#morgan asks

- @vvultur3

-am anonynymos

To me Ramshackle is giving basic brown, but I keep seeing people using grey instead, so I was wondering what was the general consensus.

"Guess Who?" - @kon-el-konner-luther-kent

Morgan was waiting, using her phone and scrolling. She didn’t hear him arrive and almost jumped in surprise when hands covered her eyes.

I KNOW! I KNOW WHO HE KISSED! IT WAS-

Morgan didn’t want it to get messy. He knew what the repercussions were if what you had together were to go south. He knew what it would mean for him, for you, for the team and in his head, he knew that he shouldn’t pursue you.

But his heart told him otherwise.

So he did and he was glad to know that from the day you had met at training camp, that you felt the same.

So you snuck around for a bit but soon it became apparent to your teammates what was happening. But they knew how he felt about you and would keep teasing to a minimum, at least when it was just Mo.

Eventually you both had to come clean to senior management and they weren’t too keen on your relationship. In fact, they didn’t like it at all but it was your life as they put it. As long as the Leaf came first, they would allow it.

Thankfully, on the ice, it was simple. You were teammates and that was it. You had kept to that rule pretty well until it was later in the season and things started to get chippy going into the playoffs.

You had always been able to hold your own but this particular game against the Bruins, something snapped within Mo. 

Marchand kept getting in your face, taking cheap shots when he could, shoving you around after the whistle, chirping you excessively. Morgan was getting heated but with a pat of your stick against his shin pads, you brought him down to Earth and grounded him. He cooled down.

It wasn’t until Marchand took you down during the faceoff that Morgan lost it and came flying at him, fists coming down on him. You got up, in a daze, your nose bloodied from hitting the ice face first to see Morgan’s blue eyes nearly black as he fought back rabidly, yelling profanities at the Bruin, his face beet red.

“I knew you’d crack, Rielly,” Marchand teased as Morgan got steered away to the penalty box with only three minutes left in the game. “You always do. You couldn’t help but defend your little girlfriend this time.”

Marchand throws a glance over at you and he grins, knowing he’s gotten under your skin and suddenly Mo is charging back at him, only the refs holding him back.

“You’re a real piece of shit! You’re a real PIECE. OF. SHIT.” Eventually the officials had enough and pointed for Morgan to skate down the tunnel. They’d seen enough and for Marchand’s sake, threw Morgan out of the games. The intent behind Morgan’s eyes meant Marchand was dead if he were let back in and the referees could not take a chance. 

So you had to go the rest of the game without him. You got patched up on the bench, the trainer stopping your nosebleed and you got back on the ice. Somehow, the team defended a 3-2 lead and got the victory, a huge win going into the playoffs next week. But while the team celebrated on the ice, you couldn’t help yourself as you skated straight for the locker rooms where you knew he was waiting. 

And you were right, he was waiting, dressed, pacing the blue carpeted floors.

He raised his eyes to you. “Get dressed. No media for us tonight.” And you nodded, silently, beelining straight to the showers and dressing area. After a quick check with the trainers and nothing but slight bruising, you were released.

He didn’t touch you. He didn’t talk to you the entire way back to his apartment. He would glance over every now and then but not a word.

“I could’ve killed him. I would’ve killed him if they had let me.” He sat down at the foot of your bed and just as you were about to walk away, he settled his hands on your hip, pulling you down to sit on his knee.

“I know you would’ve. I’m glad they pulled you off the ice.”

His facial expression went hard but he continued, his voice soft. “How is your nose?” His hands caressed your face, his thumb running gently along the bruising forming under your eyes.

“Not broken… Mo, you have to let me fight my battles.” You push his hands away.

Mo sighs. “I did… I tried but--I know I have no excuse. I got worried and angry and then I blacked out. I was so mad.”

It was your turn to sigh. “I know, Mo. But we have to figure this out. We can’t… we have to figure out our situation on the ice. You can’t do that again.”

He drops his head and looks down at his hands. “I know… I need to think with my head and not my heart initially. I need to be better.”

You place your hands on his cheek and pull his face back up to look at you. “But thank you for defending me. It was very… heroic of you. And I know that you’d do it for John, for Kappy, for Auston, for Jake, too.” You smile down at him and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, a thank you.

“Let me show you something else that I wouldn’t do for them,” he mutters. You smile into his lips as he brings you down with him onto the bed, his fingers threading through your hair.