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greatunironic · 2 months

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eddie wakes up in a strange room. this was not particularly unusual for him, historically: he’d spent most of his twenties waking up in new and interesting places (including a handful of jail cells). but after eddie, the label, and the los angeles superior court system decided it would be best if he stopped drinking and doing blow, it stopped being such a regular occurrence.

so it’s almost alarming to him, now, to be blinking up at an unfamiliar cement ceiling with the raging bitch of all headaches and generally feeling like he got hit by a truck, got whiplash in a crash with the way his neck aches. he’d think he was hungover like all those times before except for how sharp the pain is, bright.

he worries, briefly, he’s relapsed, or someone’s slipped him something. but he remembers what him and the boys had been up to, before this, and he thinks it’d’ve been a strange night indeed if someone roofied a c-list (b-list if he’s feeling charitable) musician at a fucking frozen four game.

because yeah, eddie remembers: they’d been third row, watching the wisconsin ladies clean up and cheering for jeff’s kid sister like she was about to get olympic gold. (she probably would, someday. her and that mayfield girl who played defense were looking down the barrel at a 2026 run apparently.

eddie’s been to a handful of games over the years, when touring and recording allows them to go. he’s resolutely never been a sports guy but he’ll admit, when pressed, that live hockey is pretty dope. to say nothing, of course, of how jeff would probably murder them all in their sleep if they didn’t rep the red and white for lottie.

(and also — and this is between eddie and his god alright — but lottie’s coach? standing back there in his suit, hair styled and dialed, snapping his gum, yelling at the refs? kind of doing it for him, okay. worth the price of admission, even if the tickets weren’t free.)

when he thinks harder — which hurts too — the last thing he clearly remembers was someone from the beavers scoring, bringing their lead to 5-1, and a slapshot from the other team getting out over the boards and nearly taking out some lady’s popcorn. someone behind them in the seats said, “jesus they’re getting desperate, eh?”

then shit goes dark on him, not even a fade to black, but a full on smash cut, roll credits black, and the post-credits scene is where ever the fuck eddie is at the moment. it smells like human and cold and icy hot, so obviously, he thinks, he died and went to hell like all the church ladies said he would back in hawkins, or probably just a locker room. what the fuck?

he blinks at the ceiling, at an interesting water stain on the cement texturing. he’s in the middle of wondering where the rest of his band has gone if he’s here alone, fucking abandoners, when a sweaty redhead with the bitchiest expression he’s maybe ever seen enters his field of vision.

“you’re alive,” she says.

eddie blinks again. “why do you sound so disappointed?”

“yo coach!” she shouts, already on the move away from him. “he’s alive!”

he tries to sit up, but that makes the pain in his head worse, and also draws attention to the fact that his back also hurts. he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a truly embarrassing noise of pain — if pressed, he’d call it a whimper — and a pair of big hands land on his shoulders.

“out, out ladies i got this! hey!, hey, man, don’t move just yet,” says big hands.

“yeah, no problem, i don’t want to anymore,” eddie says. he stirs up the will to open his eyes again and very nearly slams them back shut. because of course the person staring down at him is fucking coach hottie snackycakes himself. he’s even better looking in person, too, big droopy eyes, lips as pink as his bubblegum, and shiny, jesus christ. he’s still got eddie by the shoulders, hands warm through the thin cotton of his flannel and tee — because eddie’s always been more fashion than sense, wayne always said, and it’s even worse now that the paps are on him—

“oh, fuck this is gonna be all over tiktok later, isn’t it?” he moans.

“maybe not.”

“don’t lie.”

“listen, eddie — it is eddie, right?” asks coach hottie. “i’m steve. coach harrington. faughnsie — lottie, i mean — she said you’re eddie. her brother’s guitarist? what do you remember?”

“more like he’s my singer,” he says, “but sure. and not much.”

“well, you’re gonna be okay,” says coach hottie — steve. “it really wasn’t that bad, and it was probably too fast for anyone to get it, unless they already had a camera on you. you took a puck to the head when one popped up. i’d apologize but it wasn’t one of my girls who did it, so. anyway — you weren’t out for long, which robbie says is good — she’ll get a look at you in a second — but you got your bell rung pretty good. and you’re gonna have quite the shiner, trust me.”

“speaking from experience?”

“oh, yeah. closer and faster too.” he gently raps his head with his knuckles. “too many concussions too early ended my nhl days, in fact.”

“oh. oh shit, sorry, i—“

“don’t worry about it, man, it happens,” he says. “and if it hadn’t, i wouldn’t be here.”

“at the frozen four.”

“yeah, sure, that too.”

“what?”

“what?” steve waves him off. “anyway, i’m just glad to see you up, ish, and talking. looked pretty scary, from the bench.”

“i really don’t remember,” says eddie. “but i’m sure i’ll see it on tiktok later, like i said — at least, my unconscious, bleeding form.”

“i got up there pretty fast, so i doubt it,” says steve.

eddie blinks, twice. “you—?”

“you were behind my bench, and you. well,” he says with a shrug, but he’s clearly a little embarrassed, finally putting those hands away — weapons of eddie destruction, he thinks — and shoving them into his pockets of his tight slacks. “i should be getting back out there.”

“do you? you’re murdering them pretty good, unless i black out and missed them getting four more goals,” eddie says.

the corners of steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. eddie thinks he might just pass out again. “no, we’re still gonna cinch it, i think. looks bad, though — first time coach missing the final period so’s he can hit on the cute musician who got his clock cleaned by the biscuit.”

“oh,” he says. swallows. “uh.”

steve’s crinkly, smiley eyes go wide. “unless—“

“no less!” eddie shouts and then immediately winces. at a better, less damaging to his more than slightly concussed noggin, volume, he says, “more, actually. because pretty sure i shouldn’t be left unsupervised, and i’ve clearly been abandoned by the band, so—“

“so,” says steve.

“coach, two minutes!” someone calls.

“so, i was hoping maybe i could keep hitting on the hot hockey coach back at his?”

“i’m at the ramada inn,” he says, “and i got tape to watch for the finals.”

“i live for room service,” eddie tells him seriously. “and i’m suddenly very into wisconsin sports teams.”

“coach! go time!”

“yeah?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“COACH!”

he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “i gotta — but, uh, later?”

“pick me up in twenty?”

“probably more like half an hour, with stoppage,” he says.

someone bangs on the door. “COACH!! let’s boogie!!”

with one last look, wide eyed and smiling, steve leaves. eddie watches him go. he’d heard hockey players were caked up but lord — eddie is about to convert to a new religion, or maybe found one, over the stretch of those slacks.

“damn,” he says quietly.

“gross,” a woman says. eddie startles and looks to the side, where a lanky brunette with a bob and an undercut is staring at him, unimpressed. she’s in some get up that screams athletic trainer, and there’s a white board in her hand.

“how long have you been there?” he asks.

she raises an eyebrow. “long enough, and honestly, i don’t know if that counts as a you rule for him, or a you suck for you,” she says and does not elaborate when he asks. “also don’t look at him like that. it’s steve. he’s basically my sister.”

“yeah? any tips then?” asks eddie. “i promise i’ll only use them for good. well. mostly.”

“god,” she says with an expansive eye roll. “you’re gonna be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

a cheer goes up outside the room as the teams, presumably, take the ice again. eddie, head throbbing, concussed, embarrassed, grins. “sure hope so,” he says.

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #rockstar au #hockey au #two great tastes that taste great together tbh #cross posted on twitter #might clean this up later + pop it on ao3

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trulyhblue · 2 months

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Bf Leah being wound up after a bad game and takes control. Smut pls!!!!

BLED BLUE

leah williamson x chelsea! reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, humiliation, dom/sub dynamics, age gap (legal + consensual), hate sex, enemies w/ benefits, rough, coarse language.

________________

Part of you wondered how long it would take Leah to take you home. There was not an ounce of blue in her body, taken only by the lifelong allegiance to North London, but the thought of you, a blue-born Chelsea girl, taking up the space under her sheets, was addictive.

Chelsea were the better team. Always was, and always will be. The Blues were better at everything. Their players were more advanced, their game plans had been executed to perfection. Arsenal were sloppy, poor, and unjust. It was embarrassing to the point where it stood out as entertaining to you. Seeing the almighty, reigning Arsenal fall on their knees and succumb to the superiority of your team was endearing, and you found yourself searching for the thrill increasingly more as the game progressed.

And the sight of the woman you hated oh so much angered by the defeated notion of the final whistle was your idea of an indescribable victory.

“What a shame, Williamson.” You snagged, clutching the fabric at your hips, looking down at her bent figure. “I thought you’d play well.”

“Ah, it is you.” She replied with just as much spite. “I thought I saw someone falling flat on their face. Makes sense now that I know it was you.”

You smirked, folding your arms over your chest. “Yeah, tried to show my humility… y’know, after scoring two goals tonight I thought it was only necessary.”

Leah scoffed, straightening her posture to display her authoritative height over you. “Both off deflections… sounds brilliant.”

“Player of the match worthy.” You bit back, stepping forward, pressing your chest against hers, suppressing the heat in your face. “Don't worry, I’ll make sure to credit your own goal in the interview.”

“Always have an excuse to talk about me. Can't stop, can you?”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“I don't think of you.” Leah shook her head, grabbing the hem of your shorts and fiddling with them persistently. “But if I did, I’d be sure to let you know.”

“If only I cared enough to hear it.” You tutted, not really caring about the openness of your situation. The stadium was still quite full, with both of your teammates lingering on the field. Fans were banking the barricade, no doubt looking for the two of you.

“I could tell you now if you’d like.”

“Aw, are you thinking of me now, Williamson?”

You felt Leah’s hand move to the inside of your thigh, pressing a tight pinch to gain any type of reaction from you. Biting your lip, you hoped that the post-game redness covered your blush.

“I bet you love the thought of people watching this, don't you?” She asked, glaring at you with such hatred that her words felt bittersweet. “Always so desperate for attention that you’d do it in front of everyone. Fucking needy.”

“You’re the one touching me.” In anger, you snapped. You didn't like the way Leah seemed so confident, so right in what she was saying. You wanted to be right. You were the one who won it for your team. You were better than her. She needed to realise that.

The only separation between the two of you was by your arms crossed over your chest. Leah was drawing furious patterns along your thigh, pressed up against you with her face above you, your height earning her to look down.

“Pull away then.” She uttered, now pulling you into a hug. You knew this would send fans into a spiral. Everybody knew about your rivalry with Leah. It was evident in the tackles, the cards, the teams, the games, the interactions. This was unclaimed territory. You had both teased each other after the games. There was always fire and spite, anger and resentment, but never contact. She told you to pull away, and by the tension that lingered, if you did she would let you have there was something else there. You felt it between your legs, running down your spine, making your core yearn.

It was in the way she kept her hand in between your thighs, deepening her fingers just below where you needed her most. She held you tight, closing any physical gap, forcing your arms to circle her waist as she wrapped her spare arm around the name on the back of your shoulders. You don't know why, but you held her back just as tight, breathing heavily when she started moving her fingers upwards.

“So tense.” She spat, rubbing your shoulder.

You shook her arm off, keeping the contact but still resistant. “I pulled it at training, of course it is.”

“Wasn't talking about your shoulder, baby.” She chuckled, her voice sending goosebumps down your neck. “In those thighs. Clenching them so hard and I'm hardly touching ‘em.”

That was when you knew your cheeks were burning.

There was a hint of humiliation in your tone, but your anger was still prevalent. “I didn't even notice your hand.”

“Yeah, alright.” Williamson grinned, pulling away. You felt the cold air nip your cheeks at the sudden loss of contact. Her fingers were no longer soothing the ache in between your legs. “Alright, baby, no, all that flushed cheeks from the big game, hm? Breathing so heavily cause you scored two goals, is that you’re so wet for me?”

“I’m not— you're so—”

Leah stepped away again, and you were too stupid to step forward in response. “God, is that what you're gonna sound like in the interview? You a mess, Baby, really. All flustered and red.”

“I'm not red.” You snapped. “And stop calling me baby. You're only four years older than me.”

Leah could see straight through you. “But you love that though.” She saw straight past your visible persona. “Why don't you show me how mature you are then? Can't call you baby if you prove that you're not.” She could tell by your flustered state, your wide eyes and your tainted disposition that you were struggling to handle the conversation.

“I don't need to prove anything to you. I just won the match. That's enough to prove that I'm better anyway.”

“But you needed help to get there, didn't you?” She retorted. “It’s not your name on the score sheet, it's mine. Look,” she pointed up to the screen, almost condescendingly, above the stands, where WILLIAMSON (OG) was printed boldly in white below the score. “All that hard work and I still get the mention.”

There was a fight for dominance, but the fight was so clearly won when you audibly gulped, unable to come up with just enough answer to compel yourself into a deeper state of anger. If anything, you were willing to resort to forbidding, but you were stubborn and bled blue.

“You’re just mad that you lost and we won. Chelsea was always better anyway, and you were just too slow… bet that's always the case.”

Leah’s jaw clicked, her lips settling into a thin line.

“In what case?” She muttered distinctly.

“You know what case.” You failed to notice the challenge, finding yourself in a superior position of confidence to realise the hole you were digging for yourself. “Slow and boring… on and off the pitch. You definitely get around, but you never seem to see one person twice. Maybe that's because they don't want to see you.”

Leah grabbed your wrist, yanking you off the field. It was a tradition that you would see the fans after every game, so you tugged back in retaliation.

She pivoted to face you, glaring at you with so much affliction that you yearned for more.

“You seem really interested in how I ‘get around’. Sounds like you wish it was you.”

No matter how hard your body was willing to succumb to her words, you stood firm by scoffing, rolling your eyes at her cockiness. “If only I was so desperate.”

“I’ll show you just how desperate I can get you.” The captain spat, holding your forearm now, easily leading you further down the tunnel where fans or players could no longer find you. “Didn't even properly touch you before and you were a needy mess.”

“You’re always so fucking sure of yourself, aren't you, Williamson?” You snapped back, hearing the clad of your boots fail to drown out your ungrateful tone. You did not care for what Leah was so keen to impress you with. Never had anyone told you that Leah did not impress. She was determined to make sure everyone was supplied with the right things for their needs. She valued giving pleasure over receiving. But if there was one thing she hated, it was brats like you.

You stood outside the Chelsea changing rooms, your kit still adorned on your figure.

“Go get your shit.” She snarled, letting go of your arm and jabbing you forward.

You scoffed, stopping dead in your tracks. “And what? You're gonna wait for me and drop me home? I have a license, Williamson, I'm not your fucking—”

You couldn't finish your rant, yelping when Leah cut you off, grabbing the collar of your shirt and mashing her lips against yours. One of her legs found its way between yours, her knee pushing against your core. A moan fell from your lips, and the woman wasted no time in slipping her tongue in, caging your figure between you and the wall.

She waited until you were kissing her back before grabbing your neck. She instantly moved down to litter harsh kisses down the nape of your neck, using her hands to move underneath your shirt, massaging your breasts. You were a mess beneath her, breathing heavily when the pressure on your clit intensified when her knee started rubbing patterns up and down.

“Swear at me again and see how it turns out for you.” She muttered in your ear, relishing the whines that fell from your lips as her knee continued its work. “If I tell you to grab your bag, that's what you do, yeah? You understand, Chelsea?”

The nickname left you shrinking, her words making your core glisten. You weren't completely sure whether the Arsenal girl was planning on taking you home. You didn't understand why you were all of a sudden pretty much moaning at the friction of her knee.

But you weren't fucking complaining.

“My teammates are in there.”

Leah let out a laugh. “You had no problem letting me touch you in a filled Stanford Bridge, Babygirl. I think it’d be healthy if your teammates realised who fucks their Stargirl after a home game.”

“You haven't fucked me, yet.” Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the thought of the England captain fucking you sending you into a spiral.

“Go get your bag and then I can use that pretty mouth for something other than moaning my last name… not that I mind when you do that.”

You wasted no time in doing as you were told, forever thankful that all of your teammates were either still interacting with fans or showering. You grabbed all of your stuff and quickly followed Leah over to the away changing rooms.

She let you walk through, since none of the girls were present, grabbing your belongings and chucking them inside her cubby. You felt her figure cage you back into the nearest wall, her hands how playing with the hem of your shirt, inching it further up your waist until it was completely disregarded, and you were left in your sports bra and shorts.

“Why so quiet?” Leah asked, kissing down the column of your neck, fondling your breasts. You sighed at the growing ache in your core, throwing your head back when Leah’s knee came back into contact with your clit.

“Some— someone’s going to walk in.”

Leah snorted. “Like you would mind.”

You huffed, grabbing the back of her neck and pushing her head further down your body. Leah’s knee stopped in return, leaving you writhing at the loss of pressure.

“Use your words or you can get off yourself.”

“Like you could get me off.” You retorted.

“I don't make brats cum.” She spat, moving back up to tower over you. “I edge them until they’re desperate and getting themself off my thigh. I treat them like brats, and maybe you need to work a little fucking harder for what you want.”

“You were just teasing me!”

“You're just desperate.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Leah.” There it was. Music to her ears.

“What?”

You whined, using your hips to drag yourself along her knee.

“What was that, Baby? Couldn't hear you under all those whines.”

“Leah, c’mon.” You stated potently, getting more impatient by the minute. “I'm not begging.”

The number six shrugged, looking down at you with wide, innocent eyes like she had no clue what you were going on about. Like she didn't even realise that you were humping her leg longing for some relief.

“Begging for what?” She moved her finger painstakingly down your chest, tracing your abs ever so slowly.

“For you.”

“For me?” She questioned, feigning confusion. Her hand dipped into the waistband of your shorts, circling your clit over your underwear. “Answer me, Darling. What do you want me to do? I'm touching you.”

“Touch me more.”

Leah tutted, moving her hand away. You groaned, throwing your head back when no pleasure was offered. “I'm afraid that's not how you ask. It might get you somewhere at Chelsea, but at Arsenal, we treat our Captains with respect. Even our star girls use their manners in the North end.”

“Touch me more, please.”

“Where, Chelsea?” Leah moved closer to you, peeling off her own shirt, removing your shorts, leaving you in your underwear and bra. “Be a good girl and tell me where.” She asked, her body lowering itself closer to the ground. You watched her kneel before you, hands gripping your waist, kneading your hips, lips biting your inner thigh.

“My clit, Lee, please. I need you to touch me there.”

“Such a good girl for your Captain, aren't you?” Leah ran her tongue along your folds, your underwear pooled at your feet. Your legs were swung over her shoulders, your hands buried in her hair, pulling taunt to her ponytail and the hairs that had fallen out during the game. Your moans were still muffled by the bite in your lips, the nerves of someone hearing your desperation for your enemy is still evident in the way you kept your mouth shut.

It was when Leah’s tongue latched onto your clit, sucking harshly on the swollen bud that your noises fell so adamantly from your reddened lips. You felt Leah’s cocky smile, her chuckles sending vibrations of pleasure through your body.

“Sound so pretty, Baby.”

“Leah— fuck, Lee. I'm gonna—”

“You’re going to hold it. Taste so good, you can wait.”

The coil in your stomach was forming long before Leah had even started, and the more Leah attacked your bud, the more your orgasm led to burst. Your moans had doubled in volume when one of her hands came up to play with your nipple, pinching it and playing with the nub every time her tongue licked up your folds. Her other hand worked its way through your pussy, spreading your slick all over your thighs, letting it run down your shaking legs and make your skin glisten with the glossy arousal.

“Want Stanford to hear you,” Leah spoke from below you. You whined at the thought. You were in a state of pure bliss that all cautionary thoughts of interruption were so far gone. All you could think about was Leah’s face between your legs.

“Feels so good, Lee. Want to cum so bad for you.”

“You can hold it, baby.”

“Mh, Lee, please.”

Leah moaned at your whines, nuzzling her nose up against your clit, pinching your nipple hard, reeling at the moan you let out in response. She saw the way your hole clenched around nothing, smirking at the way you rolled your hips across her face, working your pussy into her mouth so easily. She felt powerful knowing she had you at her disposal. You were stunning always, but there was something about you now that set Leah off. It made her angry knowing that you weren't hers to fuck at her discretion. It made her protective over you in ways she had never felt before. You were Chelsea’s protege — everyone worried when going up against you.

“Leah.”

It wasn't like something had changed, but Leah had realised that her hate was actually protection and adoration. She wanted you for herself. She wanted to steer you away from anyone that would hurt you. She hated Chelsea, she despised the West side more than anything, and it wasn't the sex that made her realise this.

“Leah.”

It was her name coming from your lips.

“Cum for me, Baby.”

That was all you needed to hear before you were barreling over the edge, your legs relying entirely on the strength of Leah’s upper body to keep you balanced. Your moans exemplified the stimulation of your orgasm riding out, and Leah’s endeavours to lick the result of it up as it poured into her mouth and onto your thighs.

The woman made sure you had somewhat caught your breath before she moved, having a moment to catch her own breath and comprehend what just happened. When she knew you were able to stand independently, she moved over to her cubby, grabbing the baby wipes she always had handy, moving back down to her knees to clean the mess across your legs as you covered your chest back with your jersey, and later your shorts.

Leah moved to do the same, except she watched as you fumbled with what to do. She gave you a pointed look as if to question your thinking, and you simply sighed and waddled over to her, slight humiliation at your wobbly legs painting your cheeks as you grabbed your bag.

“You all good, Baby?” She asked, her voice no longer authoritative and rather empathetic.

“Yeah, thanks.” You nodded. “Erm… sorry for being… rude… actually I'm not sorry but I am.”

“Yeah, same,” Leah replied a cheeky grin settled on her complexion. “I think we can settle for friendly rivalry from now on.”

“If that's what you call this, then sure.” You added, laughing along with what to make of the situation, feeling more out of place than ever in the middle of the Arsenal room. “I better go.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

“Lee, I've got my license—”

“It wasn't a question, Chelsea.”

You stood there defeated, knowing internally that you had no way home after Millie had driven you to the stadium and would have left by now anyway. Leah must’ve known that by the way she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into her chest.

“Besides, wouldn't want that Player of The Match Trophy getting forgotten now, would we?”

_________________

A/N — bad ending but oh well… HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!!

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goatisbetheres · 5 months

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Lots of big things happened Wednesday in the Pittsburgh Penguins’ 7-0 romp over the New York Islanders. There were records and milestones, especially for core players Kris Letang and Evgeni Malkin. But not Sidney Crosby.

Amazingly, Crosby had no points in the game. But don’t think he felt anything but thrilled, especially for his longtime teammates. The relationship between Crosby, Malkin and Letang is as strong as ever.

“I don’t know. It feels like it did before Christmas,” Crosby cracked Thursday after practice at the UPMC Lemieux Sports Complex.

Yeah, they can joke like that. The three are in their mid-30s and in their 18th season together, a North American sports record for a trio of teammates with the same team. They passed the New York Yankees’ Derek Jeter, Jorge Posada and Mariano Rivera, who spent 17 consecutive seasons together.

There have been times when it looked as if the Penguins’ three core players might be broken up, but Letang and Malkin re-signed after the 2021-22 season. Crosby has this and one more season left on his contract.

“It feels like it’s pretty good after this long,” Crosby said of the relationship among the three. “If it can get stronger, great, but I feel like it’s been pretty good. We’ve spent a lot of time together over the years, been through a lot, and it’s pretty strong at this point for what we’ve gone though.”

They have won three Stanley Cups together — the highs — and have had first-round playoff flameouts and, last season, a seat outside the playoffs – the lows. They have been there for each other during injury and medical challenges. They have been there for each other for major individual accomplishments.

All three got misty the night the Penguins held a pregame ceremony for Crosby’s 1,000th game.

Wednesday, Letang became the first defenseman in NHL history to record five assists in one period and tied a record for defensemen with six assists overall. Malkin scored twice to pass his childhood idol, Sergei Fedorov, for second place all-time in the league among Russian-born players with 484 goals.

Crosby was happy simply to be a part of the game and witness those things.

“It’s just cool,” he said of Letang’s record. “Whether you’ve played with someone for a long time or just to witness that … There’s a lot of years that have gone into the NHL, over 100. For that never to have been done and be part of that is cool.”

And on Malkin: “He probably doesn’t get the credit that he deserves for what he’s done over his career. Just to be able to be in that company now, and to pass Fedorov, someone he idolized growing up and we all loved watching, but especially being a Russian-born player … He’s a competitive guy. He’s shown that year after year. Happy to see him move up the list.”

Valtteri Puustinen also scored his first NHL goal Thursday. Crosby has always had a soft spot for those moments among his many teammates over the years. Plus Malkin and Letang’s moments that night. Crosby loves those.

“A game like that. A game where (goaltender Tristan Jarry last month) scores. Things like that are pretty cool,” he said.

There are bound to be more moments for Crosby, Malkin and Letang to celebrate together. And moments where they simply share a laugh. All those moments add up.

“We like to keep it pretty light and probably give each other a harder time, and we do more of that than we do compliments,” Crosby said. “That seems to be the way it works out, but obviously we care a lot about each other and like to see each other have success.

“Whether it’s Tanger having a big night like that or Geno moving up the list, you’re always proud to see your teammates accomplish those things like that, and especially guys that you’ve seen do things like that over the years.”

i love my core 🥹

#sidney crosby #evgeni malkin #kris letang #pittsburgh penguins #he loves them so much…

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foreingersgod · 29 days

Note

need need need something about Caitlin being obsessed with her girlfriend and talking about her non stop in interviews, insta ect

Obsessed . CC

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: caitlin always finds a way to talk about you

A/N: NOT PROOF READ

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

1. interviews

it was the end of an amazing game, not just for iowa, but especially for caitlin. she hadn’t played a game that well in her entire career, scoring more than her average and making shots from deeper than ever before. she had everyone on their feet the entire night cheering for her as she completely annihilated the other team.

you were there to watch her, as you were every other game. watching caitlin play had to be one of your favorite, most rewarding things to watch as a girlfriend. she’s worked for hard for long and she was finally getting the recognition she deserves.

after the post-game excitement had worn off, the team prepared for the following interviews. typically, you didn’t stick around for them, opting to head home and wait for caitlin so you could congratulate her in your own special way. but with such an amazing game for caitlin, you decided to stick around and watch.

it was like she was a natural, surrounded by all the microphones and flashing cameras. she looked proud and confident, ready for any and all questions. they asked her the usual questions and she answered assertively. but one particular question caught your attention.

“the effort you’ve put into basketball has been apparent throughout your career, but your fans want to know more. who do you credit for keeping you so motivated and successful off the court?”

she bit back a smile, lip tugged between her teeth as she listened to the interviewer. caitlin looked out into the sea of people, eyes finding yours somewhere in the back before answering.

“yea, no there’s a lot of people i could think of that have been absolutely incredible,” she said “you know obviously my parents and bothers, my teammates and friends. they’ve all been really supportive of me. but i do also want to credit my girlfriend, YN. i mean she’s been there for me day after day, she’s really the reason i’m able to keep going and i definitely wouldn’t be where i’m at now if it weren’t for her. so yea, i have a truly amazing support group behind me, it’s wild.”

you couldn’t help but blush hearing her mention your name up there. she was so sweet and so modest when it came to things like this and she always made sure you knew how much she really needed you.

after the interview, she came up to you, sweaty and exhausted. a big goofy grin still glued to her face as she gravitated into you.

“i love you so much” she said to you “i meant what i said in there, i really don’t know what i’d do without you”

you pulled her into you tighter, so close you could feel her pulse as your lips met the back of her ear.

“i love you more”

2. social media

caitlin posted you on a regular basis at this point (and you posted her just as much). she was so whipped, always posting photos of you to her instagram to show you off.

caitlinclark22

♡ liked by its.yn, katemartin03, and 799,403 others

caitlinclark22 obsessed with you @its.yn

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its.yn baby :’)

⤷ caitlinclark22 it’s true <3

gabbie.marshall my moms actually

ur.sister the cutest couple everrrr

user7838 brb crying right now

caitandynfan PARENTS

katemartin03 this is making me tear up i’ll be honest

⤷ its.yn stawppp

caitlinclark22

♡ liked by its.yn, caitlinfan180, and 876,221 more

caitlinclark22 i’m in love with you in every universe, happy anniversary @its.yn

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its.yn i’m actually so in love with you it’s insane

bueckersgirl52 this is the cutest thing i’ve ever seen

jadagyamfi soulmates fr

ynsbiggestfan i love them guys omg

3. around your friends

she honestly didn’t even know she did it because if she did, it would be way worse. the amount of times you got brought up in conversation was starting to get a bit ridiculous. yours and caitlin’s friends love the both of you, thought you were perfect for each other, but if they had to hear ‘YN said’ or ‘you know what happened with YN the other day?’ one. more. time. they were gonna lose it.

caitlin just loved talking about you. she spent every waking moment with you anyways so it was especially hard to not bring up in some sort of way. she really couldn’t care if her friends got sick of it or not.

“hey caitlin” kate asked as the team sat around the living room of your apartment. caitlin had invited the girls over to chill for the night, catch up without the weight of basketball hanging over their shoulders “i had meant to ask how that new restaurant downtown was?”

“oh man it was awesome” she responded “if you get the chance, definitely go. the food was incredible, you know me and YN actually wen-”

“caitlin i love you, but i swear to god please spare us from whatever mushy gushy relationship stuff you’re about to tell us” hannah chimed in from the seat next to caitlin. the girls laughed, glad she spoke up before caitlin began rambling about you again.

“whatever, you guys are just jealous” she rolled her eyes, playfully shoving hannah’s shoulder.

she didn’t mind how the team grew tired of her rambling, she probably would be too if she were them. but you were the soul thing that occupied her mind and she wouldn’t give that up for anything.

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark oneshot #cc x reader #wcbb #wcbb x reader #iowa wbb

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ctitan98official · 3 months

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Natasha has to be strict with Y/N

Y/N and Peter: *Playing video games*

Peter: *Looks over at Y/N* Hey, wanna go grab a slice of pizza?

Y/N: *Excited* Yeah! I- *Suddenly remembers something, sighs and rolls their eyes* Actually, nah. I’m good, Pete.

Peter: ??? Why, what’s up?

Y/N: I can’t really afford it at the moment.

Peter: *Confused* Oh, I’m sorry. Umm… Not even one slice of pizza?

Y/N: Nope. I already spent my allowance for the week.

Peter: *Cracks up* Your allowance? Aren’t you a little old for that?

Y/N: That’s what I told Nat! But she only gives me $7 a week and I spent it yesterday on pokemon cards and hot cheetos.

Peter: *Snorts* Excellent purchases, Y/N.

Y/N: Not really. Nat ate like half the bag…

Peter: *Thinking, scratches his head* $7 a week? Geez, Natasha’s really got you on a tight leash, huh?

Y/N: Yep. She says it’s because I’m “Fiscally irresponsible” And “A clear and malevolent threat” To her credit score. Can you believe that?! *Muttering to themself* I invest in one timeshare…

Peter: *Smirks* Heh, you’re whipped, Y/N. *Shrugs* Tony lets me buy whatever I want. He thinks I’m worth it.

Tony: *Suddenly walks in* Hey, babe. I just had a very interesting conversation with Natasha and I think we need to talk about your spending habits.

Y/N: *Cackles* Ha! Anything else to add, web-head?

Peter: *Looks at Y/N, tears up* … You’re a bad influence on me.

Masterlist

#marvel mcu #mcu #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #peter parker #y/n is stupid #tony stark #mcu incorrect quotes

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hunterrrs · 5 months

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Evgeni Malkin said he's always felt slightly overlooked.

One of the premier centers of his generation, the 37-year-old has played his NHL career as the second center on the Pittsburgh Penguins behind longtime teammate Sidney Crosby. He was the No. 2 pick in the 2004 NHL Draft. Alex Ovechkin, possibly the only Russia-born player more statistically accomplished, went No. 1 to the Washington Capitals.

Malkin doesn't mind. Actually, it's just the way he likes it.

"I'm not the kind of guy that wants media around me. I like to be quiet a little bit," Malkin said. "I want to just play the game. Probably, people want, like, my private life a little bit more. But I'm, like, a little bit closed.

"Maybe my English is not good before, not talk too much with media. Again, this is kind of myself. I'm OK with that because I know I'm a good player."

Numbers do talk, though. In his 18th season, Malkin is third in Penguins history with 1,261 points, 485 goals and 776 assists, trailing Mario Lemieux (1,723 points; 690 goals, 1,033 assists) and Crosby (1,540 points; 571 goals, 969 assists).

Ovechkin reached out after Malkin eclipsed Fedorov.

"He's a star in the League," Ovechkin said. "I think he's a tremendous player. He knows how to win. He knows how to play. It's not a surprise he has so many points, so many goals and assists."

"People are talking about Ovi a lot. They talk about (Connor) McDavid. They talk about (Nathan) MacKinnon," Letang said. "You don't hear Geno's name a lot. What he's been able to do in this league for that long and at this age still, being the goal scorer that he is, it's just special.

"I think it's always been (that way), except maybe the year he won the Hart and everything. I think it's always been a little bit like that. He's not seen to his true color."

Without Malkin, Crosby said his NHL career would have been more difficult. That pair, along with Letang, has won the Stanley Cup three times (2009, 2016, 2017). They qualified for the Stanley Cup Playoffs in 16 consecutive seasons together before missing them last season.

"There are nights where you don't feel great or have your best," Crosby said. "You're watching Geno do his thing out there. That's happened a lot. I think we've pushed each other over the years, but he's a guy that has always stepped up when he needs to. I think that's just the competitive nature in him.

"I think the consistency is the biggest thing. You don't have that kind of consistency without being as competitive as he is. He's been amazing for a lot of years. The stats show it."

"I think the biggest thing for me that I admire about Geno is how competitive he is," Penguins coach Mike Sullivan said. "Just his competitive spirit is off the charts. His will to win, his want to win, and his will and want to score and produce offense. I don't think anyone likes scoring goals more than 'G.' You can see it in his raw emotion when he scores.

"Sometimes, I don't think Geno gets the credit that he deserves in the hockey world for the body of work that he's put together in this league and how talented he is. He's without a doubt one of the greatest players of all-time."

love a good geno lovefest

#i’ll never get sick of the people who actually matter going: of course he’s the best #evgeni malkin #sidney crosby #kris letang #mike sullivan #alex ovechkin #pittsburgh penguins

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 6 months

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@steddiemas Day 5 - Grumpy vs. Sunshine

pairing: pre-steddie | word count: 830 | rated: T

“Ugh this is the worst, why is everyone playing Christmas music already? First Melvald’s, then Johnston’s record store, now even the damn arcade is playing this god-awful music.” Eddie grouses, flinging a hand toward the ceiling in general.

“Oh, I see,” Steve laughs, following slowly behind their herd of nerds at Eddie’s side, “It’s fine if I decorate my whole house already, but god forbid anyone else start celebrating?”

“Duh.”

“And why’s that?”

“‘Cause I actually like you, obviously.”

Steve’s heart squeezes in his chest, but he continues to rile up the other man. “Got it, got it; so you don’t like the record store anymore? Don’t like the arcade anymore?”

“I see where you’re going with this and I’m not falling for it. Yes Stevie, Johnston’s and Hawkins’ only arcade have fallen completely out of favor with I, Eddie Munson, for the rest of my days.”

“Okay, so leave.” Steve deadpans, having expected this outcome.

“Also, a declaration like that only works with your full name, Eddie.” Dustin calls back to them.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up you dork.” Eddie waves him off, then changes gears, “So, Steven, what frivolities shall we partake in whilst our hellions engage in their own chaos?”

Steve huffs a laugh, “Okay, okay, hold on, give me a second to try and figure that one out.” he says, pretending to sort through Eddie’s words as if he hasn’t spent enough time around the lot of them to understand what he’d said immediately... “I was going to hit the pinball machine, how about you?” “Ooh perfect!” Eddie rubs his hands together as if that’s something he should be mischievous about. “That SOB S.O.H. is going down today, Stevie. I can feel it.”

So, Steve watches Eddie cajole and smack and tilt and praise the Star Wars branded machine in one of the far corners of the place for the next hour, never getting close to his “sworn arch nemesis” S.O.H.’s high score on the machine.

“Damn that jerkward!” Eddie complains, kicking one leg of the machine in frustration after his last quarter is gone.

“Jerkwad?” Steve splutters, “No ‘Terrible Archduke bent on World Domination’? ‘Hellbound scum of the earth’? ‘Rancid-breath-having Satan’s-asscrack-smelling bitch of the highest degree’? C’mon man, Eddie Munson can hurl better insults than ‘jerkwad’.”

Eddie just stares at him, mouth agape.

“What? You act like I’ve never spent time around you, Eds. Now get out of the way,” he nudges Eddie out of the way of his machine, and drops a new quarter into the slot. “It’s my turn.”

For the next four hours, Eddie stands rooted to the spot as he watches Steve use a whole three quarters on the machine. The first two times, he beats Eddie’s score, then his own again, stealing the second place spot first from him, then from himself, entering E.M. into the machine each time.

The last quarter however, the longest game he’s seen yet, Steve manages to beat S.O.H.’s high score.

“Holy shit!! Steve, you did it! Take that you sonofabitch!” he exclaims, pointing accusatively at the small display scrolling “NEW HIGH SCORE!” in orange letters across it. “You gotta actually put in your initials this time, Stevie.”

Steve just gives him a crooked smile, then shrugs, turning back to the machine to enter an S, an O, and a H into the field.

“No..No, Steve! You can’t let that asshole take the credit! That was your win, Harrington! That wa—” Eddie cuts himself off in realization.

Steve’s still smirking at him. “Yeah, Eds?”

Asshole.

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah, Eds?” he repeats.

“What’s your middle name?”

Steve grins wider. “Otis. Why? What’s your middle name, Eddie?”

The bastard.

“I…hate you.”

“Aw c’mon Eddie, don’t be like that!” Steve laughs, following him back through the arcade and out the front door.

“I don’t wanna talk to you, I don’t wanna look at you, I don’t wanna—oh gOD fucking damn it!!”

There’s snow falling softly to the wet cement at his feet.

“It’s snowing.”

“Yeah, Steve, thanks for pointing that out.”

“You’re welcome, Eddie.”

Eddie shoots him a glare, only to find the smug bastard smiling at him still. His cheeks are flushed, there’s big clumps of snow in his hair, and he looks so goddamn pretty it hurts.

“Awe, sweet! Snow!” Lucas’ exclamation from behind them breaks Eddie’s reverie of Steve’s unfairly attractive face.

The rest of the party troops out from behind him, each expressing their own excitement about the weather.

“Oh gross, it’s snowing.”

“Thank you, Mike,” Eddie agrees, pointing at the teen, “At least someone here has some sense.”

There’s a sudden warmth over his shoulder as Steve leans close, “I’ll get you to like Christmas somehow, Eds.” The warmth is gone just as soon as it arrives, Steve peeling away nonchalantly to give him a quick wink before starting to herd the cats.

As improbable as that is, Eddie can’t help but believe him.

steve being a whiz at pinball comes from this post by @findafight

#steddie #steddiemas #steve harrington #eddie munson #pre-steddie #<- technically #but you all know where this is going lmao #steve harrington x eddie munson #st #steddie ficlet #st ficlet #stranger things #the party #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #max mayfield #will byers #noelle writes

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daisyswift3 · 1 month

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UMM so cruel summer and a lot of other songs are making a lotttt more sense now that I’ve realized the “devil” that Taylor keeps referring to is actually the music industry as a whole thanks to @keepingsecretstokeepyoutk (see this post). “He looks up grinning like a devil” // “I would’ve stayed on my knees and I damn sure never would’ve danced w the devil AT 19” // “Dear reader if you aim at the devil make sure you don’t miss.” Do you remember the Top Global Artist vid that spotify released that had cruel summer as the background song and had a bunch of cruel summer references? Yeah go back and watch that again w this context in mind 😃 Taylor (the angel) has had enough of the games and is gonna end them once and for all which is very Katniss Everdeen of her—hello the archer 🏹 if any of you have read or watched the hunger games you know how the story ends

And you'll also remember that Katniss escapes the games twice by cheating--the first time w poison berries and the second time by destroying the arena itself (which was a clock) WITH itself using a lightning strike current at midnight that shot thru her arrow -> "And there was one prize I'd cheat to win." Not to mention Katniss was the mockingjay, a symbol of rebellion and resistance. And the fire symbolism in this trilogy was meant to represent how that rebellion can spread from a spark of hope. Snow lands on top but fire melts snow. Taylor is a huge hunger games fan so I wouldn't be surprised at all if these parallels were intentional. Also I'm not the first one to notice the hunger games connections, I saw some other gaylors point this out so I can't take full credit for that

“You play stupid games you win stupid prizes” // “Devils roll the dice” // "Baby let the games begin" // The scrabble instagram post // The mastermind chess board // "You see all the wisest women had to do it this way, cause we were born to be the pawn in every lover's game" // "No more keeping score now I just keep you warm. No more tug of war now I just know there's more"

I think it's possible Taylor knew that her masters were gonna be sold hence all the game imagery and songs abt heartbreak on lover

She's literally gonna take down the industry as a whole and expose everything. This is the reason for all the cryptic messages and meticulous planning. AND THIS IS WHAT THE ALBATROSS IS ABT TOO. “She’s the albatross she is here to destroy you.” They tried to keep her locked away in cages and towers and closets and tried taming her and pulling out her teeth but it didn’t work

“Devils that you know raise worse hell than a stranger” SHE’S the devil now and she’s abt to make their lives a living hell

“She’s the death you chose” i.e. the music industry chose to kill Taylor (which is why TTPD is a post-mortem album) so now she’s coming back to haunt them hence the ghostly Victorian attire. “We gather here we line up weeping in a sunlit room and if I’m on fire you’ll be made of ashes too.” THIS is the karma she’s talking abt that will happen at midnight!!

“You’ll see me in hindsight tangled up w you all night burning it down”

I am the APPARITION. I am the LINE OF POETRY. THAT’S TAYLOR. SHE’S THE GHOST WRITING POST-MORTEM POETRY

Literally feel like I am abt to explode from all the earth-shattering revelations I’ve just had

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kitnita · 9 days

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wyatt johnston & jason robertson postgame — DAL vs COL; game 4 — 05.13.24

[hey wyatt, obviously these types of facts aren’t what you’re focused on, but you’re the only other player — the only other guy who’s ever had a short-handed goal and a power-play goal younger than twenty-one in a playoff game is wayne gretzky. how does that hit you?] uh, um — it’s cool. yeah, i mean … yeah, it’s cool, um, i mean, i’m just … tryna do my part, in helping chip in, whatever that may be. um, yeah. [hey jason. what’d you think of wyatt’s play — obviously, poking the puck away from makar, it’s just a fantastic play at the right time.] yeah, i mean … credit our penalty killers, doing a really good job. um, yeah, it’s a very confident play by him, um, trying to take advantage of it, try to produce, i mean, offense when he can — um, i mean, that wayne gretzky stat is pretty neat. um, yeah, i don’t — you don’t see many, uh, guys under twenty-one kill penalties, in itself; surely not out there scoring on the powerplay too, so, it’s a tremendous achievement. um, and it just shows how, how well and how prepared and how hard he’s come. and, i mean, it’s only gonna keep going up from here.

#hockey #stars #dallas stars #wyatt johnston #jason robertson #long post //#i CANNOT overstate how much i love when they make them talk about a guy while they're actively sitting next to him!!!!!#wyatt smothering a little smile when robo says it was a confident play!!#wyatt full on grinning when robo says the gretzky stat is neat!!!!#this was a v fun pairing. personal favorite moment is when a question was fully posed to both of them and robo refused to take it <3 #he will praise wyatt but he also will use seniority to dump questions on him <3 #z:edit

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m1ckeyb3rry · 26 days

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── PEREGRINE // PROLOGUE

Series Synopsis: The ways that you and Seishiro Nagi fall together and fall apart over the years.

Chapter Synopsis: You are invited to the wedding of an old friend.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Kira x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.1k

Content Warnings: unhealthy relationships, cheating, non-linear narrative, probably ooc, angst, nagi is endgame, kira sucks, alternate universe, original characters

A/N: literally shaking as i post this because i have NOT been in the bllk fandom for long enough to be writing a fic for it but oh well #livelaughlove. some authors post new stories because they’re proud of their work. i post new stories because then when i write like shit i disappoint less people.

divider credits: @/benkeibear

Seishiro Nagi had always been beautiful when he ran, albeit atypical in his form. He lacked the fierceness that the others on his team had, his feet never pounding against the turf the way theirs did, his strides never swallowing the ground in quite that same manner. Instead, his steps were light, like he was dancing, or perhaps flying, like he was a falcon diving across the field in pursuit of his next goal.

He was the only thing that could unite your entire miserable, shitty town. Everyone was outside that day, crowding in restaurants to crane their necks at the little screen in the corner, pressing together in the square to peer up at the projection of the tied match, which only had a few minutes left to go before the end of the second half.

Nagi had the ball. You weren’t really sure how he had gotten it, who had passed it to him or what maneuver he had used to get around the other team’s defense, but it was all irrelevant. He had the ball, and as he barreled towards the other team's goalkeeper, the entire town held its breath.

Even you, who were never supposed to have much interest in soccer nor in Seishiro Nagi, found yourself worrying your lower lip between your teeth, leaning forward slightly, clenching your fists by your sides.

“Come on, Nagi,” you murmured. “We’re so close. Come on.”

A few more steps and a strategic feint, and then he had made it behind the defenders. The town swelled with anticipation as victory became all but certain, as the clock ticked nearer and nearer to the moment when Nagi would pull off one of those impossible moves of his, where he would slam the ball into the net and win the game for his team once again.

But the moment never came. For some reason, right as he drew his leg back to shoot, Nagi froze. His foot never connected with the ball; instead, it slowly came back down to rest as he stared down at his muddy cleats.

“What is he doing?” someone said. The cheers turned to whispers as Nagi proved himself to be a statue, incapable of moving, of defending his possession, of scoring, of anything. He just stood there, and as one of the defenders stole the ball off of him and passed it to the opposing team’s striker, he did not make any attempts to turn around and make up for his mistake. He just stood there, contemplating something, a cloudy dreaminess settling over his eyes. It was the most disconcerting thing you had ever seen, that complete apathy in face of an imminent loss, that resignation to an eventuality which he himself had created.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” a man screamed, and then it was a mass chaos as the people who had been praising Nagi only seconds earlier turned to baying for his blood, demanding he never play again as a punishment for his great sin.

They got their wish. The next season, and the next, Seishiro Nagi spent every match on the bench, not even afforded the role of a substitute, no matter how tired the rest of the team grew without his relentless presence, how many games they lost when they did not have him to rely on.

That first season after his disastrous loss, he was made a mockery of. Every single news article was about his downfall, every reporter charting out with glee the exact moment that he had gone from the media’s darling to their newest scapegoat. By the second season, though, he was largely forgotten. There were more exciting things, newcomers who had entered the league and dominated matches with their own unique styles, and so when it became clear that Nagi would not give them the reactions that they were hoping for, the journalists turned to talking about those players instead.

After that, he stopped going to games entirely.

There was another woman in your bed. You could hear her shuffling footsteps, the way your fiancé hushed her, her giggles as she ducked into some hiding spot or another, likely behind his neatly pressed work suits. You could picture it now — such a domestic scene it must’ve been. His arm, wrapped around her shoulders as he guided her to the closet. Her fingers, still working themselves free from his light hair. His eyes, a bright amber that would be glimmering from the thrill of the near-miss. Her cheeks, which would be flushed from the shame of your early return home.

You sighed, pursing your lips and then undoing the knot of the ribbon holding together the bouquet of flowers in your hand. Pouring a cup of water into a crystal vase, you arranged the flowers carefully in it, making sure you did not prick your fingers on the thorny stems as you waited for your fiancé to come thundering down to greet you.

“Y/N! I didn’t think you’d be home so early!” he said, leaping off the bottom stair and waltzing into the kitchen, discreetly wiping his hands against his pants.

“Hey, Ryosuke,” you said. “No worries. I was actually just about to head out again; I had thought I’d wash the sheets tonight, but I think we’re out of detergent, so I’m going to run to the store and grab some.”

“Ah, okay,” he said. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

“About an hour,” you said. “I think I’ll stop by Chigiri’s on the way back.”

“Chigiri’s?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “What do you need from him?”

It was ironic. There the two of you were, both pretending like he wasn’t hiding a third in your bedroom, and yet you were the one who was facing his accusations, who was under suspicion for no other reason than because you wanted to visit your friend.

“I lent him our blender because his broke, remember?” you said. “I was going to see if he’s gotten a replacement yet or not.”

“I see,” he said, relaxing only slightly. “Well, don’t delay on my part, I guess. See you soon?”

“See you,” you said. “I’ll text you when I’m about ten minutes away. If you could warm up the leftovers in the fridge, I’d appreciate it. I’m a little hungry.”

“Of course,” he said. “Bye!”

“Bye,” you said. Once, he would’ve pressed a kiss to your cheek, or maybe even to your lips, but now, he only waved at you before bounding back up the stairs, calling out some excuse about folding his laundry over his shoulder. You watched him go for a moment, wishing you could chase after him and demand he love you again, demand he love you the way he used to, but it would be pointless. You were unconvinced that things would ever be that way again.

One of the lights in the store near your house was broken. It would flicker back to life periodically, struggling to stay lit, but its attempts were stuttered and pitifully in vain. It worsened the migraine building behind your temples, and you narrowed your eyes as you reached the laundry aisle and picked up the cheapest, smallest bottle of detergent you could find.

“You should get that light fixed,” you said to the cashier. He didn’t even look like he was out of high school yet, and as he scanned the bottle, he muttered something about how you should’ve just used the self-checkout line instead.

“I’ll tell my manager,” he said when it became clear that you were waiting for a response. “Cash or card?”

“Card,” you said, tapping it against the screen and signing your name with the attached stylus. “I don’t need a bag.”

“Have a nice day,” he said robotically, mechanically. “Next!”

The woman behind you, who was juggling a screaming baby, a whining child, and a week’s worth of groceries, began to try and empty her cart, but her child kept tugging at her arms and her baby kept crying and she kept dropping things, so it was altogether a pointless effort. The cashier let out an aggravated sigh, barely even sparing you a nod as you tucked the detergent in your pocket.

You furrowed your brow as you watched the woman, wondering if that was to be your future. Once you married Ryosuke, once you became Mrs. Kira, then wouldn’t children be the natural next step? Certainly, that’s what your parents would say.

“Hey,” you said to the child, tapping her on the head as she pulled on her mother’s sleeve once more. Upon feeling your touch against her hair, she froze, looking up at you with wide eyes. “I really like your hairstyle. Did you do it yourself?”

Her hair had been tied into two pigtails and then messily plaited, small pink bows decorating the end of each braid and matching her shirt. She peered at you owlishly, confused enough to quiet down for a moment. Her mother shot you a grateful look as her one hand was freed so that she could start to actually deal with her groceries.

“My mommy did it,” the girl said, stumbling over her words. “For school.”

“It’s very smart,” you said. “I bet everyone in your class was jealous.”

The girl thought about this before nodding. “Yeah, they were.”

“I’m glad I finished school already,” you said, pretending to shiver. “If I hadn’t, then I wouldn’t have known what to do if you showed up looking like that!”

“Did your mommy not do your hair for you?” the girl said. You thought back to your own mother, your own days at school, and then you shook your head.

“She tried,” you said. “But no matter how elaborate the hairstyles she gave me were, they could never measure up to what you have right now.”

“Why not?” she said.

“Because,” you said. “I think your mother worked really hard on them, and that’s the most important thing. You should remember to say thank you to her when you can.”

“I always say please and thank you,” she said proudly, beaming at you, her two front teeth missing. “Mommy says it’s good manners.”

“Those are very good manners,” you agreed. “Now, it looks like your mother’s done with checking out. Let’s go to the car with her, alright?”

The girl nodded and darted ahead to grab her mother’s hand. Her mother sighed, going to free her hand from her daughter’s grip, but you stopped her.

“I’ve got it,” you said, picking up her grocery bags in both hands and nodding at the door. “Which way is your car? I’ll walk you there.”

“Oh, you — you don’t have to!” she said, fumbling in the face of the offer. “I can do it.”

“I don’t doubt you can,” you said. “But you shouldn’t have to. I’ll follow after you.”

Maybe it wasn’t the wisest decision for the woman to trust a stranger, but there was a sort of bone-deep exhaustion burrowing into her that must’ve made her accept the offer. So she only nodded at you and began to stride towards her car, unlocking it and opening the trunk so that you could put the groceries in it while she buckled her children into their respective car seats.

When she was distracted, you snuck the laundry detergent into one of the bags. It wasn’t as if you needed it; you had just gotten some the other day, and that had been the brand you preferred, too. The entire outing had just been an excuse for you to leave the house for enough time that Ryosuke’s new girl of the week could sneak out, as if she had never been there in the first place.

“Thank you so much for your help,” she said when you pressed the button to shut the trunk, stepping back and watching it slowly lower. “Er, what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you said, offering her your hand. She accepted it, shaking it so furiously it was a wonder your arm did not fly off.

“Thank you so much, Y/N. They’re so exhausting to bring along, but I have no other choice. I know it must be so irritating to the other shoppers, but…” she trailed off in defeat, her head hanging low. “I really do have no other choice. My husband’s always busy, and we can’t quite afford a babysitter or a nanny or anything like that, so they’re always with me.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “You have the right to be there, too. I hope you can always find help when you need it.”

“Thank you,” she said again. “You, too.”

“Thanks!” you said, waving at her as you made your way to your own car, only allowing your smile to drop once you were far enough that she wouldn’t notice the way it had disappeared.

You spent the drive to Chigiri’s in silence, muting the radio and amusing yourself with watching the street lamps turn on as it grew progressively darker out, their orange glows piercing through the misty night like cheerful planets, so at odds with your glum mood.

Wouldn’t Ryosuke be like that? Because of that one chance encounter, you could envision your future so clearly. It would be exactly the life that that woman led. You would have those children that he and your parents had always wanted, and you would care for them, and all the while, he would run around and sleep with any girl he could get into his bed, his existence entirely unaffected even as yours had been wrecked.

“So,” Chigiri said, stirring a spoonful of honey into the tea he had prepared for himself, his right leg extended on the coffee table before him. “When’s your wedding with that peacock bastard, anyways?”

You took a sip of the tea he had so graciously made for you before responding, taking the moment to mull over what you’d say as the liquid scalded your tongue.

“Lately, it seems like that’s all anyone ever asks me,” you said.

“It’s a pretty typical question to ask someone who’s engaged,” he said.

“That’s true,” you said. “Well, I don’t know when it is. We haven’t picked a date or made any concrete plans yet.”

“Geez, what was the point of proposing, then?” he said.

“You’ll be the first to hear when it happens,” you said.

“Really? Not Reo?” he said. You considered this.

“The second to hear,” you amended. He pretended to scowl at you, though it was half-heartedly done.

“I can’t believe it,” he said. “Though, I guess it does kind of make sense. Nobody hates Kira as much as I do, so you’d probably want to share the news with someone a bit more supportive.”

“It’s about time you let old grudges die,” you said. Chigiri glanced at his right leg before shaking his head.

“No way,” he said. “I’ll never forgive him.”

“It wasn’t even his fault,” you said weakly, though you knew it was just another rendition of the same argument you and he had had so many times before, the same argument that the two of you would probably keep having until you both stopped being friends altogether.

It was bound to happen. There was no way that you could stay friends with Chigiri in any way that lasted. Not as you were currently. Not as who you would soon become. That kind of person didn’t deserve to be friends with someone like Chigiri, who was always so bright and gentle, who even now was frowning slightly because of you.

“Whatever,” he said. “I won’t bring it up at your wedding. That’s the best I can give you.”

You thought that you should probably smile or thank him, but the thought of your impending wedding caused a lump to form in your throat, and it was all you could do to swallow it back without tears forming in your eyes. You gulped down the tea, hissing when it burnt your mouth, glad for the tears which sprang to your eyes and disguised the moment of weakness.

“Sorry,” you said to Chigiri, who only snorted and handed you a napkin to dab at your lips with. “Speaking of which, do you think you’d be okay with wearing a dress and being one of my bridesmaids? I’m woefully lacking in the department.”

“No,” Chigiri said. “Please, make some friends. It’ll actually be embarrassing if you have no one on your side of the wedding.”

“Sorry, but some of us had better things to do in high school than socializing,” you said, tossing a pillow at him. He caught it in one hand and glared at you before chucking it back, full-force. It landed at your side, narrowly avoiding smashing into your face, and then it was your turn to glare at him.

“For your information, I also had better things to do, but somehow, I made time to get to know people,” he said.

“Oh, yeah? Name three of your friends,” you said. He opened his mouth, but you stopped him before he could speak. “Not me, not Reo, and not May.”

He closed his mouth. “Okay, you got me there. Maybe I was more focused on soccer than I realized…”

“Maybe,” you said, though your tea suddenly tasted sour at the mention of soccer.

“I’ll wear a dress if you’ll wear a suit and draw on a mustache at my wedding,” he offered.

“Um, no,” you said.

“Then I guess we’ll both be embarrassed,” he said.

“That’s even assuming you find someone you like enough to propose to, and that that person says yes,” you said.

“I will!” he said. “Just you wait. I’ll make you eat your words!”

“Whatever you say,” you said. “I still think you’re going to die alone, by the way.”

“Better than living with that excuse for a man that you plan on marrying,” he said.

Just like everything else regarding your relationship with Ryosuke, your protests were false and weak. You didn’t mean them. In fact, you even agreed with Chigiri, but if you didn’t speak up, then who would? If you didn’t say something, then all of the time you had spent with him would’ve been a waste. Everything would’ve been a waste, and that was something you could not allow.

“I’m back!” you called out as you re-entered the house, though you knew that even Ryosuke wasn’t foolish enough to risk being caught when he had had so many advance warnings and so much time to prepare for your arrival.

“There she is!” he said, grinning up at you from the dining table, not even a guilty twinge to his words as he spoke — not that you had been expecting any. “Your food’s on the counter, babe.”

“Looks good,” you said, picking up the plate and sitting across from him, picking at the pasta with a fork, pushing it around without lifting any, unable to bring yourself to actually eat it. “You didn’t have to cook, though. There was stuff in the fridge.”

“I know, but I wanted to,” he said. “Can’t I do nice things for my favorite girl every now and then?”

You knew what that clever wordplay implied. His favorite girl, but not his only. You supposed he must’ve been proud of it, of that private joke made for an audience of exactly one.

“I guess there’s no reason why you can’t,” you said. “It’s good.”

“Anytime,” he said. “Now, listen, I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh?” you said, preparing yourself for him to say that he wanted to move again or that he wanted to get rid of your cat or something equally as preposterous, as he often did when he started his sentence off with that particular phrase. “And what about?”

“We’ve been engaged for a while,” he said.

“Yes,” you said cautiously, internally cursing Chigiri, believing that he must’ve spoken this entire conversation into existence with his playful inquiries from earlier.

“So we should probably pick a date for the wedding and start preparing for it and all, don’t you think?” he said.

No, you wanted to scream at him. No, I don’t think so. I don’t want to. Nothing has to change. Don’t let it change.

You were saved from having to answer by your cell phone ringing. Without apologizing, you picked up, because there were very few people who would ever call you, and almost all of them were more important than Ryosuke.

“Y/N L/N,” a familiar voice said. Every bit of despair which had crept over you vanished in an instant at that sound, and this time when you smiled, it wasn’t forced.

“Reo!” you said. Ryosuke frowned, but you ignored him. “How late is it over there?”

“It’s early, actually, but it’s okay. I was waking up to go to the gym, anyways, and I figured I’d call you while I’m at it,” he said.

“That makes sense. What’s up?” you said.

“Can’t I just have called you because I miss you so much?” he said.

“You could have, but you wouldn’t,” you said. “What’s the real reason?”

“You’re annoying,” he said.

“Mhm,” you said.

“Fine, yes, I was calling you for a reason, but I do also miss you a lot, so don’t think I don’t!” he said.

“I wouldn’t dare,” you said.

“You know how I proposed to May a couple of years ago?” he said.

“I was there,” you reminded him. “And by the way, you’re lucky I was! The whole reason I went to college abroad was so that I had an excuse to never return to that place, so for you to go back and live there has really been inconvenient.”

“I can’t help that this is where our corporation’s headquarters are,” he said awkwardly. “I kind of have to live here.” You scoffed.

“Whatever. I’m not going to visit again, so if that’s what you’re calling about, then you might as well hang up,” you said.

“Seriously? Nothing can convince you to come?” he said, letting out a chuckle, the cocksure one he had inherited from his father. It was the one thing you hated most about him, but he had never managed to break the habit, no matter how many times you pointed it out.

“Nope,” you said. “Nothing.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Ryosuke said. You waved him off dismissively, mouthing tell you later at him when he pouted grumpily.

“Not even your own best friend’s wedding?” he pressed. You paused, taken aback by the sudden turn.

“What?” you squealed. “Like, an official wedding? You have the day picked out and all?”

“Calm down, woman, it’s not that serious,” he said. You could hear his wince through the phone, but you were too excited to care.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you said.

“So, funny thing, that’s actually what I’m doing right now,” he said. You clicked your tongue.

“Shut up,” you said. “I can’t believe you’re actually getting married. It feels like just yesterday I was introducing the two of you.”

“I know,” he said fondly. “We’ve been arguing the whole time about whose side of the wedding party you’ll be on. At the moment, I think I’m winning, but I don’t know how long that’ll last.”

“You guys just assumed I would come?” you said.

“Will you not?” he said. You glanced at Ryosuke, who raised his eyebrows at you.

“Give me a second,” you said.

“Okay, I’ll be waiting,” he said. You put the phone on mute and set it on the table.

“Reo and May are getting married,” you said. “Soon. They want me to come.”

“Of course they would. You’re best friends with both of them,” Ryosuke said. You waited for him to reassure you, to tell you that he knew it would be hard for you to go back to your hometown but that the two of you could get through it together. However, he didn’t. You weren’t even sure why you had waited in the first place. You had known that he wasn’t that person anymore for a very long time now. Maybe it was just an old habit that you couldn’t let die quite yet. Maybe you would always be waiting for him.

“I should go, then,” you said.

“Obviously,” he said. “And I’ll come this time.”

“Naturally,” you said, because it would raise too many questions if you didn’t bring your fiancé to your best friend’s wedding. It had been bad enough when he hadn’t come with you the last time, but you had managed to soothe everyone’s concerns with stories about work being too much, how he would’ve loved to visit but had such a strict boss that he just couldn’t.

As per usual, those had all been lies. You had been the one to demand he stay back. You didn’t tell him the reason, because it hardly made sense to you, but the truth was that the thought of Ryosuke walking through the streets that had once belonged to someone else was counterintuitive. Wrong. Those steps were not his to make. That secret was not his to tarnish.

“What’s the verdict?” Reo said when you unmuted the phone and held it back up to your ear. Ryosuke leaned over and gathered your dishes, taking them with his own and turning on the sink, running them under the water, drowning out the sound of your voice.

“Don’t ask that as if you don’t know the answer, idiot,” you said. “It seems you got lucky once again. I’ll be there, and so will Ryosuke.”

Reo choked audibly. “Ryosuke? Do you mean Kira?”

“We’ve been engaged longer than you and May have. Don’t you think it would be a little weird if I still called him by his surname?” you said.

“That’s true. I was just surprised you’re still with him, but I shouldn’t have been. Sorry,” he said. “Is he going to be your plus one?”

“Again, he is my fiancé,” you said, glancing over to where he was humming to himself as he scrubbed the sauce off of the plates. Your heart panged at the sight. Sometimes, you thought that you were being unfair to him. You would hate and hate him, and then he would do something that would remind you why you had ever loved him in the first place. “Who else would I bring?”

“I don’t know, Chigiri?” he said. “You talk about him way more than you do Kira.”

“He’s my friend,” you said. “I just spend more time with him.”

“Hey, it’s not my business. If you want to have an affair, then that’s your prerogative. Although, given the history between those two, Chigiri might not be the best choice…” he said.

“You suck,” you said as he burst into laughter.

“Kidding, kidding. Anyways, May beat me to inviting Chigiri, so he couldn’t be your plus one regardless, since he’s a traitor,” he said.

“Who says I won’t decide to be on May’s side after all?” you said. “She’d probably make me her maid of honor.”

“Uh,” Reo said. “If that’s the case, then you should definitely be on my side.”

“Why is that?” you said.

“I mean, you know how the maid of honor and the best man usually spend a lot of time together?” he said nervously.

“Sure,” you said, although you really didn’t, considering you hadn’t been invited to very many weddings before, and certainly none where you had been the maid of honor.

“Well, there’s no gentle way to put this,” he said.

“Just spit it out,” you said.

“Um, just know that I really love you a lot,” he said. “But I already picked my best man.”

“How is that something you’d need to put gently? Considering my lack of ‘man’ qualifications, I wasn’t exactly expecting to get the role,” you said.

“It’s Nagi.”

Unbidden, your eyebrows shot up in surprise, but your initial burst of shock quickly settled, and you realized it made enough sense that you shouldn’t really question it. “Okay.”

“I know you guys didn’t get along in high school and all, but he was the only one I could think of,” Reo said.

“Okay,” you said.

“But you’re my best friend, too, and don’t you dare forget that!” he continued.

“Reo,” you said, but he was too busy rambling to notice.

“Just please get along with him. For my sake! And May’s, if you decide to be her maid of honor,” he said.

“Reo,” you tried again.

“You don’t even have to be friends! Just mutually ignore one another or something, it’ll go much smoother that way. Or, well, if you’re the maid of honor and he’s the best man, I guess you can’t really ignore one another, so that’s a dilemma…wait, I know! You can treat him like he’s just one of your coworkers—”

“Reo!” you said, finally growing frustrated enough to cut him off. “It’s okay. High school was years ago. Neither of us is going to let the past impact the present, I’m sure. You have more important things to be stressing out about; this shouldn’t even be on your list of worries, man. You’re getting married!”

“You promise?” he said.

“Promise,” you said.

“I’m serious. I don’t want any fights or anything. Whatever hatred you had for him, put it behind you,” he said.

“I did that already,” you said. “Many years past. I’m not a teenage girl anymore. People from back then don’t bother me.”

“Not even your parents?” he said.

“Low blow, Mr. Mikage,” you said. But of course, he didn’t even know the half of it, so how could you blame him for what he had surely believed to be a harmless joke? “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to them in a while, either.”

“Have they even met Kira yet?” he said.

“No,” you said.

“Great, then you can introduce him to them! It’ll be a double-win type of trip,” he said.

“Right,” you said. He sounded so happy that you couldn’t bear to tell him the truth, that the thought of introducing Ryosuke to your parents was actually akin to torture. Besides, what would he do if you did tell him? It was something he could never comprehend.

“Now I can’t wait!” he said.

“Me, either,” you said. “And Reo?”

“Yes?”

“Tell May I’m choosing her side,” you said.

“What? You seriously want to risk possibly being the maid of honor, even after everything I told you?” he said.

You thought about what the role might entail. Who the role might entail. And then you looked over at Ryosuke, who was putting the leftover pasta back in the fridge. He locked eyes with you and then jokingly scrunched his nose. You thought you might’ve found it endearing when you had first met him.

“Yeah,” you said. “I do.”

#nagi x reader #nagi x y/n #nagi x you #nagi seishiro #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #modern au #peregrine #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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uhmprobablynot · 1 year

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HEAR ME OUT jock/bully!schlatt x nerd!reader 🤭

The way your brain works? Literal chefs kiss. I have a part two in the works that adds a bit but I didn’t want this to be too long. Let me know if you want the part about the game, and maybe some,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, other things :)

Part One > Part Two > Part Three

He is so mean.

You watch him laugh in the middle of the student center with other members of his baseball team. Knowing Schlatt, he was probably bragging about a girl that was fawning over him like everyone seemed to do. You pretend not to understand why girls seem to throw themselves at him but his toned legs, tanned skin, and big stature that followed being a student athlete solved the mystery rather quickly. But he is so mean.

Last semester when you were forced by your computer science professor to sit next to Schlatt, he used every chance to prove that. From constantly berating your programming work, making fun of you for minor missed calculations, to making you feel stupid for just not understanding some of the material. You were thankful that the class was finally over when December came around, hoping that you would never be subjected to that again.

Then January came and so did your American History course. When you walked through the classroom doors you almost turned right back around when you saw him already lounging at one of the tables. Legs wide and his arms back behind his head. Instead, you only cursed and sat at a table away from him. He smirked and moved to your table.

“Aw y/n, how come you didn’t sit next to me this time?” He asked. You only glared at him and pulled out your notebook and laptop. Hopeful that your silence would make him move, but he stayed right next to you. The first week of that class passed by the same way as last semesters did. Schlatt insulting you or taking your notebook when you weren't looking. When the first test came around Schlatt taunted you.

“Careful that you don’t fail this one too, we both know your testing average.” Schlatt smirked to himself as he saw you take a steadying breath.

The next class meeting the professor passed the tests back out. You beamed as you saw the 97 in red ink at the top of the paper, but you also saw the 53 at the top of Schlatt’s. You did your best not to smirk, good riddance, you thought to your self.

Weeks passed just like that, Schlatt making passes at your intelligence. Yet, each week you watched as his grades stayed around the 50-70 percent mark. The scores only dropped lower once baseball started, and so did his comments about your intelligence. Instead his comments focused on things that were harder to just ignore.

The professor was talking about Chicago’s ugly law in 1881 and Schlatt smirked and leaned over to you.

“Looks like you wouldn’t have been able to leave the house in Chicago.” You felt your stomach twist. You were used to his comments but that one just hit harder than you were expecting. Nodding you felt tears in your eyes as you just focused back on the board in front of you. “Oh come on,” He poked your side and slowly his smirk shrank as he realized you weren’t backing down this time.

As class was dismissed the professor called for both you and Schlatt to stay. You half wanted Schlatt to be chewed out because she had heard his comment to you, the other half just wanted to forget that it ever happened.

“I asked the both of you to stay because I got this email this morning.” She pulled up an email to the big screen from Schlatt’s baseball coach. You didn’t read the whole thing but one point did stick out. If he can’t pass, he can’t play. Schlatt tensed up as he also read that part of the email.

“Professor-” “Mr. Schlatt please let me.” The professor turned off the board and looked at the both of you. “I hoped that you sitting next to y/n would remedy your grade in my class, but it has not.” The professor took a breath. “I cannot offer too much extra credit as I have more then enough to grade now, but I will offer one project grade and advise to study and do my work.”

Schlatt takes a deep breath and thanks the professor. You shifted in your seat nervous and confused as to why you were here. “Y/n, I wanted you here because you are my best student, I was hoping that you would be willing to form a study group or help Mr. Schlatt.” You begin to shake your head, his previous words echoing in your head. “If you do more than five hours of it, I will exempt you from the final, if you wish.” It’s your turn to take a deep breath. You look towards Schlatt but he was already looking at you, some kind of pleading look in his eye, so you agree.

The professor thanks and dismisses the both of you. The second he can Schlatt is up and out of his chair moving towards the door.

“I have an hour before practice every day, at three. I’ll be in the library.” Then he leaves.

The rest of that day goes by in a blur, the next time your brain kicks back in you're walking into the library. You see Schlatt already sitting at a table with his laptop out.

You slide into the seat across from him and he looks up at you. You pull out your own laptop and pull up your notes for the class.

“Did the professor let you know about that project?” Schlatt nodds and turns his screen to you.

It’s a minor presentation and paper about how a topic of his choice has made a lasting impression on american culture. You nodd as you process the information.

“No -I don't have any ideas yet.”

“Okay,” you both sit in silence for a minute. The project was due before the final, so Schlatt had a good month to work on it. “We have a test on Friday, do you want to work on that some?” Schlatt only shrugs and you slowly start.

“Why is, what do, why-” You struggled asking. He smirked at your struggle before remembering he was using his mean face right now. “Why do you think you are struggling so much?” You whisper. Schlatt straightens in his seat.

“I just forget what we learn in class,” He clears his throat. “I zone out a lot.”

You smile to yourself, “Baseball that mind consuming?” He stares at you and thinks about your words before chuckling lightly.

“Yeah, something like that.”

The tension between you two lightens after that. You walk him through todays lesson. And work backwards. About 45 minutes later your phone starts buzzing with a silent alarm. Schlatt chuckles.

“So eager to get rid of me you set a timer, impressive.” You smiled but shook your head.

“No, I know the field is a good five minute walk so I wanted to make sure you had enough time, I don’t know how harsh your coach is.” He seems taken aback by the fact. He smiles lightly and packs his things. You just watch him. Watching has his biceps move and how his muscles shift as his moves.

“Here,” He reaches out towards you with twenty dollar bill. You watch him confused.

“I don’t want that.”

“And I don’t care, dumbass take it.” You only shake your head and begin to pack up your things. He sighs. “Fine, I’ll see you tomorrow, idiot.”

The next few days pass like that. You meet at the library at three, the both of you study and work on his project.

“Are you ready for the test tomorrow?” You ask him as he starts packing up for practice. He nods.

“The professor is going to make my grade viewable right away so I know.” Schlatt looks nervous. “I really hope I do well, I love playing, I want to play.” You stand up with him and touch his arm.

“I believe in you man, you got this!” He stares at the hand on his arm for a second, hesitating before brushing it off him. He flashes you a smile.

“Well if I don’t, we know who to blame, yeah?” Schlatt patts your head before moving around you and leaving the library.

The test was easy to you. Studying with Schlatt keeping you extra prepared with the information. You leave as you finish the test, casting Schlatt a confident glance as you leave. A silent, you got this, that you hope he hears.

As you exist the classroom you look at the benches lining the wall outside the classroom, and you decide to wait for Schlatt.

He finally exits the classroom and you stand instantly. He spots you just as quickly.

“You didn't leave?”

“No, I wanted to check in with you when you finished.” Schlatt smirks at your confession.

“Well,” he says letting the anticipation build. “I got a 95!”

“Hell yeah,” you yell. “That means you can play right?” Schlatt nods. “At least tomorrow.” You beam at him, happy that the time has been paying off. “Speaking of," He stops for a second. "Do you want to come watch tomorrow?”

His question catches you off guard. He went from barely putting up with you to asking you to see him play within a week? Schlatt sees the hesitation on your face and retreads. “You don’t have to it’s okay-” “I’d love to,” You interrupt. “When is it?” Schlatt’s smile is blinding.

“It starts at four,” He takes his backpack off and reaches for something. “Take this and wear it. I’ll let the ticket people know your name that way you get into the,” he hesitates slightly. “The team’s section right near the dugout.” You take the shirt he hands you. “I have class but, I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?” You nod and clutch the shirt to your chest. Schlatt smiles again before leaving the building. You look down at the shirt he gave you. The schools baseball jersey. You flip it over curiously and across the back is Schlatt and a big 14, which you only assume is his number. You laugh to your self, he gave you his jersey.

#jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x y/n #jschlatt #schlatt #schlatt smut #let me know if you want the other part to this that would contain some spice to it #I really just didn't want this to be annoying-ly long #ily'all #That's all folks - I have spoken

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