#but every team has canadian players | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alwaysonf1 · 5 months

Text

oopsy?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 4.4k

Warning: Canadian NHL team shit talking. Middle fingers.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: N/A

As much as Iman doesn’t mind and is one hundred percent on board for all the filming and hanging out with the drivers, she's happy that it’s not an every day of the week and every class kind of thing. There’s a level of mental capacity it takes to deal with the people around her while doing this that she can’t maintain every day.

But today isn’t one of those days. Today they’re at a track and that’s one of her favorite places to be no matter where it is.

NOLA Motorsports Park hasn’t seen any real IndyCar action since twenty fifteen, but it’s still a place that some teams use when they want to test and practice in a place where it wouldn’t really be expected. Though there were times they did open the public stuff and in about a month there would be a McLaren sponsored karting tournament for kids already in and new to the world of motorsport.

Iman looks forward to that day because she enjoys helping the kids with their races and even more so helping them understand how their karts work. She was even going to be in charge of a more informational segment that she knows is going to be boring as hell, but hopefully insightful for kids and their parents.

The sport can be hard enough getting into it and she wanted to make it easier for them. Even if she felt a little like a fraud speaking as her path hasn’t really been from the ground up like half the kids there.

But at the moment what she’s most happy about is that she isn’t the one making the drive to the track. The place is over an hour from her apartment and though it rarely feels that long it’s nice to have someone else to do it.

Though she could do without being sandwiched between her brother and her new frenemy, Lance.

“It’s a Canadian sport. And they are original, how could you dislike them? They have more championships than Seattle has in years playing. I mean I like them too, but come on, Iman.”

The entire rant is funny and it’s the same argument they’ve had twice now after he found out that she enjoys hockey. They’ve talked a little about football too, but the moment she enacted her duty of humbling a Canadian it’s been a back and forth of him being flustered over her dislike of almost all the Canadian teams in the NHL. Most of it being due to her disdain for certain players - most of which for petty reasons and some because they’re assholes.

She reaches out and pats his leg, giving him a soft and kind look that’s only playfully condescending.

“How about we pick this back up when a Canadian team breaks their thirty year streak of not winning the Stanley Cup. Something multiple players in Seattle have done in that time period.”

“You went there?”

“I went there.”

Lance huffs and puffs. He tries to say something, but every time his mouth opens he closes it again. If I didn’t notice the way he wanted to laugh and the resignation in his expression I would fear I’d genuinely offended him, but I know I hadn’t. Poor man knew it was the truth, even if it was a painful one.

“It’s their year.”

“Who’s year?”

He sighs. “I don’t know. One of them.”

“Leafs?”

At that he makes a face that can only be read as disgust.

“You’re mad at me and you don’t even like them.”

“I’m obligated.”

“I get it.”

Because she does. That conditionally and sometimes fake patriotism got the best of her too.

She opens her mouth to bring them back to common ground by shitting on Vegas, but for the tenth time there’s a pull at some strands of hair at the back of her head. Eyes narrowed she turns her head to look at her brother. Who doesn’t even bother to look away or remove his hand.

“Why?”

Lewis shrugs.

Rolling her eyes she reaches up and pulls on one of his braids, earning a swat to her hand.

“Don’t pull my hair,” he says.

“Then don’t pull mine.”

And he does it again.

Like the child she sometimes is, she goes to retaliate, but the van rolls to a stop and she settles for glaring at him.

“Ha.”

“Oh, shut up.”

With the last word she follows the others out of the van, “accidentally” kicking Lewis on her way out. By the time he’s out and able to get her back she’s already standing at the front of everyone barely suppressing a gleeful smile. He joins the group and flips her off in a covert way and she does the same.

Not them doing that on the low mattered since the cameras weren’t focused on the group yet. Every camera person is huddled together talking amongst themselves.

“Is that a McLaren indycar?” Alex asks.

“Sure is.”

Daniel raises his hand, a broad smile on his face. “Are we going to get in it?”

“Maybe.”

That seems to shock everyone, but there is some giddiness to it. One would think that a group of men who raced for a living and who would be back to doing it in about a week wouldn’t be so eager to get into a car. But then again that’s the driving force of why some of them do it for a living.

Before anyone can say anything else Anne walks up and the camera surrounds them. Anne gestures to Iman and she takes her cue.

Iman hitches her thumb backward. “This is where I do a lot of my internship work during the school year. Though it’s not often used for pro-racing, it is used for testing. And that’s what McLaren’s Indycar team is doing here for the next month or so. And today you’ll be helping me with work.

“All of you know there is some level of secrecy going on with this stuff, but everything you see and hear today will be things that are known to the public or that no one cares about anyone else knowing. Plus, this testing is for this past season's car, not the coming one.

“We’re going to get a tour of the place and then get to work. Any questions before we get things going?”

The group is quiet and after a few seconds Iman nods and then turns. She leads the group up to the pit lane where McLaren mechanics await them. There are greetings and then another explanation of what they’re doing there. Then they’re led off on a tour of the spaces. They field questions from the drivers and to round out the tour they end up back in front of where they started.

“Okay, so we’re trying to figure out what went wrong with this engine during one of the races this season. We had to replace the whole thing and it didn’t become a priority to take it apart and find out, so that’s what we’re doing now to see if there’s anything we need to change in the future,” the head mechanic says.

He looks around at everyone in the way one does when ensuring that they have a listening audience.

“Okay, so you’ll see what Iman and our team do to figure that out. I know this could be more exciting, but we decided this is a good glimpse to really show what she does and in a way we’re comfortable showing. You’ll pair off and our people will explain what’s going on. Feel free to ask questions and point out any oddities you see, we need all the eyes on this that we can get. It’s all preliminary, so they won’t be at it for long and then that’s where the fun begins.”

He shares a mischievous smile with Iman and by the looks of everyone it makes them a bit unsettled.

“What does that mean?” Lance asks.

Iman shrugs. “You’ll see. Now go get changed.”

They do what she says even though she could see the questions they want to ask.

About ten minutes later everyone returns in coveralls. Iman is already dressed in the clothes she works in so she’s sitting on a rolling chair when they return.

“Ready?” she asks.

They nod.

“Okay, I’m not going to treat this like a class room so everyone in groups of two and then you’ll be with one of us.”

Much like all Iman’s years of school, all the drivers freeze. Then they all scramble toward their chosen person. Despite the small group - or because of how small it was - some end up losing out. It takes all of her not to burst into laughter when Carlos goes for Charles and Lewis snatches up the Monégasque. Which means Carlos is with Daniel. The man pouts while Daniel grins ear to ear, but you could tell it was more playful.

Lewis and Charles laugh at their antics and Iman knows that those two groups are going to be a chaotic mess.

And because she’s so busy holding back giggles at their nonsense, she misses the chance to grab a group that doesn’t contain her brother. She knows that part of this whole thing is wanting them to be together, but she would be a bad little sister if she didn’t act indignant about it.

“I guess I’m stuck with you too,” she says, rolling her eyes.

Lewis grins. “Yes, you are. You’ll love it. Won’t she Charles?”

Both men turn their heads to face each other and they share similar grins. Then they turn to her and she sees devious intentions in their eyes. Iman feels like they’re plotting against her and she doesn’t like that.

“Of course. We are a delight,” Charles says.

Now she really knows they’re going to be a handful. Though she hopes putting them to work will help.

“Sure, you will be. How about using that delightfulness to help me disassemble this.”

She gestures to the problem engine. She’s to take care of that one while the others look at two others. Both of them cling to their little creep show and then finally nod and help her disassemble the thing. Lewis is a little competent in it because she always talked about it and forced him to learn, but Charles is a little surprising to her. But it’s nice to only have to give a little guidance and get to focus on her work.

Of course she gets so into it that she forgets that she should probably talk to them a little after Charles clears his throat. By the sounds of it he’d been trying to get her attention for a little while.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“You work for McLaren?” he asks.

“This year.”

“Only this year? They seem very okay with this for such a short time.”

“Once before, but for a shorter amount of time then. I’ve done about four internships, two of them with them. One in Nascar and another for a different IndyCar team.”

“Wow, that’s a lot. How do you find the time?”

“I don’t. Just chaos twenty-four seven.” She laughs. “But to be fair, the first IndyCar was when I was a senior in high school. They were doing a program for kids of that age to get them interested and I was a test subject. Since my mother worked for them it was more likely they’d get better feedback versus the kids who might be scared saying anything could get them blacklisted.”

“Really?”

Iman smiles. “Really. There weren’t many issues and nothing major though, so it was fine.”

“No, I mean in high school?”

“Yup. It’s what happens when you tell the people in your life what you want to do for a living and they have the connections. The moment my mom knew I was serious she had me applying everywhere and brought me in to shadow her and anyone else she could have agree. I was annoying, but good enough that they didn’t tell her to stop.”

Talking with Charles is easy and the conversation is one that helps her focus on the task of disassembling the unnecessarily greasy mess that is her side of the engine. Something is peaceful about it too. Nice even.

When she looks up and past Charles to her brother Iman sees a weird expression on Lewis' face. It’s one he wears when he knows something or thinks he knows something and a weird smile. She wants to question it, but thinks better of it. Knowing Lewis it will irritate her and there is a part of her brain that is sure she knows what that look is for and she refuses to address it.

Not stepping into that shit show. Nope.

“Okay, what happened?” Lewis asks.

“It stopped the car completely and then when we went to check it there was a small-ish fire.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was the furthest from the fire, Lew.”

There’s some grumbling, but his expression and body language mellows out. Not much though. For some reason Iman looks to Charles for support, but instead she’s on the receiving end of a look that gives off mild anger and a silver of disappointment. Of course she doesn’t know Charles well enough for her to fully understand his expressions, but she’s familiar with the reactions of siblings.

Iman groans. “Oh come on. Not you too.”

“I’d be mad at my brothers for it as well,” Charles says.

Lewis fist bumps the man and they both stare Iman down as if expecting something like an apology from her. One that she isn’t willing to give, because while she gets the worry and is appreciative of it - especially when Charles barely knows her - this is her job. She’s made a career choice and these kinds of situations are the kind of shitty parts that she expects and that need to be expected. Especially from people who’ve seen their fair share of chaos and tragedy in the world of motorsport. She knows that that’s probably why they’re worse about it. But Iman also knows that there’s something more to it.

Instead of indulging them she rolls her eyes and focuses on the engine. They join in after a couple seconds and she guides them through it, telling them the running theory on what they think caused the fire and answering the questions they have about all the ways their hypothesis could be true.

The help feels nice. They don’t slow her down at all and even if they did she realizes that she wouldn’t mind it. Their interest makes it enjoyable.

By the time they finish they’ve mostly ruled out what it wasn’t but have no confirmation on if what McLarens mechanics think went wrong did. It’s frustrating, but Iman knew enough about the job to know that eliminating possibilities was sometimes better than finding the answer right away. In this case it meant she could catch anything that was also an issue, but didn’t get its chance to show out. And there were at least two of those issues she had to document.

Iman follows the other mechanics to give a report and compare notes and she returns changed into clothes she brought with her. When she emerges on the track the drivers are also back in their clothes and standing in front of some of the newest cars from their respective brands or the creators of the engines their F1 car uses.

Lance is looking at her with a raised brow as she enters their field of view and the others appear curious.

“What’s happening here?” Daniel asks, though with how giddy he is Iman knows he knows.

“Friendly race.”

As if they weren’t professional drivers that did this multiple times a year an electric kind of excitement filled the circle. It’s classic teenage boy behavior as they nudge each other and talk shit.

Anne steps in and grabs everyone’s attention.

“We’re going to have a friendly race. Everyone will be paired up and though there is only one tandem here, you can’t be paired with your teammate.” There is some groaning from the Ferrari boys. “And, because we have a McLaren IndyCar driver here waiting around, Pato O’Ward, will be joining in on the fun.”

Pato appears the moment his name is mentioned. He wears a wide smile and shyly waves to the group.

“Hey, guys. Hope you don’t mind me crashing this.”

“Dibs!” Daniel yells.

Everyone startles, but then it’s a bunch of eye rolling and some bashfulness from Pato.

“That’s fine, Daniel. I was going to choose who gets who, but it's free for all. So pick yo…”

Before Anne can finish what she’s saying everyone scrambles and Iman crosses paths with Lewis. She knocks into him, sending him a little off kilter and with enough force that he ends up next to Carlos and her next to Charles.

“Hey!” he shouts.

Iman waves. “Hi.”

“You know what.. How dare… Why?”

“I haven’t caused you suffering in a while, which I’m obligated as a little sister to do. Also I’ve driven many Mercedes. I want to try out a Ferrari. Plus, even if I didn’t go for Charles the odds of me reaching Carlos before Lance chooses between him and Albon were low. Shit end of the stick, Lew.”

Everyone laughs as they watch a series of emotions play on the man’s face. He huffs and puffs as he tries to find the words.

Realization dawns on Lewis’ face.

“Wait. No. You’re not racing. You can’t… This isn’t… No.”

Every sentence he starts is clearly going to lead to the interaction turning from funny to a little more serious, so Iman lets him work through finding his words.

“Then you shouldn’t have taught me how. I’m not the one who got grounded at his big age for letting me race a car by a woman who is not their mother.”

Alex snickers. “Wait. He did?”

“Yup. Of course she couldn’t make it stick, but she was trying hard to figure out all the ways she could.”

Lewis winces, probably remembering it. Then he rolls his eyes and sulks. “Fine.”

With a much gentler smile Iman walks over and places a kiss on Lewis’ cheek and ruffles his braids, then retakes her spot next to Charles. Though he fights against it she watches the sulking stop

“Okay, just don’t cry to her or dad when I kick your ass.”

“Bring it.”

Anne retakes control of the conversation and directs everyone to their cars. They’re all given helmets, because this is hot lap adjacent.

“Everyone will get one lap, then you’ll swap. This is about speed and I know that every one of you is capable of doing this in this type of vehicle, but I’m reminding you all to be safe. Nothing crazy unless you’re sure you can execute it without risk to yourself and everyone else. Got it?”

There’s a chorus of agreement.

They all discuss who is going first, but Iman just directs Charles to the driver’s side. He looks at her with a brow raised in question, but then he follows her gaze and sees that Carlos is taking this lap. He smiles and nods.

Once in the car they strap in and Charles takes a few deep breaths. They’re given the signal to get into place and they get into a formation that works for them. Charles looks at her, a smirk on his lips that is equal parts cocky and confident.

“Ready?”

“Yes, I am.”

He extends his arm, his hand in a fist. Iman bumps it without question. Then they both turn forward and wait for the go ahead.

Despite seeing it at the same time as Charles and preparing herself, Iman's heart drops to her ass once he hits the gas. It takes a few seconds for her to chill out and by then they’re on the first turn.

Charles drives seamlessly and despite the blur of their surroundings Iman doesn't feel like she’s going terribly fast. Then a Mercedes sails by and then another. Without having to think about what’s happening. He is pushing it, but he’s holding back.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t let loose Charlie.”

He barely glances at her, probably to gauge if she means it, and then he pushes it. In about ten seconds he’s passed one of the cars in front of them and is fighting off the other. The others behind them catch up and it’s a battle back there, but it’s irrelevant to the one in front of them.

At every instance he tries to get around the Mercedes she knows Carlos is driving, but despite almost getting past he misses the mark by half a second. Before they know it they’re crossing the finish line barely behind the Mercedes. There’s a three way tie for the others about two seconds later.

And then everyone exits their cars. There’s some bragging and arguing. As Charles and Iman change sides he lightly bumps into Carlos with a frown on his face. He’s trying to seem upset, but the smile he’s wearing is wide.

“What about being comrades?” Charles jokes.

Carlos laughs. “Not here.”

Iman slides into the driver’s seat and takes a few deep breaths as her fingers trace the steering wheel. Nerves creep in, but they leave her the moment she feels a hand on her shoulder. She turns to see Charles looking at her with a bit of concern.

“Are you okay?”

“A little bit of nerves. Nothing I won’t shake as I put them behind us.”

That brings back the smirk that he wore when he was behind the wheel. There was obviously going to be some uncertainty about her being the only non-driver in the race, but as she smiles back at Charles she realizes he didn’t bring that up or seem bothered when she snatched him up from someone who he’d seen do this for a living. It was a nice reassurance. Even if she knew damn well she could hang with the big boys. At least in this kind of situation, behind an F1 car was another thing entirely.

A muffled shout interrupts the moment and Charles puts down his window, revealing Lewis with his own down. He’s smiling, but it’s that stupid lazy one he puts on when he’s feeling himself.

Annoying man.

“Ready to lose, Immy?”

Of course he uses that nickname while being annoying.

“You should be asking yourself that, LuLu.”

“Well, I am a seven time…”

Iman flips him off and he shuts up, looking appalled. Charles puts the window back up while laughing, but she catches Lewis’ returning the gesture.

Again Charles reaches out and they bump fists. Then it’s lights out and away they go.

In comparison Iman’s take off is delayed, but despite the few inches everyone has in front of her when she does get going, she closes and surpasses it. She puts her speed over one hundred and keeps it there on the first turn. Lewis pulls ahead and so does Lance, but she manages to evade being boxed out and puts a little over a second between them.

The next turn has her losing speed a little, but she regains it and keeps herself next to Lance and Daniel for the straight and then on the next turn, she guns it. With ease she ends up in front of Lance and then she’s next to the Mercedes. Lewis increases speed, but it doesn’t beat her out. In the final turn she does what she did in the last one and pushes the car to its limits. The last few feet before the end of the track are a close race, but at the last second she pushes further.

With her speed the car goes past the finish, but it’s a second or two before her brother crosses the line. Everyone else trails by a second or more and then they all leave the car. Iman is shaking from the speed and the excitement. Charles rushes over and pulls her into a hug she happily returns.

“That was great. No, excellent. You crushed it,” Charles says.

“Thank you.”

There’s some shit talking, but they all praise her.

Lewis is pouting, but it’s not fooling her at all. He’s the last to pull her into a hug and it’s tight.

“You did fucking phenomenal, Immy. I didn’t expect that. You blew away all expectations,” he says.

As he pulls away he kisses the top of her head and refuses to let her go. Pride shines on his face and she feels even more proud of herself. She feels like she’s the shit. There are no delusions of grandeur on the level they’re at, but she beat multiple professional racers at something adjacent to their own game and that’s good enough.

“I did learn some things from the best,” she says.

He laughs, throwing his head back a little and then pulls her into another hug. They pull away and Pato walks up, patting her arm.

“Maybe you should be in Nascar, that was better than your IndyCar test,” Pato says.

“Her what? You’re what?” Lewis moves so fast to look at Pato and Iman that he should have whiplash.

“Uh…”

Pato winces. “Was that supposed to be a secret?”

“Iman Marie Hamilton. You’re what?”

He moves toward her just as she ducks behind Charles. With how serious - but not in a bodily harm way - he looks she’s sure Charles is going to move out of her brother’s war path, but he reaches a hand around and takes hold of her shirt. As Lewis tries to get around him he moves with her, using the shirt to leverage her.

“Maybe we should forget this and go to dinner.”

Sweet Charles is trying to de-escalate, but it’s not working and that’s in part because he can’t stop himself from giggling. Which turns Lewis ire from just Iman to both of them.

“LeClerc. Is this the war you want?”

Everyone holds their breath and seconds tick by.

“Yes.”

And without a word Iman breaks into a sprint with Charles following suit. Carlos has chosen Lewis' side so he goes for his teammate. Pato and Lance run interference for Iman while Alex and Daniel join in the sport of being the first to get to Charles. It’s chaos and it dissolves into laughter and labored breathing so quickly. Yet none of them stop.

You’d think they were all a bunch of children and not very much grown adults. But it’s so funny that Anne puts the camera people to work chasing them down for all the actions.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x black reader #f1 x reader #f1 x black!reader #formula one x black reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x black!reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fan fiction #f1 fanfic #f1 fan fiction #f1 imagine #formula one x oc #formula 1 x oc #charles leclerc x oc

155 notes · View notes

thinkingaboutjaedyn · 6 hours

Text

my heart over yours; part two | j.fleming x reader

prompt: your attention is suddenly not fully on jessie and she's not taking it well.

author notes: here's the part two y'all wanted 🥳 thanks for all the love on the first part like i swear i seen everything, just too nervous to say anything back lmaoo. regardless i hope this meets expectations 💗 enjoy! p.s. i swear the fic reads better while listening to the song...

contains: ucla!jessie x reader, childhood bestie!jessie, jealous!jessie, jeffery is trying to not tweak out 💔 #failed, reader is sorta of a bad gf/about to be gf to blondie, slight guilt tripping (?) not on purpose, spelling / grammatical issues maybe ignore them, jessie is sorta mean in this..

part one

playing been away by brent faiyaz 🎵

you don't answer jessie's question right away. easily being able to spot the badly hidden irritation in her voice, she could never hide her emotions from you. your heartbeat picks up as you look away from your screen. your eyes landing on your wall before you say anything. jessie asks something else before you can even answer her first question; "what did you say?"

"jess, what do you mean what did i say? if i said i forgot.. and.." you try to figure out what to say but can't find the words to tell your bestfriend that you forgot her game and technically can't make it because of a date with some girl you hardly know from class. jessie stays silent as she gets up out of the hotel bed. leaving her phone on the bed, her camera just facing the ceiling. you narrow your eyes in confusion, but before you could even say anything jessie comes back into the frame.

she grabs her phone then sets it up against something on the nightstand next to the bed. your confusion worsens as you notice some type of shirt in her hands as she walks back a little so that most of her is in the frame; now that you can fully see her you notice that she's wearing your plaid pajama shorts and your hoodie.

"so that's where my clothes went?" you say in a joking tone, trying to lighten the mood. you smile once you see jessie let out a soft giggle. she shakes her head before holding up the shirt; showing off the backside that has your last name on it. now that you can see what the shirt actually is you can see it's a national canadian team jersey. you let out a loud laugh of disbelief, not expecting to see your name on the back in of a national team jersey ever. "jessie..what..?" you say, a smile on your lips.

jessie holds up the jersey for a few minutes before moving out of frame to go put it back near her bag on the other side of the room. she comes back to the phone, picks it up, and lays down on her bed.

"all of the team said we should get you this since you're always at every game.. sometimes.." you giggle hearing jessie say sometimes, she gives you a little eye roll before continuing, "and we were going to surprise you with it this weekend but.."

her trailing off makes you frown. guilt rushes into your mind. you have been to a majority of the canadian national team's games especially if they happened in canada; it just felt natural to support jessie and pretty soon after attending your fifth game, you weren't just attending for jessie. you went to the games to see the other national team players as well. with the whole team becoming close to you just as they are close to jessie. you're basically a honorary player.

"god, jessie-" again you try to explain yourself more, but she cuts you off again. "sorry i just keep not letting you talk, but, god.. you don't have to come if you don't want to. it's not like i want to guilt you into doing something. never that," jessie says softly. you let out a sigh at how kind-hearted jessie can really be. she was a true sweetheart.

you go silent for a few moments. thinking about the current situation and how you could possibly not hurt anyone's feelings in the process. jessie was your top priority, but sasha didn't deserve to just be blown off. she wasn't too bad; she was really a good person too. it didn't feel fair to just drop her. you let out a soft gasp when an idea comes to your mind. jessie furrows her brows as you say, "i'll come but i have to talk to sasha first. you know about the date. don't wanna just blow her off."

"oh, okay. yeah that's.. whatever," the freckled woman tries to hide the irritation that's back in her tone. why did you have to talk to sasha about anything? especially something pertaining to you and jessie, not sasha. you hardly knew the girl and now you needed her opinion on decisions that frankly don't have nothing to do with her? it was slowly pissing jessie off. she fights off to urge to say that you actually don't have to talk to sasha first and you could just get on the first flight to san diego instead of wasting your time on some blonde chick who doesn't even know you; well, doesn't know you like how jessie knows you.

she wasn't even your girlfriend, just some date. hardly that, more like a project partner.

you can hear the irritation in her voice easily, again, jessie couldn't hide her emotions around you to save her life but you don't address it. reminding yourself to talk to her about it when you come down to san diego for the game.

soon enough the conversation moves away from anything sasha related with you not wanting to annoy jessie any further. she rambles to you about this show she's been watching throughout camp and how when she went to the beach she got thrown in the water and also how she saw this shop that she thinks you would like and so much more. that short time period where it felt like you two hardly talked really took it's toll on her, who else could she talk to about anything and everything? no one else. that period of time took it's toll on you too. you didn't realize how much you missed jessie until you talked to her for hours.

that night she refused to let you hang up, not that you were going to. asking (pouting at you) for you to fall asleep on facetime with her. you obviously agreed; falling asleep first. once you fully fell asleep, jessie took a few facetime photos. putting them in her folder in her gallery that she has for you. eventually she drifts off to sleep too. sasha long forgotten.

in the morning you're the one who hangs up first at the dismay of jessie. the canadian player tried her hardest to get you to stay on the phone until she had to go training which was in two hours. unfortunately, you had a morning class and felt weird about staying on the phone while in a classroom of nearly hundred people.

"i'll be silent, c'mon," jessie pouts. her hair is an absolute mess, stray hairs flying everywhere out of her loosely tied ponytail. she's still so tired. you can tell by how she's trying to keep her eyes open; her tired voice makes you smile.

"no, jess, you c'mon. you are so noisy when you're getting ready," you say. jessie lets out a groan before shaking her head, "no i'm not. i think you confused yourself with me because that's all you."

"stop lying to yourself, freckles."

"whatever, whatever. go ahead and leave me here.. all alone.." you roll your eyes at jessie's dramatics. she groans again when even her dramatics don't work. you finally hang up after promising her that you would call her tonight. she texts you hardly a minute after you hanged up,

freckles 💗

you woke me up, left, and now i can't sleep 😐

you

that's not even my fault

blame ucla

freckles 💗

im not saying you should have skipped class for your long term bestfriend..

but im not saying you shouldn't have

you

did someone replace my bestfriend?

my jess always forced me to go to class so..

freckles 💗

👎👎👎

not replaced it's called upgraded

you send a few texts back before slipping your phone into your bag. it seems that jessie falls back to sleep as you don't feel no vibrations from your phone as you walk to your first class.

the day passes by slowly as you bounce from class to class. why did you pick this major again? you can't even remember at this point. jessie sent you a few photos of her eating breakfast earlier. those made you smile and feel a little less exhausted. if only she was here. the day continues on and eventually you reach the class where sasha is in.

you two haven't talked since she asked you out yesterday. you were busy talking to jessie and you guess sasha had other things to do as well. now she's sitting next to you in class. sasha's playing with your fingers while telling you about how she struggled to cook dinner last night. you make a few jokes about how she could probably burn water if she had the chance which makes her give you a playful push to the shoulder.

"uh, sash. can i call you that?" you ask softly, unsure about giving her a nickname. sasha smiles, "of course you can. it's better than blondie, you know."

"who calls you that?"

"idiots who don't know me," she gives you a cheeky smile before shrugging, "but you do know me so don't call me blondie. alright?"

you give her a nod while smiling. the woman has a good sense of humor, you won't deny it. not like jessie's but funny. you mentally scold yourself for comparing the two; they are two different people, obviously they won't act the same.

"alright. anyways, i have something to ask you," your eyes glance over to the door of the classroom where your professor now comes though, "after though. our professor finally decided to show up." sasha giggles at your jab before nodding, pulling away from touching your hand.

the lecture lasts for nearly three hours. with the professor at the end reminding everyone to turn in their projects next week. good thing you and sasha finished that huge hunk of work earlier in the week; you didn't feel like stressing about that while down in san diego. sasha holds onto your arm as you two walk out of class then towards her dorm. "i didn't know rather your question was something important, so i wanted to give us some privacy. you know," sasha smiles as she lets your arm go.

"yeah, i get it," you walk into the vaguely familiar space after she unlocks the door. dropping your bag onto the floor next to her bed before sitting on it. you watch sasha slip her shoes off before joining you on the bed; shoulder to shoulder. for some reason you shift away, not out of rudeness. you just didn't want to be that close right now. if sasha cared she didn't say anything.

"okay, so, do you know about the usa vs canada friendly that's happening in san diego over the weekend, right?" you say, remembering how sasha and you talked about soccer sometime ago.

"yeah. what about it?"

"you know my bestfriend, jessie?" you don't notice how sasha purses her lips hearing you say jessie's name, you continue, "she plays for canada and i always go to her games. i been missing her and her entire team, so i planned to go to the game this weekend and forgot to tell you. i don't regret saying yes to the date, but i was thinking.. instead of going on the date you could come with me to the game? it would be so fun, i swear!"

sasha was feeling conflicted at first. she wanted to spend time one on one with you, so you two could possibly further this relationship between you but having the opportunity to go to an international friendly wasn't usually given to her. "yeah! okay, let's go. i been wanting to see the usa play for so long anyways," she gives you one of her usual bright smiles. seeing that smile calms your nerves. now you just had to tell jessie.

you spend almost ten minutes in sasha's dorm. just playing around and talking before you notice how it's starting to get late. sasha walks you all the way out of her dorm building, telling you to sleep well as you leave. you give her a smile before continuing to walk away.

the moment you get into jessie and yours dorm, you text her.

you

i asked sash if she wanted to come to the game

she said yes

can you get her a ticket pleasee. all the good ones sold out

freckles 💗

who is sash??

you

sasha..??

jessie just came back from training, already having taken her after practice shower and changed into some sweatpants and a hoodie. she wanted to be ready to facetime all night, no interruptions. she wasn't expecting you to text her about sasha; at least not like that. after last night, jessie almost prayed for you to text her the next day that you were coming alone. she didn't expect you to text that you invited sasha to her game. and now you're giving this blonde chick nicknames? all jessie can do is roll her eyes. she fights the urge to lie and say that she couldn't get any tickets; that the game is fully sold out, but she knows you would catch that lie easily. while jessie's thinking about it, her phone vibrates with another text from you.

you

im going to get in the shower

text me yes or no

if yes send the ticket 🙏 ur a lifesaver if yes

your text makes jessie sigh. she doesn't want to disappoint you even if it kills her. around ten minutes after you sent that text, she starts to ask around if she could get a ticket for the game. claiming it was for "a friend" she cringed saying that, but regardless. it wasn't hard to get a ticket, she is a player after all.

you get out of the shower an hour later. you're drying your hair as you move over to your bed to grab your phone; noticing a text from jessie. you smile as you read,

freckles 💗

i got one

*photo attachment sent*

you can give it to her when she comes down with you i guess

i'll just give it to you

you click on the photo, zooming in to see what seat sasha will be sitting at. your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you realize the seat on her ticket is on the other side of the stadium, away from you.

you

bro jess

that ticket isn't even near me 😭

freckles 💗

you didn't say anything about wanting the ticket to be near you

be clearer next time what 👎👎

you

be so serious..

jessie facetimes you and obviously you answer. now sitting down on your bed, your phone propped up against a plushie near your pillow. you sitting slightly to the side, trying to braid your hair. once jessie phone connects, she's pouting, "i can't see your face."

"yes you can, jess," you giggle. jessie pouts gets worse, "hardly.."

"you're such a baby," you look at the screen to see jessie resting her face against one of the hotel bed pillows, her hair a little messy and out of a ponytail. the sight makes you giggle again; how she's looking is just proving your point. jessie is a baby.

"i'm not a baby. just miss you..wanna see you," she says softly. being away from you without talking much was already tiring her out. she wasn't used to it, if you two could be on the phone all day she would. the second you step foot into san diego, you aren't getting rid of her. irritation bothers her mind again as jessie remembers that you invited that blonde to come see the game. she smiles when you say, "miss you more. i feel so bad. it's my fault we haven't been talking and seeing eachother as much."

"blame ucla, isn't that what you said earlier?" jessie jokes, "no but seriously, it's not your fault. you're just so hardworking. it's admirable"

"i know jessie fleming isn't calling someone else hardworking," you joke back. trying to hide how jessie's compliment makes you smile so hard; it's her favorite thing to tease you about. she was addicted to complimenting you it seemed. the canadian always had something good to say about you, it's a habit she gained back when you two became friends in elementary.

she scoffs, "i swear you work harder than me." right after saying that she yawns. you don't even try to argue with her. knowing how stubborn jessie can be sometimes. you yawn too, the day was tiring enough and seeing jessie makes you even sleepier. you read somewhere about how people get all sleepy around others who make them feel safe? yeah, that's what's going on here. too bad you weren't in her arms right now, instead talking to a screen. you get up out of bed, going out of the frame to go cut off the light before coming back to lay on your bed. shifting to be in a similar position as jessie.

"god, now you're copying me? you're obsessed," she jokes, making you roll your eyes. "be so serious with yourself. you are the one always wearing my clothes."

"alright. i can't argue against that," jessie yawns again. you decide this is the best time to talk about the ticket situation before jessie ends up dozing off like she always does. you shift again, pressing your face against your pillow as you pull up the cover; making your lips slightly pouty. jessie smiles seeing you all pouty and sleepy. she couldn't wait to see you in person. too bad that smile doesn't last long as you say, "why would you get sash seats so far away from me? that woman is going to be so lost."

the canadian scoffs, not wanting to talk about this right now or talk about sasha in general, ever. she curses how kind you are; why can't you just not care about this blonde girl? like you don't even know her truly. "that's the ticket they gave me when i asked. don't blame me, all the seats around you were sold out," she pushes away your concern nonchalantly.

"and since when was blondie, sash?" she asks. it's your turn to scoff, remembering how sasha said only people who don't know her called her blondie, you say, "since today. and why do you call her blondie?"

"because i don't know her name."

"you literally called her sasha the other night."

"not my fault that it's forgettable. it's not like she's my friend," jessie says, not adding in how sasha isn't your friend either. you stop yourself from rolling your eyes at her childishness. it was funny and adorable, but slightly annoying.

"ugh, alright, freckles. i'll drop it before i annoy you to death," you roll your eyes once jessie smiles. she thanks you before the conversation falls into talking about how she failed a push-up contest earlier.

you and sasha fly out to san diego the day of the match. unfortunately college made it a little hard to come out earlier than saturday with you having an exam on thursday, but still you two make it.

checking into the same hotel as the canada national team at around six, an hour before the game. getting from the airport to the hotel was easy but the traffic was not fun. at least it wasn't as bad as la traffic, but still horrible.

you're standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom of your shared hotel room with sasha. you texted jessie earlier before you boarded the plane that you would be there with her text back a quick okay since she was busy preparing for the game. there wasn't a need to text her that you were here, it's not like she would be able to answer it.

"wow, you betrayed me. canada really?" sasha playfully says as she walks into the bathroom. wearing a usa jersey that has s.mewis on the back while you're wearing your usual fleming canada jersey. you smile as you tease back, "i'm canadian. what did you expect? you betrayed me actually. really, usa?"

sasha shrugs, leaning against the bathroom counter, "gotta support the fellow tall blonde. sammy is a total beast." you just smile and don't argue back. what could say? sam mewis is a force on the pitch. it's been years since you played and even you knew that.

you finish getting ready after almost fifteen minutes. with sasha coming in and out of the bathroom while explaining that she actually really enjoyed the usa when they played, but is just a casual fan. you two leave out of the hotel room with just enough time to grab a drink before going to the stadium.

"sorry that your ticket is like so far from me. jessie couldn't get one closer," you say to sasha as you sit beside her in y'all's uber. the blonde woman takes it well, just saying that she will catch you after the game. you explain to her that you two are going to go down on the pitch after, so she shouldn't leave and go back to the hotel.

"forgot your bestie was a bigshot," she says when you two reach the stadium. shutting the car door after you get out of the backseat. "yeah. freckles is just that good," you smile, pulling sasha along to one of the entrances. once you two go inside, y'all split up. sasha joking that she'll see you on the other side which makes you laugh.

when you reach your seat, you get comfortable. sipping on your strawberry drink as you wait for the match to get started. the stadium has a nice amount of fans, with you even noticing that some seats around you are empty. shaking your head as you think about jessie's excuse last night; all the seats around you were sold out? as if. speaking of jessie, you spot her on the pitch. she waves once you two's eyes meet. quinn, who's beside her, waves as well. giving you a heart gesture that you return.

soon enough the game starts. it's fast and intense with players on both sides being aggressive in their own right. jessie even scores a goal for canada which makes you scream. she gives you a smug smile when she passes by where you are in the stands, making you roll your eyes. the match continues on with you screaming a bit more everytime things got too intense. the score line ends up being seven to six; the usa scoring a last minute goal to secure the win. your eyes look at the usa players fall into a group hug before looking around the pitch at the canadian players who obviously didn't look as overjoyed.

fans start to leave the stadium after some of the players walked around to interact. jessie is still far off somewhere on the pitch while you get out of your seat and walk over to the stairs of your part of the stands. leaning against the railing, trying to look around if you can see a certain tall blonde in the rapidly emptying stadium. you don't notice when she comes up to you. she playfully pushes your arm as she says, "told you the usa would win."

"yeah, whatever. canada is going to get y'all back next time," you tease back. you two stand near the bottom of the stairs, right where the pitch meets the tunnel. it takes a bit but jessie starts to make her way over to you. a bright smile on her lips. you can tell how excited the freckled woman is by her fast walking, making you giggle. when she gets close enough you walk onto the pitch to meet her. pulling her into a hug, your arms wrapping around her neck. sasha walks onto the pitch behind you but stays a few steps back.

"god, missed you," jessie's words come out half muffled as she nuzzles her face into your neck. her hands holding onto your waist. you sway a little, saying, "missed you more." soon jessie pulls her face out of your neck, still hugging you as she rests her head onto your shoulder. sasha and her eyes meet; jessie's hands moving lower onto your lower back, rubbing at the skin there with one of her hands going underneath the fabric of the fleming jersey you have on. the other resting on top of it.

"ew, your hand is all sweaty.." you mumble against her ear. jessie just chuckles, partially at your small disgust and partially at how sasha's eyes glance from where jessie's hands are on your body then back to meeting the canadian's eyes. the soccer player gives sasha a smug smile right before you pull away from the hug. you don't stray too far though, interlocking your hand with jessie's afterwards.

you pull jessie closer to sasha. smiling as you say, "sorry sash. we haven't seen each other in a while, so i got distracted." sasha nods, a small smile on her lips that don't really meet her eyes. she's about to speak when jessie cuts her off, "yeah, sorry.. savannah..? we just get carried away sometimes. i just been missing my bestfriend so much." you gently smack jessie's arm which makes her let out a soft ow. she looks at you and you look back.

while you and jessie are looking at each other, having a silent conversation with just eyes alone, sasha is looking at how you two's hands are interlocked. the way your thumb is rubbing on one of jessie's fingers; the way jessie gives your hand a light squeeze. her eyes look back up when jessie speaks, "sorry for forgetting your name. with the game and all, i'm just so tired."

"oh no, it's fine. we haven't even met really so i get it," sasha says. you let out a sigh of relief. just thankful sasha didn't take any offense; being rude to the only person in your entire lecture who actually talks to you would not be a good outcome. the conversation soon falls away into something else, with everyone wanting to move away from the awkward interaction.

eventually it's time to head to the bus to get back to the hotel. jessie doesn't let go of your hand once as she walks with you to the bus. sasha trailing behind. jessie stops next to the bus, glancing at sasha before saying to you, "are you going to come on the bus with me? everyone wants to see you and we were going to stop by this donut shop nearby that i know you'll like, i don't know where we're going to park such a huge bus, but we'll make it work i guess?"

you let out a giggle at her last sentence before considering jessie's question for a moment. stopping yourself from saying yes right away; jessie and donuts? you wanted to say yes badly, but then you looked behind you to see sasha and remembered that you didn't come to san diego alone.

"can't, jess. i don't want to let sasha take an uber alone. it's evening time," you explain. the blonde woman smiles hearing how you are so considerate. jessie wants to pull that smile off her face; what is she even smiling for? it wasn't some over romantic gesture. you're just a nice person. that's why blondie is here anyways because you want to be nice to people who frankly don't even hold value to you. jessie pushes away her annoyance, just saying, "okay. better come to my hotel room the moment i get to there, you have to get your donut." you smile and nod, pulling jessie into a hug before letting her go onto the bus.

sasha and you walk back to one of the entrances of the stadium. waiting for around five minutes for an uber, you hold the door open for sasha to let her in first and then you get in after.

the ride back to the hotel is awkward, but alright. you wanted to apologize for basically leaving sasha out the moment jessie appeared, but you thought that bringing it up would make everything else worse. while in the uber, sasha asks you a question, "there's this pizza place near the hotel that i been wanting to go to. never had the chance, college and all but i was wondering if you wanted to go. like tonight."

"tonight?" you look at sasha, seeing a hopeful look in her eyes. that look sealed your fate the moment you saw it; you been blowing her off all day, she deserves this one thing, right?

"yeah, sure."

you two reach the hotel before the canadian national team bus does. after going to y'all's hotel room and changing out of your match outfits. you slip into one of jessie's t-shirts and some jeans. while sasha is changing in the bathroom into a yellow sundress. while you're sitting on your bed, waiting for sasha, you get a text from jessie that the team is back at the hotel.

"i'm going to go see jessie! she's here! i'll be back soon though, i swear," you shout out towards the bathroom before leaving out of the hotel room quickly. not even catching sasha's response. you find jessie's room, the freckled woman standing there next to her door. she must have put her bag inside of her room because it wasn't anywhere near her. she's holding two donuts, smiling when she sees you walking towards her, "gotchu your favorite. had to fight off ashley for it."

"you could've let her take it. we could have shared," you take your donut, taking a small bite. you enjoy it for a moment before remembering you have come here on a mission. "okay, jessie, listen.." by your tone jessie can already tell you're about to say something she wasn't going to like.

"sasha asked to go to this pizza shop that she's been wanting to go to for so long and i have been ignoring basically all day and i feel so bad, so i'm going to go with her but once i get back, i'm sleeping in your hotel room," you say. jessie lets out a soft groan at hearing that you were going to technically blow her off for blondie. that tall chick couldn't have to want to go to that place that bad. she does smile hearing you say that you'll come sleep in her room after, but still, she wanted you for the whole night. not as some afterthought.

jessie shakes her head before saying, "i don't wanna impose but can i come along? you know i'm always hungry after games." that sentence wasn't even a lie she made up to join in on your little pizza date. you knew how hungry jessie got after every game especially if she was a starter.

"your appetite can never be squashed. whatever, c'mon," you laugh, pulling on her arm to bring her along with you down the hall.

"i haven't even eaten my donut yet and neither have you!"

"we'll snack on the way to the room!"

"what about my clothes? i have to change, i don't even have my hoodie on anymore."

"god jessie, you steal my clothes any other time. just borrow again."

you two bicker like usual all the way on the walk to the hotel room. the donuts are half gone by the time you two reach it. "so is sasha like in the room on the left or right of yours?" jessie asks. you give her a look, about to tell her that actually sasha and you got a joint room, but you don't even have to as sasha opens the door.

jessie stares blankly from sasha to you to sasha to you and finally landing her glance on you.

"what..?" jessie doesn't even hide the irritation in her voice, this was really starting to piss her off now.

author notes: woww another cliffhanger 😱😱 i hope y'all liked it because i enjoyed writing it, tell me your thoughts about it too 💔💔 all the engagement was fun last time

#jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming #woso x reader #woso fanfics

107 notes · View notes

hi18364 · 2 months

Text

New beginnings

I'm sitting in the changing room at Barcelona, I zoned out for a minute, thinking

It's my last day at my childhood club. Don't get me wrong, I love playing for Barcelona, but there's not much to do. We win. In nearly all our games, there's not much challenge that's why I'm moving

I never thought I would be moving Barcelona is the one club I have always wanted to play at, but after playing here since 15, now I'm 19 there isn’t much I haven’t done with this club

When I got a call last month with an offer from a club, I knew I needed to go there, so I'm leaving. It hasn't been announced yet to the players or fans.

I feel bad that I haven't told the team yet, but I don't know how I've grown to love each and every one of them.

I knew I needed to tell them before they found out from someone else.

I get out of my head and stand up. going to the center of the room "Hey guys, can u all come here, please ? I need to tell you all something."

All the talking stops. A few of the older ones look worried. They all gathered around me. "Hey, so... I don't know what to say. I guess thank you all for everything. Thank you for helping me. I know I can be stupid sometimes. I know there was a rumor going around the tabloids earlier last year that I was leaving Barcelona, and I told you I wasn't. Last summer I went on a trip to England. I fell in love with London. When I got back, I started to think about how many more trophies I could get if I moved. So when I got a call from a club in England last month, I knew I had to leave Barcelona. No matter where I go or what team I join, Barcelona will be my home, and you need to leave home sometime . And this is my time to leave."

I have never heard the changing room this quiet. Never in the 5 years I've been with this club has it been this quiet. It kind of makes me feel scared.

Mapi and Ingrid were the first to step forward they were kind of like my moms; they helped me through a lot of stuff they hug me and eventually all the team hug me.

We all pull back. Alexa was the first to say something like, "So which club are you going to?" People seemed really interested in that question: "Chelsea."

There was a collective ohhh in the room. Mapi got up and hugged me, aging, "This isn't because of a certain brown-haired Canadian by any chance." I blush and punch her playfully.

————————————————————————————

#women’s football #women’s soccer #woso community #woso imagine #barcelona femeni #lucy bronze #alexia putellas #mapi leon #ingrid engen

103 notes · View notes

skipper1331 · 9 months

Text

Love from afar // Jessie Fleming

a/n: based off this request. I hope you like it!

Studying in a foreign country was difficult, you had to leave your home, your comfort zone. You didn't know anyone, you didn't know your surroundings, everything was just so different. It scared you and the first few months were hell but when you met the football team it got better. You started to feel comfortable, even meeting up with them. They became your friends. And then there was Jessie. The sweet canadian whose face was covered in freckles. She was by far the person you felt most comfortable around. With her calm nature she broke down your walls and crept her way into your heart. She was more than a friend. When you were around her, your heart would race, every touch would make you weak and every smile would follow you in to your dreams. Each day became more bearable when she was there. She reminded you early on when you had to turn a paper in, she went through your checklist for away games and she would ask if you called your family.

She was your anchor in the sea.

You fell in love with, how couldn‘t you? She was more than perfect. Every goal you scored was dedicated to her, you even had a special celebration that was only dedicated to her (she didn't know that though). The two of you were inseparable, for other eyes you were just best friends, towards each other you were best friends but secretly you both wanted more.

At some point during your time at UCLA you wanted to tell her. You wanted to tell her that you‘re in love with her yet you never did so you loved from afar.

After you graduated, the canadian moved to London, having the opportunity to play for Chelsea while you transeferred to Eintracht Frankfurt.

Jess had already left the country before you even got the chance to say goodbye to her but she left you something. She couldn‘t just leave you.

It was at your last day at UCLA when a mutual friend of yours handed you a box. "What‘s that?" you asked, the box kind of heavy. "Open it when you‘re alone"

"Okay?" Confusion was written on your face.

Finally, finding some free time you opened the box. The first thing you saw was an envelope with your name on it. Jessies handwriting.

My dearest y/n,

First of all, I want to apologize for not saying goodbye to you in person but it would have been too difficult. My heart couldn't have taken it. When you're reading this, I'm probably in the plane or have landed in England already.

I want you to know that it was my greatest honor to play alongside you. You are a wonderful person and I wish nothing but the best for you. (Ha. Adele reference, I know she’s your favorite.)

Under this letter are 6 journals. They are all fully prepared, all you have to do is tick the boxes If you’ve done one of your tasks, write down the date and score. I know you don‘t like changes so I thought this might help you.

Go smash it in Germany! You can do it.

I‘ll love you from afar.

May we meet again. (the 100 reference, your favorite show. I know you too well)

Sincerely,

Jessie

Wow. Tears streamed down your face as you read the note over and over again. You looked through each journal, Jess hadn‘t forgotten one thing. In there where all the things she reminded you to do.

4 years later

You made a name for yourself in the German league. Top scorer, shot bangers (you still had the same goal celebration as it was at UCLA - you loved her from afar) against clubs like Bayern Munich or Wolfsburg and were even considered as one of the nicest players.

Despite the fact that you and Jess were no longer in contact, you still kept an eye on each others career. When Jessie had the time, she would watch your matches or at least the hightlights of it. The same as you did. She was so proud of you. She loved you from afar.

But your time at Frankfurt came to an end. You wanted something different so when the offer from Arsenal came you didn‘t say no. You wanted this. You left Frankfurt with a heavy heart, but promised to keep in touch with Laura Freigang and your other teammates. They made Germany a home for you and you‘ll be forever grateful for that.

At Arsenal you were greeted with open arms, knowing already a few people due international duty. Jess knew about the transfer, you were in the same city as her, of course she knew. Her fingers hovered over your contact so many times, just a click away from calling you. She had also typed a message several times but never sent it. She was too shy. You had loads of fans now and got the recognition you deserved, it didn‘t feel right to text you out of nowhere.

Again, she loved you from afar.

Media wasn‘t something you enjoyed fully but it wasn‘t that bad either. Arsenal fans should have the chance to get to know you. You did welcome videos for them to post on social media and had some photoshoots. To be honest, you couldn‘t keep track but you could remember one specific filmed video. It was a Q&A and there was this one question which made you think.

"You've played in several countries, right?"

"Yes. As a kid I played in my home country, then I played in the United States and after that in Germany."

"Different countries, different languages, what helped you to adapt?" You thought about the question for a minute.

"To be honest, the question is more a who question instead of a what question" you smiled, people always appreciated your honesty. "I hated change, it made me anxious and because of that I forgot a lot of things. So, coming back to your question: an old friend of mine. She‘s a mastermind. She reminded me to do this and that or wether I had packed this and that. When we parted ways, she still made sure I didn't forget anything. She prepared some journals for me where I only had to tick the boxes."

After the interview you had to see Jess. It just reminded you how important she was to you, even if you hadn't seen each other for years. A part of her was always with you. You loved her from afar.

You

I need to see you.

Immediately her reply came.

Jess🧠

Where and when?

You

20min.

You texted her the location of a small café which you discovered at your first day in London. 8 minutes early, you sat down at a table in the corner, shielded from the other tables yet with a perfect view to the door. Perfect on time, your lost love entered the café, she looked breathtaking. As she felt some eyes on her which turned out to be yours she walked towards your table, neither of you breaking eye contact. "Jess" you breathed, almost inaudible while you stood up, only an arm length away from her. The urge to touch was her massiv. Was this real? Was she really in front of you. Instead of touching her, you touched your neck, nervously scratching it. "You look beautiful" you blurted out, not being able to think straight in her proximity. Scanning your face, she launched forward to hug you. She held you like her life depended on it, afraid the moment she would open your eyes, you wouldn‘t be there anymore. After what felt like eternity, you pulled apart "Take a seat?" you asked which she did. At first it was weird between you both. You had so much to say but didn‘t know how but as the barrier was broken you talked about everything that happened in life. Neither of you mentioned the journals or the way things ended, it was just the two of you in your own little world. The world you created years ago. You sat in the café until it closed yet the evening wasn‘t over yet. Walking through the streets of London, Jess showed you around. "And that‘s were I live" the brunette pointed to door where you stood in front of. "Can I see you again?" you questioned the slightly smaller woman as you placed a loose hair strand behind her ear. The last four years haven‘t been enough to get over her. She just had to look at you and you would have weak knees, a racing heart. Again. "Tomorrow?"

The canadian and you met up nearly every day. Both of you happier, having each other close but just like in the old days, nobody said anything about the feelings for one another.

It wasn‘t until derby day.

The game was pretty intense and the score was still nil-nil which made everyone more desperate to score. Your team was up for a corner kick as Ann-Kathrin Berger, the Chelsea keeper, kept her goal clean. As you stood near the back post Katie took her shot. You remember jumping and then something nasty hitting your face before you hit the ground. You groaned in pain, liquid running down your face. Your head was aching while you felt dizzy. "Y/n!" soft hands grabbed your face as the owners eyes examined the wound. "You look so beautiful" you admitted sheepishly. "Can I count your freckles?" The studs of Erin Cuthbert had hit you pretty bad as you babbled gibberish. When the medic team came they immediately took you of the field to bandage your head.

Steph laid you down on the couch after she drove you home. You didn‘t talk nonesense anymore but the medic team ordered you to rest for a few days. "Thank you Stephsteph" you waved as she left your apartment, meeting a specific canadian at your door. "How are you feeling?" the blue asked as she entered your living room. "My head hurts but i‘m fine, now" you smiled at her while she took a seat beside your resting figure "i‘m glad"

She stayed the night and the night after that just to be sure you‘re alright. "Jess, i‘m alright" you whined as started to cook again for you "I know but I love to cook for you" your arms looped around her waist as you turned her around. "Four years isn‘t enough time to get over you," you admitted, resting your forehead against yours "I love you. I‘ve loved you since we were at UCLA"

"What?"

The freckled girl pulled her head away, staring in your eyes. Your body tensed, arms loosening its grip around her waist. "I still have your letter and the journals, they helped me a lot." scratching your neck out of habit. You took steps back, leaving her some space since she didn‘t reply to your confession. Her voice full of shock while she asked, "You love me?"

"Yes"

Within the seconds Jessie recovered from her shocked state as she pulled you down by your collar, pushing her lips against yours. Out of reflex you grabbed her hips, pulling her body against yours.

Your kiss was full of passion; it told its own story about the hidden feelings, the missing and the loving from afar.

—————————

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #chelsea wfc #steph catley #arsenal wfc #woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics

386 notes · View notes

skipppppy · 2 months

Text

CARMEN SANDIEGO CHARACTERS + MOVIES

Boo I felt like making headcanons again bc I spend more time wondering what these assholes do in their free time than I do on my job

CARMEN

Didn’t have access to movies growing up so Player, Zack, and Ivy have been catching her up on the most popular ones

HORRIBLE to watch with. Doesn’t really understand “suspension of disbelief” as a concept and will ask stupid questions the whole time. Player almost ended their friendship because she nitpicked Lord of the Rings for being “unrealistic”

Enjoys low stakes 2000s girl chick flicks like mean girls and legally blonde. She has enough stress in her life man she just wants to relax

HATES heist movies because of how innacurate they are. Team Red has taken to watching them JUST to hear her pick them apart

PLAYER

Sci-fi/fantasy junkie. Anything and everything that has aliens/magic and shitty practical effects from the 80’s/90’s he is all over

Has never said a single kind thing about the Star Wars franchise in his life. They are his favourite movies of all time

ADORES Edgar Wright and has slowly been converting Team Red to his movies. Zack loved Baby Driver. Ivy loved Shaun of the Dead. Shadowsan loved Hot Fuzz. He considers Scott Pilgrim the pinnacle of Canadian cinema

Cannot STAND the amount of remakes happening in Hollywood recently

ZACK

Canon enjoyer of blockbuster action movies. Everyone dreads the nights when he gets to choose a film bc his taste is so generic

Does not know what the Snyder cut is. Thank god

His only redeeming quality is a love of early dreamworks. Will not stop quoting Madnagascar

Has seen every Marvel movie and thinks all of them are good. Player has BEGGED him to watch better movies but he won’t. He’s the type to rag on Scorsese for being “boring”

Has seen Kevin Feige’s extended filmography. Does not know who that man is

IVY

Horror fanatic

Banned from choosing movies for film night after convincing them to watch her “favourite lesbian romcom” with her. That lesbian romcom was Saw

Ellen Ripley was not only her personal hero but also her gay awakening. The Xenomorph queen was her second gay awakening

Also loves period dramas. Enjoys the tiddies and knows she would look SO good in those fancy waistcoats the men wear

Watches old slashers with Carmen and laugh whenever someone dies in a stupid way

SHADOWSAN

Faculty considered movies “low brow” entertainment so he hasn’t seen a movie made before the year 2000

Loves a good mob flick. Got into Scorsese specifically because Zack hated him. Goodfellas is his favourite

Everyone assumes he enjoys samurai movies but he actually HATES them. Hideo would ramble about historical inaccuracies the whole way through and he’s still bored just thinking about it

Used to love Yakuza films back in the day but they were soured for him after actually living as one

Loved Knives Out, found Daniel Craig VERY attractive, and has since fallen down the James Bond rabbit hole

CHASE

The most pretentious film hack you’ve ever met in your life. He is taking you to a back alley screening of some arthouse eastern european gay porn on a first date and it will be the most profound thing you’ve ever seen in your life

Detective noir movies and cheesy black and white romances are his favourites. He likes falling asleep to them

He and Player both appreciate animation as a form of cinema, but while Player is referring to like. the Mario movie, Chase is talking about some 3 minute Russian stopmotion surrealist piece from 1951. He attends Annecy every year and has been banned from the Oscars due to threats of violence

He likes Poirot tho. Transmasc king

JULIA

If she has a few hours to herself she’d rather watch a documentary than go to a movie theatre, but she loves historical dramas

Enjoys biopics but thinks it’s stupid to make them for people who are alive

Likes watching movies for the sake of trash talking them, so she is the only person who can tolerate sitting through one with Carmen

LOVES Wes Anderson though. Chase got her into his stuff and the symmetry scratches an itch in her brain. But don’t tell him that

Also enjoys period dramas for the tiddies

CHIEF

Shitty cop movie enjoyer. The kind of person who insists that Die Hard is her favourite christmas movie

LOVES heist movies because of how inaccurate they are. Will mentally nitpick whatever secret service is going after them and be like “ACME wouldn’t do that lol”

She’s semi aware that she’s the antoagonist in Carmen’s own heist narrative so she’s started having fun with it

Closet lover of b-tier comedy movies. Like the ones with Adam Sandler and Kevin Hart on the cover

Does not enjoy watching movies socially. That is quality time for her and her cat. She does not have to shush Commander

#carmen sandiego #carmen sandiego 2019 #carmen sandiego netflix #player cs #zack and ivy #shadowsan #chase devineaux #julia argent #tamara fraser #chief cs

97 notes · View notes

matthewtkachuk · 8 months

Text

one day all my love will come back to me

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

pairing: nathan mackinnon x reader; brayden point x reader

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

word count: 10.9k

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

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

“You look hot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t a guy visit his best friend?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t think you’ll ever be ready.

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, what?”

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

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

“Well, Nate said…”

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

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

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

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

“Nate’s,” you correct weakly.

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

You’re stewing in silence when Nate comes home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The pillow holds all your tears and secrets.

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

You’re not his.

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

You’re his but he’s not yours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry. I’ll try. Really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Heidy!” you hiss.

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

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

Satisfied, you resume your earlier position while Heidy speaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug, “He’s the one I want.”

She softens at your earnest tone. “Okay.”

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

“I don’t know…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Besides playing for the wrong team? Nah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your parents?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nate doesn’t cross your mind once.

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

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

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

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

“All night?” he continues the interrogation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Got fined

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

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Worth it though

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

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Me either

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m worried about Nate.”

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

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

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

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

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

It also puts things into perspective for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then a familiar voice calls your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long?” is the natural follow up.

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

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

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

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

JT looks less than convinced.

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

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

“I promise.”

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

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

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

JT thankfully keeps his word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His laughter rings in your ears as you leave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three seconds.

Two seconds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you’d be more upset.”

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

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

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

“What about the other one?”

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

“Awfully presumptuous for a hook up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw ticks. “Thought it was mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve been sleeping with the enemy?”

“Are you joking?”

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

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

“Nate—“

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

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

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

“Know what?” you question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t, now.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you reply, giving it to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fat chance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” he says.

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

“I know,” he says again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re my best friend,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

190 notes · View notes

sc0tters · 9 months

Text

Better Off Apart | Luke Hughes

summary: the long awaited day has finally come! Luke is in New York and the Devils are set to play the islanders, but now a third person as slotted themselves into your love equation.

request: yes/no

warnings: this became a bit of a sad chapter, Luke is a boy who doesn’t know how to process his emotions, Mat gets jealous and also doesn’t know how to handle that. The reader is finally in a position where she’s reader to move on.

word count: 1.76k

authors note: I wrote this in an hour I was so excited. I saw that in some requests you guys actually wanted the mc of this to get with a player from the team but I sort of put my twist on that. The rest of the full length chapters for this story have been planned out but I think it could be cool doing a few blurbs for these two, so if you want to see anything in those let me know!

previous part | next part

It had been circled in red pen.

The date on your calendar had been marked the moment you got the NHL calendar announcement.

It was the date that you had been counting the sleeps down to like a child counting down the sleeps till Christmas.

It was the date that you felt so excited for but were also so nervous for that you wanted to go to the top of the Empire State Building and scream.

It's the date that the Devils were coming to town to play the Islanders.

It's the date that you were going to finally see Luke again.

You knew that you shouldn't have been excited, shouldn't have let your grow full and your palms grow sweaty at the thought of seeing him again.

All of your efforts to forget about him were now nonexistent as you spent moments every day staring at his social media's.

After a drunk night out with friends you unblocked and unrestricted everything that had to do with him, when you woke up much more sober you simply couldn't find it in your heart to or in your head to shut him out anyone.

A few nights ago whilst being sat in front of the tv with a meal from your favourite restaurant, you did something you never thought you would.

You wrote Luke a letter.

Just like you had for each of his teammates.

So you sat and you wrote, making sure to mention everything from how you felt to why you left. Writing that letter was better than any type of therapist as it had brought up things that you had seemed to compartmentalise. There were seven different editions of this letter.

The first two had to be rewritten because you zoned out and came back to see that your tears had soaked the pages.

The next three had you swearing like a sailor as you told him to fuck himself for making you fall so deeply in love with him.

The sixth letter just didn't feel right. You assumed that it was the lack of sleep that was getting to you, so like any mature adult you got up and went to bed deciding that the letter writing efforts would continue the next day.

The seventh and final letter was perfect, you were honestly tempted to email it to your high school English teacher you were that proud of it. It was the perfect way to tell Luke that you were okay that this was goodbye and that you didn't hold anything against him for how he treated you.

Yes you told him that he had hurt you but it helped teach you that some loves just simply weren't worth it.

It was like you had been put through the grieving cycle over the last fifteen hours as you learnt to accept that Luke just wasn't on your cards and that it was probably for the best.

Mat hadn't slipped up from his role of your new best friend, if there wasn't a game on Thursday you two would go get dinner and then sit at his apartment playing card games until the early hours of the morning.

The Canadian had quickly learnt why you were so popular in New Jersey amongst the players and it was one of the things that he was actually so attracted to.

Yes Mat found himself growing more enamoured with you by the day and despite his best efforts you never seemed to notice it.

You never noticed how his eyes lingered on you far longer than appropriate for just friends, or how he'd glare down every man and woman who dared to even look at you when the two of you were out in the town. You never noticed the way you squeezed the life out of his heart the moment you came to Mat's apartment in tears one night as you missed Luke.

The Canadian was hurt, it wasn't even the fact that you weren't interested in him that haunted his thoughts at night. It was the fact that you gave your love to someone who was so cruel to you.

But Mat put on a comforting smile each time he was forced to listen to you spill your heart out on his sleeve as you couldn't get over your failed attempts to get over the Hughes boy.

At one point the Islander player was ready to rip the bandaid off and tell you everything.

He wanted you to know that you were loved.

He wanted you to know that you were wanted and it was by a man who was sat right next to you.

But deep down inside Mat knew that those words would mean nothing to you unless they came from the Hughes boy.

That was the thing about love that was so cruel. Here were two people that wanted nothing more than to be happy. But the reciprocation of those emotions from the people they craved them from the most weren't there.

Yes you loved Mat but you weren't in love with Mat and that different meant everything to him.

So he kept his feelings to himself as he watched you count down the days until the Devils came to town.

He sat there dreading the moment he had to face Luke on the ice, Mat had been watching the meditation videos that you had sent him on repeat as he tried to memorise the various methods of calming himself down that he’d had to use in other to not hit Luke.

It wasn’t because Mat wanted to protect the boy, in fact he wanted to do the opposite. He wanted to hurt Luke for all that he had done to you. The Islanders player wanted to see the Hughes boy finally feel some sort of remorse, but he knew that if he laid a finger on Luke you’d get upset. So he was going to have to try to behave.

You woke up practically running out of bed ready to take on the world when the day finally arrived. Part of you was excited to see your friends from the team too and that’s what you told yourself made you so happy.

Luke swore he was going to throw up when he got on the team bus. Sure he was excited to see you in the flesh once more. But after seeing how the every gossip account swore that you and Mat were dating after someone spotted you on another on of your excursions, hope for him was running out. So he spent the last week forcing himself to accept that fact that this was all his fault. Yes he wanted to blame Mat instead but he knew he couldn’t.

If Luke couldn’t be the one to love you then he then simply hoped that the man who loved you, loved you even half as much as he did.

The young Hughes boy felt trapped inside of his mind as he had yet to reveal how he felt about you to anyone. It was partially due to the fact that he knew they’d all laugh at him especially after how he treated you. Yet there was another much larger part of Luke that didn’t want to admit it because one he admitted that he did indeed like you, it meant that it would really be real. At least for now he could act like you were all just simply a figment his dreams and hopes for in the future. He told himself that all he needed as a simply protein shake and his usual pregame playlist blasting through his headphones at a volume that was enough to make his mother cringe as she reminded her son that she didn’t want him going deaf.

Jack noticed the way that his younger brother had gone quiet since he stepped on the bus, the whole team did. As bad as they all knew it sounded none of them bothered checking in on the boy as they all just put it down to him not wanting to see you again.

If only they knew, right?

The youngest Hughes boy knew your routine on game days from your time with the Devils. It was something that he made an effort to learn early on in his attempts to avoid you.

He hoped that you had the same routes mapped out here because Luke knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he caught sight of you.

Now more than ever though it was because he knew he’d start crying on the spot.

Luke wasn’t a crier naturally but he had no clue how he was going to say his apology to you. All of the emotions that you made him feel just made him want to cry due to the sheer panic that was going through his mind.

As the team walked out of the away locker room he heard it.

The sound he had grown to miss.

The sound that brought him this warm sense of comfort in his stomach that he could only describe as funny.

It was the sound of your laugh.

Mat had been telling you a story as you two made your way over to the home dressing room as you had forgotten your folder in there when you took some guests around earlier.

As Luke saw the sight of you it was enough to knock him off of his feet as Jack walked into the back of him “dude,” the middle Hughes boy groaned as he lifted his brother off of the ground totally unaware of the fact that you were stood there.

It was like time stopped for the youngest Hughes boy.

He watched as your eyes locked with his and your lips formed a smile as you sent him a nod.

Mat had seen how you had stopped listening to his story were just simply looking in front of you.

It made the Canadian angry as in that moment he wanted to throw out all of those stupid meditation lessons.

He knew his next move was childish but he didn’t care he sent Luke a harsh glare as Mat threw his arm around your shoulders.

That moment dropped Luke back into reality as he felt like he had just hit a cement wall.

“Luke c’mon!”

There was a game to be played but it seemed that it was quickly coming off of the ice as well.

And you were right in the center of it,

But you didn’t even know it.

#luke hughes oneshot #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x you #luke hughes imagines #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #hockey imagines #hockey oneshot #imagines #oneshots #better off series

390 notes · View notes

sergeifyodorov · 3 months

Note

hi bestie ik you’re a leafs blog but i saw your post abt luke in his tavares era (which i really hope happens because secretly i want him to be a ny ranger or like an la king for the plot of it all and couldn’t see him as a canadian team player) but like the lore that boy has.

like fourth overall draft pick but couldn’t beat jack’s first. beat quinn, but quinn is still overshadowing him as a dman. will never live up to jack’s entire franchise-ridden shoulders but maybe doesn’t want to. every person on the team sees them as a collective of sorts but he’s only 20. went to umich because quinn told him to, the youngest son. would be defended by quinn and jack when their dad would yell at him after a bad game. always an angel never a god type of beat because he’ll never be his brothers but maybe that’s for the best. he won’t be the captain who took over a failing franchise and turned it around or the golden boy of the franchise he’s on right now but maybe something more.

he was a phenomenal ncaa player but where does that land him? lost the frozen four. isn’t his mother’s favorite. it’s always quinn&jack even when it’s jack&luke. even his fucking DRAFT day wasn’t about him.

anyways i love lh43

to me luke is SO inchresting because he's like... a handful of different shadows all at once... can we give the baby HIS OWN SPOTLIGHT... PLEASE...

#asks #luke hughes #postin for u anon 🫡 ur so right btw

59 notes · View notes

shanewright · 6 months

Text

[P]laying in a Canadian market comes with pressure, and Yamamoto felt it when he struggled to consistently replicate the flashes he showed in 2019-20.

“It just feels like you’re, I don’t want to say walking on eggshells, but if you’re not like a top-six guy, it seems like you’ve just got to do the right thing every time,” he says. “I think everyone just gets in their own head a little bit too much. At least that’s what I kind of felt like. It’s not like you’re playing bad hockey, you just always feel like you can do more. You’re always thinking in your head you need to do more, when probably less is more.”

(...)

Unrestricted free agency was a new world for Yamamoto. His agent asked where he’d want to go and told him Nashville had interest. Yamamoto said that, first of all, he just wanted a contract. But he also mentioned liking the idea of Seattle. He had been thrilled when, in 2018, the NHL announced the city was getting an expansion team. “I did not think that we were going to get a team,” he says now. “Then when they got one, I was like, ‘There’s no f–king way, that’s so sick. … That’d be crazy to play for them someday.’”

(...)

Yamamoto’s transition to a new team has gone as smoothly as he could have hoped. He’s found the Kraken players welcoming — “everyone is smiling,” he says — and is of course closer to family. To Russ [Yamamoto], the overall atmosphere around hockey feels more mellow in Seattle than it did in Edmonton. He was struck reading Kraken blogs when he saw fans weren’t overly concerned about the team’s season-opening losses.

(...)

Yamamoto’s home-state crowd cheered as the Kraken public address announcer introduced him ahead of Tuesday’s home opener, and he made his home debut memorable. Late in the first period, he lasered a puck past Colorado’s Alexandar Georgiev from a difficult angle. He skated away from the net with his arms outstretched, as if he was embracing the fans in his home state. His parents had a perfect view; the goal was right in front of their section. They cheered along wearing home Yamamoto Kraken jerseys.

“Any time you can score a goal in your home town, for your home team, it feels really special,” he said postgame.

#kailer yamamoto #seattle kraken #*

99 notes · View notes

wosowrites · 1 year

Text

Winter Olympian (Jessie Fleming x Reader)

warnings: none

a/n: i’m pretty sure the last winter olympic games were in 2022. based off this request:

prompt: in which jessie is dating a hockey player and is watching her in the olympics along with her chelsea teammates when the reader gets injured.

You and Jessie had been together since 2020. It was honestly a miracle that you guys hadn’t met before, having both been Canadian and having been to London, Ontario at the same time, multiple times. But you only met by some coincidence in the plane going to Vancouver from England. You had been in England for hockey, and Jessie to meet different head coaches and check out facilities. She was still in University. You were in England for a hockey competition that had ended up getting cancelled due to an outbreak. Your teammates had stayed in London, but you wanted to go back to Canada and university.

It had been the splat middle of the pandemic, and only necessary flights were scheduled, and it so happened that you and Jessie were sitting, with one free seat in between you, on a plane to Canada. You had both started talking, and then you realized everything you had in common. Canada natives, olympians, high level athletes. The rest was history.

Jessie sat in her living room with relatively the whole Chelsea team. Over the years, you had become close friends with the girls, even though you lived in Canada to play hockey professionally. The room had never been more crowded. On Jessie’s couch in-front of her flatscreen TV was magda, pernille, guro, sam, niahm and herself. On the floor at their feet sat Millie, Kadeisha, Fran, Ann- Kat and Zecira. And then across the room, chairs from the dinner table had been scattered across the TV area, seating Maren, Joanna, Lauren, Jess, and Emily. It was fully. Very full.

The game started with the national anthem and the shake of hands, as soccer does. But things went different quickly. The game was full of contact, even more because it was an olympic final between USA and Canada. Jessie watched, concentrating hard. "Jesus!" Magda yelled as a player for body slammed against the walls of the rink. "It’s fine, Magda. It’s hockey." Jessie muttered absent mindedly.

In the second period, it was 2-1 for USA and you got a penalty. A player pushed you hard against the glass and you completely abandoned your stick, going over and pushing her onto the ice. A fight broke out, your team holding you back and the opposite team yelling in your face. The ref put you in the box for the two minute penalty. You took your helmet off and looked around in annoyance as you sat in the box, chewing on your mouth guard.

"Damn Fleming. Every time I see her do that mouth guard thing I remember that our little quiet JFlem pulled her." Sam teased, making her blush red. You did look good. Slightly sweaty, tangled hair and stressed eyes did nothing to your charm.

It was only three minutes after you got let out from your penalty that you got taken down. Obviously, the girl you had pushed has held a grudge. As you skated with the puck and body checked you, sending your body flying sideways into the panels.

Your left leg collided with the panel, and you knew something was wrong immediately. It was the way your knee bent backwards and you screamed before you could stop yourself. The ref didn’t stop the play immediately much to the yells and cries of your teammates. By the time the ref blew the whistle, you were sobbing in pain on the ground.

"Holy shit! Ref! Why isn’t he calling that what the hell!" Jessie yelled, standing up and screaming at the TV as the camera panned on you, your body on the ground and your leg stuck out strangely. "That looks broken…" Ann Kat whispered to Z who nodded. "Shit. Shit." Jessie sweared, sitting down and putting her head between her hands. "Hey, she’ll be okay. She will be okay." Magda said, rubbing her hand on Jessie’s back. The freckled Canadian just nodded slowly.

The medics came and got you off the rink quickly, there was no way you could keep playing. You cried as you went off the rink, your helmet abandoned behind you. Your teammates patted you on the back and you just had to tell them to keep going.

But there was nothing you could do. You sat in the medical examiners room, your gear being taken off and your body examined. And thirty minutes later, you heard the final whistle and knew that USA had won gold. You cried, more for the loss than for your leg. You knew a broke leg meant you would be out for a while, and if you were out you could stay in London with Jessie. But loosing the gold medal match… that hurt more than a broken leg ever could.

One week later.

A nice stewardess rolled you out of the plane in a wheelchair as you held your crutches and your bag. You guys talked as she brought you to the area where your luggage would be, and where Jessie would be.

As you entered the large space, you spotted her right away. It was hard not too considering the entire chelsea team was there. Tears filled your eyes as you told the woman wheeling you you were good here. You stood up carefully and Jessie rushed up to you and hugged you tightly, then kissing you a couple of times. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry." Jessie said. "You did so good. You played so well." Jessie said to you lovingly. "I’m okay. It’s okay. I’m here with you now." You said, holding her to you and kissing her again. "And the whole chelsea team apparently." You laughed, waving at the girls. "Yeah they all insisted to come. You scared the shit out of me during that game babe." Jessie said gently.

You smiled at her as a way of apologizing but she quickly ushered you to sit down and wheeled you towards the girls who greeted you as the Chelsea girls do. Loudly.

#woso fic #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #chelsea fcw #jessie fleming #sam kerr #magda eriksson

329 notes · View notes

acheronist · 3 months

Note

can you make sparknotes for the Red Wings players they are all the same person to me (sorry)

dw my darling i got you 🫡 here's the regular 23 man roster we've been skating this szn

forwards (+ this is going to be the number they wear on their jerseys, not their age)

jt compher (37) - won a cup whilst he was on the colorado avalanche (red wings long time beloathed nemesis rivals team), attended umich hockey with larkin and copp. deadpan dry asf tenderhearted weirdo. very good at hockey i like him

andrew copp (18) - 🎶get up and g-get down, 911 is a joke in your town🎶, local michigander boy playing for his hometown team, attended umich with compher and larkin, kind of fuck ugly but he's gritty and has a lot of love in his heart so we like him

alex debrincat (93) - another local michigander boy playing for his hometown team, really good at hockey, we rescued him from the ottawa senators (red wings short term/very recent beloathed nemesis rival team) and he likes it here more, haha lol lmao even. good at hockey!! kind of a sniper. also kind of fighty which is hilarious because he's about 9 inches shorter than the average nhl player. new dad and really loves it, brings his family to games all of the time. and he was our all star games representative this year !

robby fabbri (14) - how are you going to be a short italian-canadian kind of bisexual professional hockey player who mixes metals and has a standing eyebrow appointment. please pick a struggle. won the stanley cup w/ st louis and then got abandoned for being 'injury prone' and was sent to detroit in a 1 for 1 trade (the most humiliating of all nhl player trades imo). he and larkin and rasmussen are the only men left standing from the red wing's historic worst-ever season in 2019 where every game they looked like they were going to kill themselves.

christian fischer (36) - new bestie alert! huge locker room guy. okay at hockey (more of a playmaker than a goalscorer) but he's so fucking sillygoofy and funny i love to see this guy on my team. spent most of his career in arizona iirc, and basically he and gostisbehere came from the coyotes directly to the red wings as a buy one get one free deal.

patrick kane (88) - narcissict. arrogant. flop. old man who can't score anymore. history of assault and violent misdemeanors he never was punished for because he was the nhl's boytoy a decade ago. i hope he contracts sepsis from an unforeseen complication with his hip surgery and takes a long walk off of the rencen's roof and lands in the detroit river where he is frozen and then chopped up by an industrial ship's propeller. fuck this guy.

klim kostin (24) - beloved enforcer. used to skate for the edmonton oilers. his entire game is based around slotting in on the third/fourth line when necessary and whenever someone gets hurt he comes out swinging to establish the fact that the red wings are not to be fucked with. he doesn't start fights but he does finish them. notoriously big hearted and silly with his teammates. coincidentally wearing the same number as the red wings most famous enforcer from the 1980s, bob probert. my guard dog boy i love u

dylan larkin (71) - michigan native, umich grad, was the previous captain's rookie, the beating heart and soul of the team, carrying the weight of a century year old hockey team's legacy and all the ghosts that come along with that, never been to playoffs and hasn't won the cup yet. literally the miserable boyking of metro detroit. he's had to suffer a lot for absolutely no reason, but still manages to come and be our best and most important player every single night.

david perron (57) - he's old by nhl standards i.e. he's in his late thirties and has been playing for like a decade, so he knows his way around an nhl rink. french canadian enough that he's got an accent. big heart and soul guy, which i really wasn't expecting tbh! he's always standing up for teammates and has gotten in a few noteworthy fights (dylan got hurt so badly this szn that dp went rage-blind and ended up getting suspended for six games after fighting the opponents who hurt dylan)

michael rasmussen (27) - big fuck off scary intimidating canadian hockey lad. kind of awkward and bizarre. also kind of a doll if i can b honest. he's very shy and quiet in interviews but always has an insane serial killer look in his eyes whenever he's on the ice. was drafted high and then i suspect he had a lot of mental struggles about not being the player he was advertised/told to be? but the last few years he's stepped away from that role he thought he should be and started being himself and playing in a way that was obviously more comfortable, and he's taken huge huge productive strides and improved a lot. moose ily

lucas raymond (23) - our youngest babiest player!! he was our highest draft pick in a looooooooong time, and immediately went from prospect training camp -> regular nhl player, which is fucking crazy. he's exceptionally good at hockey, and has a reputation for coming in clutch with goals we need to win games. besties with moritz seider + jake walman + joe veleno.

daniel sprong (17) - i had no idea what to think of this guy at first but now i can't believe he's only been here for one season. it feels like he's been a wing for ages. he's one of our sniper goalscorers, except he shoots the puck with a lil too much sauce + with a feral desperation of a man afraid he was never going to score a goal again, every single time, which i love. also he stalks twitter and runs a team GC to forward memes that the fandom makes to the guys

joe veleno (90) - if bambi was a closeted italian canadian hockey player. wears an evil eye bracelet and also a crucifix? very meek and easy to bully, tbh, not our most productive goalscorer but also somehow he's very crucial to the emotional well being of the younger half of the roster? hes sillygoofy and a sweetheart and does his best every night which is all we can ask tbh. besties with lucas raymond + moritz seider + jake walman.

defensemen

ben chiarot (8) - resident manwhore dilf fashionista who knows he's sexy and loves to be a bitch on the ice. loves to be annoying and distracting @ the opponents during plays so the red wings can have space to move.

shayne gostisbehere (41) - escaped florida man turned into an nhler, sleeper agent defensive weapon that people tend to forget about. always busting his ass up and down the blue line. always looks sopping wet and really sad though? loves to shoot the puck and sometimes it even makes it to the net!

justin holl (3) - i'm hesistant to describe him as "good at hockey" but the boys seem to love him + he's silly enough to engage in the locker room antics + i've noticed him dealing out more hits lately which is always good.

olli maatta (2) - very very very steady in the most boring way possible. does his job and not an ounce more than necessary LOL but it's fine because he's good at what he does? a classic defensive defenseman.

jeff petry (46) - not… good? at hockey? but he is also a michigan native playing for the hometown team, and he's a veteran nhler, and he's a gritty sort of guy, so i like having him. he grew up in detroit proper, as well, because his dad played on the detroit tigers baseball team, so there's a lot of michigan sports lore going on in that household. also his kids are silly + love to come to games

moritz seider (53) - my sweet perfect darling defenseman prodigy. won the calder trophy because he was the most special and talented rookie in his first year in the nhl. breaking team records for defensemen at an alarming rate. was dylan's rookie, and is also frequently mentored by red wings defense legends. he's not a rookie anymore but you can still see how much responsibility he's shouldering and how much he takes after dylan's role modeled behavior/team legacy standards. good at handling tough responsibility vs staying silly anyways. hes my shining star and i luv him. generally he's paired up with jake walman on defense and they're a little bit married because of it. besties with lucas raymond + jake walman + joe veleno.

jake walman (96) - another guy who st louis abandoned and then ended up on the red wings and said "i want to spend my entire life and career in this city" . extremely silly. known for hitting the griddy whenever he scores important goals. big on video games + making tiktoks. tremendous locker room vibes guy, and very emotional and serious about proving his place on detroit's blue line. generally he's paired up with moritz seider on defense and they're a little bit married because of it. besties with moritz seider + lucas raymond + joe veleno.

goalies

ville husso (35) - looks like a haunted little porcelain doll. always sopping wet for some reason. very softspoken and european. mid-good level goalie, kind of needs to prove himself a bit now that alex lyon's gone completely off the shits and taken over starter goalie privileges, but i feel like there's no sense of animosity or competition between them? ville just strikes me as genuinely someone who's delighted and proud of his tandem partners for their successes, even if it comes at his expense / losing some of his chances to get ahead

james reimer (47) - idc about this man lol. he's either a very good goalie or an atrociously horrible goalie and you dont know what it'll be until the games already happening. passively homophobic christian behavior as well which i do not like to see. but he's also a veteran nhl player so in the beginning of the szn he was getting more opportunity than alex or ville.

alex lyon (34) - spent his entire career in the minor league/being traded between franchises where there wasn't really a space or need for him. got on the radar after keeping the florida panthers in their playoff race before losing, and then FL traded him to us. we've had goaltending agonies for years and then he's rolled up to detroit with something to fucking PROVE because he thought his hockey career was about to be over so he's skating every night like its do or die. after reimer and husso both were injured tho he finally got his chance to shine and oh baby he's been shining. unbelievably good at goaltending. big heart, very genuine, very funny, basically a male model as well, been to therapy and actually got something out of it, i would go to war for this man if he needed me to

#drw

34 notes · View notes

thomasschabot · 3 months

Text

bet all i have on that furrowed brow

jakob chychrun x fem!oc

isobel has a workplace crush and healthy dose of loneliness that jakob is more than willing to cure

word count: 3.1k

warnings: mentions of spending the holidays alone, cursing, partial nudity, alcohol consumption

a/n: for @wyattjohnston 🩷 thank you so much for putting together yet another incredibly successful event, and for giving me the best gift of all - getting to write for you! i hope you enjoy x (we're just pretending hockey works like american football and the sens have a bye week over christmas okay? okay!) many wonderful thanks to @matthewtkachuk for singing my praises via text and fluffing up my ego

The string of days between Christmas and New Years always feels like purgatory. One holiday bleeds slowly into the next, and there’s a general consensus no one knows what day it is or how long it’s been since they ate something moderately healthy. For most it’s time well spent with family and friends, but for Isobel it’s a sentence to near solitary confinement. She has no family remotely close, few friends, and is much too stubborn to take up her co-workers’ invitations to join them on holiday getaways to ski chalets or sandy beaches. Isobel refuses to be more of an inconvenience than she already feels like she is, but it isn’t necessarily best for her mental health.

She spends as much time as possible at work, researching rising social media trends to present to the team and making sure all paperwork is up-to-date. The team will be able to start with their best foot forward in the new year, something Isobel is extremely proud of, and it keeps her going into the office even when she’d much prefer to stay in bed and wallow in the intense loneliness she feels. There isn’t a pressure to produce new deliverables, which is a slight stress relief. The analytics department isn’t needed as much with the bye week and most of the incoming reports can be run by Isobel alone. A number of years ago the NHL implemented bye weeks in addition to the all-star break, which allows each team to not have scheduled games during the regular season. This year Ottawa got lucky, with their break over the Christmas holidays, and players and support staff alike took the opportunity to get the hell out of the snowy capital.

As far as Isobel’s aware, very few members of the Senators organization stayed in the area. From social media she could see co-workers posting from almost every continent, enjoying all the world has to offer. Many roster players were in tropical destinations, hungry to get away from the ice and snow that ruled much of their daily lives. Claude Giroux has taken his family to the Caribbean and posts a rare snapshot of his young boys enjoying the water. Brady, ever the gracious captain, has taken what seems like half the team home with him to St. Louis in order to cheer on his sister’s university tournament being hosted in the same city. Only Jakob’s whereabouts are unknown, his absence from her life palpable, but Isobel’s sure he isn’t in Ottawa. Why would he be? There are a thousand different people and places vying for his attention, and one of them was sure to be the lucky winner.

It’s her most guarded secret, the fact that Isobel has an almost debilitating crush on who is technically a co-worker, but she’s also sure everyone has figured it out, even Jakob himself. Working with professional athletes means there’s a serious lack of personal boundaries, and one’s private life isn’t exactly private, no matter how well guarded they may be. The boys Isobel works with will stop at nothing short of blackmail to get information out of her, even if it’s only ever used for in-house teasing. No one has said anything yet, which she’s incredibly grateful for, but Isobel can’t help but think it’s the main topic of conversation when she’s not around.

The suburbs of Ottawa are desolate as Isobel winds through the streets to the Canadian Tire Centre. No car is on the road except her own, and there is only one in the parking lot when she pulls in. Badge in hand, Isobel treks up the steps and pulls open the large door at the back of the arena, one that isn’t used by anyone except members of the organization. Jamie, one of the building’s security guards, is face down in a book — it must have been his sedan parked beside her own sensible compact SUV.

“Isobel Walker,” he says, surprised to see another person. The offices were open upon a technicality in contracts that is now grandfathered in, but it’s likely Jamie hasn’t seen anyone since he started his shift. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting ready with friends? The New Year's festivities start in a few hours.”

Isobel shakes her head. “Just wanted to square away a few things before the weekend. Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do. It’s just me this year.”

The attentive man doesn’t miss the sad downturn in her voice, or the longing for companionship in Isobel’s eyes. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll get invited somewhere.” Jamie sounds resolute in the statement, but she knows it must be easy for him to think when once his shift is over he’ll return home to a wife and kids. When Isobel is done putting in work there’ll be no one waiting at home.

The elevator dings then, signalling its availability to deliver a human to the floor where the data and analytics department is located. Isobel waves goodbye in an almost timid fashion, insisting she’ll take good care of herself and promising to at least look into doing something. Nothing will come of it, this she’s sure of, but a small white lie has never hurt anyone. In fact, Isobel deals almost exclusively in little white lies, whether it be to scouts who want to hear a specific player is doing bad so they feel less guilty about not advising the general manager to draft them or to teammates when they ask what she’s doing on the weekends. Telling Jamie one more won’t cause the world to fall apart. Isobel is sure of it.

Her cubicle is tucked just inside the glass doors that shelter the front office from the rest of the floor, but Isobel doesn't head there. Instead, she tiptoes through the space until the corkboard of Senators and their individual season stats is right in front of her. The photo of Jakob immediately catches her attention — not an official headshot but instead a picture from the charity gala last season — and Isobel notices it’s a cropped version of one she has on her desk. In the photo he’s posing with the analytics staff, goofy smile plastered on his face as he stands three people from Isobel. She also remembers that in the photo she’s not looking at the camera, but at him. Eventually she forces herself to stop looking at the gorgeous specimen that is Jakob Chychrun and accomplish what she intended to do. Taking one last look, Isobel places a distant memory that their eyes had locked seconds after the camera’s shutter went off.

⭑⭒⭑

It’s long past sunset when Isobel returns home, and there’s no sense trying to scramble downtown to an overcrowded bar. She hadn’t been planning on it anyways despite what she told the only person she’s interacted with in a week. Things at the office didn’t take long to complete, despite the frequent distraction of Jakob’s gorgeous portrait in the background, but Isobel couldn’t bring herself to return to her empty home. Since the conversation with Jamie in the lobby she’s been dreading the silence that would greet her when the door rocked on its hinges. Instead of immediately returning home, Isobel drives eastward towards more connected areas of the city and marvels at the tourists in town to ring in the new year surrounded by history. Each street sign passed amalgamated into a mushed series in her brain, and once she could no longer tell what was real or imaginary Isobel turned and headed for home.

As expected, the modest craftsman house Isobel occupies is dark and silent and lonely, as well as a million other words she can’t think of to encapsulate how isolated she feels. If she had been thinking clearly Isobel would have picked up take out on the drive back, but she wasn't in a completely sound frame of mind, therefore being resigned to heating up three day old broccoli pasta and drinking room temperature beer. She can’t even be bothered to change into comfortable clothing, instead throwing her blouse and slacks over the back of a dining room chair seconds before crashing onto the worn leather sofa inherited from a college roommate nearly a decade ago but that she can’t seem to get rid of.

The television turns on at the press of a button, and Isobel briefly watches the sports highlights for updates on potential trade targets before deciding she’s done more than enough work for the day and switching to a New Years special. This one seems to be taking place in New York, a place she’s never been nor cared for, but at the moment Isobel would give anything to be there amongst the suffocating crowd. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so earth-shatteringly alone.

Hours pass by and more beers are consumed, but Isobel can’t seem to reach the buzz she’s so desperately chasing. The performances and countdowns meld together but if questioned there wouldn’t be a detail missing from her recollection. No one could do that inebriated, further proving that getting drunk isn’t in the cards for her tonight. A chill settles over the room and Isobel struggles to wrangle a throw blanket free from its perch on the back of the couch. Though comfortable, sitting in only undergarments doesn’t provide much protection against the drafty windows she should call a repairman about. Some pop star, whom she doesn't particularly care about, is thanking fans for helping them reach a milestone this past calendar year and she zone out. Nothing and everything floats through Isobel’s brain all at once, swimming in circles and causing a beautiful confusion.

The dull thud of a fist against the front door shakes Isobel from her stupor and possible slumber. Panic encroaches and her sharp survival instincts set in — the baseball bat normally kept in the corner of the living room grabbed and work clothes are haphazardly tossed over frame. The person on the other side of the wood slab is the last person she’s expecting to see, and the fact he’s standing there with a sheepish smile is astounding. Jakob Chychrun is on her doorstep, shifting his weight between the balls of his feet and carrying a large bottle of expensive champagne and a bag of garlic bread.

“Hi.”

“Can I help you, Jakob?” she asks, but immediately backpedals when she realizes how ill-tempered the tone of the words made her seem. “I just wasn’t expecting any visitors and am wholly unprepared.”

He smiles even more, as though Isobel can actually solve a problem he’s been faced with, and gestures to the objects in his hands like it’s obvious. “Jamie mentioned you were spending the evening alone when I went into the rink this afternoon, and I had no plans, so I thought we could watch the dumb special programs and drown our sorrows in alcohol.”

The answer is so Jakob, so perfect and friendly and warm, Isobel can’t help but return his grin. “I told him I’d look into going out. What are you doing in the city?”

“I wanted a relaxing week.”

Isobel arches her eyebrow. “The beach isn’t relaxing?”

“Not as much as staying at home.”

“Oh.”

Jakob doesn’t skip a beat in bringing conversation back to his original proposition. “Well sweetheart, what do you say?”

All the air leaves her lungs at the pet name, but she manages to nod semi-enthusiastically and move to the side. Jakob slips off his shoes while Isobel closes the door and treads into the living space carefully, inspecting-without-inspecting the decor. She quickly plays the role of gracious hostess, getting her handsome guest a crystal flute and asking if he’d like anything to eat. Jakob declines, saying he had leftovers before coming over, and urges her to sit down and ‘stop fluttering around like a hummingbird’. She obliges, turning to face him and tucking her legs underneath her center of gravity.

Jakob rakes his eyes over Isobel, once, then a second time, before coughing rather aggressively. It rings through the quiet like a gunshot and nearly makes her jump. Unsure of what could have caused such a reaction, she looks down to find the previously hastily buttoned shirt has shifted, revealing a rather large patch of red lace that hints at what’s underneath. Surely that can’t be the reason the normally suave man across from her is a blushing mess?

He respectfully looks away while she adjusts, and Isobel finishes quickly before placing a tentative hand on her shoulder to let her know everything is back to normal. She’s desperate to dissuade any awkwardness. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Jakob laughs, but it comes out a little strangled. “Happens to the best of us. Well not me, in that exact way, but I’ve been caught in my fair share of wardrobe malfunctions.”

Isobel focuses extremely hard on not thinking about what that means, and unsure of where to go from the moment that was somehow vulnerable and impersonal at the same time, she reaches across Jakon to grab the bottle of champagne and doesn't even bother getting a glass. The cool liquid does wonders to soothe the fire in her insides, exacerbated by the fact that Jakob came to her, wanted to spend time with her. Some alcohol misses Isobel’s mouth, dribbles down her chin, but before she can even lift the bottle from her lips it’s being wiped away.

It’s Jakob, she realizes, stroking his thumb across her skin tenderly and making sure there isn’t an opportunity for the champagne to stain the silk button up that she can never remember to take to the dry cleaners. Clouds immediately form in her mind and Isobel closes her eyes — this has to be a dream. An incredibly elaborate fantasy. Under no circumstance is Jakob Chychrun sitting on her couch staring at her with longing and centimetres away from her lips. She must have fallen asleep, and her dreams are vivid due to the beer.

“Iso, sweetheart, hey,” Jakob says barely above a whisper, eyebrow furrowed with concern and the slightest bit of amusement. “You alright?”

Her eyelids flutter open, a bit heavy from all the alcohol she’s consumed, but her gaze is met with his blue eyes so close to her own and his fingers fiddling with the hem of her pants. Apparently this is in fact real life, and while Isobel had been trying to convince herself otherwise she’d missed Jakob inching closer and resting his forehead against her own.

“Yeah,” she sputters, nearly choking on air for the second time that evening. “I drank a bit before you got here and I think it’s all catching up to me.”

Jakob smiles softly, like he already confirmed this, and it’s then she clues in to the fact there are four empty beer bottles on the coffee table. “Are you drunk?”

Laughter trickles from her lips. “I wish,” Isobel confesses, “It would make the loneliness a lot easier to ignore.”

Again, Jakob smiles like he understands. It’s a bit surreal, the way the two of them are so similar, but Isobel can’t help but enjoy learning about him through these small glances. If she could keep her cool around the man for longer periods than the handful of minutes long interaction they’d shared, Isobel is almost sure they’d be friends, but the universe is cruel and unyielding. She’s destined to never know Jakob all that well, watching from the sidelines as he jokes with Brady and Tim, marvelling at his beauty and resigning herself to the fact he’ll never be yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question steals every ounce of air from Isobel’s lungs. Jakob is looking at her intently, studying her features for clues or transgressions he unknowingly committed. She’s never been good at keeping her emotions steeled away, and Isobel knows everything is splayed on her face for him to decipher if he wants to. The most prominent one is shock. Isobel is beyond surprised he’s asking the one thing that’s been on the tip of her tongue and whispering in her mind for years.

“Are —” she struggles to find the words she wants to say. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

It’s Jakob’s turn to laugh. It’s a beautiful sound, his deep rumbles as he nods his head, and Isobel does her best to imprint it to memory. If this is the last time she’ll ever hear it she wants to give herself the best shot at remembering.

“Pretty damn sure, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to do it since I joined the team.”

Isobel is now beyond shocked. “You’ve wanted to kiss me for three years?”

Jakob smiles in a way that allows it to reach his eyes. Beautiful, Isobel thinks, but doesn’t allow herself much time to focus on it, too eager to catch his next words. “Four if you count the time I got lost when Arizona was the visiting team and you held the door for me to get back to the locker rooms. You were wearing a black turtleneck that made your eyes look even more angelic than normal. I didn’t know that at the time, of course, but I did know I wanted to kiss you senseless.”

“Fuck me, you never thought to say anything when I was so clearly pining after you?” she whispers, emboldened and growing more confident under the confession and moving even closer until her lips are so close to Jakob’s she can feel the breath he inhales.

It takes a moment, but Isobel gains the courage to tilt her head slightly upwards and slot her lips against Jakob’s. Time stops with the flourish of a cheesy romance novel, though she can’t find it in her to groan internally even if she would under normal circumstances. Nothing about what’s happening is normal, however. Kissing Jakob is perfect in ways Isobel could never accurately describe — all plump lips and gentle touches and whispered sweet nothings. She never wants it to end, but eventually he pulls back.

He doesn’t stray far, just tucks her into his side with a hint of possession if Isobel squints , and cards his fingers through the matted ends of her hair. Jakob seems to have quite an affinity for the strands, allowing them to keep his attention while Isobel processes the fact that the man she’s been secretly in love with for years has also been in love with her for just as long.

“You know,” she says breathlessly, still in a surreal state from the kiss, “Maybe ringing in the new year won’t be so lonely after all.”

Jakob giggles in the same warm and gleeful way that made Isobel fall in love with him all those years ago. “I hope not.”

The pair of them spend the remaining hours of the night eating, drinking, and talking about what the future holds. When the television program begins the countdown Jakob looks at Isobel with a gleam in his eyes, and waits until the ball drops to kiss her into the next year.

⭑⭒⭑

enjoy this fic? give it a reblog :)

#jakob chychrun imagine #jakob chychrun x oc #jakob chychrun fic #ottawa senators imagine #ottawa senators fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #the winter fic exchange 2k24 #cwrites

44 notes · View notes