bars, thoughtfully packed by Killian. He also had treats for Norman, which Henry used to try and teach the dog again how to sit on command.

They stayed until the last possible minute before getting into the car for the drive back to the shelter. No one spoke for several miles, until Henry finally said, “I really wish we didn’t have to take Norman back there. He’s always so sad. Why can’t we just adopt him, Mom?”

Emma glanced over at Killian, who met her eyes for a second before directing his back to the road. “I wish we could, but it wouldn’t really be fair to Norman. We’re both gone all day and he would have to be penned up that whole time.”

“But he loves us and we love him!” Henry exclaimed. “Ernie didn’t have to be penned up and he was fine during the day.”

Emma turned to look at her son. “I know, kid, but it was easy with Ernie. He was with us for several years and was older. Norman is young and full of energy, so he’s going to need a lot more attention and training. I wouldn’t trust him being in the house all day by himself.”

Henry heaved a huge sigh. “Okay.”

They were all silent for the rest of the drive. Emma saw Killian look at her out of the corner of his eye once in a while, but they didn’t carry on a conversation. She spent the time thinking about the practicality of adopting Norman, but knew she would have to stick to her guns, because it just wouldn’t be fair to the rambunctious dog to be cooped up all day.

When they reached the shelter and exited the car, Killian slowed Emma down by placing a hand on her arm, while Henry entered the building with Norman. “Emma, I’ve been giving it some thought and I have an idea, if you’re open to it.”

She shrugged slightly. “Sure, let’s hear it.”

“Perhaps, if you adopted Win-, er, Norman, I could keep him during the day while you’re at work and school. I could pick him up in the morning before you leave and drop him off after you get home.”

“Sort of like shared custody or dog sitting?” she asked, turning to face him.

He chuckled. “Aye, something like that, I suppose.”

“I don’t know, Killian. That seems like a pretty big commitment between people who barely know each other. You’re not even sure you’re going to stay in Storybrooke.”

He scratched behind his ear. “If I move, it won’t be for a while, since I signed a six month lease on my apartment. That would give us time to train the dog. I know we’ve just met, but I…I’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your boy. I’m hoping this is just the beginning of our friendship.”

Emma stuck her hands in the back pocket of her jeans and rocked back on her heels. “I hope so, too, but I’m still not sure about the arrangement you’re suggesting.”

“I completely understand,” he said, then paused before asking, “Are you counting it out altogether, or will you consider it?”

She pulled her lip between her teeth in thought for a few seconds. “I’ll consider it,” she finally answered.

He gave her a small smile, then moved to open the door for her.

They went inside to see Henry sitting cross-legged on the floor with Norman, the dog’s head resting on his leg. David was listening to the boy give him a detailed description of their day at the nature preserve and looked up to give them a big grin. “Sounds like you had quite the adventure today.”

“Aye, we all had quite a workout,” Killian responded. “It’s quite a lovely place.”

“Yeah, we’re lucky to have it in Storybrooke,” David said. “Mary Margaret takes her class there on a field trip every year.”

Henry’s head whipped around. “Mrs. Nolan didn’t take our class!”

“It’s early in the school year,” Emma said. “I’m sure she’ll take you sometime.”

“They usually go in the spring,” David explained, as he walked around the end of the counter. “Are you ready for me to take Norman?”

“No,” Henry said, his voice muffled as he buried his face in the dog’s neck.

The three adults exchanged understanding looks. They gave the boy a couple more minutes, before Emma picked up the end of the leash and put her hand on Henry’s head. “It’s time to say goodbye to him, kid.”

Henry drew back to look at Norman. “Goodbye, boy. I’m gonna miss you.” He kissed the dog on top of the head and rubbed his ears.

Emma reached down to pet the dog, then handed the leash to David. Killian stood beside her to pat Norman, too, telling him to be a good boy.

David bid them all goodbye, then headed to the back with the dog reluctantly following him. Henry looked up at Emma from where he still sat on the floor. “Mom…”

“Henry, don’t say it. I already told you why it’s not a good idea to adopt him right now.”

“Right now? Does that mean we can adopt him later?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Emma replied, giving him her patented ‘don’t push it’ look. “Let’s go, kid.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Henry pushed himself to his feet and followed her out the door Killian was holding open. Once they were in the car and on their way to Storybrooke, Killian asked, “Would you, um, would the two of you like to get a late lunch at Granny’s, when we get back?”

“What do you think, Henry?” Emma threw over her shoulder.

He turned from where he had been glumly staring out the window. “Can I get a cheeseburger and fries?”

“Sure.”

“And a chocolate milkshake?” When his mom didn’t answer immediately, he added, “Please? It’ll make me less sad about Norman.”

Killian chuckled lowly as Emma rolled her eyes, muttering, “I’m raising a con artist.”

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

Killian mentally kicked himself the whole way back into town. What was he thinking, asking Emma to agree to what was basically a long term commitment? He probably ruined his chance for asking her out on a date, too. He was sure she would think he was coming on too strong, if he did.

At least she agreed to have lunch with him. Hopefully, she would also allow him to continue calling her. Those phone calls and the texts they shared were always the highlight of his week.

As much as he enjoyed his time with Emma, having Henry with them made it even better. Killian hadn’t had a lot of interaction with children, but it was easy being around Emma’s son. He was bright, articulate and funny - very much like his mother. He was also respectful and well-mannered.

On the day they met, Emma confided to him that she was afraid she was making a lot of mistakes as a single mom, who never had a mother of her own to set an example, but he strongly disagreed. She wasn’t perfect - no parent was, but Henry seemed to be well-adjusted and confident, so she was obviously doing many things right.

Killian saw how much Henry loved the dog and wished he could help make the boy’s desire to adopt him come true, which is why he made the offer. He had come to love the furry little rascal, too, and would seriously consider adopting Norman himself. He just didn’t know if he could take the dog with him if he decided to move away from Storybrooke.

He pulled up in front of Granny’s, cut the engine, unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door, as he heard Emma and Henry do the same. Typical of a young boy, Henry took off running and was already skipping up the steps to the front door by the time Killian reached Emma’s side.

“He’s pretty excited,” Emma explained. “Eating out is kind of a treat because we don’t do it very often.”

“I hope I wasn’t out of line for asking,” Killian said.

“No, not at all. It really perked him up.”

Killian halted at the bottom of the steps, causing Emma to stop and look at him. “I also hope I didn’t upset you by making the offer to watch Norman.”

“You didn’t,” she assured him. “I’m definitely going to think about it. I really miss having a dog around, too. I just have to weigh all the pros and cons.”

He smiled and nodded his understanding, then bounded up the steps to open the door. Henry was at the counter talking animatedly to Ruby, who looked up and gaped at Emma in surprise.

“Hey, girl! I didn’t realize you knew the very handsome new guy in town!”

Killian could feel his ears turning red, when Emma glanced at him before replying. “Hi, Ruby. Actually, we met by accident a couple of weeks ago.”

“By accident, huh? Did you hit him with your car or something?”

“Nothing like that. We were both renting the same dog at the animal shelter.”

“Was seeing him today another accident?”

Emma put her hands on her hips. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. It was planned this time.”

Killian wasn’t sure he had ever seen such a wide grin on the waitress’s face. They all gave Ruby their drink order, then Emma ushered Henry to a booth and Killian slid in across from them.

“Are you getting lasagna?” she asked.

“I think I’m going to try the grilled cheese and onion rings. Someone recommended them to me,” he smirked.

“Very intelligent person,” Emma grinned.

“Aye, that she is.”

Ruby arrived at their table with their drinks and Henry’s milkshake. She gave Emma and Killian another broad smile when she took down their identical orders. “His and hers grilled cheeses, huh? Maybe there’s some truth to the saying that couples begin to eat alike.”

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes. “I think the saying is that couples start to look alike, and we aren’t a couple. We’re just friends.”

“I see,” Ruby said, glancing at Henry, who was busy spooning the thick milkshake into his mouth. “Well, they do say there are benefits to being friends.” She gave them an exaggerated wink, then turned and made her way to the kitchen.

“Ruby isn’t exactly the epitome of subtlety,” Emma said, a blush filling her cheeks with color.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

“It was nice of Killian to take us to Granny’s today,” Henry said, as he was climbing into bed that night.

“Yes, it was. I was very proud of you for remembering to thank him without needing a reminder.”

“Thanks for letting me get a milkshake, even if it didn’t make me stop feeling sad about not being able to adopt Norman.”

Emma tucked the covers around his shoulders. “I know, but try not to think about it.”

“I can’t,” Henry pouted. “He’s probably crying himself to sleep tonight.”

“I think he’s probably going to sleep remembering all of the fun we had today.”

Henry stubbornly shook his head. “Nuh-uh. He’s wondering why we didn’t bring him home with us.”

“Henry,” Emma sighed, “I know you’re sad, but we just can’t…”

“I know,” he interrupted, “you keep saying it wouldn’t be fair for him to be alone all day, but he’s already alone at the shelter all day, except for Mr. Nolan, and at night, there’s nobody there at all.”

“There’s other dogs and cats…”

“That’s not the same. They’re all in cages by themselves. If we adopted him, he could sleep on my bed, like Ernie did.”

Knowing she was going around in circles with him, Emma reached over and picked up the book from his nightstand. “How about if you say your prayers after I read to you tonight?”

Heaving a dramatic sigh, he said, “Fine, but it’s not gonna make me forget about Norman.”

After reading to him for fifteen minutes, hearing his prayers - which mentioned Norman and Killian several times - and kissing him goodnight, she left his room. Heading into her own bedroom, she went through her nightly routine automatically, lost in thought.

Once she was in her pajamas, free of make-up and teeth brushed, she peeked in on her son to find him sound asleep. She made sure the front door was deadbolted, turned off the lights in the kitchen and living room and went back into her room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stared at the phone in her hand, mind racing.

Finally, she pulled up Killian’s contact and hit the call button.

She was almost ready to hang up after it rang four times, not wanting it to go to voicemail, when he answered. “Hello, Swan. I wasn’t expecting to talk to you again so soon.”

“I hope I’m not calling too late.”

“Not at all. What’s on your mind?”

“Henry was still upset about Norman before he went to sleep. I feel like I’m being selfish by not allowing him to get a dog.”

“Why do you feel that way?”

“Because one of my excuses is that a dog is a lot of work and would need training, which it would. I’m making it seem like all the work would fall on me. Now, I know Henry is only eight, but I think he’s pretty responsible for his age.”

“From what I’ve seen, I would agree with that,” Killian cut in.

“Thank you. Anyway, I think he would be able to help train and take care of the dog, so that excuse is out the window. The other big concern I had is that the dog would have to be home by himself all day, which brings me to the reason I’m calling. I’ve been seriously considering your offer, if it’s still on the table.”

“It is.”

“Are you sure that’s not asking too much of you? I mean, you’re home during the day, but you’re working. How would you be able to take care of him?”

“I’ve had him here with me a few times already and he makes himself right at home. He’s housebroken and doesn’t demand too much attention. If he starts getting restless, I take him outside and play with him for a while. That works with my schedule because I have to take breaks now and then, when I’ve been staring at the computer screen for too long.”

She blew out a long breath. “What if it turns out to be too big of a commitment? We’ve spent some time together and have done a lot of talking to get to know each other, but we’re still basically strangers.”

“Well actually…” Killian began, then paused for several moments before continuing, “I was hoping to have an opportunity to ask you something today, but the right moment never presented itself.”

Emma’s heart began to beat faster in anticipation of what she suspected he might ask. “What did you want to ask?”

“Would you, um…would you consider going out with me?”

Standing up to pace back and forth between her bed and dresser, she chewed her lip in contemplation. She could literally count how many dates she’d had since Henry’s birth on one hand. She only went on those dates to appease Ruby, who was convinced Emma’s Mr. Right was out there somewhere, but she hadn’t been attracted to any of the men.

She couldn’t say the same about Killian. From the time she laid eyes on him, she felt an attraction that only got stronger the more she got to know him. He seemed to be the total package - kind, intelligent, considerate, and insanely hot.

“What happens if we adopt Norman, then go out with each other and realize we’re not compatible?”

“If you adopt him, I would keep my commitment to help take care of him, even if we decide dating doesn’t work for us. You have my word, Emma.”

She came to a halt at the end of her bed and turned to face the mirror above her dresser. For eight years, Henry had been her number one priority and always would be, but maybe it was time for her to do something for herself. Could that something be going out with Killian Jones?

She was so deep in thought, she didn’t realize how long she had been standing there considering her answer. When Killian finally spoke, his quiet voice startled her. “What do you say, Swan?”

“Yes, Killian. I will go out with you.”

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

NEW TAG LIST:

@qualitycoffeethings @grimmswan @cs-rylie @wyntereyez @kmomof4 @hookedmom @ultraluckycatnd @paradiselady19 @xarandomdreamx @motherkatereloyshipper @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @eleveneitherway @elfiola @kday426 @julieenchanted-swans @gingerchangeling @andiirivera @djlbg @jonesfandomfanatic @snowbellewells @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones@zaharadessert @lyssapup27 @undercaffinatednightmare @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @xsajx @jackieorioncat @teamhook @soniccat @jarienn972 @softkilly @kymbersmith-90 @apiratewhopines

#pet for rent #chapter update #chapter 2 #jrob64 #art by jrob64 #csff #cs fluff #cs smut #CS modern AU #Captain cobra #ouat Captain Swan fanfic

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dodger-chan · 1 year

Text

I wasn't actually going to write any follow up to The Morning After but I hate watching shoot outs and so started fucking around on my computer and now there's 500 more words, and I think they're a bit more optimistic than I originally intended.

@flowercrowngods I seem to recall you asking about potential follow up for this one.

“Harrington, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Steve had no idea what Munson was talking about. He didn’t even know the guy. Not any more than everyone in the school knew Munson, at least.

“Going home?” He hadn’t meant it to be a question, but it came out as one anyway. Stone-faced, Munson shook his head. He grabbed Steve’s arm and dragged him roughly from the empty hallway into an empty room. Closed the door behind them and pushed Steve against it.

“Try again,” Munson growled. His breath smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. His clothes, too, but with a hint of sweat and stale beer. It was nice. Familiar. Steve closed his eyes and took a deeper breath.

Felt Munson lean in closer, fingers wrapped around Steve’s arms, squeezing.

It hurt.

Steve felt himself relax into the pain, shift ever so slightly forward, and catch Munson’s lips against his own. Felt the pressure shift from a threat to a kiss.

A familiar kiss.

Steve opened his eyes when Munson stopped, pulled away, stared at him with shock.

“We’ve done that before.” Steve had meant it to be a question, but it didn’t sound like one. Eddie answered him anyway.

“Heather’s party. Week and a half ago. You really don’t remember?” Steve didn’t remember going to that party. He did remember forgetting that party, which was better than nothing. “Shit, you didn’t seem that drunk.”

“I wasn’t.” Not according to Heather. He’d checked with her to see if he needed to apologize to anyone, or pay for dry cleaning, and she said he’d barely drunk anything. He waved a hand at the fading green bruise on his face. “Head injury. Fucks with my memory sometimes.”

“Huh. So you weren’t just…” Eddie made some weird flailing gestures with his hands. “Letting me work myself into a panic before you murdered me?”

“Murdered you? For a kiss?” Eddie froze like a deer in headlights. “It wasn’t just a kiss, was it?”

“Not here. Not at school.” Eddie was right. Too many doors. Too many kids leaving clubs who might hear them talking. “My place? My uncle works nights; he’ll be gone by seven.”

“I can do that.” If his parents asked, he’d tell them he was meeting Carol to study. He didn’t think they’d ask.

“Assuming you don’t forget me again,” Eddie said, with a smile. Steve smiled back. It was kind of funny. “Wait, you were just at basketball practice. Are you playing contact sports with a broken head?”

“Basketball isn’t a contact sport.” And Steve couldn’t just quit on the team. “Coach said it was fine as long as I wasn’t, like, puking from the headaches.”

“Oh, I guess as long as you’re not puking.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Fucking jocks. I used to have better taste.”

“I’m the best you’ll ever taste, Munson.” The meaning of his words hit Steve like a truck. “I mean-”

“Seven,” Eddie interrupted him. “Forest Hills, at seven, or I’ll call your house and you’ll have to explain to your parents why The Freak needs you to come over.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll show.” They probably wouldn’t be home, anyway.

Note: Basketball is actually a contact sport, Steve's just being dumb. Athletes really did play through concussions in the 80s, even really bad ones.

#my fic #steddie #stranger things #short ficlet

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chirpingfromthebox · 4 months

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My favorite bits from the Boston post-game press interviews after PWHL Finals Game 4

You can find the entire interview here! Be sure to give them some views/likes/nice comments/etc.

At the table were Aerin Frankel, Alina Müller, and coach Courtney Kessel.

Since we're so close to the end now, I just went ahead and did the full transcription so as to be sure y'all didn't miss anything. I'll still put dividers between the questions though, just to aid in readability.

All that and a handful of my closing thoughts after the break.

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REPORTER: For all of you, did you think that game was over before it was actually over?

COURTNEY KESSEL: I didn’t think it was over, I thought it was goalie interference. But you never know, right? So you challenge and kinda wait. So, no.

AERIN FRANKEL: Obviously being in the net, I didn’t really know what happened other than the fact that I was pushed. But I didn’t know who pushed me into the net. It kinda just all happened really fast. But then after seeing the replay I was confident they would maybe overturn it. Obviously it’s tough being in their rink, and second overtime, and stuff. But I’m glad that they made the right call.

ALINA MÜLLER: Yeah, same. I had no doubt that it was goaltender interference. And I knew- I mean, that’s tough when you get a goal overturned. The momentum is for the other team, for sure. For us.

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REPORTER: Maybe to follow up on that, Alina, or for anyone who wants to take it, how did you guys kind of keep the emotions of that in check? Or did it really feel like you knew that the momentum was going to be in your favor?

ALINA MÜLLER: Yeah, just really saw the play and knew that this could be a good challenge for us, so just try to stay in the game. As I said, I think once it got overturned we had more power, more speed, more legs. So, yeah, it was on our side.

R: Aerin, do you have a thought on that? Like how do you lock-in as the goalie, knowing that the game is either over or you have to go back in?

AERIN FRANKEL: You just gotta force yourself to. You don’t have the option. We made it that far into the 5th overtime, so at that point you’re playing for everyone in our locker room. It’s just a family, so it doesn’t matter how tired you are, but everyone just competes until the job is finished.

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REPORTER: And for Courtney, Aerin has played 7 overtime periods now and hasn’t been scored on yet. What can you say about the way that she’s been able to rise to the occasion in the most important parts of a hockey game?

COURTNEY KESSEL: I think we’ve seen that she’s the Green Monster. Tremendous. I think from the moment we came back from World’s we’ve come back with a different group and the resiliency has been tremendous. They’re gonna kill me, but I think it starts with our goaltending and it starts with Franks. Just her ability to stay calm through all these ups and downs. And her ability to keep us in games and win games for us. And that’s what you want heading into the championship. If you have a hot goalie you can win.

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REPORTER: Aerin, when you first heard of “The Green Monster,” what was your reaction to it?

AERIN FRANKEL: Coach actually sent it to me and I was laughing. I thought it was funny. My teammates have started saying it as a joke. Yeah, I think it’s cool, because Boston’s one of the greatest sports cities and obviously that’s a big part of the history at Fenway Park. So, I think it’s cool. Kudos to whoever thought of that. It’s pretty awesome.

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REPORTER: Alina, congrats on the game winner. Can you take us through what you saw in the play?

ALINA MÜLLER: Uh, yeah. I just tried to put my body against the wall, against the other player, trying to break the puck out and then somehow try to get inside positioning and the puck bounced to me. I think it was a good forecheck and I tried to get it off as quick as I can and as high as I can. I didn’t really see much.

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REPORTER: For either of the players, so when the goal gets taken off you mentioned the word momentum. What is that like to now realize you have this new opportunity? Do you feel like you have the advantage in that moment? Is it a mental thing? Take us in your minds right there.

AERIN FRANKEL: Yeah, I think so. It’s obviously deflating when you’re playing a game this long and you think you score a goal and then you’re celebrating on the ice and it gets called back. I think right away we just kinda hit the reset. We’ve been in overtime so much already this year and we just stuck to the systems that have been working for us this year.

ALINA MÜLLER: Yeah, same. I think the advantage was on our side just from a mental side. It reminded me of the World’s Final, I think it was Finland against the U.S., where the same thing kind of happened. It’s pretty tough if you’re on the other side.

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REPORTER: For Courtney, wondering if you can speak to what you’ve seen from Jessica Digirolamo tonight and through these playoffs?

COURTNEY KESSEL: Yeah, Jess is- it’s funny, I coached her since she was like 13 years old, so it’s pretty special to be standing behind the bench now she's a grown adult. I think her physicality, you know, her physique, her build, is built for this game, this style of hockey. And she’s raised the bar since we’ve been back from World’s. And I’m not surprised at all. I really do think she has all the skills to be on the national team one day if she continues to develop and work hard.

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REPORTER: Do you [Courtney Kessel] have a thought on Alina’s game winner?

COURTNEY KESSEL: I’m not surprised. I’m not sure who I spoke to, yesterday or two days ago, but they asked me who we should be watching out for and I said Müller. She’s just a tremendous 200-foot hockey player that can put the puck in the back of the net. We’ve been waiting for it all year and I know it’s there and I’ve been telling her that it’s there. Just so happy to see that happen and just watch her grow this year, in the first year with this league.

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REPORTER: Alina, your coach talked about your goalie, can you describe just being on the ice with Aerin and what the- if you’re often amazed, do you see all the stuff- you know, just what it’s like and speak to just how much she kept you in the game for the chance at the game winner?

[It might not looks that way, but for the record: this was a beast of a question to transcribe. The reporter was really fumbling on their words here and I had to rewind it a ton to try and get it down right.]

ALINA MÜLLER: Yeah, I mean, she’s the best goalie in this league, in the world. I got the chance to get to know her really well through Nordeastern already. We’re really good friends. I trust her so much. She makes it so much fun in practice too, trying to shoot on her. Just the competitiveness. The fitness, just everything is elite. She deserves all the success there is.

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You know, I said I was hoping Boston would battle back in true Boston-style and sure enough: they did! This game felt very different from the other games this series to me. Reminded me more of how a lot of other playoff games seemed to go...except with a lot more Boston-style physicality.

If anything it has shown once again that you never want to get into a defensive war of attrition with Boston.

And now the shoe's on the other foot. Boston seemed a little defeated after last game and now it's Minnesota's turn. The difference is that Minnesota either refused to do a post-game press session or I just can't find it. So I can't really say how they compare. While I can understand not wanting to talk to the press after something like that, I can't say that it bodes well for their mental state.

[they did do one! It just got posted wicked late for some reason? I dunno. I haven't got a chance to watch it yet, but it exists!]

As the players here noted, it's hard to mentally come back from what Minnesota had to deal with there. It certainly had an effect tonight.

But we'll have to wait until Wednesday to see if they wind up letting it weigh them down or fuel them forward.

We already know you never want to put Boston into a corner. And if Minnesota comes out for blood in Game 5? Should be a spicy end to the finals.

(and hopefully that end is a more decisive, less "what is even happening right now?"-styled one)

#pwhl #pwhl boston #aerin frankel #alina müller #courtney kessel

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sw33tsuccubus · 1 year

Note

Oikawa fic, and it's Oikawa having a rivalry with reader, who is the captain of the basketball team. They end up needing to kind of share the same sports court since the volleyball one is going through maintenance, so they have to agree on schedules to use it

Oikawa and reader don't hit it off at first, but they end up needing to be stuck with each other to make reports about the court usage to the school's council

Oikawa starts to crack a bit and buys reader a soda, then they start to get warmer to each other, and it's that sweet hand holding while they still can't admit their feelings for each other

Rival Captain

tooru oikawa x male reader

summary: the basketball team shares their court with the volleyball team while their court is in maintenance.

genre: fluff

requested by anon

word count: 1k

A/N: this request was a pain, i wrote it wrong the first time

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I groan, gripping my hair and turning to our teams’ co captain.

“They can’t go to a sports center or anything?”

He shakes his head, glancing around.

“It’s a big court, Y/n. It won’t be too bad sharing. Besides, we could make friends!”

I scowl at him.

“This isn’t a kids show, Soma. We aren’t making any friends.”

He sighs.

“Would it hurt you to loosen up a little? If you go to university and you see any of those volleyball members, you’ll know someone!”

“I don’t care! They’re all so weird, I don’t want to see them in my court or anywhere else.”

“It’s not even your court, it’s the coaches. Shut up and deal with it, Y/n.”

Soma slapped the back of my head and I groaned. He can be annoying sometimes, but he always has reason on his mind.

I roll my eyes, playfully shoving him back.

“Fine. But if I see them on my court during our practices, I’ll blow a fuse.”

Soma rolled his eyes.

“You’re so dramatic.”

~~~

After classes that day, I had scheduled to meet with the volleyball team captain, Tooru Oikawa. I knew who he was, sure. He was some annoying lady’s man who was probably gay and was really good at volleyball. His best friend, Hajime Iwaizumi, was alright. We had some classes together in second year and we got along.

Oikawa is a whole different story, though. He has a fake nice aura about him, like he’s secretly some evil person. Walking to where we agreed to meet, I wasn’t sure what to expect.

I appeared in front of the gardening club shed and leaned against the wall, waiting patiently for the volleyball captain. After a while, I checked my watch and scowled.

Seven minutes past when he agreed to show up.

I gave him some more time, and just as I was about to leave, he came jogging over.

“Sorry for being late, some girls wanted to chat.”

He smiled, and I gave him a look of disdain.

“Don’t care, didn’t ask. You’re late.”

He blinks at me and crosses his arms defensively.

“Ladies first, man. I had to chat with them.”

“Why, so you can keep up your high school Q? Pathetic.”

He gave me an offended look and scowled at me.

“I’m sorry, okay? Can we plan this thing?”

I roll my eyes and nod, pulling out my phone.

“Do you guys do morning practices?”

“Yeah. Afternoon too. You?”

“Same.”

I grimace, writing some things in my notes app.

“Hmm.. what are your practice days?”

“Monday, Wednesday, Friday.”

“Yeah, that won’t work.”

He huffs, shifting his weight to one leg and placing his hand on his hip.

“And why not?”

“Those are our days too. We’ll have to split things up.”

He nods in understanding.

“Sure. One team takes Monday and Thursday and the other gets Tuesday and Friday?”

“That works.”

I tap at the keyboard on my phone, writing it down.

“As for Wednesday, one team can take the court during the afternoon and the other during the morning.”

He hums in agreement.

“My team can take Tuesday and Friday, as well as afternoon practice on Wednesday.”

“It’s my court, Oikawa. Don’t get greedy.”

I eye the boy, before typing on my phone again. I was perfectly fine with my team going Monday and Thursday. He sighs.

“Then we can go M-“

“It’s fine. Now.”

I put my phone into my pocket and glare at Oikawa.

“If I see any volleyballs or any of your equipment on my court on any of our days, we’ll have problems. Got it?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Fine.”

~~~

Telling the school how the usage of the court was going was strange. I was used to doing it by myself, or occasionally with Soma. Doing it with Oikawa was weird.

“Nobody is doing drugs.”

I glare at Oikawa. That came out of nowhere.

“We clean up after ourselves after each practice. It’s just the basketball team and the volleyball team.”

The council nods.

“The teams are getting along?”

I shrug.

“Yeah. We don’t fight at all, but we don’t talk much.”

“The basketball team is very hospitable towards us. It’s quite nice.”

The council nods again, taking in our facial expressions and body language.

“Are the captains getting along?”

“For the most part.”

Oikawa smiled nervously and I roll my eyes.

“We don’t talk much. It’s normally nice banter.”

I could tell the council knew we weren’t being completely truthful, but they didn’t seem to care.

Leaving the room, Oikawa sighed. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and rolled my eyes.

“You would say we weren’t doing drugs why?”

“It’s a genuine response!”

He clicks his tongue.

“It’s dumb to say, they’ll think the opposite.”

“They know me, L/n. They know I make jokes.”

He shrugs, walking to a vending machine. I have half the mind to stay with him and half the mind to walk away.

I walk away.

“Hey, L/n, wait up!”

Oikawa walks over, handing me a soda while holding one for himself. I raise an eyebrow at him and he looks away.

“Just enjoy it. You were here and I didn’t want to be rude.”

I sigh, cracking open the can and taking a swig. Strangely, he knew one of my favorites. I looked at him curiously, and he was sipping at the same kind. Maybe he just liked the flavor.

“What are you doing after this?”

“Going home and then something’ll happen. Why?”

“It’s just something to talk about.”

He shrugs.

“How’s the team doing?”

“We’re alright. Kyotani gets out down by Iwa-chan whenever he tries to start something. Or by Yahaba, he listens to him too, strangely.”

I think back to the volleyball club members. Iwaizumi, the ace and co captain. Kyotani is a second year with anger issues Oikawa likes to call Mad Dog. Yahaba was a second year who didn’t contribute much but was a good player nonetheless.

“You could try practicing with us, if you wanted.”

“I don’t play volleyball.”

He scoffs.

“So? You could just join us. Doesn’t matter if you’re any good.”

“Why do you want me there so bad?”

His face turns red and he looks at the floor.

“Forget it.”

He walks away, presumably to try e basketball court. I shrug, watching his back.

~~~

A few days after that, Oikawa and I got stuck in the rain. He had come to watch basketball practice, saying the sport could be interesting to learn about, and then stayed behind to help Soma and I clean up.

Soma left, since he had an umbrella, but here I was with Oikawa. The chocolate haired boy grabbed an umbrella from his bag and opened it up.

“Walk with me?”

I sighed, taking it from him and walking with him to my home. It was kind of peaceful. The rain sounds above and around us, the smell.

He would occasionally look at me but wouldn’t say anything. He’s very strange.

Sometimes he would step in a puddle and curse, but then would quiet down and we would be silent again.

We got to my house, and he said a silent goodbye before leaving. Normally he would chat with me, tell me some things, but he’s been awfully quiet today.

~~~

Oikawa would shy away whenever he saw me. Weird, since we still report to the council and I have to unlock the gun every morning the volleyball team practices.

Once, I tried striking up a conversation with him and he walked away like I hadn’t said a thing.

Today, I entered the gym and found him cleaning up after their afternoon practice with Iwaizumi.

I walked over to the volleyball captain.

“Hey, Oikawa. What’s up?”

He looked at me, but didn’t say anything. I sighed.

“What’s up with you, man? You seem to dislike me even more.”

He shakes his head.

“Never disliked you.”

“Then what’s up? Tell me.”

“After I finish cleaning.”

I roll my eyes but agree, going outside the gym and leaning against the wall. Iwaizumi leaves first, saying bye to me and going on his way.

I zero in on Oikawa when he steps out, and he groans.

“I’ll get right to it, okay?”

I nod, staring blankly into his eyes.

“I’ve got a crush on you.”

I furrow my brows. Not what I was expecting.

“No way.”

“Yes way! And, that time I got you a soda, i thought I could ask you out then, but you were being weird, like you didn’t like me at all, so I chickened out!”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Ignoring someone isn’t the way to go. Should have told me, Tooru.”

He looks at his feet, and I rolled my eyes.

“I guess I can give you a chance.”

He looked up, his eyes full of hope.

“Really?”

“Yeah…”

~~~

Dating Oikawa was quite interesting. He was sweet to you, very nice. Always offered to pay for your things and opened doors for you, although he acted like a princess.

You could feel yourself falling for him, having the urge to pamper him and kiss his cheeks. Maybe he wasn’t ready for that.

You cleared your throat, handing Oikawa a bento box. He swooned at you, thanking you and taking your hand as he put it safely into his locker.

He walked you to your class before leaving to go to his.

You sighed as you watched him walk away. What a sweetheart.

#oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #haikyuu fic #male reader

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iffeelscouldkill · 24 days

Text

Lost in a Familiar Place pt. 3

(Aka the 'Nicholas never applied to Kings Row' AU)

A/N: This AU now has a name! The title is taken from the song 'Ghosts of My Hometown' by The Strike, which is a Nicholas song if I've ever heard one. It's all about not really being able to leave your past behind, and coming to terms with the ghosts of where you came from. Also, I feel like the phrase "lost in a familiar place" fits well with an AU where Nicholas is a stranger in a place that, in another life, would be familiar.

If you haven't read these, check out Part 1 and Part 2!

Nicholas swallowed, wondering if he was about to experience death by epée on the spot. He didn’t know national #2 Seiji Katayama had this kind of temper. “Uh, look, it wasn’t for long or anything, but I saw some moments where I would’ve gone for a hit. If it were me.”

Seiji stared squinty-eyed at Nicholas like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Who are you?” he said.

“Uh, I’m-”

“This is Nicholas.” Suddenly Aiden was draping an arm around Nicholas’ shoulders and smiling warmly. “He’s an external spectator today.”

Nicholas noticed that Aiden had suddenly acquired the ability to remember his name. He had a hunch that Aiden’s friendly behaviour had more to do with riling up Seiji than with him, though. “Uh, yeah.” He stuck out a hand for Seiji to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

Seiji looked distrustful, but shook his hand. “I’ve never seen you at a competition before.”

“I was at Regionals six months ago,” Nicholas said. “I fenced Kyle Allen in the first round.”

One eyebrow went up. “So you lost. And you think you could find holes in my defence?”

Nicholas had nothing to prove to this arrogant, condescending guy, but he felt annoyance rising anyway. “I could prove it if given the chance. Maybe you’re not as infallible as you think you are.”

Seiji’s eyes widened in something like irate disbelief, and next to him, Bobby made a small squeaking noise. That was when Aiden decided to stick his oar in.

“Seiji, weren’t you saying the other day that you don’t really have anyone here that challenges you?”

Seiji clenched his jaw and glared at Aiden. “As if I’m going to fence any amateur who just wanders in here and-”

“That’s enough,” Coach Williams’ voice came like a whipcrack, making everyone in the vicinity jump guiltily. “Can I remind you that we are in the middle of a fencing practice? I expect you all to focus on the task at hand.”

There was a round of “Yes Coach,” and “Sorry Coach,” from the assembled fencers. Nicholas mumbled, “Sorry, Coach,” along with the others, even though Coach Williams technically wasn’t his coach. But you didn’t cross a fencing coach.

“Everyone who’s not a member of the team, I want you to practice footwork,” Coach Williams said. “You know the drill; find a partner, and each of you take turns advancing and retreating, then switch. Focus on your feet.”

Given their orders, the students who had been looking on began to disperse. Bobby gave Nicholas an apologetic grimace and paired up with a dark-haired boy of medium height.

“Nicholas,” Coach said, and Nicholas straightened up, rigid, in anticipation of the dressing-down he was sure was coming. “You’re here as a guest, and not as a member of the student body.”

Nicholas winced at the reminder. “I know, I-”

“But,” Coach Williams continued over him, “we have a spare set of gear in the supply room that should fit you.” Nicholas blinked at her. “If you’d like to take part, you may – but I expect nothing less than scrupulous conduct and sportsmanship from you. Am I making myself clear?”

Speechless, Nicholas nodded. The words, I get to fence???! were exploding somewhere in the back of his mind.

“Yes, Coach. I understand,” he said, almost vibrating with excitement. Seiji Katayama’s expression darkened even more, and Nicholas beamed at him. Was he really about to fence-

“Aiden,” Coach said, and Aiden turned to her. “I want you to partner with Nicholas. You’ll spar a practice match, first to 10 points. Eugene and Seiji will do the same; Harvard, you’ll referee.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m the one who should-” Aiden began, but a look from Harvard made him subside. “Yes, Coach.”

Even dressed in borrowed fencing whites (which did fit him well) and standing in a fencing salle he barely belonged in, Nicholas felt amazing as he took up a position across from Aiden on the piste. This was it. This was what he lived for – the chance to fence.

Since he’d started learning with Coach Joe – finally putting those years of devouring every fencing video he could find into practice – Nicholas quickly realised that nothing compared to the feeling of standing on the piste with a foil in his hand.

(Even when the piste was actually the community hall floor. It still felt awesome).

Fencing at Regionals had been even more incredible. He’d felt like he’d arrived. Even losing in his very first round to an ass like Kyle Allen hadn’t been able to dampen it.

Aiden seemed to be sizing him up, and then he smiled. It wasn’t the same cutthroat smile that he’d given Seiji before they fenced, but it wasn’t completely friendly either. “Sorry about this,” he said. “I did originally have a more… pleasurable plan for today.”

“Fencing’s pleasurable,” Nicholas pointed out.

Aiden’s lips quirked into a slightly disbelieving smirk. “Right.”

The match began. Aiden was, as Nicholas had seen, a skilled fencer, and Nicholas was unable to parry his first two hits. Right afterwards, Nicholas got a hit past his guard, and Aiden looked surprised, like he hadn’t seen it coming. Like a lot of right-handed fencers, Aiden wasn’t as good at blocking or predicting moves from the left. Nicholas knew he could press his advantage there.

He attacked, fast and aggressive. Aiden was clearly adapting to his approach, making it more difficult for Nicholas to get through, but he still didn’t seem able to predict exactly where Nicholas would attack from. By the time Coach called the first break, Nicholas had scored two hits to Aiden’s four.

As they paused to catch their breath, Aiden said, “Of course, I know I’m not the one you’d rather be fencing right now.”

Nicholas frowned quizzically at him. Aiden continued, “You and Seiji had some real… tension just then. That was interesting. I could almost see the sparks flying.”

Nicholas glanced over at Seiji, but he was focused on sparring with Eugene. “You seem like you don’t really get along with Seiji,” he commented. “Why’s that?”

Aiden snorted and gave an airy shrug. “Seiji’s an excellent fencer,” he said. “But you’ve met him. He’s not really a ‘team’ guy.”

“Are you?”

Aiden blinked at Nicholas. “Sorry?”

“You were planning to skip practice, even though you’re on the team,” Nicholas pointed out. “But Seiji’s here.” Even though, as the national number two-ranked fencer, he probably had a better excuse than anyone to skip practice – or train on his own. Nicholas didn’t really like Seiji’s attitude, but he didn’t think Aiden was one to be preaching about teamwork.

Aiden’s eyes narrowed, but Coach Williams cut in. “Less talking, more fencing, boys.”

They took up their positions again, and almost immediately, Nicholas scored a hit. Aiden had been over-extended, and not just briefly; it felt like a glaring mistake from someone who was clearly a competent fencer. Aiden said nothing, just narrowed his eyes; he quickly took two more points. But even when he managed to pull ahead, Nicholas was there, narrowing the gap again.

By the second break, the score was 7-6 to Aiden. Nicholas was only one point behind a skilled older fencer who represented a high school at state competitions. The excitement coursed through him like electricity.

As they pulled off their masks, Aiden looked disgruntled for a fraction of a second, but it quickly smoothed away. “I feel like I should warn you,” he said, sounding apologetic. “Seiji’s not going to go easy on you because you’re a rookie. The guy doesn’t hold back, ever. Even when it’s just a practice match.”

“Not like you, you mean?” Nicholas asked. He didn’t need or want Aiden to go easy on him, but even from the brief time they’d known each other, Aiden didn’t strike him as the type of guy who gave things his all if he could help it. He just projected this air of coasting through life. It wasn’t the kind of thing Nicholas really found attractive, but Aiden had been charming, and well. It had been a while since anyone paid him attention in that way.

Aiden shrugged theatrically. “I’d just hate to see you get railroaded,” he said. “Very few people have the ability to hold their own against Seiji. Mind you, I did.” He delivered this last revelation almost as an afterthought.

Nicholas stared at him. “What do you mean?” Watching the two of them fence, it hadn’t seemed like Aiden was in Seiji’s league at all.

“Oh, yes, Seiji lost to me in the try-outs for the fencing team,” Aiden said, with a smirk. “It happens. But he didn’t take it very well.” He made a show of putting his mask back on in response to Coach Williams’ pointed glare.

Aiden had beaten Seiji. Aiden had beaten Seiji. And Nicholas was almost level with him in a sparring match. Even if it was just a practice – then if Nicholas could beat Aiden, it felt… like he could almost be on an equal footing with Seiji.

A calm and a focus descended over Nicholas that he hadn’t really found before. He tried to think and act quickly in his fencing matches, but trying to do something wasn’t the same as doing it, and he hadn’t reached the point yet where instinct would just take over. He knew he was fast, but there was still that disconnect between what he sensed and saw and how his body acted. It could be frustrating.

Now, though, it was like he could deconstruct his opponent at a speed he’d never experienced, Aiden’s weak points mapped out and highlighted. He could remember what had worked before and apply those tactics. And he was fast. His technique had holes in it; Kyle had had the experience to exploit those at Regionals, though he still wasn’t able to fend off Nicholas completely. And Nicholas was always learning.

Aiden attacked, but Nicholas read his movement and parried, then countered with a hit past Aiden’s guard. And another. 8-7.

Aiden scored a hit that Nicholas wasn’t anticipating by kind of flicking his blade – the flick sailed past his guard in a way that was extremely annoying, but Nicholas was also intrigued. That seemed like a neat attack.

They were neck and neck at 8 points each, and the next person to score a hit would be one point away from winning. Nicholas saw an opening. Attacked. Scored. 9-8.

Nicholas became aware that they had an audience. Maybe had had one for a while – the match between Eugene and Seiji had already concluded, and together with Harvard, they’d come to spectate.

Seiji’s attention was laser-focused on Nicholas. If Nicholas could just win this next point, he-

Aiden exploited an opening in Nicholas’ guard, scoring a hit to his wrist. Damn. But they were neck and neck; as long as Nicholas kept fencing like he knew he could–

Aiden went in for the attack – but just as Nicholas had expected, there was a slight turn in his body that left his shoulder open to a hit–

10-9.

Nicholas had won.

Coach Williams’ whistle blew, and she looked genuinely approving as she said, “Well done, Nicholas.” Then she added, “Aiden, I have some notes for things to focus on in our next practice sessions.”

Aiden pulled off his mask and faced Harvard, who greeted him with a raised eyebrow. “You lost?”

“It was just a practice match!” Aiden protested. “I was giving Nicholas the chance to improve.”

“Right.”

“Hey, nice fencing!” This was Eugene, who’d been fencing Harvard before and had just fenced Seiji. He gave Nicholas a friendly punch to the shoulder that was a little bit painful. “Where did you come from, again? Coach didn’t really say.”

Nicholas opened his mouth to explain, but just then, someone took hold of his shoulder in an iron grip. Nicholas looked into the glowering visage of Seiji Katayama. “You’ll fence me next,” he said.

#Fence comic #Fence comic AU #Fence fanfic #my fic #Nicholas Cox #Seiji Katayama #Aiden Kane #Harvard Lee #Sally Williams #Lost In A Familiar Place #Seiji: I'm not going to fence any amateur who just wanders in here #also Seiji: you're fencing me next #Sally in every universe: I'm going to mentor this boy so help me

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austinsmutler · 2 years

Note

Austin x reader with prompt “You Drunk?”where Austin comes home late after being with friends..Austin’s drunk attitude takes a turn the reader is trying to help him out but Austin is to stubborn but then realizes his actions.all ends in fluff

Omg thank you so much for this request! I haven't written drunk!anyone before but this idea is so damn cute I had to try :3

"You Drunk?"

Warnings: Alcohol consumption (before the story starts) other than that, nothing! Just tooth-rotting fluff.

Word count: 1300

You weren’t expecting the knock at your door, but you weren’t surprised. Even though Austin had his own set of keys and you’d been living together for almost three years, he still insisted on knocking… well, only if he’d been doing shots. And tonight was his bachelor party and he’d been out with Brad and Colin, so really it was impressive he’d made it up the stairs to your floor on his own.

You were about to check the peephole when ringed fingers you recognized lifted up the mail slot.

“Helloooo? Oh!”

Blue eyes looked up at yours from the other side of the door. “I missed you.”

His voice was slow and slurry from drinking.

You rolled your eyes and unlocked the door. Austin was on his knees looking up at you like he couldn’t believe you were really there. His white button-up shirt must have come more and more unbuttoned as the night went on, because it was entirely unbuttoned now, only on his shoulders because it was still tucked into the front of his jeans.

Your fiance looked positively debauched.

He bit his lip as he looked up at you. “Are you mad at me?” He squinted. “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“You didn’t wake me, Aus.” You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing and leant down to help him up.

Instead, he grabbed your hand and yanked you down for a kiss. If he’d been sober, it might have been cute- but he yanked too hard and you wound up on your back on the hallway carpet. “Austin!”

He hissed through his teeth. “I- ‘m sorry, baby, you just looked so beautiful-”

Austin’s voice dipped a few octaves lower than usual, to the same one he’d been stuck with after wrapping up filming Elvis. Even with voice coaching, the Southern drawl came back every now and again. Especially if there were jagerbombs involved.

I’m going to kill Brad and Colin, you swore to yourself before standing and pulling Austin up with you.

He stumbled but you somehow made it to the couch where Austin collapsed, pulling you down on top of him. His hands fisted your pajamas, reveling in the softness of you.

“You smell good.” You let him pull you close for a minute before you stood up. “Where’re you going?”

“You need pajamas.”

Austin looked at his jeans, seeming to notice the entirely-unbuttoned shirt for the first time, a frown slowly forming on his face.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He reached for your arm to tug you back down, but you were too fast and disappeared into the bedroom. Luckily, sober Austin was a creature of habit: his gray sweatpants and a ‘keep calm and listen to Elvis’ shirt Brad bought him as a present were always neatly folded below his pillow.

You stopped by the kitchen to pick up a glass of water and some potato chips. Austin needed to be loaded up with carbs, and you could use a 2AM snack anyway.

“Aus?” You didn’t know what you were expecting when you came back into the living room, but Austin’s jeans were around his ankles and he was fiddling with the buttons on his shirt- the first and last buttons were now done, but the others were in a state of disarray while he tried to un-do them.

You placed the glass of water in his hands and watched him drink it a little too quickly. “I’ll get you another in a second.”

“I don’t want one.” He frowned. You rolled your eyes.

“Well, you’re having one. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

You held up the pajamas and Austin let his head fall back as you unbuttoned his shirt with your other hand. “That’s nice.”

“Put these on.”

“Maybe you should help me.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“You can dress yourself.” You wrinkled your nose and he pouted.

“Would you do it for Elvis?” He said in that deep Southern drawl that shot heat through your entire body.

You shook your head.

“Fine, Darlin’, if that’s what you want.” Austin drawled out every word. How was it possible he didn’t slur in that accent, no matter how many shots he'd had, but when he spoke regularly he was barely understandable?

He pulled on the sweatpants, smirking when he noticed you eyeing his torso. How could you not? Austin was the perfect man, from the well-muscled arms that loved to pull you close at night to the deep V that led your eye straight to his… gray sweatpants. Just gray sweatpants. You tried not to think beyond that waistline.

“No touching, remember?” In an instant he was back to being himself, studying you with a more sober gaze- not sober enough to drive by any means, but sober enough to be aware of the effect he was having on you. Drunk enough to be cocky and a little mischievous about it. “You said I can dress myself.”

“Maybe you need some help with your shirt though.”

Austin pretended to mull the idea over, before sitting back with his arms up, letting you straddle him enough to pull the shirt down over his head.

Your lips were inches apart, his hands on your lower back, tugging you a little closer.

“I should get you more water.”

“You should kiss me.”

He tasted like everything; like whiskey and jagerbombs and vodka, like Austin underneath. Your Austin.

Most men could be a little forceful when drunk. They’d pull a woman too close or kiss her so hard their teeth clacked together, all tongues and hair pulling and possession. Then there was drunk Austin.

Austin was the opposite. His touches were feather-light and considerate when he was drunk, as if he thought he might hurt you with the slightest squeeze.

He pulled you closer just to press light kisses all over your face, from your cheeks to your forehead, nose and chin.

“I love you.” The drunk slowness in his voice was gone, though his lips still tasted like a night of fun.

“I love you too.” You kissed him on the lips. “Let me get you more water.”

This time, he didn’t protest. But he did follow you to the kitchen to wrap his arms around you from behind. Austin might not be a possessive drunk, but he was a clingy one. By the time you’d poured him a glass of water your neck had been peppered with kisses, his hands rubbing up and down the soft curves of your stomach.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you, baby.” You hummed at his touch. “Drink up. It’s Saturday tomorrow and I want to enjoy my weekend with you before my bachelorette party, preferably not by holding your hair back while you puke.”

“I’ll do my best not to be hungover.” Austin drank every drop of the water, and then another glass. He was still a little unsteady on his feet, but the glassy look was gone from his eyes.

“If you puke anywhere but the toilet, I’m postponing my party.”

He pouted. “Don’t do that. I feel fine, honest!”

Austin walked into the kitchen door, apparently not noticing it was closed until he smacked face-first into it. It took everything in you to stifle a snort.

“Let’s get you to bed.” You smiled, turning your head so his lips caught your cheek instead of your mouth. He whined a little (clearly not as sober as he looked) but allowed you to lead him to the bedroom.

Safely in bed and under the covers, Austin pulled you close and kissed the top of your head. “You take such good care of me.”

“Always.” He smelled like fabric softener from the clean pyjamas, but underneath there was his cologne, a dirty mix of musk, leather and sandalwood that suited him perfectly.

Austin was already half asleep, hand under your pajama shirt so he could feel the warmth of your back, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. The last thing you heard before falling asleep was the soft rumble of his voice. “I’m going to take care of you tomorrow. And every day after that. I promise.”

#austin butler #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #requests #austin butler request #austin butler fluff #austin butler drabble

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ceriseisland · 1 year

Text

Silver pressed his back against the rough bark of the tree, watching the water of the Viridian River flow swiftly by. The Viridian Forest was as menacing as it was beautiful, the vast green depths housing all manner of pokemon, and the local edict was to stick to the path to keep yourself safe. The rule didn’t apply to Yellow and Red of course, who whiled away their time by the river whenever Red was in town. Silver watched Yellow’s bobber float lazily in the current, feeling impatience prick him.

“So you guys… do this all day?”

“Pretty much,” answered Red, who was counting the leaves in the canopy. Several of their pokemon were sprawled about the clearing; Pika and Chu Chu napped together while Venusaur basked in a sunny spot to the side, listening to Raticate rustling in the grass behind them. Silver had let Weavile out too, and she rested her head on her claws in the grass beside him, looking up often, expecting instructions. “I’ll have to check on the gym in a couple hours here, but there’s never much to do when I’m in Viridian.” Red plucked some of the sugargrass that grew by the river, a plant prolific in the forest whose white stem tasted sweet when you sucked on it. “Oh, did I ever tell you about those people near the power plant last year?” Yellow shook her head, and Red launched into the story, which involved poachers, a bucket of paint, and a Spearow.

Silver didn’t know Red well, but he found him easy enough to get along with. Red spoke passionately and laughed easily, which contrasted well with Yellow’s quiet kindness. There was something about Yellow that was simultaneously very normal and ethereal, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she was nice enough, and no one knew Viridian better than she did. Silver had asked to spend the day with them because he wanted to get in touch with his Viridian roots, though he’d never say it that way out loud. But now that he was here, life in Viridian seemed as slow and meandering as the river, which Silver was struggling to comprehend.

Red finished his story and he and Yellow fell into their idle chit-chat about their friends and their pokemon, and news about how Blue’s training journey was going. “He’s in the Cerulean badlands now, last I heard,” Red reported. “I was thinking of going for a wander when he gets back and takes over the gym again.”

“Oh cool, where to?”

“Celadon, probably.” Red turned to Silver. “Have you been to the hills out there?”

“No. I haven’t spent much time in Kanto.”

“You should. It’s gorgeous out there, and there’s tons of strong pokemon to train against.” Silver sat up a little straighter; it occurred to him that he had never actually seen Red train. “You know, I think it was around Celadon that Blue and me accidentally exchanged our entire teams once. That was great. He drilled them so much they barely listened to me when I got them back.”

“What’s your training like? Do you think you could teach me?”

“Oh man,” Red laughed nervously. “I hate it when people ask me to teach them. I always just refer them to Blue.”

“Really? I would have thought teaching would be your thing.” Gold often bragged that Red had coached him, though from his description it sounded more like they had one battle and left the mountain to hang out at Red’s house.

“Red’s style is harder to replicate,” Yellow explained, and Red nodded.

Silver could get that. He had seen Red fight, and knew that his strength was creativity. Red’s genius came from thinking on his feet and making connections in the moment that few people could come up with. Compared to Blue’s highly technical approach, Red’s highly adaptive style was innate, something hard to hone and even harder to teach.

“I could try,” said Red. “Give you some advice, at least.” He scooted closer to Weavile, and the pokemon raised its head at attention.

Silver knew what to expect from being coached; he had been training with Lance and Pryce for a year now, and though they both had their own styles the idea was the same. Lance had Silver focus on building power, and Pryce, crafty as he was, examined every curveball that could possibly be thrown during a battle and worked through each situation individually, quizzing Silver on the topic and refusing to move on with the lesson until Silver came up with a good answer. He was always hitting his cane on the ground and telling Silver to think, making Silver prickle with irritation.

“Tell me why beam attacks like hyper beam are especially dangerous,” he quizzed Silver one day at the start of a lesson.

“Uh,” Silver had said, thinking about Lance’s special hyper beam technique. “Because you can train the beams to go in multiple directions.”

Pryce mulled that over. “I guess that’s possible. That’s not the answer I’m looking for, though.”

“Because they can be hard to dodge,” Silver guessed.

“That’s a novice problem. Come on, boy, you’re smarter than this.”

“Because they’re not a single hit, like a punch. A well-trained hyper beam can last for forty-five seconds.”

“And why is that a problem?”

“Because if it knocks you down, you’ll keep taking damage for the entire duration.”

“And how do you get around that?”

“By improving your pokemon’s recovery time, so you only take the initial hit.”

“Exactly!” Pryce snapped his fingers, and what followed was a brutal but effective training session on everything from recovery time to dodging and deflecting beam attacks. Silver thought that Pryce was trying to make up for what he had done in his own way by training him, and Silver hadn’t decided how he felt about that yet.

Red looked at Weavile, her eyes darting between the two trainers, and Silver waited for Red to tell him to think, but that wasn’t what Red said.

“How long have you known Weavile?”

Silver tilted his head. “My whole life, basically.”

“You must know each other pretty well, then.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

The answer must not have convinced Red, because he frowned. “When was the last time you played together?”

“Play?” Silver almost laughed, the idea was that absurd. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had relaxed. “I don’t have time for that.”

Red thought for a moment. “I’ll tell you a secret. You know that tournament battle I had with Lorelei last year?”

“Of course.” Everyone knew about that fight, where Lorelei’s newly trained Whiscash had filled the field with feet of muddy water and hid, striking out of nowhere, and Red had used the little-known fact that water pokemon have a slight pull effect on the water around them to beat her. Even Silver had never noticed that his water pokemon caused tiny ripples in water. These slight movements appeared over Poliwhirl’s head when it was submerged, and Red had used that to communicate with Aerodactyl about where to strike. He was famous for that maneuver.

“You wanna know how I got the idea?” Red was almost grinning.

“Of course.”

“I was walking with Poli in the ocean, and we started playing a game where Poli hid in the surf and I tried to find it. That was when I noticed I could tell where it was based on how the water bent around it, and later during that fight I remembered it and used it.

“That can’t be right. That’s how you came up with that?”

“You never know what your pokemon can really do unless you spend time with them.” Then he added a bit sheepishly, “That’s the best advice I have.”

Red sat back, digging up another strand of sugargrass. Silver looked down at Weavile, who still lay with her claws neatly crossed, and chewed over the idea of Red’s secret to success.

“So when you ‘go for a wander’, that’s basically the same as Blue going on a training journey?”

“I guess,” Red laughed. “It’s not like I don’t train. You try being best friends with Blue and not training all the time. I just think it’s all useless if you don’t have fun with your pokemon too. That’s the whole point of battling, right?”

No, Silver thought, the point of battling is to rid the world of people like Team Rocket, but he only said “I guess,” and looked down at Weavile again. The forest continued its lazy thrum, and Red and Yellow returned to their usual chatting about nothing. So this is Viridian, Silver thought as he listened to them talk about Bill’s latest invention and what Green had said the last time they had seen her, their plans to go looking for geodes later in the hills west of the city, and how good Raticate was at finding them. Silver thought about letting Feraligatr swim in the river, and how much Honchkrow liked having a copse of trees to caw out of.

“Is it alright if I stay a bit longer?” Silver asked, butting in without meaning to.

“Yeah, sure,” said Red, stretching. “It’s not like we have anything going on.”

Silver settled back against his tree, almost lulled into a nap while he watched Yellow’s bobber skip on the water that wended its way between the banks on its way through the forest and out toward the ocean.

#pokespe #fic #red #silver

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ikeromantic · 1 year

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CinderAlice pt. 3

The winner of the IkeRev 1K AU story poll was Cinderella! Featuring the Black Army guys and Alice as Cinderella. 1700 words Pt. 3/4

Part 1 Part 2

Alice left the heat and light and noise of the ballroom to take a break on one of the patios, where a small, beautiful garden glowed under the light of the stars. It was quiet out here, and she was alone. Well, almost alone. There was a dark gray cat perched on the rail, watching her with curious intensity.

“Aren’t you a pretty one,” Alice held her hand out to the cat. After a moment, the kitty sniffed it and then pushed her head beneath Alice’s fingers. “You must be a princess kitty, living in the palace. Do you have a tiara when you’re not on break?”

“A collar, actually.” The voice along with a smoky laugh came from the lit doorway behind her.

Alice turned her head to see who’d snuck up while her attention was on the cat. All she could make out at first was a silhouette. Broad shoulders, thick messy hair, slim hips. Then he moved closer, and in the dim light she could see his features more clearly. He wore a uniform like the palace knights, but somehow more refined. It was his striking, emerald green eyes that drew her attention though. He looked oddly familiar, especially in profile. “I-is this kitty yours?”

“Yeah. Her name is Belle.” He walked over and petted the cat as she twined around his outstretched hand. “She doesn’t usually warm up to strangers. You must be special.”

She wasn’t able to hold his intense gaze and looked away into the garden. This knight had a strong magnetism, a draw that made her feel a little tipsy when he complimented her like that. Alice hoped he didn’t notice. “Well, I did hold my hand there for a bit. So we got introduced properly.”

“That’s important.” The man nodded and suddenly held his hand out to her, to shake it. “I’m Ray.”

Alice took his hand and looked up at him again. He was, she thought, really handsome. A classic masculine beauty with natural charm. And his hand was warm and calloused and she could feel his thumb brush across her knuckles in a gentle caress. “I -”

A figure burst through the opening from the ballroom, clearly rushing. “There you are!”

“Luka?” Alice turned, half-stunned. It was definitely her neighbor, but he was wearing a proper suit and his hair was clean and pulled back, decorated with a lovely little clip. “What are you doing here?”

Ray released her hand with a chuckle. “Looks like you have a fan.” He smiled. “I’ll catch up with you later.” And then he left, back to the ballroom where he disappeared into the crowd.

Luka crossed the space between them and took hold of her shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Alice replied, flustered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He dropped his hands and looked away. “I saw you leaving in that strange coach. I was . . . worried.”

“Well . . .” Alice wasn’t sure how to respond. It was sweet for him to be worried, but his expression right now looked more sullen and a little embarrassed. “Thank you. For checking on me.” She paused, then added, “You look really nice, all dressed up.”

“You too,” he murmured.

She felt her heart squeeze in her chest at the compliment. “I wore the earrings you gave me.”

Luka glanced up, his eyes wide. The tips of his ears turned pink. He didn’t say anything.

Alice stared back at him, a fluttering sensation in her belly. She waited, but he only kept looking at her, his face going redder with each passing moment. “Uhm. I should . . . get back. But thank you again for checking on me. It was really sweet.”

As she turned to go, he reached out and caught her hand. “Wait. Please.” He took a shaky breath. “Would you dance with me?” His voice was rougher than usual, as if his throat constricted on the words.

“Here?” She looked around the porch. It was dark and quiet here, and smelled of blooming flowers and summer grass. Kind of romantic, she thought.

In answer, he took her hand and pulled her close. He set his other hand at her hip, and began to slowly move with the music. He wasn’t as skilled a dancer as Sirius, nor as wild and energetic as Fenrir, but there was something gentle and sweet in the swaying steps he took her through. They stood close, almost touching, palms pressed together.

Alice found she could not take her eyes off him for the entire dance. This was a Luka she didn’t know.

When the song ended, he stopped and let go of her hand. “I wanted to tell you -” He began, but a loud clapping and cheering from inside the ballroom interrupted him. They both turned to see what the commotion was.

A palace servant stood on the royal dais. “The Prince will now have his first dance.”

“Oh! Luka let’s go watch,” Alice said excitedly and hurried back into the ballroom where she quickly lost him in the crowded press of people. She wanted to memorize the moment she saw the Prince and watched him dance with one of the beautiful noble ladies at the ball.

A few moments later, the crowd on the other side of the ballroom opened and a man in uniform stepped forward. A familiar looking man, to Alice’s eyes. “Oh my . . . that’s Ray!” She clapped a hand to her mouth as she watched the nobles bow to him when he passed. She felt like such an idiot. She wanted to go hide somewhere, but she was frozen to the spot, watching him walk into the now empty dance floor.

Ray’s eyes scanned the crowd as he looked for the lucky woman that would be his first dance partner for the night. And then they stopped. The crowd around Alice parted as he moved toward her.

Alice could only watch in a sort of shock. This was too much, she thought. It was entirely impossible.

“Care to dance?” Ray leaned in, a mischievous grin on his face. “I promise I’m at least as much fun as Belle.”

“I - I . . . yes?” She let him take her hand and lead her out onto the dance floor. Everyone was watching and Alice felt horribly self conscious. But the music started and Ray had hold of her hand and her waist. His grip was warm and reassuring and there was something so relaxed about him that she couldn’t stay tense.

“You know, you’re a pretty good dancer,” Ray told her. “But I haven’t seen you at any ball before this.”

Alice nodded. “It’s my first.”

He laughed. “You must be a natural then.” His eyes almost seemed to glow as he studied her face.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier. I didn't realize who you were and I should have.”

Ray’s nose crinkled. “No, it’s kind of nice just getting to be Ray for a change, and not The Prince.” He spun her around and caught her against his chest. “Besides, I like the way you say my name.”

“Thank you. Ray.” She smiled up at him, feeling a rush of heat in her chest. Her smile felt so wide it almost hurt, and her heart thudded in her chest. “It was really great, getting to meet you. And Belle!”

“I feel the same way.” He dipped her down, his face coming so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her cheek. “I would like to get to see you again. But you know, I didn’t even get your name.” He pulled her back to standing with a grin, a question on his lips.

Before he could speak it, the bell tower struck the first chime of midnight. Alice’s eyes went wide. In just a few moments, her beautiful gown would turn to rags and she would be nothing but a serving girl again. She scrambled from his grasp as the tower struck the second chime.

The gathered crowd gasped as she pushed through them, running as fast as she could for the door. The third chime struck. The fourth. Alice darted past the door guard. The fifth bell rang. The sixth. Behind her, shouts and the sounds of pursuit.

As Alice fled down the stairs, she lost a shoe, but there was no time to pick it up. The seventh chime sounded. She leapt into her waiting carriage to the echoes of chime eight. By chime nine, the horses were moving and the coach rattled along behind them, leaving the palace and everyone from the ball behind.

“Just in time, sweetie. I was really getting worried there.” Seth appeared in the seat beside her. “Did you have a good time?”

“I did.” She sighed, glancing back at the empty street behind them. “I got to meet Sir Godspeed and Sirius and even the Prince. And Luka came!”

Seth giggled. “You will have to tell me all about it. I’m not surprised you got so much attention! I’ve half a mind to take you away from all this and keep you to myself. You are just too cute.”

Alice wasn’t sure if he was teasing or serious, but she decided to assume it was a joke. On the ride home, she told him all about it. How much she’d enjoyed dancing, how beautiful everything was . . . but she didn’t tell him how her heart had raced or the silly romantic thoughts that crossed her mind.

The next morning, breakfast was a loud affair. Druzilla and Anastasia chattered on about the ball and who they danced with. Druzilla was sure she’d caught the Prince’s eye because he smiled at her. Anastasia disagreed, because clearly he was looking at her. And of course, both of them discussed their theories of the mysterious woman that fled the first dance with the Prince.

Only Lady Tremaine was quiet, her steely gaze following Alice everywhere. Later in the day, the Lady even came to Alice’s tiny room and tore it apart, searching. She wouldn’t say for what. But she found nothing. Still, she had her revenge for crimes unproven, and gave Alice even more work that week. Scrubbing and polishing until her hands were raw and red, and her muscles ached.

Alice didn’t mind. The memories of her night at the royal ball floated through her mind. Music and beauty and the kindness of the people she’d met. It made her hope for something better, and more, to believe one day that something might be hers. Often, she found her thoughts drifting to one, special someone and remembering their touch. One day she might see them again.

Part 4

#ikemen revolution #ikerev au #ikerev ray #ikerev luka #ray blackwell #luka clemence #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #fluff #follower celebration

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phxntomsdusk · 9 months

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Eye on the ball - part 3 - masterlist

previous | next

summary: after being a bit too harsh, she finally realizes her mistake

warnings: swearing, wilma is mean again, comfort at the end

tags: @lillylvjy , @ax-y10 , @joviepog , @pheliiaa , @idontreallyexistyet , @rqvii , @vibestillaxxx (ask to be added!)

word count: 1.4k

“Mom, it’s too cold out. Do we really have to go?” You shivered under the blanket you wore, staring out the car window with a frown on your face. “Trust me, everyone will be fine. All the girls will be running around and getting warmed up, you should join them!”

The fall temperature was only dropping more and more, and yet the girls had a game today. You begged your mom to just cancel it because of the cold, but she refused.

Your thoughts were quickly disrupted at the sight of Wilma’s truck, a scowl taking over your features as your mom pulled in and told you to grab everything from the trunk.

You sighed and did as you were told, your blanket still wrapped around your body in an attempt to not freeze to death. As you went to pick up one of the bags, the breeze blew your blanket clean off your shoulders. “Jesus Christ.” You let out a frustrated groan, turning to retreat it.. only to see Wilma jogging over with it in her arms.

She stopped in front of you, handing it to you with a blank expression. You could only stand there confused, why was she being nice? Well, that was until she spoke.

“Are you gonna take it or stand there looking stupid?” Her harsh tone threw you off, but you quickly took it from her and wrapped it around yourself. “Thanks.” You pressed your lips into a thin line, going to grab the bag again, only for her to do it. “I’m not getting your blanket again, I’ll grab all of this.” She sounded annoyed, throwing the bag over her shoulder before making her way to the dugout.

You stared at her in confusion, one second she was nice, the next she was a total dickhead. “Hey, quit staring. Take my purse to the dugout.” Your mom patted your back to get your attention, dropping her bag strap around your neck.

Today was gonna be a long day.

The girls were throwing the ball back and forth for practice, while Wilma was pitching to your mom. You say on the dugout bench, your blanket wrapped around yourself, trying to warm yourself up.

You could hear other people complaining about the cold, many family members who came to watch were either sporting winter clothes or blankets just like you.

You pulled your phone from your moms purse to check some messages from friends, who were extremely disappointed you couldn’t hang out because of the game.

It was a little upsetting to say the least. You couldn’t really have a life outside a sport that you didn’t play, during the spring and fall seasons. All because your mom was a coach. You tried to explain it to friends, but they didn’t wanna hear it.

You set your phone down out of annoyance, closing your eyes and leaning your head back against the brick walls of the dugout. You heard everyone instruct the girls to get back inside them, which disrupted your peace as many girls started filing into the small space with you.

You waited for your mom, immediately standing up when you saw her, looking like a lost toddler as you approached.

“Mom, it’s way too cold out here. Can’t I just sit in the car? Or even better, my friends can pick me up and take me to their house?” You put on a wide smile at your own words, watching her roll her eyes and shake her head. You sighed as she walked away, completely brushing you aside to explain the batting line up.

You went back to your spot, only to see Wilma now sitting there. You gave her an annoyed look, getting closer and spoke quietly so nobody would hear. “That’s my spot. Move.” You sounded harsher than you hoped you would, to which she only laughed and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees.

“Right, right. Because I should listen to the coach’s precious kid?” Her tone was so annoying. You wanted to hit her or shove her to the ground, but you knew you couldn’t. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” You raised a brow at her, tucking your tongue behind your lip.

She stood up and chuckled to herself, her hand brushing against your waist as she leant down and whispered to you. “You love it, I see how often you stare at me.” She walked past you and went to grab her helmet, bat, and batting gloves. Leaving you completely stunned.

First she’s a bitch, then she’s getting flirty? What was wrong with her?!

The start of the first inning was slow, the other team hadn’t done that great of a job to get any of your team out. Two of your girls already ran through home, and the pitcher kept throwing balls.

When Wilma was up to bat it was amusing to see how frustrated she got from the bad pitcher, it was even funnier when she got hit in the leg by a fastball. But when you laughed, you earned a smack on the back of your head from your mom.

You were watching as Wilma ran through the bases whenever she could, but something about the way she kept glancing at you made you feel weird. Anytime she made it or slid across the dirt, she sent you a smile. It wasn’t a normal smile though, it was the type of awkward smile you’d give a cute guy if he looked at you.

Either she was messing with you, or.. she was just messing with you. There couldn’t be another option.

You watched as she slid through home plate, your team cheering for her, praising her, giving her high fives. This was exactly what she wanted.

You didn’t know it but she was over the moon about today. Your attitude from the cold weather made everyone’s attention fall onto her. She was receiving praise, the looks, the smiles. It was all about her.

Her jealousy basically melted away, and she was determined to keep it that way. She kept getting on your nerves because of this, making sure your mom wouldn't spare you a passing glance, and just focus on her.

The rest of the game was like this. It got to the point your mom started asking you to get the bats from the girls, pick up spare balls, etc.

You were annoyed of course, anytime you tried to ask for something she simply ignored you. If you tried to bring up a good point about the game, she brushed it off like it meant nothing.

It was starting to get to you, and the second the game was over, you rushed out of the dugout and desperately tried not to cry. You were so overwhelmed from being ignored, it was all piling up and it just.. hurt.

As you put away your things in your moms car, you heard footsteps approaching you. You quickly wiped your wet face and looked up to see Wilma.

“What do you want?” Your tone was as harsh as your expression was, shutting the car trunk and leaning your arms against it. “I just.. you were crying when you left. Are you okay?”

It threw you off. Her tone and expression were softer, acting as if she genuinely cared. Why did she keep doing this?

“I’m fine. Just go away.” You sighed and stood up straight, rubbing your arms with your hands to warm your body up. “You’re not. Listen, if it was because of me then..” She took a second to take a deep breath, stepping closer to you. “I’m sorry.”

Her words shocked you. She was apologizing?

You didn’t have time to respond before she cut you off. “Don’t say anything. I know you probably won’t forgive me, because I’ve been a bitch since day one. I didn’t mean to make you cry though. So, I’m sorry.” With that she walked away, leaving you speechless in the parking lot. You didn’t even fully process anything, just slowly got into the backseat of your moms car and let your emotions take over again.

You were so confused, leaving you to cry and try to figure things out. First she was so mean, to the point you were crying. And now she’s apologizing? Was she going to change? Was she going to be nicer?

What the hell was going on?

#phxntomsdusk #phxntoms fics #wilma soot x y/n #wilma soot x you #wilma soot x reader #wilma soot angst #wilma soot fluff #softball!wilma

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sjsmith56 · 1 year

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Aliens, Androids, and Wizards or The Best First Date Ever

Summary - Bucky agrees to a last minute date for a gallery opening that all the Avengers are expected to attend. On the way there the date gets interrupted by the arrival of an invasion force of aliens, androids and wizards, also known as “The Big Three.”

Length - 2.7K

Characters - Bucky Barnes, named female character, Sam Wilson, Uber driver.

Warnings - slightly grumpy Bucky, mild swearing, violence towards aliens and androids.

Author notes - Silly little story about rising to the occasion.

👽 🤖 🧙‍♂️

The two men were the last ones out of the quinjet and sat in the quiet after the others went on their ways. As the de facto leaders of the new incarnation of the Avengers they were the first ones on and the last ones off. They led by example and that included the extra obligations that went with the job, even the short ones that took hours instead of days or weeks.

“So, tonight’s the big night,” stated Sam, as he packed the suit away in its case.

“Mmmph,” grunted Bucky, as he finished packing his guns in his satchel. He would take them to the armoury and clean them up there before putting them into storage.

“You are going to the gallery opening, aren’t you?” asked the other man. “Pepper wants us all there and you committed to going. I heard you.”

“I know but my date cancelled,” replied the dark-haired super soldier. “Texted me this morning that she didn’t want to be on display. Can’t say I blame her.” He sighed. “I’m not cut out for publicity, Sam. I don’t enjoy meeting new people. Took me three weeks to work up the courage to ask Dana to the opening. Now she doesn’t even want me calling her anymore for coffee.”

Sam put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder in commiseration. He really had made an effort asking Dana out with Sam’s coaching. Standing up the two men made their way off of the aircraft and Bucky activated the control that raised the ramp, then locked access to it. After an hour cleaning his weapons he hit the showers, standing under the hot water and letting it run down his back as he contemplated picking up some takeout, going home, and watching a new movie on TV. Old movie to everyone else, but likely a movie he missed out on when it came out after his fall. He was surprised to see Sam still in the dressing room when he came out with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Do you have your suit here?” he asked. “I found you a date.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I don’t need your help in setting up a blind date,” he complained.

“It’s not a blind date,” replied Sam. “You know her. Her date cancelled as well.”

“Who?”

“Kelly from Logistics,” said Sam.

“Mouse?” Bucky rolled his eyes. “She’s afraid of everyone and everything.”

“She’s nice, just a little on the shy side. I already asked if she would go with you, and she said yes. You going to make me a liar?”

With an aggravated sigh Bucky pulled his locker door open and unzipped his suit bag. Shooing Sam away so he had some privacy he put his dress suit on, an all-black ensemble which he knew would draw some teasing, but he didn’t care. He felt comfortable wearing all black and the public liked seeing him in it, according to the PR people. Finishing adjusting the tie he locked the locker and put his jacket on, checking himself in the mirror before heading to the locker room door. When he exited, he was surprised to see Kelly standing by herself in the foyer by the elevator, looking nice, wearing a blue dress with a flowing skirt.

“Cap had to pick up his date,” she said, a little anxiously. “Thanks for doing this. I kind of have to be there, but crowds make me nervous.”

“Why?” Bucky noticed she winced slightly at the tone of his voice, so he coughed a little and asked again, a little quieter. “Why do you have to be at the art gallery?”

“One of my pieces is in it,” she answered. “I have social anxiety and I take art therapy. Pepper said it fit the theme of the gallery exhibit, Healing Through Art.”

“Right,” he replied. He should have remembered that as Pepper had tried to interest him in contributing something, somehow knowing he had taken art therapy. “We’ll have to get an Uber. I only had my motorcycle here.”

Gesturing for her to proceed ahead of him they went to the elevator while Bucky requested an Uber on his phone. He kept glancing at the shorter woman, noticing that her hair had a pleasant auburn colour. Normally she wore it in a low pony tail but it hung loosely about her shoulders tonight.

“So, why did your date cancel?” he asked, after they stepped into the elevator car.

She looked down and sighed. “He wasn’t a date. He was my boyfriend and we broke up. I found out he was cheating on me.”

Her face was so forlorn that Bucky felt bad for bringing it up. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “That’s a terrible thing to find out on what should be an exciting day for you.”

“Thanks, but I’m not surprised,” she said. “He always told me I was too quiet and reserved for my own good. I like staying home and watching movies while curled up on the couch.”

“Me too. Took me three weeks to work up the courage to ask my date out and she cancelled on me this morning. Said not to call her again. Something about always being in the public eye if she dated me. She wasn’t wrong.”

Kelly looked up. “She didn’t want to be seen with you?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I mean look at you. You’re like a male model, especially when you dress up. You look really good in that suit.”

Her words made him feel warm inside. It was then he noticed her eyes were hazel in colour.

“Thank you. You look nice as well. Blue is one of my favourite colours, especially when a pretty girl … sorry bad habit, pretty woman wears it.”

Kelly blushed but flashed him a smile that warmed him up even more. The elevator doors opened at the same time the Uber driver texted that he was outside. Quickly they headed out the door and into the waiting car. Giving him the address of the gallery Bucky sat back and looked out the window. As they got closer, they noticed that the traffic became significantly heavier before the Uber driver was forced to stop, unable to get out of the massive traffic jam. He looked at his phone to see what the holdup was. Turning around he looked at Bucky.

“You’re an Avenger, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Something’s going on in Times Square and it’s stopping traffic everywhere in Manhattan,” he said. “You might want to check on it.”

Checking the Avengers app on his phone that kept them all updated on anything that needed their attention Bucky swore at the message that Sam sent him moments before.

Sam: Guess what just hit New York? The big three, Bucky. THE BIG THREE! Have you left yet? We need weapons. I need the suit.

He turned to Kelly. “There’s trouble,” he said. “According to Sam it’s aliens, androids, and wizards.”

“The big three,” she whispered. “What can I do?”

“Do you think you can go back to the Tower and bring Cap’s suit, the shield and some weapons? I can authorize you to get to our things. Friday will let you in.” He looked at the Uber driver. “What’s your name? Can you go with her and bring back something for us to fight with?”

“Darius and hell yes!”

Bucky looked at Kelly, who everyone called Mouse because she always seemed so shy and timid. Her face was softly lit up by the streetlights, but she looked at him with determination.

“I can go back and get what you need,” she agreed. “Where should I bring them?”

He texted Sam, telling him the plan and waited for a response. While he waited, he made up a list of what to bring for Kelly, texting that to her when she gave him her number. Finally, Sam responded, and Bucky told Darius to bring everything to Bryant Park. As he prepared to get out of the car Kelly put her hand on his.

“Bucky, be careful,” she said.

“You, too, little Mouse,” he grinned, making her blush again.

Taking off from the vehicle he ran towards the commotion soon finding himself in the thick of it. A strange alien aircraft was hovering over Times Square with alien beings streaming out from it, accompanied by android creatures that unfolded into something larger when they landed. Dr. Strange, Wong and Wanda were there, dealing with the alien wizards that seemed to be the puppet masters, directing the beings who were fighting with the other Avengers already on the scene. Most of the Avengers were in formal dress, wielding lamp posts, stanchions and whatever else they could put their hands on. Seeing an android grab Kate Bishop, Bucky launched himself at the being, tearing his head off in the process and using it to bash another one who came close.

“Glad you joined the fight,” yelled Sam. “We have to get people away from Times Square. Too many of them are getting in the way.”

“Good luck with that,” Bucky yelled back. “It’s a free show, Sam. Everyone likes that. Besides, we have to get to Bryant Park to get our gear. We just have to get the big three to follow us.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Who’s watching their aircraft?” Sam looked at Bucky as if he were crazy.

“You think you can fly it?”

“I’ve flown lots of different aircraft,” replied Bucky, as he reached out with his vibranium arm and clotheslined another android, then ripped his arms off to use them as weapons. “They all work on the same principle. If I can steal their aircraft, they should follow it and try to get it back.”

“Let’s go then!” cried Sam and the two men began moving towards the alien aircraft, dealing with any of the androids and aliens that blocked their path.

As it was still hovering a good thirty feet up in the air Bucky asked for an assist from Sam. They had done it many times before when Sam was wearing the flying suit, but this was the first time they were trying it in civilian clothes, without the power assist that Sam’s suit could provide. Taking a run towards his partner Bucky timed his steps to place his right foot in Sam’s interlaced hands at the same time he lifted upwards with all of his strength. It was just enough for the super soldier to grasp the underside of the aircraft then he pulled himself to the cockpit window where an alien at the controls looked with surprise at the sight of Bucky just outside. Before he could react, Bucky punched through the window with his vibranium hand and grabbed the alien by what he assumed was his throat. Pulling the being through the window and letting him drop to the ground Bucky scrambled inside and dealt with another couple of aliens that rushed him before turning to the controls and figuring them out. Slowly he piloted the aircraft towards Bryant Park, drawing the attention of the other aliens and androids into following him.

“Bucky has control of the spacecraft!” yelled Sam to the others. “Force them to go to Bryant Park.”

Slowly, the combined Avengers herded the aliens and androids towards the open space of Bryant Park. It took some time to finally get there but the Uber car was nowhere to be seen. Bucky cursed, realizing they were probably still stuck in traffic.

“Weren’t they supposed to be here?” asked Sam. Where are they?”

Bucky shook his head. “Maybe caught in traffic?”

Both were interrupted by another rush of aliens and androids attacking them. Where they were coming from wasn’t evident as the ship that Bucky commandeered definitely wasn’t big enough to hold that many bodies. Suddenly they were both surprised by the appearance of the quinjet, which landed on an open space in the park. Both men ran towards the aircraft, waiting as the back ramp lowered. At the top of the ramp were Kelly and Darius, both of them loaded down with weapons.

“We had to run back, and Friday found out the roads were all blocked, so she unlocked the quinjet for us and piloted us here,” said Kelly. “We brought everything.”

Sam ran up the ramp and opened his flying suit container. Quickly removing his clothes, he slipped into his suit as Kelly and Darius brought the weapons down the ramp for everyone else. Bucky took his suit jacket and shirt off, replacing it with a singlet and his leather jacket with his built-in knife sheaths. Picking up some knives and his M249 SAW Paratrooper he strode down the ramp. Stopping beside Kelly he locked eyes with her.

“Well done,” he said, smiling, then he continued down the ramp and began to defend while the others took weapons into their hands.

Within moments they were all armed and spread themselves around the quinjet firing at the remaining aliens and androids, while Dr. Strange, Wong, and Wanda renewed their battles with the wizards that had brought the attack to earth. It was like the most fantastic lightning show of all time as bolts of energy flew out of their fingertips pushing the wizards back and up towards a newly created portal that opened above them. With bullets flying and furious hand to hand combat the other Avengers succeeded in pushing the remaining enemies into a tight group below their elevated wizards.

Darius and Kelly stood on the ramp watching the battle from their vantage point, laughing and cheering on the Avengers, until the two sorcerers and the Scarlet Witch were able to send the enemy force up into the portal and close it behind them, sending them into a void dimension with no chance of return. As soon as that portal closed there was a moment, after all the firearms had stopped firing, and the lightning bolts of magic stilled, where there was no sound at all, except for the far off sounds of car horns blaring from drivers still unaware what had caused the traffic gridlock. Then a great cheer started erupting from the perimeter of Bryant Park. As more of the crowd from Times Square descended on the park the cheers were accompanied by applause as the onlookers raced towards where the Avengers stood, catching their breath after the unexpected battle. Their dress clothes were torn and ripped, and most of them were splattered with the odd coloured blood of the aliens or the dark oily residue left from the destruction of the androids but all of them had that look on their face of satisfaction at a successful mission. Bucky looked behind him, seeing Kelly and Darius watching from the ramp. Raising his arm he waved them over. Kelly stood beside him, and he put his arm around her, holding her close to his side.

“You two saved the day,” he said, loud enough for her to hear over the sound of cheering. “But we didn’t get our date.”

“Are you kidding?” asked Kelly. “How many girls like me get to be involved in a battle helping the Avengers? It was the best first date ever.” Her eyes sparkled. “It’s not even 10 o’clock. The night’s still young.”

Bucky took a deep breath. “Why don’t we go back to the Tower, change into something more comfortable and go for a drink. You up for that?”

She nodded and he suddenly had the urge to kiss her. Good thing she had the urge to kiss him back and they met somewhere in the middle. When they broke apart Bucky made eye contact with Sam, who grinned knowingly at him. Normally it would have irritated Bucky to no end, but he felt good about what just happened. It was the best first date ever for him as well and the nicest part about it was that it wasn’t over yet. The possibilities were endless.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #fatws bucky #sam wilson #alien invasion #aliensandroidsandwizards #first date #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky fluff #fluff

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