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augustinescruelsummer · 9 months

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SPILT | CP10

IN WHICH Christian has to learn how to properly communicate and control his insecurities, or else he risks losing his favorite girl.

Christian Pulisic x F!Reader (She/Her)

WC: 3.6k (got carried away. sometimes I like writing.)

GENRE: angst -> fluff (my fav genre)

INCLUDES: jealousy (christian), odd dude, christian struggles to communicate his feelings, happy ending, reader puts christian in his place, healthy resolution of an argument, curse words

CLINK. The glass goes flying to the ground before her hand can reach out to grab it, the pieces splintering onto the hardwood floor. A gasp comes from the bartender at the mess. Her smile fades quickly, staring blankly down at the hazardous shards under her feet. She swallows nervously at the sharp cut edges enveloping her.

“I am so sorry,” the apologies begin flowing out of her mouth as the ongoing patrons turn their heads curiously at the commotion. Her head begins to go dizzy at all the attention. The spilt drink’s owner, a slim-built boy with a polo shirt and khakis, looks at her unaffected by the debacle.

“It’s seriously not a problem,” he says, his squeaky voice greasing her axnieties into a higher gear. She hops off her chair, crouching down to attempt to grab the pieces into her hand, refusing to get caught in a trap by a trust fund baby. The sliver of flirtation in his tone was causing her hot temper to flare alongside the boiling anxiety.

“Hey, hey!” The boy says pointedly, “Don’t do that. You’ll cut your hand open, we can’t have that.” He places a greasy hand onto her shoulder, the action causing her shoulder’s to jolt forward at the unwelcome touch. Her mind was racing over the spilt glass, her anxiety doing its best to remain present. Her mind was swimming of outlandish theories. Was the bartender going to banish her permanently? Would Chris be mortified if he saw the mess she made at his favorite celebration spot?

She had gotten here early to surprise him, after he informed her the team was going out to his favorite bar to celebrate his game-winning goal in overtime. She had watched from home, her heart beating like a drum as he the ball soared into the net at the last second, the camera catching a joyous Christian, the sight her favorite thing in the whole world. Greasy-hand waves his hands around frantically to call a busser over to aid with the cleanup, suddenly deciding to be concerned with the glass splitting open her fingers. She rolls her eyes at the action, he had spent the last three minutes ogling her form crouched over said glass. Probably a good thing it's on the ground now. Karma?

The female bartender manages to calm her down, informing her she would not, in fact, be removed from the bar for a simple accident. One that truly was not her fault. “He should have known better than to sneak up on you like a creep,” the bartender had added when she explained how it happened.

Greasy-Hand had decided to stop ogling and make his way over to her, placing his glass down in front of her by reaching over unexpectedly, without the slightest introduction. The random touch (sound familiar with this dude?) had caused her to send the glass flying onto the ground. She watched nervously as the kind woman swept the glass pieces up, sending warm smiles and reassurances as she huddled by the crime scene. Her nails were bitten down to the cuticle from the anxiety of the situation. She had completely zoned out in her own world, meaning she was unaware to the greasy hand lurking on her shoulder. The hand sent incredibly (un)welcoming feelings down her back, causing shivers to go down her spine at the circles being drawn, snapping her out of her trance. She removed the hand with a frown, looking into Greasy-Hand’s eyes. The notion made her miss Christian dearly, hoping he would walk into the door at any minute and put her frantic worrying to rest.

Christian was yet to show up, and she sat at the bar with a downturned frown staring into the abyss of her whiskey glass. She unlocked her phone once again as Greasy-Hand jabbered on, searching for a sign from Christian. No texts, no calls.

“Excuse me,” she told Greasy-Hand without looking up from her phone, sliding off her barstool and into the bathroom. Her eyes were glued to her phone as she made her way into the women's restroom at the end of the hall. She didn’t even care if he was still in the middle of a sentence, the overwhelming fear that Christian had curved her was overwhelming. Was he leaving her? Her last message sat there, read.

From: Chris<3

The team is going to The Hook soon. Potentially see you within the hour?

To: Chris<3

Kk! See you soon!

Her message sat there delivered from two hours ago, the receipts showing he had read it thirty minutes following send. She locked her phone and fixed her hair in the mirror, hoping she didn’t look as anxious as she felt. Busying her hands with retucking her Pulisic jersey into her bra, she thought about her game plan. She was going to march out of this bathroom, turn Greasy-Hand down, and take her ass home to cry at Christian’s inability to properly communicate. Right. Sounds like a plan.

She swung the door open with a newfound confidence, finding Greasy-Hand still lurking by the bar. He was beginning to start rambling again, but she held a hand up, not allowing him to continue.

“Look, I appreciate you looking after me when the glass shattered, but I’ve been stood up by my own boyfriend. I appreciate your rambling company while it lasted.”

What the fuck was that, she thought, that was so unsmooth.

Greasy-Hand, once again, placed that chilling hand on her shoulder and began another ramble about how happy he was to be able to fill Christian’s shoes. Which was not at all what she had just told him. Clearly he had missed the point.

“New couple alert?” A rich voice asks loudly as he approached the bar, irises darkened, locked in onto the greasy hand stealing the soul out of the circulation in her shoulder. Her stomach dropped at the sight of Christian, in his trousers and Team USA t-shirt pressed perfectly to him, an angry expression plastered on his beautiful face. She tried to communicate with her eyes, signaling nonverbally to the hand on her shoulder. Christian, in his immature fit, completely ignores the signs and continues to comment, his notorious green streak coming out mercilessly.

“I wish,” Greasy-Hand says to Christian, not realizing his importance in her life. She grimaces internally at his comment, hoping the bar floor would open up and swallow her whole. She would never have to face this level of embarrassment ever again. Christian sends him a tight lipped smile, leaning against the bar casually. “She’s quite the flirt, isn’t she?” He says to Greasy-Hand cooly, looking straight through her. The dropped stomach bottoms out, her blood turning cold at his insinuation. He slides his card across the hardwood to the awaiting bartender. She attempts to push his hand off her shoulder harshly, expression fading as he clamps it back down.

Christian, observing the struggle sharply, suddenly kicks back into a conscious state of mind, not consumed by his childish fit of jealous rage. “Let her go,” he barks angrily at the knockoff frat boy. He pockets his wallet before crossing over to the pair with two strides. Greasy-Boy grins wickedly, “I thought you were encouraging me to have a turn, though?” He spits mockingly at Christian, tightening the arm and pulling her into his sweaty body. Her face contorts with uncomfortable panic, Christian recognizing the signs of an upcoming panic attack. “I’ll split your fucking skull if that hand isn’t removed in five seconds,” he says calmly, grabbing his drink from the bartender without letting up eye contact. Greasy-Hand’s face pales, suddenly clicking the name on the back of her jersey and the man in front of him’s connection together. “That’s what I thought,” he smiles mockingly as the scared-shitless boy busies himself to the other corner of the bar.

Christian opens his mouth to being apologizing for his behavior, watching as she stares up at him with a blank expression, riddled with anxiety behind it. She doesn’t give him the chance, shoving off the hand encased over hers. “No boyfriend of mine will ever disrespect me like that!” She tells him, staring him daggers as her heel spins and marches towards the bar entrance. The cold air hits her the moment she steps outside, ignoring the calls of Christian after her. She manages to lose him during the short trip to their temporary flat, only a half mile away. She angrily twists the key into the lock, flinging it open. She knows Christian is not far behind her, because he never lets her walk home by herself at night, no matter how angry he is. She throws her shoes haphazardly, grabbing a fork and ice cream pint before marching up the stairs. The door opens hurriedly as she reaches the top of the stairs, making a dramatic show of slamming their bedroom door closed and locking it after.

He reaches the door in a matter of seconds, banging on the door to announce his presence. How kind.

“Open the fucking door, baby.”

She snorts internally at his false change of heart, opting not to respond. Secretly, she already is beginning to fold in her independent stride just by thinking about the tight fitted jersey. She stabs her utensil into the ice cream, letting out a groan when realizing she had grabbed a fork. “I know you’re in there,” he adds after hearing, to which she rolls her eyes. Can men just go away sometimes? “I don’t want to speak to you, Christian,” she says through gritted teeth, suddenly more concerned with how she was going to eat this ice cream with a fork.

She thought he had gone away due to his silence, giving her peace to weigh the consequences of shoving her hands into the tub. Suddenly, the door knob began to shake and in comes her (not) knight in shining armor.

“Did you just pick our fucking lock?!” She asks inquisitively, adding unsafe bedroom lock to her ongoing list of problems.

“I’ll fix it later,” he shrugs nonchalantly, strolling his way into the bedroom like he owns the place. Well, I mean.

“That’s not really the issue here,” she sits up, waving her fork in his direction for emphasis, “what the hell am I going to do when someone breaks into the house and kills me because our LOCK can be picked with a hair pin.”

Christian softly chuckles at the aggressive change in subject stealing the opportunity to come stand in front of her. “I’d be awake and ready to slaughter them before they even reached your side of the bed, sweetheart.” He softly runs his knuckles down her cheek, his thumb stroking her jawline. “Can I talk about what happened tonight?”

“I thought you were leaving me,” she told him honestly, running the number ten pedant along its chain anxiously. “He reached over me and caused me to drop my glass, and I assumed he was talking to me because he felt bad for the accident. I wasn’t even focused on what he was saying, I was too worried on if I had done something to upset you, but then I realized there was nothing I could have done. See, I’m your number one fucking supporter, but your refusal to communicate with me and causing me unnecessary anxiety is getting old. Something has to change, Chris.” She shut her eyes, willing the tears to stay at bay and prove she was not going to back down into his touch. When they reopened, two tears simultaneously fell down, causing Christian to reach out and wipe them with his thumbs.

“Don’t cry, please. Not over me,” he said breathlessly, resting his forehead on hers.

“How can I not?” She wailed, a sob overcoming her at the selfish statement. “My own boyfriend doesn’t even trust me? Instead of helping me out, he makes an assumption I’m cheating on him and humiliates me in a locally frequented bar? Instead of grovelling and mumbling your sorry-ass apologies you tell me not to cry over you? What else is there left to do Christian?”

Her head sits in her hands, a cry of frustration leaving her lips at his silence. Christian takes a step back, his mouth opening and closing. She begins to grab her pillow and blanket, gathering them up into her arms. He reaches out to grab her arm, “This conversation is far from over.” His tone was soft, but the words enraged her even more. “If I remember correctly, a conversation takes two people. Sitting there and gaping like a fucking fish because I finally put you in your place is not that.”

“Jesus Christ, I just need a moment to put my thoughts together!” He exclaims, running a hand through his hair.

“Christian, don’t you dare start raising your voice at me as a way of deflection because you’re too fucking scared to put your pride aside and own up to your own actions.”

She breezes past him, the door slamming in her exit. Christian stands in her wake, the room suddenly way too cold and empty. “Fuck!” He screams out, standing in silence by himself in the shared room. His heart races in his chest, hands shaking.

They both go through their nightly routines on separate sides of the apartment, the unresolved argument somehow causing tension even with the distance. Christian can practically feel the knots in his back and his chest, from the thought of losing you and intensive soccer. He brushes his teeth in the mirror for the first time without you somewhere near him, his heart dipping at the realization as he spits into the bowl. He shuts the lamp off and climbs into the cold bed, a sigh and a singular tear escaping him once he realizes he can’t roll over and pull you into his side.

He’d been wallowing in his own mistakes and tears when the bedroom door creaked open slightly, the light from the hallway illuminating her face. She was wrapped in their favorite blanket, her makeup smeared down her face, making his heart twist into knots. The sight of her looking so distraught made every part of his body set on fire in fury at himself. “Hi baby,” he croaks, his voice raspy from crying, “Are you ok?” She stuffs her hands into his men’s national team hoodie, taking a deep breath. “I just wanted to tell you I love you,” she says, her voice cracking halfway through. He swears his heart simultaneously cracks and heals at the words, knowing he still has a shot at fixing things. “I love you,” he responds, sitting up in the bed that now seemed way too massive for him.

She tried to ignore the way her heart dipped at the sight of him, his curls sticking up in every way, his shirtless torso somehow gleaming from the minor light. She knew it was a bad idea, and she was still no where near being over the events, but somewhere in her brain she knew neither of them would be sleeping tonight without each other. She also knew it was essential for her to uphold her golden rule of life, always tell the person you love them. Her feet pad over to the edge of the bed, now standing in front of Christian’s side. He scoots over hopefully, outstretching his arms nervously. She climbs straight into them, snuggling her face into his chest.

He grabs onto her tighter than he ever had before, his fingers gracefully scratching up and down her back. He reaches his head down and presses a chaste kiss to her collarbone, his light stubble and the sensitivity of the area making her giggle. He switches them into a spooning position, his leg locking over her to freeze her in place. “So you don’t run away in the morning and I can give you the best apology you’ve ever heard.” She lets out a complacent laugh, easing his heart into a stable beating.

The morning sun woke Christian up instantly, the golden light illuminating his golden eyes. He attempts to not get completely sidetracked by her and the way morning light makes her angelic. Although, to him, she always looks that way. He tumbles out of bed, the events of the night prior rolling through his head. “God, I’m a dick,” he mumbles to himself walking down the stairs, straight into the kitchen. Acts of service, he recalled in his head as he unloaded the mini waffle maker. He tended to be an awful cook, but his relationship was riding on these damn waffles.

6 failed attempts at waffle batter later, he had three relatively presentable waffles to give his lady. He prided himself on his ability to make coffee for you, and was not about to break his hot streak. If even, this coffee would be his best. After plating his masterpieces into an appetizing breakfast, he wandered into the laundry room. He stared down into the hamper with a scrunched nose. “Jesus,” he mutters as he catches a whiff of his soccer clothes. He picks up his jersey from last night, holding it outstretched with one hand before taking a risky sniff. “Dear God,” he says at full volume, shaking his head at your poor soul doing his laundry for him. “I’m a grown fucking man making my girlfriend do my laundry, especially my soccer clothes. What the fuck is wrong with me?” He says as he throws a tide pod into the fresh load of disgusting soccer clothes, shaking his head at his own antics. He turns to the dryer, taking out specifically your clothes and folding them into neat little piles according to article of clothing. She had so many clothes it seemed like a load of laundry was his whole closet. He grabbed her favorite hoodies out of the dryer as well, throwing them into her pile. His fingers snag on a flashy undergarment, humming to himself. “Hope I get to see this soon.”

Christian plasters a smile on his face a half hour later. The dishes have been unloaded, he folded and put your laundry up, and is now carrying up your homemade breakfast to the shared room. He gently shakes you awake after pit stopping in the bathroom, making sure he smelled of her favorite aftershave. Christian also spent a considerable chunk of time analyzing his sleeve of tattoos, silently willing them to look extra attractive today. He gave a quick flex before walking out and shaking you awake.

She wakes up groggily, her hair a knot on the top of her head, the soft material of Christian T-shirt almost putting her back o sleep instantly. The sight of Christian, shirtless with her favorite sweatpants of his laying low on his hips jolts her awake. He sets the plate and coffee down on the nightstand, a sheepish smile on his face. “I believe the panel would like to hear me give a speech.” You laugh lightheartedly at his joke, dramatically motioning for him to continue. Coffee in hand you tilt your head up at his nervous expression, “Your beloved panel is ready to continue.”

He runs his hands threw his hair one last time before giving himself a quick pep talk. I can do this. It’s not like her breaking up with me is my greatest fear. That’s not going to happen, though, because I’m about to prove how great of a man I am. “I lost my shit last night for no good reason. I have no backing for why I did what I did, beside the fact that I can be petty and have a gnarly green streak. Those are not, and will never be in this relationship, a valid reason for the way I behaved. I’m apologizing not because I just want you to forgive me, but because I want you to know that I hold your love and trust like it’s the most important thing in the world, and last night I didn’t show that. I love you for many reasons, but especially for your ability to challenge me to consistently be a better man for you and prove that you deserve the finest. I appreciate you keeping me In check more than you know. I know I’ve been lacking recently, and I can only say the fast paced change to AC Milan Is draining all of my energy. You didn’t know that, though, because of my dumbass’s inability to communicate, which is going to change. We’re a team and I need to treat us as such. Safe to say I will be keeping my green monster in check from now on, because you mean more than anything to me. I have a streak of insecurity and that was what took over me last night, even though it was my fault you were left alone. My inability to communicate my feelings and plans to you is changing, and I’ll prove it to you.”

A moment of silence enraptured the room, her jaw falling open in shock. Christian communicated his feelings. The first step in progress. “I folded and put away your laundry, started a new load, and undid the dishwasher. Just the beginning of proving how committed I am to this relationship and keeping it strong on my part, which I’ve been failing at.” What the fuck, Chris? She takes a long slurp from her irresistible coffee, staring up at him through the mug. He nervously shifts from foot to foot, and maybe it made her sick, but she was partly enjoying him squirm over losing her. It made a woman feel powerful, what can she say? She sets the mug down, silent tension cutting the room.

“Christian,” her voice cuts through, with a chiding tone that made his heart start palpitating. “Kiss me and prove it further.”

—

babe wake up augustinescruelsummer finally fucking wrote again.

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic angst #christian pulisic fic #christian pulisic one shot #football x y/n

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