✧ lights, camera, bitch smile ✧

[averyfisher]

Avery had always liked Ivy’s banter, the way she never let herself be easily flustered even when the boys tried their best to impress her with half-baked flirting and exaggerated confidence. Being the coach’s daughter meant she had grown up around that kind of attention, and yet she handled it effortlessly, meeting it head-on with her own wit instead of letting it throw her off balance. She could tease just as well as they could, and that playful back-and-forth was something Avery found himself drawn to more than he probably cared to admit. It wasn’t just that she could hold her own, it was that she seemed to enjoy it. When he pulled her up from the dip, steadying her with an easy grip, he grinned as if nothing about the moment could possibly go wrong. “I’m not trouble,” he said, shrugging lightly as he held her gaze. “I’m just good fun. There’s a massive difference,” he added with a playful smile that suggested he knew exactly how unconvincing that might sound to others. Avery had never been blind to his own influence; he could get under people’s skin without trying too hard, and more often than not he encouraged others to loosen up, to step just slightly outside the lines they normally stayed within. A little danger, in his eyes, made things more interesting. Leaning in closer so only Ivy could hear him, his tone dropped into something more deliberate. “I’m planning on bringing you home tonight,” he admitted quietly, the words hanging between them away from the noise of their friends and her family. “So you better start thinking of a good excuse on why you can’t be with your dad tonight.” Then, with a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, he added, “I can always pretend to play knight in shining armour and say I’m giving you a lift home. So us leaving together doesn’t rub your dad up in the wrong way. It’ll paint me in good light.”

[ivyabbot]

she grew up around hockey players; she knew how she had to act around them. she didn’t have to feel small, even if others would. she could handle herself—she always had—and the cyclones weren’t any different. she could tease them, and she did know her power; the rest didn’t matter. “i think you’re both trouble and good fun. one thing can come along with the other,” she pointed out, raising her eyebrows at avery. it wasn’t as if she had a rule about dating her father’s players, but before avery, she had always kept herself away from hockey players. but avery? avery had managed to get past her walls, and she loved it. as he assured her he planned on bringing her to his place that night, she smiled—she was planning on it too. “you think the best option is telling everyone you’re driving me home, but then when he comes back i’m not there?” she chuckled, her hand tapping his chest, now being the one to lean closer so he could hear her over the music. “i can tell him a friend called to go to her place,” she mused. “then you can play knight in shining armor and say you’re giving me a lift there.” she pulled back slightly. “that sounds more believable,” she pointed out, making sure people didn’t focus too much on them. “so?” her eyes lifted to meet avery’s. “what do you think about that plan, cowboy?” she teased, biting down on her lower lip. she took her phone out of her bag. “oh, shit, it’s my friend,” she said dramatically, as if it were true, looking down at her screen. “she wants you to drive me to your place so we can be alone,” she smirked playfully. “let me tell my dad,” she said, pulling away and walking toward where her dad was. “dad, natalie just texted. i need to go to her place,” she told him, surprised by how good a liar she was. she saw her dad patting his pockets—of course, he didn’t have the car keys. “honey, i don’t have my car here,” the man trailed off. “oh shit, she asked me to come over. do you think buses work at this time?”

[ivyabbot]

✧ rl ivy ✧

Ivy existed in that strange, almost invisible space between being known and not being seen at all. Everyone recognized her work—the girl behind the camera, the one darting across the rink with a tiny microphone that looked comically small in her hand and even smaller when she held it up to players twice her size, the one asking questions mid-laugh, catching reactions, turning ordinary moments into something people replayed on their phones a hundred times. She was the one who showed up with their favorite snacks, remembering details they had mentioned once weeks ago, handing them over with a grin while filming their surprise. She planned everything, scheduled posts, organized appearances, crafted captions that made fans feel closer to the team than they really were. Online, she was a voice, a rhythm, a presence people followed daily. But Ivy herself? That part blurred at the edges. If someone really paid attention, they’d notice her in the background of photos, crouched by the bench adjusting a lens, or standing off to the side during practice, capturing moments no one else thought to look at. She was always there, just slightly out of focus.

Outside of the rink, her life didn’t look the way people expected it to. She still lived with her dad, the coach, something people occasionally commented on with that subtle tone that suggested she should’ve moved on by now, grown out of it, settled somewhere proper. But Ivy never felt behind. She had her independence in ways that didn’t need to be proven through rent or empty apartments. Still, she had looked—more out of curiosity than urgency—walking through spaces that smelled like fresh paint or old wood, imagining herself there for a second before moving on. Sometimes her dad came along, offering opinions she half-listened to, sometimes she dragged Sully with her, turning it into something lighter, something less like a decision and more like an outing. But she never rushed it. There was no timeline pressing against her chest. She liked her life as it was—fluid, slightly unfinished, open.

Her days, when they weren’t filled with hockey, belonged entirely to her. She had a list of coffee shops saved on her phone, each one rated with her own system that had nothing to do with professionalism and everything to do with feeling—vibes, lighting, the way the music blended into the space, how the barista smiled, how the first sip tasted after a long walk. She’d go alone most of the time, headphones on, lips moving silently as she lip-synced to whatever song had taken over her brain that day, her steps matching the beat as she wandered through streets that still felt a little new, a little temporary. She took pictures constantly—corners of buildings, reflections in windows, her coffee cup against the table, the way sunlight hit her shoes—and later she’d sit cross-legged somewhere comfortable, editing everything into something soft and aesthetic before posting it. Her followers weren’t massive, but they were steady, a mix of people who knew her from the hockey page and others who had followed her life long before Euroville. It felt like a quiet kind of connection, one she controlled.

Sometimes she leaned into being a tourist in her own city. She booked visits, wandered through places people who lived there rarely bothered to see anymore. The royal castle was one of her favorites—she’d walk through it slowly, audioguide in her ears, absorbing stories and details like she had nowhere else to be. There was something comforting about existing in spaces where no one expected anything from her, where she could just observe instead of document, just be instead of capture.

She liked silence as much as she liked noise, which confused people when they tried to pin her down. At work, she was quick, talkative, teasing, always ready with another question or idea, but when she was alone, she softened into something quieter. She didn’t mind walking for hours without speaking, didn’t mind sitting in a café with nothing but her thoughts and a half-finished drink. It wasn’t loneliness. It was balance. She existed comfortably in both spaces, never fully one thing or the other.

Nights were slower. Warmer. Familiar. She’d be sprawled on the couch in her dad’s apartment, phone in hand, scrolling endlessly through social media, saving ideas, watching edits, replying to messages she had missed during the day. Her dad would pass by, absentmindedly pressing a kiss to her hair, something so routine it barely registered anymore but still grounded her in a way nothing else did. She’d stay up too late, always, texting people she loved, conversations stretching into the early hours without her noticing time passing.

And then there was Avery.

At some point in the night, almost like habit, she’d find herself texting him. Sometimes it was something random, something she saw that reminded her of him, sometimes it was nothing at all—just a “you up?” sent into the quiet. On nights when the apartment felt too still, she’d sit by the window, legs kicked up behind her, staring out into the dark as she waited for his reply, her reflection faint against the glass. There was something about those moments that felt suspended, like the world had narrowed down to just that conversation, just that connection. Other nights, she didn’t wait. She’d end up at his place instead, wrapped in a kind of privacy that felt temporary but real enough to hold onto, enjoying it without asking too many questions about what came next.

But even in those calm, quiet nights, when everything felt soft and manageable, her thoughts had a way of drifting somewhere deeper. To someone she had never known. Her mother existed more as an idea than a memory—a woman who had left before Ivy could understand what leaving meant. It wasn’t as if Ivy had grown up without love. Her dad had filled every space, every gap, every silence with enough care to make sure she never truly lacked anything. And still… there were moments where the question slipped in, uninvited and impossible to fully ignore. Not loud, not overwhelming, just there. A quiet wondering. If there had been something about her, even then, that had made someone walk away. If there were parts of her she couldn’t see, things she carried without knowing, things that might make people leave once they noticed them.

She never stayed in that thought for too long. She didn’t let it settle, didn’t let it root itself deep enough to change how she moved through the world. But it lingered sometimes, in the background of her mind, soft and persistent. And maybe that was part of what made her hold onto everything else the way she did—the little routines, the connections, the moments she captured and kept. Proof, in her own quiet way, that she was here, that she was seen, that she was worth staying for.

[averyfisher]

Avery always carried himself with an effortless confidence, the kind that never felt forced or loud, woven naturally into the way he stood, smiled, and spoke, his charm as familiar to him as breathing, and even when he teased it came with a warmth that made it impossible to take seriously, like when he flashed her a grin and said, “If you post me looking awful and it gets turned into a meme, I’ll come after you,” the threat playful and exaggerated as he chuckled, the sound deepening when he dipped her smoothly and confidently, clearly enjoying the squeal it earned him, before adding with a knowing smirk, “I’ve always been crazy. You’ve known that for how long now?” his tone light and teasing, as if daring her to disagree, and when she pointed out that people were watching, he eased her out of the dip with surprising gentleness, his hand lingering just long enough to make his next words feel more dangerous as he leaned in and whispered, “If you weren’t the coach’s daughter, I’d be all over you right now,” a slow, mischievous smirk spreading across his lips as he pulled back just enough to chuckle again, shaking his head and adding, “What did you have to be his child out of everyone’s, huh?” his eyes sparkling with amusement as he finished, “You had to make things difficult for us,” the words half complaint, half flirtation, perfectly encapsulating the confident, charming ease that always seemed to follow him wherever he went. "Still hasn't stopped me though, has it?" He teased, chewing on his bottom lip.

[ivyabbot]

“if that picture turns into a meme, i’ll be the one making it,” she smirked. “you’re more than welcome to come after me, but i probably have a few more where that one came from.” she laughed playfully, even though she’d never actually do that to him—or to any of her dad’s players—but the idea alone amused her. being around him was easy; he carried that effortless confidence, that kind of charm that pulled attention without even trying. she liked getting to see what was underneath it. when he dipped her so smoothly she barely had time to register it, a small surprised scream left her lips, but she was laughing almost immediately after. “since my dad started coaching you. probably the second i saw you, i knew you were going to be trouble,” she said, an amused glint in her eyes. “why did you have to be one of his players?” she teased. “i think none of this is my fault, so don’t blame me, cowboy,” she whispered back flirtatiously, smiling at him in a way that could’ve melted anyone. “you seem to thrive on sneaking around with your coach’s daughter,” she added with a light chuckle. her fingers brushed up along his biceps as she tilted her head. “i know i should just enjoy the party, but are you planning on going home with someone tonight?” she asked playfully. “i mean, i don’t know what a big player like you usually does after a match,” she lied smoothly, “but i bet those sore muscles could use a massage.” her touch lingered for a second longer. “whoever you take home must be very lucky.”

[ivyabbot]

✧ new season ✧

ivy had chosen the top row on purpose, legs folded beneath her, hoodie sleeves swallowed past her knuckles, the cold already seeping through the metal bleachers even though she’d barely been sitting five minutes. the hockey stadium was empty in that particular, hollow way that made every sound feel too loud—footsteps echoing down concrete corridors, the scrape of skate guards, the dull thud of double bags hitting the floor. she figured those had to be her dad’s new players arriving, one by one, shadows moving through the tunnel below. she scrolled through instagram without really absorbing any of it, pausing every few seconds to glance down, curiosity pulling her eyes back to the rink like gravity.

it didn’t take long for them to appear. bodies in motion, easy confidence, nervous energy masked by jokes and shoulder bumps. pads went on, helmets clipped, gloves tugged tight. ivy studied them the way she always did—quietly, observantly, filing away first impressions she knew she’d need later. there was the one who walked like he owned the place before he’d even stepped on the ice. the one who lingered near the wall, adjusting his gear twice as carefully as necessary. the one already laughing too loud. the one whose eyes never left the ice, like it was a promise he intended to keep.

then her dad skated out.

adam abbot took the center of the rink like it was instinct, skates already laced, movements fluid and familiar, shoulders loose, posture relaxed in the way only someone who belonged somewhere could manage. ivy felt that familiar tug in her chest at the sight of him—pride, comfort, something steady. he planted his skates and looked around, lips curling into that half-smirk that always meant he was about to enjoy himself.

“ladies,” he called, voice cutting clean through the space, “get ready. i’m waiting.”

laughter broke out immediately, sticks tapping the ice as players pushed off, circling, stretching, shaking off nerves. ivy leaned forward now, phone forgotten in her lap, watching as the group gathered. when they were all there, her dad clapped once, sharp and commanding.

“i’m adam abbot,” he said. “sadly for you, i’ll be your coach from now on.” more laughter. “call me whatever you want—just avoid nicknames.”

he paused, then lifted his chin toward the bleachers.

“and there,” he added, pointing straight at her.

ivy’s stomach dropped.

“that’s where your new social media manager is,” adam continued easily. “iv, come say hi. they should know who they’re supposed to be scared of.”

heat rushed to her face instantly. every helmet turned. someone whistled. ivy shot her dad a glare that promised payback, but he only looked pleased. she stood anyway, heart thudding, the walk down the bleachers feeling far longer than it should have. every step echoed. every glance burned. she squared her shoulders when she reached the boards, resting one hand against the cold metal.

“hey,” she said, forcing a steady smile. “i’m ivy.”

there were waves, nods, murmurs of greeting—and then her eyes locked with someone who wasn’t looking away.

avery was leaning casually on his stick, helmet tucked under his arm, posture relaxed in a way that felt effortless. there was something open about him, something warm. when their gazes met, he smiled slowly, easy and unguarded, like he already knew her. ivy’s breath caught before she could stop it, something unfamiliar fluttering low in her stomach.

“nice to finally meet you,” he called, voice smooth with a faint country lilt. “guess we better behave now.”

ivy laughed, surprised at herself. “don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

his grin widened, unmistakably pleased.

to his side stood sully—tall, quiet, shoulders slightly hunched like he wasn’t sure where to put himself. he gave her a small, almost shy wave, then immediately looked down at his skates. there was something gentle about him, something observant. ivy clocked him instantly as someone safe, someone solid.

milo pushed forward next, confidence written into every movement, gloves resting on the boards as he smirked. “so you’re the one making us look good online,” he said bluntly. “about time.”

“only if you give me something to work with,” ivy shot back.

milo laughed, sharp and approving. “i like her.”

nico nodded at her from just behind him, expression calm, eyes focused. even standing still, he looked disciplined, purposeful. ivy filed that away too—someone who cared deeply about the place, about the team.

practice started soon after. the ice filled with motion, skates slicing clean lines, sticks clashing, bodies colliding. ivy moved along the boards, phone in hand now, filming, snapping photos, already slipping into her role. but every so often—between shots, between notes—she felt it. avery’s eyes finding hers again. brief, intentional, just long enough to make her pulse skip. subtle enough to be private.

by the time practice wrapped up, the rink buzzed with leftover energy. players peeled off gear, voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off the walls. ivy lingered until most of them had cleared out, then made her way down toward the locker room. her dad was untying his skates when he looked up and grinned.

“survived your first day?” he asked.

“barely,” she said, smiling as she sat on the bench beside him. without thinking too hard about it, she reached for a pair of skates tucked beneath the bench—her own. muscle memory kicked in as she laced them up, movements automatic, comforting. when she stood, the ice felt like home under her feet.

adam raised a brow. “oh yeah?”

she pushed off lightly, gliding out. “race you.”

he laughed, already following her. “you’re on.”

they took off together, side by side, the sound of blades cutting ice sharp and familiar. ivy leaned forward, laughing as the cold air burned her lungs, legs pumping, balance perfect. she crossed the far line first, spinning around triumphantly just as her dad slowed behind her.

“i win,” she declared, breathless.

before he could argue, cheers erupted from the tunnel. the team had lingered, watching, sticks tapping the boards in approval. ivy froze for a second, stunned—then laughed, cheeks aching as she lifted her arms in mock victory. her dad skated over and pulled her into a tight hug, laughing against her hair.

the sound of cheering filled the rink, echoing and bright, and ivy stood there in the middle of it all—ice beneath her feet, her dad’s arms around her, something new and electric sparking just under the surface of everything she thought she knew.

[ivyabbot]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ this is ivy

name: ivy

age: twenty5

sexuality: bisexual

relationship status: secret relationship with avery.

ivy abbot didn’t grow up in euroville — she arrived with boxes half-unpacked and a life already in motion, brought there by her father’s career when he was selected as head coach of the cyclones. she was old enough to understand what the move meant: a new city, a new team, a new set of expectations that would quietly shape her future. hockey wasn’t just her father’s job; it became the axis around which their lives rotated. schedules dictated dinners, seasons dictated moods, and ivy learned to adapt without complaint.

the move should have been a fresh start, but it came at the cost of her family as she knew it. her mother’s affair surfaced not long after they settled in, unraveling everything behind closed doors while the public saw only stability. ivy watched her father absorb the damage in silence, still showing up for his team every day, still leading. it taught her an early lesson about loyalty, about choosing people not because they’re perfect but because they stay. when her mother tried to justify her choices, ivy made one of her own — she cut contact. it wasn’t done out of cruelty, but out of self-preservation. some betrayals, she believes, don’t deserve endless explanations.

ivy is kind in a way that isn’t naive. she’s approachable, polite, genuinely warm with people, but there’s a backbone under the softness. she believes in doing things right, in showing up prepared, in being dependable. she’s the type who remembers names, checks in after losses, and notices when someone’s struggling before they say a word. she likes people. she likes the energy of going out, the laughter, the idea of being young and unburdened — but more often than not, she chooses work instead.

as the cyclones’ social media manager, ivy lives in a constant state of controlled chaos. her nights revolve around games, her phone never leaves her hand, and her calendar is ruled by content schedules and deadlines. she could be out with friends, could be saying yes to invitations, but hockey always comes first. it’s not because she’s forced to — it’s because she believes in the team, in her father, in the work she’s building. she knows her role matters, and she takes that responsibility seriously.

there’s a quiet tension in her life between who she is and who she could be if she let herself slow down. she’s young, sociable, and liked by almost everyone, yet rarely fully present outside the rink. people assume she’s aloof or unavailable, when in reality she’s just committed. she prioritizes work because it gives her purpose, structure, and a sense of control she lost when her family fractured.

ivy doesn’t resent her choices, but she feels them. she wonders what it would be like to say yes more often, to let herself be spontaneous, to trust that not everything will fall apart if she steps back for a night. for now, she keeps moving, steady and intentional, balancing kindness with discipline, loyalty with ambition.

ivy abbot is someone who learned early that love looks like consistency, that showing up matters more than grand gestures. she’s built her life around that belief — in euroville, in hockey, in work — and while she may not be living loudly, she’s living with purpose, even if it means putting herself second more often than she admits.

[averyfisher]

Avery was undeniably vain, but it wasn’t something he had consciously chosen; it was something that had been built into him over the years. Growing up, girls his age constantly called him cute, feeding his ego before he even knew what to do with it, and as he got older, he grew into his height, his build, his face, and suddenly it wasn’t just teenagers commenting anymore; it was mothers smiling knowingly and telling him he was going to be a heartbreaker one day. That kind of attention left a mark, shaping the way he viewed himself and the confidence he carried so effortlessly. “Do not publish ones of me against the glass, Ivy,” he complained with playful dramatics, though a grin tugged at his lips. “I don’t mind the cute team ones—those have me and the boys in.” He moved along with the music despite not being the best dancer, making up for lack of skill with undeniable swagger, every step infused with charm and confidence. “I provided the aftercare, did I not? I always do when it comes to you,” he added with a smirk, laughter slipping out when she called him out. “Besides, the second time was better than the first because we were both fully into it,” he winked, pulling her closer with ease before dipping her smoothly, making the moment feel theatrical and fun. “We don’t do the country shit in here—the boys would take the piss,” he laughed, shaking his head. “That’s just at-home stuff. You’re going to earn me a new nickname if you’re not careful, and they already tease me enough.” Avery's hands remained her on the waist. "Only you can call me country, you know that."

[ivyabbot]

it wasn’t hard to tell avery was comfortable in his own skin, and that was one of the things she liked most about him—that confidence. she’d been with guys before who needed constant validation just to hear her tell them they were attractive, and she hadn’t really minded, but it got exhausting when they started begging for it only to leave her for someone else the second they felt good about themselves. "oh, avery, i’ll post whatever i want, i’m the one in control," she smirked, winking at him playfully. "those are cute, sure, but we could really spice up the feed with the ones where you’re pressed against the glass," she teased, sticking her tongue out at him. she let herself sway to the music. "you did, and it was nice," she nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. "i seriously hated waking up this morning," ivy promised. "oh, definitely, we got way more creative," she chuckled, letting out a little squeal as he dipped her, her hand gripping his tight while her other fist bunched the fabric of his bicep for support. "you’re crazy," she whispered. "you’re so boring, cowboy," she said softly, "okay, i’ll try to stop, but no promises." with his hands on her waist and her looking up at him, it felt like they were the only two people there, and she didn't want to pull away. "i know," she said softly. she felt that sweet, warm flutter in her chest that always made her smile, but she gently stepped back. "we can't be this close, everyone’s watching," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

[averyfisher]

Avery had always thought he would grow up on the farm forever, a place where being helpful was second nature and usually meant tending to the animals or, more often, lifting and moving heavy things that turned daily chores into a full workout. He grew up surrounded by siblings he adored, fiercely protective of them and always trying to keep them out of trouble, even though he was probably the worst of them all. That same easy confidence followed him everywhere, especially when he laughed and insisted, "I'm not photogenetic when caught off guard," a playful look spreading across his lips as his coach and his girl made fun of him. Avery only grinned wider, teasing, "I'm afraid you'll post bad angles of me. I have a reputation to uphold as the cute one on the team," well aware that all his teammates were good-looking lads too, even as he carefully toed the line with his words. When Ivy took hold of his arm and guided him along, he followed without hesitation, smirking at her comment as he replied, "I mean. You didn't let me rest much. I wasn't lying was I?" before adding with a knowing look, "Who was it who wanted more cuddles and kisses?" As the music shifted into something he loved, Avery immediately bopped up and down on the spot, excitement spilling out as he exclaimed, "Yeah! This is the fucking shit I wanted to hear!" moving in time with her before grinning and calling out, "Spin for me girl, let me see what you've got!"

[ivyabbot]

ivy rolled her eyes at his words; she could’ve denied it, but instead she just laughed at his comment. “everyone looks bad in pictures caught off guard, but it’s literally my job to post those,” she teased, a smile on her lips, “along with the ones where you’re pushed and pressed against the glass,” she added, a playful glint in her eyes. “the cute one on the team? that’s being very generous with yourself,” she shook her head, “maybe we should let the fans decide, we could do a mr cyclone contest and make them vote for the prettiest one,” she thought out loud, half joking, though ideas always came easily to ivy, which was exactly why she loved her job. once they were farther away, her arm still laced with his, she looked at him. “you weren’t lying,” she sighed, glancing away, because it was completely true. “oh, it’s funny how it’s my fault just because i want some aftercare,” she rolled her eyes, “but i’m pretty sure you were the one who practically begged me for a second round,” she exaggerated just to make her point, “so i’m not the only one to blame,” she added, glancing back at him. ivy stopped when avery started bopping up and down on the spot, and she laughed. “your music taste is so sad,” she teased, pausing to look at him. the dark-haired girl spun once, feeling a little stupid at first, then just swayed side to side, easy and comfortable, the kind of move you do when you don’t really know how to dance. she stepped closer, took his hand, and lifted it to twirl herself underneath. “that’s how you spin your girl,” she teased, “i thought line dancing would’ve taught you something.”

[averyfisher]

Avery grinned at the pet name Ivy had given him, dimples carving themselves into his cheeks as if they belonged there, the expression carrying the easy warmth of someone who’d grown up on a farm and never once thought ice hockey would be his future, convinced instead that building and construction were where his life would land until fate tossed him a curveball and he caught it with both hands. There was something effortless about the way he carried himself, a cheeky chappy through and through, the kind of lad who was always smiling or letting the goofiest remarks tumble from his mouth, a charmer by reputation and by nature. “I missed seeing you, you know I always look out for you,” he admitted, honest but harmless, nothing in his words that could get him into trouble, just the truth spoken plainly. He was playful with his coach and his team mates. He didn't ease up on that around anyone. He laughed softly as he went on, confessing, “I barely slept last night. I was kept busy,” his eyes locked onto hers as he added a suggestive flick of his eyebrow before breaking into laughter, quick to follow it with, “It was worth it though. I’m fine. I got a couple of hours.” His gaze lingered on the dark-haired girl, playful confidence settling back into place as he tilted his head and asked, “Care to come and dance with me or you being daddy’s princess all night?” the tease light, familiar, and unmistakably Avery.

[ivyabbot]

that pet name came to her the second he told the team his family owned a farm, not in a disrespectful way, just because it amused ivy to her core. she had even stalked his sister on instagram; the girl line danced like her life depended on it, and honestly, it was really cool—she couldn’t say otherwise. it surprised ivy how avery managed to be so charming around everyone, maybe that was what made him stand out from the rest. it wasn’t that milo wasn’t charming—he was—and sully was cute too, shy but sweet, yet avery had something, something that pulled her in like a magnet. “oh, that’s so not true,” she laughed. “i’ve seen you chicken out when you see her, fisher,” her dad added, laughing. “he’s so right, you’re all afraid of the camera,” ivy laughed. “i take my phone out and everyone freaks out, i’m not a monarch, chill.” her eyes stayed on him as she spoke, checking him out subtly, though her gaze said more than her words ever did. “oh, i’m glad you did, but you should focus on what’s important before a match—we don’t want you losing this season, right, dad?” she teased, a chuckle slipping from her lips. she squinted when avery called her daddy’s princess and shook her head. “oh, i’ll beat your ass on the dance floor, avery,” she said, moving past him, taking his hand and tugging him along, playful and platonic. “you’ll be training a loser, coach,” she laughed, looking back at her dad. then she leaned closer to avery as they walked. “you were kept busy—so subtle,” she whispered.

[averyfisher]

Avery narrowed his eyes slightly as he caught sight of Ivy across the crowded after party, music thumping and laughter spilling through the room after the ice hockey match, his gaze lingering on her with that familiar mix of awareness and restraint that had followed them for the past couple of months, because while he knew she wasn’t completely forbidden, he also knew his coach would definitely have words if he realized his player had been seeing his daughter. The moment he walked in with one of the other Cyclones players, his focus shifted, and he lifted his voice easily, calling, “Coach!” before stepping forward to give the man a quick, genuine hug, all relaxed confidence and post-game energy. When he turned back toward Ivy, his grin returned instantly. “Hey Ivy,” he said, clearly pleased to see her, slipping an arm around her waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world and leaning in to press a brief kiss to her cheek, affectionate but casual enough to pass unnoticed in the busy room as anything but a quick greeting. “So good to see you again!” he added, eyes warm, before asking, “How you been lately?” like they hadn’t woken up beside each other that very morning, the normal tone disguising the closeness they shared. (@ivyabbot )

[ivyabbot]

that stadium had become her second home; she woke up and went straight to work there, and it was great. she could work by her father’s side, and she didn’t even have to drive while still half asleep in the morning. team parties happened more often than not, and she had her cyclones-cased phone in her hand the whole time, ready to snap pictures, record, and keep working. she was by her father’s side, talking to one of their sponsors, when she heard avery’s voice and smiled. “hey there, cowboy,” she said, her hand resting on his arm as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “you played great today.” she heard her father say something to the sponsor as he walked him toward the drink counter, and she smiled at them before her attention shifted back to avery. “i bet you all missed me following you around recording,” she nodded, a chuckle slipping from her lips. “that reminds me, i’ll need another group picture by the end of this—fans will love it,” she added, keeping things professional, especially with her dad right there. “you were more awake today,” she smirked playfully at him. “did you get a good night’s sleep yesterday?”