#( to watch the needle go in and shit and giving her absolutely nothing because my fasting brain is fucking stupid )

[pohlepen]

told the phlebotomist, "i like to watch. im a watcher" and we both had to sit with that while she drew my blood.

[zhuoyichenpretty]

Ep 22-23 Commentary

Ha...I was inexplicably nervous for eps 22-23 and it looks like I was right to be (-: What a rollercoaster. Spoilers below!

I've just come out of ep 23 and uh????? holy shit????? ZYC????

Ok ok but to backtrack, let's do my comments semi-chronologically:

Ep 22:

A carry-over from ep 21 that I have to mention—heck yeah PSJ give WZY hell. She doesn't have all that many lines but she sure knows how to make them count. Also seeing PSJ and WX get screen time just the two of them makes my brain go "yay <3"

Back to ep 22, loved the fake-out sundial ayeee that was a nice Chekhov's gun that also brings the real sundial back into relevance for later. Also me eating up the PSJ and ZYC crumb of an interaction has brought to my attention how starved I am of their screen time together.

This whole ep was a great lament towards the feared inevitable. Every sad downcast look from ZYC, every complicated glance WX gives him. A wonderful, terrible crossroads for these characters. I love that for ZYC especially, it's such an incredible mess of emotion coming to a head. Bad enough that he's come to care about the demon who killed his family and ruined his life, bad enough that he's sworn a blood oath he regrets and tied himself to punishing someone he no longer finds culpable, bad enough that ZYZ's life or death depends solely on his choice and ZYZ is constantly practically begging for death when ZYC wants him to live. How much immensely worse it makes the whole situation that WX is literally ZYZ's soulmate. And obviously the whole team has only grown more and more attached to ZYZ, too. ZYC's personal turmoil aside, how heavy must that responsibility and guilt be? For the finishing blow that only he can deliver to also deeply threaten every other person he cares about? Everyone understands in the abstract what must happen and why, but just like seeing ZYZ lose control firsthand, the gulf between understanding and experiencing is so unimaginably wide. If he kills ZYZ, can there really be no resentment from his friends? From WX?

Also it seems ZYC only wears cloaks so that he can give them to other people lmao

Ah fuck, the farewell drinks. I didn't even factor in how ZYC might not survive the encounter (''': The drama truly was like hm can we possibly give ZYC a worse day than that night his whole fam died? Maybe give him a bunch of new family members and also the blade and the fate and the sole responsibility to potentially irrevocably scar said family members with? And he might die in the process too? (-: haha maybe? (((-:

Oh. Oh. Addendum. I forgot this til I saw it mentioned in another post—ZYC recounting his oath as he watched WX smile when they discussed reviving the tree...I could feel him weighing those words against his own life, against ZYZ's life, against WX's happiness. One way out of this impossible situation is indeed to doom himself. I'm in pieces.

Damn if WX isn't dedicated heart and soul, going into the sundial like that. I'm sad no one could keep her company for those 300 years but also I guess that's kind of an impossible ask (and maybe not survivable for the other non-goddess mortals? I'm admittedly very unclear on sundial time loophole logistics). It would have been nice to see someone offer though, even just to be turned down.

Ooh I like the soul needle fake-out, given this show's penchant for retroactive "actually we had a plan all along" moments. A good subversion of the narrative's own style.

Also I saved this for the end because it doesn't really fit the linearity of my comments but what the fuuuuuuuck oh my god I absolutely flipped out at this scene:

I am at once rabidly intrigued and at the same time not sure if I'll be satisfied with whatever payoff will come for this so I don't want to overindulge in theorizing and setting my own expectations too high. Maybe this is just a fevered hallucination, maybe it means nothing (I hope it means something). But damn!!! What a gorgeous man crazy scene.

In conclusion, ep 22 had some good stuff for me. Plot development and reflection and tension enough that I may have been satisfied with just that one episode. But they gave us two, so onward to ep 23 comments!

Ep 23:

I like how many solid reasons the team has to suspect ZYC being possessed. Even though I withheld judgment during my watch given how quickly the show usually confirms that kind of stuff with a possession mark, just simply casting that doubt made the whole build up that much more intense.

ZYC slowly walking down the corridor with the whole grounds lit a somber and haunting gold—*chef's kiss*

ZYC's monologue to a catatonic ZYZ is so important to me. The closest we'll get to his internal monologue about this whole situation. The kinds of things said when we think there's no conscious listener.

Okay so, having finished this episode and looking back, Li Lun's hands coming up from behind ZYC was not to denote possession (at least in this episode), potentially is a visual from ZYZ's POV, and seems related to the above screencap. I am so, so curious. Once again, I'm stopping myself from further speculation because I want to be surprised but ahhhhhhhhh

PSJ shooting at Ao Yin is so gorgeous. Her action scenes seriously never disappoint—the creativity of her fight choreos!! Also very cool that the whole team is getting to take part in the action, not just the two male leads.

Bai Jiu possession was not on my bingo card but I sure do love that we literally saw the possession take place and I still didn't connect the dots. Good shitttt. Also oh no ): ZYC was telling the truth about the soul needle, he was just tricked ):

Seriously from the Ao Yin case to getting PSJ released to reviving the Divine Wood to getting tricked by possessed!Bai Jiu to making pear soup to fighting ZYZ to fighting Li Lun—when will ZYC get a single goddamn vacation day holy shit.

Also when will WX tear up that contract so ZYZ can stop having a mild heart attack every time he wants to kiss her ): &I love that they saved the 300-year montage for this moment. While their ship doesn't give me brainrot personally, who could be unmoved by that incredible and undisclosed sacrifice? That's soulmatism.

Okay, I'd seen clips of them filming the ZYC and Li Lun fight but damn I did not expect it'd be happening right now!! Right after already taking damage from ZYZ? And my god is Li Lun brutal. The two actors did such an impressive job on this entire fight, what with Li Lun's ease and ZYC's suffering. I really appreciated the extensive hand-to-hand combat after Li Lun literally obliterated ZYC's sword. (Also though, given the origin of that sword, I kept hoping for a flashback to ZYC's brother once it broke, but alas, no dice.) Anyway, the show does not play around about ZYC whump it seems. I was very very shook by that throat punch; that shit legitimately looked like it hurt.

Honestly, I had a hard time with the extended ZYZ and Li Lun conversation at the very end because oh my god someone please heal ZYC lmao. But of course, that's the end of the episode~~

Y'all...check on your local ZYC stans because I was not okay after all that (': I need a heaping dose of comfort after all that hurt, but as always I'm cautious of hoping for much from canon itself. So yeah! Ep 23 was solid, but I would probably be in better shape if today's release just ended on ep 22 ((':

Time to go wait for the cast's Hi6 episode to drop so I can heal my battered heart ;-;

[whatevermakesyoubreak]

🔪❤️‍🔥 a few (lot) of my personal illumi sfw/nsfw headcanons:

> these are strictly regarding my illumi x oc [ft. hisoka and chrollo] fic, sic infit, (which is essentially succession ft. the zoldyck’s & a bit of a romcom starring illumi), so yes— some of these will be ooc & a few of them include lira so if u don’t like her, keep scrolling idk.

- actually has the most unhinged sense of humor. sassy as FUCK but it’s hard to tell because he speaks as if he’s being completely serious. he finds a lot of things funny— especially things he shouldn’t— but just doesn’t express it unless he absolutely cannot keep a straight face anymore. (we all remember his goddamn sea lion laughing face, right?)

- is actually quite dense when it comes to anything besides assassination. not at all stupid, just… dense.

- however, illumi is a man with a plan if nothing else. he rarely if ever will go into a situation with no preparation, research, etc.

- he likes movies! all genres too— anything from thrillers, comedy, art house, classics, horror, romantic comedies, dramas, foreign films, etc— he likes them all, but only if they meet his standards. (i.e, he hates slasher films because he finds them unrealistic, some films are too artsy for him, and he has trouble understanding some romantic dramas). his favorite series is the Hellraiser series— he took lots of inspiration from Pinhead. (the movie him and Lira were watching in chapter 2 was Requiem For A Dream!)

- this motherfucker has a DIRTY mouth. i firmly believe that he cannot form a single thought without there being some form of profanity involved. however, he doesn’t express this unless he feels comfortable around someone, i.e, Lira, Hisoka, his family. he’s a master of code switching when around upper-class people, but goddamn— Kikyo should’ve been washing his mouth out with soap instead of stringing him up tbh.

- that dirty mouth of his carries over to… other areas as well. says the FOULEST, FILTHIEST and NASTIEST things during sex & you wouldn’t expect it at ALL.

- hair pulling and boobs. that is all.

- switch. enough said.

- speaking of sex, he’s hung like a fucking horse & knows it.

- also, that stoic, inexpressive & unemotional exterior of his? yeah, that shatters like glass the second this man gets horny. like he fully gets stuuupid cock/pussydrunk. he can’t even think properly anymore. he’s feral— slurring his words, drooling, begging— you name it, all while saying the filthiest shit. once he’s there, he’s there. y’all don’t wanna hear me you just wanna dance, but he’s a mess. he’s so repressed otherwise there’s no alternative than but to be the epitome of actual depravity.

- when he subs, he is a big baby, whiny, brat boy who wants to be used, bullied, and to also be told how pretty he is. he wants it messy too— as filthy and depraved as possible. he’s a fucking perv lowkey.

- when he doms, he doms— but not in your average ways— he definitely likes manhandling his partner as well as when there’s a considerable size difference (like Lira’s short ass lmao), because he likes the literal primal feeling of control it gives him.

- contrary to popular belief, i think he’d enjoy a bit of attitude as well from his partner— just so he could condescend the fuck out of them— of course. “what happened to, ‘more Illu,’ and, ‘please, Illu?’ I thought you wanted me like this...” could be considered a brat tamer?? maybe??

- as i said, he’s a huge dirty talker, but he’s more patronizing and condescending than outright derogatory. he’s also surprisingly good with giving praise, but if HE’S getting praised? gg’s goodnight & goodbye— that man is now officially whipped.

- he has an oral fixation & is an absolute MUNCH/THROAT GOAT. and he’s sloppppyyyyy with it too omg. (this is literally canon, cuz why tf was he licking those needles???)

- simultaneously has a breeding kink and is TERRIFIED to knock someone up before marriage. oh, illumi.

- a true bisexual, and has no preference. it truly depends on the person for him.

- mommy issues & daddy issues. like… bad. like… the enmeshment and parentification are real with this one.

- genuinely hates his father but can’t admit it to himself. he won’t even allow himself to think that way. it would literally make his brain explode from the cognitive dissonance.

- fairly indifferent towards his mother, but subconsciously latches on to any sort of nurturing/female care he can get due to never receiving it as a child. this shows heavily in the speed of development with his relationship with Lira.

- even though he does not like his father, he appreciates how his father and mother’s relationship functions. he ultimately respects women— perhaps to the point of putting them on a pedestal.

- i think he’s actually a bit of a romantic in the way he wants to do everything regarding his partner(s), especially with how badly he wants children and a family of his own— it’s just very very verrrryyyyy repressed & tainted with darkness and possession. but, once he loves, he loves for life. in his own illumi way, of course.

- he’s a heavy drinker. he’s not an alcoholic, but he definitely drinks more than he should, especially after jobs. prefers scotch on the rocks to anything else, but absolutely will not turn down a fruity/sweet drink either. someone please give this man a pina colada.

- drunk illumi is a menace to society, and he has to consume quite a bit of liquor in order to get there— hence why it rarely happens— but once he’s inebriated, that man is the most unfiltered and clingy bastard there is. there is nothing keeping him from speaking his mind at this point and it’s either offensive or hilarious depending on who u are.

- eats like an amusement park raccoon when he’s away from home. literally no idea how he’s so strong when his diet is 80% sugar, 10% booze, and 10% grease.

- doesn’t actually spend that much time on his hair. uses very high-quality products, but otherwise, he’s just genetically blessed. he can let that shit air dry.

- he DOES care about his hair though— when Lira singed the ends, he was PISSED. he also cares a lot about the rest of his appearance. he likes being called pretty— why wouldn’t he keep up with his looks?

- he likes when she braids his hair. sometimes they wear matching twin french or dutch braids while training. Kalluto is lowkey jealous because his hair is too short to join in.

- he has a skill for applying makeup & wigs on himself and others. before he mastered his abilities, he used to disguise himself the old fashioned way.

- he secretly really wants to dress Lira up like his own personal doll, i.e, do her makeup, hair, pick her outfit, etc. not for any weird control reasons, but genuinely because he thinks she’d be cute. he values his life too much to ever tell her this.

- illumi is actually not the best at hand-to-hand combat. he’s an assassin, not a fighter. his job is to kill, not win. by no means is he unskilled, but when compared to others who ARE masterful close quarters combatants, i.e, Lira, he is only above average. (only ‘above average’ like that’s supposed to be bad lmao)

- has an eidetic memory & pretends to forget things in order to catch people in lies.

- is actually not as socially inept or awkward as he comes off. he’s had to do his fair share of seduction and deception in his line of work, so he knows how to charm people to an extent if he really wants to.

- however… his version of flirting with someone he actually likes is staring at them very hard from across a room. he thinks this is him being obvious btw.

- he likes to watch the clouds in his spare time. literally for no reason. he just finds it relaxing. he also likes the sun, contrary to his appearance.

- he does a lot of things for no reason, tbh. he feels rather lost without having someone to assassinate, due to any drastic sort of individuality being discouraged during his upbringing and never really having developed a hobby, so besides stalking Killua, occasionally entertaining Hisoka, and before he met Lira, he tended to do random things in his spare time on a whim.

- he doesn’t like the ocean, snow, or rain, particularly because he hates being cold and wet at the same time. kind of like a cat. has heated bathroom floors for this reason.

- he doesn’t kill for pleasure. he lacks the sadistic tendencies that people like Hisoka, Lira, & Kalluto have. he simply kills because it’s his job, he likes money, & he sees it as his duty as a Zoldyck.

- he is actually a lot more rational and compassionate than he lets on. compassionate may be the wrong word— he just tries to give his targets quick deaths and doesn’t prefer to see anyone suffer unless they’ve angered him. he also won’t kill anyone if he deems it pointless or isn’t getting paid.

- however— he will do anything, and i mean ANYTHING to get what he wants. very machiavellian in nature when he’s focused.

- he doesn’t consider Lira or Hisoka to be distractions even though they quite literally are. he’s a hypocrite, but we all love him for it.

- his love language is gift giving. he will buy someone he cares about anything they look at for more than two seconds.

- he also values quality time. he will follow Lira around like a cat just saying and doing nothing, only wanting to be around her.

- he wants to get married. like, actually married, not just killing-contract married.

- he also wants children. plural.

- scorpio sun, capricorn rising, cancer moon. (ooooh that moon/rising opposition SHOWS)

- can be somewhat traditional when it comes to gender roles, which is rather ironic given his choice in partner(s). he believes it’s the man’s job to protect and provide, and has no issue doing so, even if it’s done in the most deranged ways.

- he cannot remember the majority of his childhood, only bits here and there.

- ptsd? more like P! T! S! D!

- he likes people that can get under his skin. he enjoys banter.

- notices everything, and i mean EVERYTHING. he is extremely observant, but quietly and carefully holds on to the information/patterns he sees— just in case he needs to use that information against someone.

- he has EXPENSIVE taste— forget designer, i’m talking custom made couture and shit like that. designer to him is like loungewear.

- he actually prefers dogs to cats. he wouldn’t be opposed to having a smaller dog of his own one day, but can’t currently because Mike would eat it. he doesn’t hate cats, however, he just doesn’t like how they all seem to want to play with his hair.

- actually, i think he rather likes all animals. not in a Lira-esque “i love animals because it’s fun to imagine what they’d look like with no skin,” type of way, but actually likes them.

- while he likes most animals, he has an irrational hatred of birds. literally zero reason for this. maybe jealousy?

- he values usefulness and patience in his partners and also finds their homicidal tendencies exasperating, especially Lira’s. he does not want a weak partner, nor a victim.

- when it comes to his relationships, he is very very possessive, to the point where it should be scary. however, Lira is also insane and just finds it sweet.

- while obsessive and possessive, he has absolutely no interest in abusing his partner in any way. the thought itself disgusts him. he didn’t see his father do that to his mother outside of training, so why would he ever do that to his own partner?

- when it comes to his partner, he wants to see them happy and safe, not insecure and miserable. like, he saw Lira get insecure ONE time and almost self-destructed and proceeded to basically glitch in order to change her mood.

- he would rather be alone than with someone who didn’t meet his standards.

- he’s either really good at communication or really fucking bad. no in-between.

- he’s not a big cuddler— he’s the type to just lay his entire body weight on top of someone— but just because it feels nice to him. he doesn’t really care if he’s smothering the other person— if he chose them, they should be strong enough for him, right? he does make an exception occasionally and allows Lira to hold him, but that’s typically for access to her boobs… so. he prefers having her sit in his lap, or alternatively, sitting in Hisoka’s lap himself.

- his hair moves on its own a lot— not only when he’s angry, but also whenever he’s feeling anything intense, i.e. lust, euphoria, etc. it can range from the way it whips around when he’s bloodlusted to just stirring as if he’s standing in a gentle breeze.

- hates wearing shirts at home. he’s in expensive lounge pants and nothing else— maybe a tank top and crewneck sweatshirt if he absolutely has to— but other than that? shirtless lumi always.

[historyofshipping]

More Teen Wolf thoughts

So I knew next to nothing about Teen Wolf when I started watching it last week. I basically just didn't interact with any fandoms when it was live and so I'm coming in without any kind of preconceived notions of who/what the good character/ships/storylines etc other than the movie sucks and I shouldn't watch it. I was also vaguely aware that Ste/rek and Stydia were fandom things.

After watching it, I scrolled through an obscene amount of tumblr stuff related to TW and I truly have to wonder if we watched the same show.

Again, it's a very different viewing experience for me because I didn't have gaps between seasons where I could theorize, over-analyze, etc. I'm also older than the target audience so like that could probably affect how I view things too.

I'll also add that my own relationship had a similar trajectory to Stydia. My partner had a crush on me while I was literally engaged to someone else and we barely knew each other, but then we had a deep friendship form over time. By the time my last relationship ended, his crush had changed to genuine love and my friendship evolved to something romantic. We've been together now over a decade.

So with all that said, here's Stydia thought: I am truly BAFFLED by the fact that people think Stydia getting together was fan service. (More under cut)

Note: I have zero interest in debating or arguing, which is why I'm hoping this won't come up in other ship tags. If you feel the need to argue, just move along because I'll either ignore you or block you. These are just my thoughts - it's not that deep.

I admit I absolutely fell in love with Stydia. I am an absolute sucker for good friends to lovers, detective duos, etc so they were *Chef's kiss* to me.

That said, I'm more than capable of separating my feelings about a ship from a story. So when people say that Stydia was forced together, I'm just kind of dumbfounded since I thought it was literally the only well-written ship in the entire show.

When we start, obviously we have Stiles obsessing over an image of Lydia in his head. But even still, he was never into her popularity or anything like that - he was into the person she was at the core, even when she kept it hidden.

Then they became friends over the course of the next few seasons and Stiles fell in love with her in a different way. He got to know her better and his feelings only deepened. However, she was with other people so he tried to force himself to move on. This is very normal in high school especially.

I did not like the Sta/lia relationship, mostly because I thought Malia deserved a lot better than someone who was clearly still into someone else, but I'm not going to get into that here.

We have canon proof that Stiles was STILL INTO Lydia during season 4&5. So much so that Kira, new to the group and mostly only around post-Malia getting involved, picked up on it: "He still likes her, doesn't he?" "Yeah, but it’s different now." "Stiles was the only one who knew." "He paid attention. He listened to her. He remembered."

Stiles is constantly the one whose main priority is getting her out of Eichen House. He storms in and doesn't give a shit about self-preservation as long as he gets to Lydia and gets her out.

He breaks through his bonds when she's about to be injected.

The camera constantly focuses on their hand touches with each other - whether it's in the hospital, the care with which they constantly stroke each other's face, etc. When Melissa was about to inject Lydia in the neck, she told Stiles specifically to hold her hand - even though he has a fear of needles.

Both of them essentially brought the other back from the dead through their connection.

When he sees her hurt or about to be hurt, it goes back to "I would go out of my freaking mind" - and he does.

Stiles was in love with her for nearly a decade. That doesn't just go away in a few months.

Now, for Lydia, we have her focused on Stiles above all else. He's the one she calls when she's in trouble or upset. She goes to him for comfort. "Stiles saved me."

Whenever there's a Stalia moment and Lydia is around, the camera goes to her for reactions. What comes to mind immediately is in the Mexico car scene where Malia says she'd come back for Stiles.

Now, any of these things individually you could say are just friendship things - and you'd be correct. Above everything, they are friends. Probably best friends. But their bond goes so much deeper than that. Both of them needed that basis of friendship before they could fall into a truly deep love for each other - and that's what we see in season 6.

So yeah, I'm not sure where people are getting the idea that it was out of the blue. It's clearly been built up over seasons and while it *could* have stayed as just very good friends, that wasn't the story they were telling. I'll concede that s6 was kind screwed up because of DOB's filming and injuries but it still wasn't out of the blue.

[meadowmines]

OC-Tober/Tojoctober Day 4: Claws

[Hopping over to the Tojoctober list today because fuck it, Aoyagi can have some cat cafe shenanigans as a treat]

---

This is what you call a "soft open" in the business. The Neko-Kai Cafe is not yet open to the general public and won't be until Saturday, but tonight Aoyagi has opened the doors just for friends and family. He uses that term loosely and tries not to think too much about what the latter half of it used to mean.

New town. New cafe. New name. New everything. It's a lot to not think about.

He spends most of the evening in the kitchen, mixing and kneading and churning out piles of baked goods. Paw print cookies, kitty-shaped anpan, scones in both sweet and savory varieties. Nothing sticky or messy, nothing that requires utensils. Coffee, too. The barista thing is not his strongest suit but he can pull an espresso and make a passable latte art paw print. (he will have an actual barista who knows what the hell he's doing when the place opens for real, but tonight it's just him running the show.)

The cats are handling themselves fine, too. Some of them were a little skittish about all these strangers in their home at first, and Shio and Kosho are still kind of huddled up at the top of the cat tree staring down at the guests and other cats like they're wondering what the hell they've gotten into. Not Miyuki, though. She took a little nudging, because she's deaf as a post and didn't know there were people here to see her. But now Aoyagi watches her work the room like she's been doing this her whole kitty life and wonders yet again: what kind of monster would dump a sweet kitty like this at the pound in the dead of night?

(rest assured that about three years from now Aoyagi will find out exactly what kind of monster would do that, and that monster will absolutely get what's coming to him)

He's putting a fresh batch of biscotti in the oven when he hears someone yelp in the main room. Ah, shit. "Everything okay?" he calls over his shoulder.

"Uh, yeah--" That sounds like Chiba, and he sounds uncomfortable, and at least two other people are laughing hysterically. "Yeah, I just--yow! Easy there, sweetheart! Here, lemme just--no, honey, no, just--hey, Amano? Little help here? Please!? Miyuki-chan's got a--"

However Chiba finishes that sentence, it's drowned out by the siren song of a very happy cat that can't hear herself, followed by even more laughter, which gives Aoyagi time to remember that oh, right, he's Amano.

"The hell ya doin' to my number one girl, Chiba-han?" Aoyagi shucks off his oven mitts and heads into the main room. "Am I gonna have to bounce ya?"

"Looks like Chiba's got a new girlfriend," Sugihara snickers.

"Well, the girls at the club are all going to be glad to hear that," Shiori needles. She has plenty of room to needle. She's a hostess at one of Chiba's regular haunts, after all.

At first glance, everything seems fine. Miyuki is snuggled up in Chiba's lap purring like a muscle car's engine, majestically fluffy head leaning against his chest, lovingly gazing up at him with those big sparkly blue eyes, enthusiastically kneading his thigh. But then her little paw clenches tight and Chiba grits his teeth and makes a weirdly high-pitched noise.

"She-she's fine," Chiba laughs nervously, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. "It's just--she's kinda perforatin' my leg here n'--ow! Honey, I'm beggin' ya, lemme--she's just gettin' awful close to my two best friends, is all!"

"What!?" Shit. He checked before he opened. He knows he did. He... thought he did? "Hang on--" Aoyagi ducks into the cats' "dressing room" and grabs the nail clippers. "Sorry, sorry, I thought I disarmed all the murder mittens this afternoon--c'mere, Miyuki-chan."

"MEEEEEEEEEHHH?" Miyuki hollers cheerfully as Aoyagi unhooks her paw from Chiba's pants leg. Chiba just heaves a deep sigh of relief.

Miyuki takes this like a pro too, lets Aoyagi sit her down in his lap and check her paws until he finds the concealed weapon, doesn't even squirm when he nips the razor-sharp tip off it. He reaches over, snags a cat treat off Sugihara's tray, and feeds it to his number one girl. "Awright, back to work with ya," he says, giving her a scritch behind the ears before she hops right over the table and back into Chiba's lap.

"Yeah, that's more like it," Chiba says, feeding her another treat off his own tray. "Not that I ain't thought about gettin' the snip, but that wasn't how I planned on doin' it."

[mermaidsirennikita]

least favorite recent trend is people calling exclusively-smut (or just romance period) readers p0rn addicts. like no, smut will never ever ever ever ever even come close to be on the same level as p0rn. worse yet it's coming from supposed left-leaning people. like way to agree with right wingers on this issue goddd

Hmm, I get where you're coming from, and I totally agree that the conservatives have weaponized, essentially, good intentions to flip young progressives/libs into spouting conservative talking points. But I will say:

A) Some romance novels? Are kinda really close to porn, lol. And I'm not talking erotica--I'm talking books wherein the sex is not necessarily the point of the story or the crux, but it is kinda why you read. Either to be turned on, or to gawk at something utterly absurd (and sometimes funny). Which is why people watch porn, mostly; to be aroused and/or shocked or amused or grossed out.

Like, I'm thinking of books like Vera Valentine's Squeak. It's about a woman who falls in love with two balloon animal shifters, and they fall in love with her right back. Are you reading that because it's good literature? Not really. Or like, the shorty KU books where the plot is kinda thin but the sex is bomb. I mean, people absolutely read books to masturbate, just as they do with porn ("one-handed reads"); and those books are often romance novels. I mean, I have watched porn that legitimately has better emotional plotting than some of the sillier romances I read. And that's not knocking those romances--just as I don't think a "my first massage with the hot masseur lady" porno is meant to give you this deep story. Nor are those books; and they both accomplish their goals.

To compare, I'd say that Tiffany Reisz's Original Sinners books, which are somewhere between erotic romance and erotica depending on the installment... Are nowhere near being porn. The plots revolve around sex. The sex is explicit and very adventurous--CNC, blood play, pegging, bondage, group sex, daddy kink, priest kink, extreme sadism and masochism, needles, and it goes on and on. But the sex is the framework for serious character development and growth and confronting some heavy issues. It's not anywhere close to the kind of content porn typically offers.

The biggest differentiator between sexually explicit, sex-heavy books and porn is the ways in which the products are crafted and the risk components. Both can create unrealistic expectations surrounding sex and relationships (we talk a lot about boys having porn brain, but if you see some of the shit teen girls think is normal after reading certain romance novels--well). Both can do the opposite. And for both, it's seriously not their problem; content is not responsible for educating the kids. The kids' support systems (parents, guardians, teachers) are. Or should be.

B) Porn is not bad; and therefore, it's not bad to compare those books to porn. It is true that porn can be exploitative and harmful to performers. However, that is the sex industry in general--any industry in general. Companies across the world violate child labor laws every day. American employees regularly work themselves to the point of exhaustion, go to work sick and get sicker/infect their coworkers, and have nervous breakdowns due to overwork--and don't make ends' meet. We culturally focus more on how sex workers can be harmed because 1) it's more shocking because sex 2) it's more direct, at times, because sex workers deal with very intimate services that can involve physical risk 3) the harm that occurs is used by politicians and the media to justify why sex work should be outlawed. When in reality, if sex work was decriminalized we'd be able to offer sex workers safe harbors and resources without fear of legal consequences.

But anyway--porn is not bad inherently. If porn is made ethically, which it absolutely can be, there is nothing wrong with people consenting to sexual acts performed on camera... and as long as nobody is getting hurt, everyone is of age and consenting, and there aren't any animals (because animals cannot consent ever lol) involved, theoretically that's fine. Do a lot of people abuse this system? Absolutely, but I'd say that they're more able to abuse it because of the stigma surrounding porn. Though it's legal and theoretically regulated, the regulations aren't often meant to work for performers, they're meant to "protect" the people who might stumble across porn online.

And because we shame people for watching porn and shame porn as a concept, nobody talks about what ethically made porn is, and how different types of porn affect people differently as they grow up. Because most of them? Will watch porn either way. But perhaps if teens felt free enough to discuss the things they saw in porn with sex educators... they would learn more about what is real and what isn't.

I also think that porn can be interesting and artistic (it often isn't, but erotic cinema used to be more common--would recommend the documentary "Skin" to explore more about it), and like I said above, romance novels can be--and like porn, sometimes they aren't. And romance novels, while they may not be as directly harmful as bad porn can be to performers, can be harmful on a broader level. For example, there is som racist porn out there; and there are some racist romance novels out there.

So I guess my thing is--as someone who reads a lot of romances of many degrees of quality, and had also watched my fair share of porn... I don't see a huge difference between some books and porn, lol. And that's not a bad thing. If the worst romances or erotica novels are just as bad as porn on a whole, that's fine, because porn on its own isn't a bad thing. The argument really shouldn't be "romance novels/erotica are better than porn", imo, because the people coming after one are going to come after the other either way. Sex negativity usually takes a universal approach. Nothing is spared; nothing is "good enough". When Spoutible banned sex workers from sharing content, they also banned romance novelists from sharing content, as one example. Romance novelists were no different from people literally having sex for money in that sense, and I honestly think that as the conservative movement becomes more extreme, their personal perception of what is and isn't sex work will also become more extreme. And tbh? The line is blurry. A phone sex operator is not actually selling sex--they're selling a fantasy, woven from their own minds. They just have a more direct connection to the person enjoying the product than authors and other artists do.

It's complicated, and we're all affected, so we've kinda gotta work together here, imo.

[godshideouscreation]

Secret: I’m still in love with and deeply worried about my ex. We’re both recovering addicts and when she left me I was completely self-destructing and she left me for someone in our orbit so I just kinda went harder, but I lived and got clean. She and the new guy have been together for five years and engaged for most of that time and have also been to rehab, but he keeps relapsing and I worry about her constantly, not just because she’s dealing with that but about her relapsing as well. Some part of me wishes we could be a thing again but I know that won’t solve anything, I just want her to be happy and healthy, and I don’t know if I can give that to her either.

Loving somebody who is struggling with an addiction while you are also struggling with an addiction has got to be one of the most painful experiences I've ever had in my life. So I just have to say to start this off that I'm sorry that you're going through that. Watching someone you love be unable to get their life together while you are trying desperately to get your life together is a lot.

In 2018 I was in love with a heroin addict and struggling with a (benzos) pill addiction. In a lot of ways, we leaned on each other and depended on each other for support. I talked to him everyday, I was there for him through truly fucked up shit. Through rehab several times, and even in times where his own family didn't talk to him. For all the time he spent in prison. I put money on his books so that he could make phone calls and eat something other than prison gunk. I've never loved anybody in the way that I loved him and I probably never will. It was intense, consuming. For almost 2 years he was clean, and when he got out the last time, he relapsed it ended up killing him. On the night that he died he told me he loved me, and then he hung up a phone and stuck a needle in his arm and died.

I've never wanted to die more in my life than when I found that out. And that's from somebody who has struggled with my mental illness from a very young age. That's saying a lot because I had several suicide attempts before I even turned 18. I felt like what was the point? We were working towards this future that we both wanted so bad. I felt stupid. I was so angry. So fucking hurt. Even though I knew from struggling with my own addiction how hard it was. He was the one thing that was keeping me together and keeping me from falling off. I had to start focusing on myself. I had literally poured everything out of my cup into his. I've never felt more empty in my entire life. I've experienced other kinds of loss since then, but nothing that has monumentally fucked me up like that. I've been clean since 2018 because of that. Because I never wanted to make anybody that I cared about feel the way that I did. I got pretty sick from withdrawal and the one thing that kept me going was that awful feeling, and not wanting to give that to anyone else.

I'm telling you this because even though you absolutely can love somebody so much, with every fiber of your being, you can't love them into getting their life together. Sometimes the only thing that you can do is just continue to focus on yourself. And honestly, it does seem like her situation is not a good one. It seems like she leans into somebody who is not healthy for her and you said that y'all are in the same orbit, so I'm sure it's hard to watch that. My best advice to her would be to focus on herself, but sometimes it takes that kind of experience before you can even think about focusing on yourself. I was stubborn as hell and I don't think there's anything that anybody could have told me that would have made me step away from him. The only options were get clean or die trying. I don't know if y'all are still friends or talk at all, I think it's valid to want to be there for somebody! but I don't want you to do it at a detriment to your health or your success either.

Keep focusing on you. Keep your life together. Maybe there will be a time when you guys both have a place in each other's life. But don't make that your priority.

[rezzyromance]

How would the four lords react if their s/o suddenly says, “I think I’m in love with you,” while watching them do something mundane, eg. Alcina putting on her lipstick, Heisenberg tinkering with something, etc.

This makes me so happy :,)

Alcina

You lay on the large bed you and Alcina shared. It was made to fit her, so to you it was like an ocean of soft mattress and silk sheets. You were so comfortable, although the presence of your lover would make the situation all the more comforting. Instead of laying with you, she was hurrying to get ready for a meeting Mother Miranda had called together. She always made sure to look her best before leaving the house. You lay on your side and prop your head up with your hand, all your weight put onto your elbow. You watched as she sat down in front of her mirror to do some touch ups on her makeup.

"I wish you didn't have to go. I wish you could just lay here with me." you complain. "I know my dear. I'd love nothing more than be able to spend my time with you, lazing away, but I'm afraid this meeting is very important." her tone was soft and sweet. It was a tone she only spoke to you in. You sigh and continue to stare at her, admiring the way she gently bounces her hair in her hands to make sure it sits perfectly. She notices you staring through the mirror and can't help but smile as she reaches for her favorite lipstick.

"I'm surprised you haven't burned a hole in me with that stare of yours." she says before parting her lips to apply her lipstick.

"I think I'm in love with you.", you lovingly say. It wasn't odd or out of the ordinary. You told her that you loved her often, but there was something special about the way you said it this time that made her freeze. Her eyes grew wide for just a second as a blush began to rise from her pale cheeks. She turns to face you, intensely staring into your eyes as the corners of her lips perk upwards into a pleasant smile. "Oh my sweet (Y/N).", she stands up and walks over to you before placing a kiss on your lips, leaving a red stain from her lipstick.

Donna

You yawn as you curl up comfortably in a chair with a hot cup of tea in your hands. It's not a yawn of boredom or exhaustion, but a yawn of comfort. The type of yawn your body produces because it's so at peace that life itself begins to lull you to sleep. You were watching as Donna sewed a brand new dress for one of her dolls. She had taken off her veil to do this, not wanting any lack of vision to ruin her progress. The dress was beautiful. She had been working on it for days. It was a small, pink and flower patterned dress with white lace around the edges that Donna stared at with intensity as she attached it with her needle and thread.

No words were spoken for the entirety of her process. You sat in silence and watch through out all of it. The way her eyes never unfocused from the task made your heart flutter. The way her dainty hands held the fabric so gently caused a light smile to rest on your face. She was just so beautiful.

After a while, you decide to break the silence. "I think I'm in love with you." She gasps and nearly pricks her finger with the needle. Her whole body language changed as she nervously fiddled with a stray strand of hair with her fingers. Her shyness only made you smile harder. "I think I love you too.", she whispers before smiling and continuing with her work, attempting to hide how flustered she is.

Moreau

The light from the tv was the only thing illuminating the room. Moreau had put on one of his favorite romance movies for you both to watch. You told him you'd never seen it before and that absolutely blew his mind. How could you NOT see this masterpiece of a movie? There was no negotiating with the man. You HAD to watch it and so now here you are, curled up on the couch with him in the dark.

You had noticed out of the corner of your eye throughout the whole movie that Sal kept turning his head towards you, observing your reactions to his favorite parts of the movie. He wanted nothing more than for you to enjoy the movie just as much as he does, so you made sure to pay close attention. It was a very cheesey movie about an underdog winning the girl of his dreams who's way out of his league. But still, you pushed through.

You noticed that he hadn't looked over at you in a while. His face was too fixated on the television. You glance over to and notice something. Very subtly, he was mouthing every word spoken in the movie. You kept staring but made sure to not make it obvious enough for him to notice. Word for word, he got everything right. Every single word and sentence was right on time. "How many times has he seen this?", you wondered to yourself. Then, the movie goes silent for a second other than some cinematic music. His lips stopped moving as there were no more words to speak, but a smile grew on his face. You look to the movie and see that it was some sort of scene where the two characters have their first kiss. It's passionate and wholesome. "I think I'm love with you.", you say as you stare at him. He jumps as his shocked expression jerks from the tv to your face. His eyes were wide and his mouth was agape. "R-REALLY?!" You laugh at his excitement. "Of course! I know it!", you assure him before placing a kiss on his cheek.

Heisenberg

"Son of a bitch..." he grumbled quietly as he fiddled with something small in his hands. He had been working on a gift for you for a while now, but he needed it to be absolutely perfect. His face was sweaty even though he wasn't doing anything that required any hard physical labor. It was just the sheer intensity of his own perfectionism that caused such stress for him. He had a pair of glasses that he never wears on. They just help magnify things for him so he can see even the smallest little details of whatever he's working on.

"Heisey, I'm bored. Mind if I sit in here while you work? I promise I won't be a distraction.", you lean on the doorway to his workshop. "Sure but you're gonna have to sit..", he paused for a second as he dragged a metal chair across the room, setting it in a corner that's the farthest away from him. "Oh come on!", you groan. "Don't give me that bitchin'. I'm busy and this is top secret stuff I'm working on!" You groan at his ridiculousness and walk over to the chair anyway. You sat down and watched as his brow remained furrowed intensely. "Damn. He must be working on something serious." You thought to yourself. You noticed he had his tongue sticking out ever so slightly as he worked. You wanted to chuckle, but didn't want to distract him. "Stupid piece of shit..... come on....", he whispers to himself through gritted teeth.

You stared at him, captivated by his focus and intensity. Whatever he's working on must be really small because he's able to hide it from your field of vision with just his hand. He kept grunting and whispering things under his breath. You could tell he was growing frustrated with whatever he was working on. "What are you working on again?", you question. "It's a surprise.", he says bluntly. Your interest is peaked.

He looked goofy. His large body was hunched over a chair, hovering over something so small you hadn't even seen it yet. How could something so small be causing so much stress from such a large man. The absurdity of it all caused you to chuckle. "What the hell's so funny?" He sounds aggravated as all hell yet his focus never strays away from whatever is in his hands. He looked to be carving into whatever it is.

"I think I'm in love with you.", you blurt out. He responds with a cocky chuckle after pausing for a second. You couldn't tell, but in that second where he was speechless, he felt like his heart stopped. Did you really mean it? Could you really mean it? Why now? How could him in such a strange position invoke feelings of affection from you? While his mind raced, he was able to appear as if it didn't affect him. "Oh yeah? How come?" "You're just so funny looking right now. But in a cute way.", you explain. "Like, you're this big and powerful guy, but you're so stressed over something that's so smile and you're trying so hard to work on whatever it is with your giant hands. I'm not sure why, but it's just so loveable to me."

He had completely frozen during your words. He had no idea what to do. It felt as if his brain short circuited and was unable to proceed normally from that moment. "You know what. I think it's perfect.", he says before stepping away from his workshop table with his hand clasped together. He swallowed harshly as he walked towards you and revealed what was in his hands. He made a necklace all by himself with his own blood, sweat, and tears. On the front, it was his family crest. He had manage to manipulate the metal perfectly. On the back it had the word "Buttercup", engraved. You didn't hesitate to put it around your neck. "It looks even better on you.", he smirks before pulling you into a kiss.

[thighs-of-betrayal-blog]

A Pleasant Surprise

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Reader

Summary: You’ve never understood why Bucky hates you, but that all changes when you’re both forced to fight alongside each other. 

Warnings: angst/fluff, violence, weapons, enemies to lovers

A/N: Just thought I’d write this little enemies to lovers piece. I hope you enjoy and as always, feedback is appreciated!! :)

The feeling of someone staring at you ran through your body. You didn’t dare turn to look, you already knew it was the owner of those piercing, blue eyes, giving you a cold, calculating stare. 

Trying to block out Bucky, you focus all your attention on Tony, who’s talking at the front of the room. 

“This mission is going to be tougher than we first initiated,” Tony says. “We are going to need all hands on deck and we plan to split you up into groups of two.” 

You place your hand under your chin and stare straight ahead at the table, as Steve reads off the pairings. 

“Y/N and Bucky…” Steve says.

Immediately, you lift your head up, looking at Steve in shock. 

“Excuse me?” you interrupt. Everyone in the room turns their head to look at you. 

Steve stops listing off the names to answer you. “Is something wrong, Y/N?”

“Yes, yes there is.” You gesture towards Bucky, who is staring at you with an amused look. “We don’t work well together. He can’t go two seconds without complaining about me.” 

Bucky instantly jumps in, defending himself. “It’s not my fault you’re incompetent, doll.” 

Standing up, you wave your hand towards him. “See?!” you exclaim. “I can’t and I won’t work with that.” 

Tony jumps in, cutting Bucky off before he can respond. “Look, Y/N, I get that he can be hard headed at times, but we already made the pairings and set up the plan. You guys are just going to have to figure it out.” 

Scoffing, you give Bucky one last glare before turning around and leaving the room. 

Tomorrow was going to be absolute hell. 

------------------------------------------------

Getting into position, you raise your gun and point it at the target. Bucky is a few feet away from you, gun also raised. 

The mission was to infiltrate a Hydra base located in Norway. You and Bucky were tasked with sniping the leader of the base and everyone else was going to take out the rest from below. 

“I have a clear shot,” you say to Bucky. 

“Then take the shot. You don’t have to confirm everything with me,” he replies bitterly. 

Rolling your eyes, you take a deep breath and release it as you pull the trigger. 

“Got him,” you say into your ear piece. 

“Great work, Y/N,” Steve replies. 

As you lean back to gather yourself, you feel cold metal press up against the back of your head. A gun. 

“Don’t move a fucking muscle,” says a Hydra soldier behind you. 

Not daring to move your head, you manage to see Bucky out of your peripheral vision. He too was on the ground, gun pressed to the back of his head. He locks eyes with you. 

Bucky is the last thing you see as the soldier behind you smacks you in the back of your head with his gun, knocking you out. 

-----------------------------------------------

The pounding of your head wakes you up. Groaning, you get up, squinting your eyes against the bright light in the room. 

Looking around, you spot Bucky at the opposite side of the room, still unconscious. 

“Bucky,” you whisper. When he doesn’t wake up, you decide to walk over and touch his arm. 

“Bucky,” you say. 

He jumps up and grabs your arm, twisting it. You yelp in pain. 

“Jesus, Y/N,” he says. “How stupid are you? You know I don’t like being touched. I could have fucking hurt you!” 

Pissed off, you roll your eyes and turn around to examine the room. When you reach the door, you notice it’s bolted shut. 

“Shit, we’re locked in.” 

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.” 

You whip around and stare angrily at Bucky. “What the fuck is your problem? You’ve been nothing but rude to me, since the moment I’ve met you and I’ve done nothing to you!” 

Bucky looks down, unable to come up with a response.

“Nothing to say now, huh? What a surprise,” you say. 

Bucky’s head quickly lifts back up and he jumps to his feet. Walking up to you, he doesn’t stop until he’s only inches away from your face. 

“Maybe, it’s because you’re so damn nosy. You’re always asking way too many questions about my life and I don’t understand why you don’t just stay away like the rest of them!” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry for caring… You know what, this is pointless.” You walk away. “We’re wasting time just standing here, arguing.” 

As you walk around the room, trying to find some way to escape, the door randomly swings open. 

“Glad to see you two awake and standing,” says the soldier from earlier, the one who knocked you out. 

He walks into the room. “Names George. I’m here to take you both to Luke.” 

“Who’s Luke?” Bucky asks, moving to stand in front of you. 

George chuckles. “He’s the one that’s going to decide how to kill you.” 

Bucky reaches his arm back to grab your hand, but before he can, you’re both injected with a needle, knocking the two of you out once again. 

-----------------------------------------------

Bucky’s voice pulls you out of a deep sleep. “Y/N! Y/N, c’mon, wake up!” 

Opening your eyes, you look down to see yourself restrained. You glance over at Bucky and see he’s in the same predicament. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

“Oh, now you want to be nice to me?” You scoff. 

“Y/N, I…”

“Just save it. Let’s just focus on getting the hell out of here.” 

You notice a knife just a few inches away from you, placed on a table. 

“There,” you say. “If I can just reach…” You try your best to extend your hand out towards the knife, but the restraints are too tight. You throw your head back in frustration and close your eyes. 

“Great, just fucking great. I can’t believe I’m going to die next to a man that hates my fucking guts.” 

“I don’t... hate you,” Bucky says. 

You open one eye to peer over at him. “Could’ve fooled me.” 

“I don’t. I never have.” 

Looking over at him confused, you study him. “Then why be so mean to me?” 

He stares at you for a minute before answering. “Because I couldn’t have you close to me.”

“And, why’s that?” 

You watch him visibly swallow. “Because I lose everyone who gets close to me.” 

Shocked that he’s shared that with you, no words come out of your mouth. When you see the sadness written on his face, your heart clenches. 

“Bucky, I...I didn’t know.” 

“How could you have? I just want you to know that I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” 

Two men barge into the room. You quickly recognize the one as George. 

“I brought Luke,” George says. 

“And, I brought these,” Luke says, pulling out a handful of knives and walking towards you.

Bucky thrashes against his restraints. “Don’t you fucking dare!” He looks over at you. “Y/N, it’s okay. Just look at me, it’s okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

Luke brings a knife up to your neck. “Now, don’t lie. What are you going to do from over there?” 

Panic builds inside you and you stare at Bucky. 

“Bucky, I forgive you. I understand why you pushed me away and I forgive you for it.” 

He shakes his head. “Don’t say that. Don’t say something like that as if it’s your last words.” 

Luke slightly presses the knife into your neck. “Well, this is cute and all, but we’re going to have to wrap this up. I have plans.” 

Closing your eyes, you wait for the pain to hit you, but it never comes. Instead, the knife is pulled away from your neck, and a metal arm is placed on your shoulder. 

“We’re getting you out of here, doll,” Bucky says. You look over his shoulder to see Steve and Natasha, who are tying up George and Luke. 

“Glad to see you alive, Y/N,” Natasha says. 

You nod your head at her, as Bucky pulls you through the door and to the waiting quinjet. 

-----------------------------------------------

Once on the quinjet, you sit in the back, next to Bucky. Looking over at him, you see that he’s staring straight ahead. 

“You know, I meant what I said. I forgive you,” you say. 

Bucky turns his head to look at you. “I don’t know why. I’ve been such a dick.” 

“Yeah… you have.” You both laugh. “But, I know you’ll make it up to me.” 

“Is that so? What do you have in mind?” 

“Well… I like bagels. Especially the ones at that shop Steve showed us in Brooklyn.”

He slowly nods and clears his throat. “It’s a date then.” 

You do a double take. “A date?” 

“Yeah, I mean, if that’s okay with you. If not, I totally understand. I mean, I would probably say no if I were you because I…” 

Leaning forward, you kiss him, effectively stopping him from talking. 

“It’s definitely okay with me,” you say. 

Bucky smiles before grabbing your face and pulling you back in for another kiss.

[dontfeeltoohot]

Sicktember Day 17 - Fainting - No Relationships - Canon Divergent TW: Giving Blood (nothing descriptive)

(In September of 1985 gay men were banned from giving blood up until 2015. For the purpose of this story, I am making it September of 1986, so that it is realistic, otherwise Eddie wouldn’t be allowed to give blood.) (This is taken from a real life scenario) 

“Hey, so, what do you guys think about donating blood? They’re encouraging people who are eighteen or over since there were so many people hurt in the uh…earthquake,” Robin frowns at the last word. 

Eddie looks up, humming in thought. He’s never given blood before, but tattoos and shots are fine, and the times he’s had blood taken he’s been alright, so he gives a nod. 

“I’m down. What about you Harrington?” 

They’re all hanging out at Steve’s, eating pizza and watching movies. Despite the terrible circumstances, Eddie’s grateful he’s got friends now, not having realized just how lonely he was. 

“Oh uh…sure,” the man squirms slightly, making Eddie grin. 

“Steve Harrington’s afraid of needles?” 

“I mean…I don’t want blood sucked out of me and out in bags, but it’s for a good cause, so,” he shrugs. 

It’s how Eddie, Nancy, Robin and Steve find themselves at the Hawkins Hospital, sitting in chairs in a sectioned off area, a dozen nurses moving around twice as many people. They’d been instructed to eat and drink before they came to lessen the chances of passing out. 

“This is metal,” Eddie says distractedly as he watches the small fluid bag start to fill. Robin laughs and Nancy rolls her eyes fondly. Steve stays quiet, and eventually the others look at him. 

“You good Dingus?” 

“Yeah…just uh, that’s a lot of blood,” he mumbles, swallowing thickly. 

“Are you feeling ok? We can get them to stop,” Nancy worries, looking around for a nurse. 

“No, no, I’m ok,” Steve assures, making Eddie chuckle. “What?” 

“Nothing Stevie. Just…you would be the one to pass out from this,” he laughs, eyes crinkling and hair wild. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve fought monsters!” The last few words are quietly hissed, and Eddie just rolls his eyes fondly. 

Why was Steve so cute?

“You’re right, sorry monster slayer Steve, my deepest apologies.” 

They all get the correct amount taken; 500ml, and sit there for a few minutes after to let their bodies regroup from the amount of blood lost. As they get the all clear, the four adults stand and start to head out. 

“Head rush,” Robin laughs, shaking her head a little. Nancy laughs and Steve puts a hand on her shoulder to make sure she’s alright. 

Eddie watches them from behind, all three in front of him as they go. His head feels heavy and his world feels fuzzy, like he can’t quite get a grasp on everything. He takes five steps and then realizes; stomach swooping, that he’s not feeling well.

“Uhm, guys…” 

They’re almost out of the large area, and the metalhead is certain if he doesn’t sit down now…

“Guys!” His voice is weak even to his own ears. 

Steve must hear him because he’s turning back and the last thing Eddie sees is Steve’s pretty eyes go impossibly wide, and he moves forward. Then it’s black. 

He wakes up on the floor, pain ricocheting through his head like it’s in a pinball machine. He feels like shit- his entire body feels fuzzy and achy in a way he’s never experienced, his stomach is almost hollow and he’s sweating but cold. Forcing his eyes open, he sees Steve, Robin, Nancy, and two nurses around him. His ears are ringing, but it fades moments later. 

“Eddie oh thank god,” Robin looks absolutely terrified, and Nancy puts a hand on her shoulder. 

“Jesus Munson,” Steve breathes out. 

What the fuck. 

“What the fuck?” 

“You passed out honey, probably just need some more water to help get you hydrated, do you feel alright enough to stand up?” 

Eddie takes stock of himself and nods, even if he’s not entirely sure it’s true. Steve helps him, keeping most of his weight. They make it seven steps before Eddie’s world blurs again. This time, he can make out Steve yelping before he completely goes unconscious. 

“And you teased me about being the one who couldn’t handle it,” Steve smirks, the words gentle as Eddie takes in everything around him.

They’re in a room off of the ER wing, the lights dimmed. God he feels like actual garbage. An IV is set up in the crook of his arm, but he’s got his regular clothes on, no gown. 

“You passed out twice. Nurses say you probably have a low blood volume in general, so taking more wiped you out. They’re giving you fluids and you should be back to normal soon.” 

“…Rob and Nancy?” His voice is raspy from disuse. “How long have I been here?” 

“They’re both just out grabbing food for us. You’ve been here maybe half an hour? Scared the hell out of all of us man,” Steve bites at his lip. 

“I’m ok Harrington. If demobats didn’t kill me, donating blood sure as hell won’t either.”

[niuxita21]

Finally finished this show and I’m trying to figure out how I feel about it overall, but then I went on the tag to see which side people were leaning to and now I’m just like. It’s 20-fucking-23. Surely you can stan a show for all its great female-centric storylines and elements without overselling its actual gay content to make it seem less egregious that there is ONE (1) actual lesbian character in an all-female show, who you don’t even know is a lesbian until a throwaway line in episode 7 of 8. That’s it. “There’s so much potential for gayness in season 2!″ Bro WHERE. Not counting Tegan, the actual lesbian, this is the STRAIGHTEST crop of characters in an all-female ensemble, from Saskia’s comment about “taking out all of our IUDs” and her affair with her teacher (which was thankfully treated with the gravity it deserved) to Teresa’s baby obsession to Amelia and Danny to Sandy’s entire existence to the comments about the guy from 7th Heaven getting hot to Zoe’s backstory as being on a fictional The Bachelor. Even Teresa agreeing to raise Sandy’s baby with her was gone about in the STRAIGHTEST way possible with the emphasis on them being Best Friends as some sort of culminating point in their story (because Sandy spent the entire show going on and on about how Teresa was her best friend and Teresa finally acknowledged it). If there is a season 2, absolutely NOTHING is going to happen between any of them, and even if Tegan DOES get a girlfriend like people are wishing, it’s just gonna be some random new character no one cares about because she will have been written exclusively to be her love interest, as if this were a US network show from the early 2010s. *yawn*

It’s just frustrating because increasingly shows are finally daring to write complex, overarching romantic storylines between two female characters who aren’t a regular + a guest star. Hell, if we’re going with the Wilds and Yellowjackets comparisons, both of those shows wrote nuanced romantic storylines between TWO of the regular characters in their all- or mostly-female ensembles. So no, I give them zero passes for that, especially with the foundations for MANY rich and nuanced relationships being already built-in in their cast of characters. With all that to work with, choosing to make the lesbian character someone who was mostly comic relief and not meant to be taken seriously to me sends a message, and not one I particularly like.

And don’t EVEN get me started on the Saskia simping. My GOD she was a MONSTER for the first half of the season. She starved a faction of the girls out until they figured out how to make electricity and forced another one to eat a fish eye and banished her to live in one of the toilets because she didn’t do her hair perfectly (I am not exaggerating, this is exactly what she did with no embellishments) but it’s all just vibes because uwu my poor little traumatized bean. What the teacher did to her was awful, obviously, but it does not excuse shoving Teresa’s severed toe into Renee’s mouth as punishment what the actual fuck is wrong with y’all. And the funny thing is that people don’t even need to be caping that hard for her to begin with because the show itself redeemed her for exactly the reasons people cite when they defend her (credit to the show for doing it in a way that didn’t gloss over what she did and actually holding her accountable and showing her making a conscious effort to change). I actually have no beef with Saskia but, meanwhile, Zoe is the show’s LITERAL punching bag who gets shit on left and right when she actually never even did anything wrong and it’s *crickets* because she’s not played by an IRL LGBT actress. Fandom is so transparent sometimes.

In conclusion, if there’s a season 2 I will probably watch it anyway because I’m in love with Genevieve, but I can’t say I’m on pins and needles waiting on news of a renewal.

ClassofO7 really had a chance to do something interesting in terms of romantic pairings with so many complex f/f relationships to explore if they didn’t want to forego having a “main slow-burn ship” with an all-female cast (Zoe/Amelia obviousy but also Genevieve/Saskia and even Phoebe/Renee) and yet they went with the laziest option possible in terms of representayshun by making the one lesbian character the comic relief side character whom it’s clear they never had any intention of giving a romantic storyline to

[starryeyedmunson]

final lullaby - b.b.

pairing: bucky barnes x female!reader

summary: After being hurt very badly in a mission, you imagine you and Bucky living a better life together.

warnings: angst, light fluff, but the angst is real, mention of wounds, needles

word count: 1.5 k

a/n: this is based off of the song “Final Lullaby” by The Weeknd because I’m absolutely in love with that song and I felt like writing! I know it has been literally so long but I’ve been so up and down mental health wise and finally am gonna start using my blog again sooooo here’s to new beginnings! I hope you all enjoy :)

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. read vitals, now!”

“Vitals unstable, Mr. Stark.”

“Shit,” Tony mumbled under his breath. After going on seemingly simple mission, you were now lying in the back of the quinjet fighting to stay alive. You tried to speak but only sputtering coughs of blood came out, most likely due to the bullet that had collapsed your lung.

“Shh, don’t speak. J-Just try and breathe,” Bucky stuttered as he looked down at your bruised face. He was holding back tears as Steve and Tony injected you with anesthetics, and he cupped your cheek with his flesh hand. “Everything is going to be just fine, I promise, doll.”

You nodded your head and he half smiled at you, but the smile faded as he looked down your body that was covered in blood. You felt your eyelids growing heavy, but you knew that if you closed them, Bucky would break down completely. You tried your best to keep them open as Natasha and Wanda came up to the table you were lying on, and you watched as your two best friends scanned over your wounds with increasingly worried faces.

“Damnit, Y/N, I told you not to go in there alone,” Natasha said, shaking her head.

“W-We both know h-how bad of a listener I-I am” you managed to get out. The corners of Natasha’s mouth turned upwards as she shook her head, remembering all of the times you had gone against her advice and gotten yourself into trouble.

You looked up at her, and for a moment you shared those memories and smiled at each other. But you were brought back to reality with Tony’s relentless pushing of needles into your body, releasing anesthetics and taking blood with every prick of your skin. Your eyes wandered over to Bucky, who was now standing a little ways away from the table with Steve. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but judging by the looks on their faces it was nothing good. You took a deep breath, only to have it cut short by a violent cough, and you felt your eyes beginning to close with the newest sedative injection from Tony.

“It’s not looking good, Buck,” Steve said hesitantly. He watched as Bucky bit his fingernails and stared intently at the monitor that was hooked up to his girlfriend. Steve had practically dragged him away from your side, and he saw that Natasha was now doing her best to make you feel better. He smiled sadly at the sight of you two exchanging words, knowing how much you two factored into each others’ stability. “Did you hear me?” Steve said again, snapping Bucky back to reality.

“What? Oh, she’ll make it through,” Bucky said in reassurance. But at this point, he didn’t know if he was reassuring Steve or himself. His thoughts traveled back to the day he first met you, and he reminisced on how perfectly imperfect you looked; your hair a complete mess having just woken up, your dad’s oversized t-shirt stopping just in the middle of your thighs, and the way you blushed furiously and ran away to put more clothes on. Bucky smiled at the memory of you stumbling over your words as you attempted to make up for the embarrassing state you had met him in, even though he wouldn’t have wanted to meet you in any other way.

Steve could tell Bucky was holding on to a broken hope, and when he looked over at your unconscious frame, he knew what he needed to do. He walked over to Wanda and whispered into her ear, to which she nodded her head slightly and the two of them walked back over to Bucky.

“Bucky, she doesn’t have much time left,” Wanda said slowly. Bucky’s eyes grew watery and he said nothing, staring at your body on the table. Your breaths were ragged, yet you still looked so peaceful, so beautiful to him.

“I- I can’t lose her, Steve,” Bucky choked out. Steve took his best friend’s hand in his and tried his best to comfort him.

“I know, pal.”

“There’s something I can do, to make it easier for her,” Wanda said quietly. Bucky looked at her and nodded, following her back to the table on which you laid. She placed her hand on your head and took Bucky’s flesh hand with the other, closing her eyes and beginning to concentrate.

-

Your eyes fluttered open and you looked around. Somehow you were standing in what looked like an old club, and you looked down at your body to reveal old 1940s clothing. Confused, you looked back up and saw the sign of the building you were in, reading “The Stork Club” in bright, large letters.

“Hi, doll,” Bucky said from behind you, causing you to turn around and smile. He was wearing his sergeant suit, hat and all, and he looked absolutely dashing. He smiled down at you, taking in your beauty as you blushed and looked down. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, but where are we?” You asked, still unknowing of what happened and how you got to an entirely different point in time. Bucky shook his head as sadness filled his eyes, and you slowly began to realize what was going on. “Am I–”

“Let’s not talk about it, can we just enjoy this little moment we have to ourselves?” He asked quietly, running the back of his hand down your cheek. You nodded and gave a small smile, allowing him to take you to the dance floor. He spun you around, eliciting a laugh from you as you both danced to the music, taking in all of each other. Bucky had taught you how to dance before during one of the nights you had come to be with him after a nightmare, and you were trying to remember how as Bucky now spiraled you around the floor. You both smiled and laughed, stealing quick kisses as the music played loudly in the background.

“I would have loved the forties,” you said breathlessly once the music had slowed down.

“Yes, doll, you would have fit right in,” Bucky replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulled you in close. “I love you, Y/N.”

Your smile faded as you looked up at him, noticing the pain in his expression. “I love you too, Bucky.”

“Please don’t go,” he whispered, tears beginning to fill his eyes. “I don’t know what I’ll do–”

This time it was your turn to shush him, bringing his head to yours and pressing your lips against his. His grip on your waist tightened as he deepened the kiss, your lips moving perfectly with each others’ as if they were made to do so. You ran your fingers through the locks of hair that were exposed under his hat, running your nails ever so lightly down the back of his neck. His tongue ran against your bottom lip and you granted him entrance into your mouth, both of you feeling lost in each others’ presence. You pulled away, smiling up at him and running your thumb over the highpoints of his cheek. “If Wanda’s watching we better not give her too much of a show.”

Bucky laughed and pulled you closer, your head resting against his chest as you two swayed back and forth.

“Bucky?”

“Yes, my love?” he answered, running his fingers through your hair.

“Don’t worry about me,” you said, your words muffled by his chest. You could feel his breathing become more rapid, and you looked up at him and took his face into your hands. “Everything is going to be just fine,” you said, mimicking his words from before. His eyes closed as he sighed, his breath shaky.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against your own. You smiled sadly and wrapped your arms around his neck, lifting your head to kiss him atop his forehead.

“I know, as will I. But you have to promise me that you won’t go down a dark path after I’m gone,” you said, making him look at you. He opened his tear-filled eyes and nodded his head, looking down at your comforting smile. “I love you forever, Buck.”

Finally letting the tears fall from his eyes, Bucky pulled you in and gave you a small kiss, both of you closing your eyes and savoring the moment you had together.

-

Wanda loosened her grip on Bucky’s hand as the machine you were hooked up to finally played a lasting beep, and she gave him a sad smile as she got up and joined the rest of the team at the other end of the quinjet. Bucky’s fresh tears had stained the floor where they fell as he looked at your now peaceful body lying on the table, and he took your lifeless hand in his and pressed a small kiss to your fingers.

“I love you forever more.”

[nugnthopkns]

felt the lightning under my skin

word count: 13.7k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, little bit of asshole joel, alcohol consumption, slight innuendo, moderate depiction of injury, needles

recommended listening: under the spell | springtime carnivore

a/n: i know figure skater/hockey player romances are terribly cliche but i couldn’t help myself. as an ex-skater hopefully i can make it a little less cringe. there’s probably an obscene amount of technical jargon in here and i sincerely apologize. the injury mentioned actually happened to me and let me tell you, it was not fun lmao. enjoy!

Joel swears he’s going to kill whoever’s in charge of renting out the practice facility.

Realistically, he knows it’s impossible. The rink can be rented by anyone when the Flyers aren’t using it and he typically thinks it’s a great way to promote ice sports in the community. Joel just wishes the facilities manager didn’t rent it out to figure skaters. They kick the shit out of the ice with their toe picks and leave the ice in terrible quality. It frustrates Joel because while community engagement is important, his career and the team take precedence. 

No one else seems to be bothered by the recent decline in ice conditions. Most of his teammates are used to poor ice, growing up playing pond hockey and at rinks that also housed figure skating clubs. While Joel had those experiences as well, he clearly never developed the same nonchalance as everyone else. He complains in the dressing room after every practice until Kevin finally says something. 

“Christ Beezer, relax. It’s only for another month or so until renovations at the other rink finish.”

Others chime in, telling him to not take it so seriously, with a couple of them defending the right of the other athletes to use the ice as they so please. The grief Joel catches is enough to shut him up, but he still stews privately over the fact figure skaters are destroying his happy place. 

☼☼☼☼

You want nothing more than to return to your home rink. The Flyers Skate Zone has been nice, the staff are incredibly accommodating, but something feels off. You’re having a harder time landing jumps and skating clean programs. The change in routine is enough to knock you off your game, which is something you absolutely can’t have. You’re coming off a breakthrough season, finishing on the podium at nationals and landing a spot on your first world championships roster. People are expecting you to replicate your success and you want to do that and more. 

US Figure Skating had taken a chance placing you on the national team for the current season. Though it was expected, they could have easily chosen the fourth place skater instead. She’s much younger than you, barely fifteen, and is yet to have a serious injury. At twenty you’re barely an adult, but this could be the last time you get an opportunity like this. The sport keeps getting younger and you’re going to get left behind if you don’t prove yourself. The grand prix circuit has been kind to you, allowing you to earn medals at some of the smaller competitions and hold your own against the big dogs in the majors like NHK Trophy. 

☼☼☼☼

“Try the triple flip again,” Brenda, your coach, instructs. “You could be more solid on the landing.”

“It’s this fucking ice! I can do one at home that would get me a high GOE,” you complain. 

She rolls her eyes and thinks about telling you off, but decides against it. No matter how many times she tells you it’s a mental block you need to get over, you find a way to blame the training facility. “Just give me five solid ones and we’ll call it quits.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but you peel away from the boards anyways. Some juniors are mingling in a corner and you warn them to watch out as you skate by gaining speed. The first attempt feels natural, and though you could have been a little stronger on the exit it’s a significant improvement from what you were doing earlier in the session. Jumps two and three also go well, but things go wrong on the fourth try. You catch a bad edge just before takeoff and aren’t able to correct your center of gravity while in the air. Two and a half rotations happen before you slam into the ground. The entire right side of your body feels like it’s been run over by a bus. 

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration as you pick yourself up off the ice. Circling back to examine just how bad the edge was you notice your pick created much too large a hole, something you’d get points deducted for in competition. Brenda signals you over to her, and you hang your head as you skate over. 

“You’re done,” she sighs. You can tell it pains her to see your progress plateau, but you’re doing everything you can to get out of this rut. Before you can protest, try to convince her to let you stay on, she’s speaking again. “Our ice time is up anyways. Go cool down and meet me in the conference room when you’re done.”

There’s nothing for you to do but sulk off the ice. The other skaters clear out of your way, not wanting to be on the receiving end of your anger. You direct it at the dressing room door, kicking it open so harshly it flies back on the hinges. It makes you feel a bit better but you’re still in a sour mood as you untie your skates. It’s frustrating not being able to perform at the level you know you can, even in practice. If you could just get out of this rink and back into the one you’re most comfortable at. 

After a much longer stretching routine than normal, you pack up your bag and head upstairs for what will no doubt be one of those meetings where you sit silently and take the heat. You realize that your behaviour today was childish, but you couldn’t help but let your emotions overcome you. The next group is well into their ice time when you pass by, and you realize it’s the Flyers. Most of them don’t acknowledge you and keep running drills, but one who looks about your age is sending you daggers. You have no idea why. 

The meeting goes much better than you thought it would. Brenda takes your anger in stride and lets you apologize for your outburst before shifting the conversation to altering your training plan. She suggests you take a few days off from the rink, working strictly off-ice, and you begrudgingly agree. There isn’t anything you can do or say to change her mind so you take the updated workout plans with a fake smile. She also tells you that your appointment with your sports psychologist has been moved up a couple of days, which you’re grateful for. Things then move to talking strategy and watching tape of competitors to see what to expect at this year’s nationals. The event is just over a month out, and you have the goal of landing on the podium once again, hopefully with the gold medal dangling around your neck. 

A couple of hours pass with you holed up in the conference room, and it’s dark when you gather your stuff and head for home. The complex is deserted and you assume no one but the staff are still here. It turns out someone else was there, and they follow you out, their own gear bag slung over their shoulder. You don’t really pay them any mind, holding the door open out of habit, and fail to recognize the person as the boy who glared while you walked by hours prior. He notices you, however, and makes a point to voice his distaste. 

“Hey!” he calls out, “Next time you eat shit don’t put such a big hole in the ice. Other people need it too.”

“Get fucked,” you yell back. You really don’t have the time or energy to be accosted by a hockey player. He continues to talk, but you don’t hear it because you slam your car door shut and drive off into the darkness. 

☼☼☼☼

Joel doesn’t feel like he was in the wrong until Claude suggests he apologize a few days later. In his mind, he has every right to be upset about you damaging the ice because it directly affected him. The hole you caused couldn’t be fully repaired, and he tripped at a really key moment during the scrimmage. His bad day was your fault. 

“You can’t blame a tough practice on her man,” Claude says as the two of them skate a few warm-up laps. “She didn’t mean to fall. Hell, she didn’t want to do it.”

“I get it, or whatever, but it’s still her fault. We’re professional athletes G, we need to be at the top of our games.”

Claude swats Joel upside the head. “So is she! Did you know that she’s favoured to win both the national and world championships? And that things look good for her to be on the Olympic team next year?”

Joel didn’t know, and guilt twinges his stomach. The next time he runs into you at the rink he’s going to apologize. 

☼☼☼☼

You spend your time away from the rink conditioning and regaining focus. The first couple of days are tough, but then you settle into a routine you believe will ultimately make you a better athlete and competitor. Your cardio and weights are upped, and you’re anxious to see how the increase improves your performance. At the suggestion of your psychologist you take a few more days off than originally planned, but it’s the best thing you could have done. You return to the rink ready to nail the final few weeks of training before nationals. 

Any other coach would have detested you for taking a week off this close to a major competition, but not Brenda. She understands that you needed time to refocus and that you’ll work harder than anyone else in the time until you leave for Salt Lake City. Your first practice is fantastic – every element is clean when isolated and within your programs. The timing is off a bit during your free skate on the first run-through but your jitters settle quickly and the next one is spot on. It feels good to be back in control of things. 

“I think you’re over that mental block kid,” Brenda laughs when you stop along the boards to get some water. “You’re skating better here than at home.”

You can’t help but agree. “You know, I don’t hate it here as much as I used to. Think we should move here permanently?” The comment earns you a slightly aggressive hair ruffling, but it’s worth it. You spend the last hour of ice time alone, running through both of your programs in a mock competition setting. 

It’s nearly silent in the complex when Joel sneaks through the doors. The only thing he can hear is the faint sounds of your music from inside the pad. He had been worried that you were never going to reappear at the rink but learned you were just taking a break when he cornered your coach in the parking lot. The middle-aged lady had told him when you’d be returning and Joel immediately put it in his calendar so he wouldn’t forget. Now, as he stands against the glass watching you, he’s nervous. What if you don’t accept his apology?

Joel knew you were a good skater. Well, he was pretty sure you were. He spent the short three-day road trip to Florida watching as many videos of you competing on YouTube as he could find. Though he’s murky on the specifics of what makes a good figure skater, Joel knows you put heart and soul into every performance and that your elements are strong technically. Your scores reflect that. Regardless, Joel is blown away at how talented you are when he watches you skate in person. 

You’re looser than in the videos he’s seen, probably because there isn’t any pressure, but you don’t give it any less than your all. The music drives you forward in a way Joel’s never seen before – you’re an extension of it, and it of you. As you round a corner to pick up speed he holds his breath. From watching footage of this program from earlier in the season, he knows you’re about to attempt your hardest element. The quadruple salchow is one of the hardest jumps female skaters are attempting at the moment, according to his research, and it’s been your most inconsistent element this season. You’re completing the jump before Joel realizes you’ve taken off the ground, but you don’t fall. He exhales and watches the rest of the program in awe. 

When the music stops and you take in your surroundings, you notice the applause. Thinking it’s just from Brenda, you shrug it off, but when you turn around she isn’t clapping. It’s coming from someone else – the boy who was a douchebag the last day before your break. The chances are he’s here to make another stupid comment, but Brenda insists you should talk to him. You wave him over to a section near the benches that dosen’t have glass so you can hear him better. 

“What do you want?” you ask bluntly, taking a sip of water. 

Joel’s taken aback by your abrasiveness but recovers quickly. He deserves it. “I, uh, wanted to apologize for what I said last week. That wasn’t cool. I was having a bad day and took out on you, I’m sorry,” he rambles. “And you’re like really good.”

“It wasn’t fucking cool,” you agree, “But we’re fine. I had just been kicked off the ice when you caught me, so I’m sorry too. For snapping.” There’s nothing more for either of you to say, and Brenda is calling your name, so you skate away from him. Over your shoulder you call out, “Thanks for the compliment unnamed Flyers player!”

“It’s Joel!” he responds. “Joel Farabee.”

☼☼☼☼

A sort of truce befalls you and Joel. More of your ice time overlaps, but neither you acknowledge each other more than the occasional nod in each other’s direction. It doesn’t bother you in the slightest. Preparing for nationals is the only that matters currently, and trying to navigate a possible friendship would be too much of a distraction. Joel is a little put off you don’t try to extend pleasantries, but when it’s explained to him that you’re entering a period that is similar to the lead-up to playoffs he understands. 

However, he finds himself making up excuses to stay at the rink to watch you practice. He blows off dinner with Kevin and drinks with Morgan when you have the slot after practice, and when you skate before him he’s at the rink hours early. His schoolboy crush becomes the topic of locker room gossip. Though Joel swears up and down that he just likes to watch you skate, none of the guys believe him. They don’t go as far as to embarrass him in your presence, but Travis certainly tries. What Joel doesn’t know is that you’re developing the same sort of fascination with him. You find yourself turning on every Flyers game you can fit into your schedule, watching him intently, and keeping an eye on his stats. 

“That boy sure has a lot of interest in you,” Brenda muses one day while you’re talking strategy on how to increase the points total on your short program. 

“I don’t know why,” you sigh. “So I was thinking, if I raise my arms during the triple lutz it should give me at least three more points.”

She looks at you like you’ve gained two extra heads. “Are you insane? You’ve never raised your arms during a triple.”

Your smile turns into a wicked smirk. “It can’t be that hard.”

It’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. Though you’ve added the extra step to jumps in the past, it’s been on single and doubles to rack up points and GOE scores. Jumping has never been your strong suit, and trying to navigate the change in your centre of gravity is difficult. You spend the rest of your ice time popping, under-rotating, or slamming into the ground. A couple of juniors snicker at your failed attempts, but when you remind them they’re stuck on a double loop they stop laughing. It was a little mean, and you remember how hard it was to prove yourself as a junior, but you can’t find it in you to care. There’s no need to laugh at someone trying to improve their skating. 

Bruises start to form on your sides from falling the exact same way so many times, and you trace them lightly through the thin material of your compression top. They’re going to look nasty in a few hours if you don’t ice them soon. A knock on the door stops your actions, and you invite the person on the other side in. To your surprise it’s Joel, and he’s holding an ice pack. 

“I thought you might need one of these,” he says, extending it to you. 

You thank him and hiss slightly when the cold hits your skin. There’s a beat of awkward silence before Joel speaks again. “Can I ask why you’re trying to change that jump?”

“You noticed that?” you know it isn’t a response to his question, but you’re shocked. 

Joel smiles and nods. You explain how changing the position of your arms increases the difficulty of the jump and therefore raises the amount of points it can receive. “So you’re doing it to get more points?”

“Pretty much. It’s a gamble this close to competition, but I’m confident it’ll work out.”

“You’re afraid your program won’t gain enough points to put you in a good position for the free skate,” he notes, “Or you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Once again, you’re floored by Joel’s understanding of your sport. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” you say as confidently as you can. “But maybe I just want the challenge.” If Joel notices the shake in your voice and the worried look in your eye he doesn’t say anything. 

You go through your cool-down routine but are surprised Joel doesn’t leave. In fact, he stays at the rink until you’re finished and follows you to the parking lot. His car is parked a few spots over from you, so you have to raise your voice a little to get him to hear you. “Hey Joel,” you call, “Do you not have practice?”

“Day off,” he yells back. He’s grinning like an idiot, which prompts you to ask him why. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” The smile on his face doesn’t go away, and you try to settle the butterflies in your stomach as you drive home. 

☼☼☼☼

Something shifts between you and Joel after that day. It’s subtle, but you’re well on your way to becoming friends. Phone numbers are exchanged, with him insisting his contact name be ‘King Beezer’, and the two of you chat regularly outside of the rink. He still watches as many training sessions as he can, and you start making appearances at his practices. It’s far more awkward for you but you push through it if for no other reason than wanting to be a good sport. Once Joel’s teammates catch wind of your budding friendship, they’re pestering you to go to a game. You politely decline each time, explaining that your training schedule is rather rigid and you can’t change it so close to nationals. The competition is just over a week out, and you’re catching a flight to Utah in three days. 

Joel doesn’t let you know he’s a little upset you won’t shift your schedule for him. Instead, he brings you lunch on days where you’re at the rink for eight hours and does his individual workouts alongside you. The two of you fall into the easy routine of enjoying each other’s company and everyone else is beginning to take notice. 

“So,” you say with a mouth full of the pita Joel brought you, “What are your plans for the All-Star break?”

Joel has been toying with an idea for a few weeks now, but he’s keeping it a secret. “I’m just gonna spend it at home with my family,” he shrugs. 

“You’re fucking joking. Joel, you could be someplace warm enjoying the beach!”

“I don’t want to go to the beach,” Joel retorts. 

You open your mouth to argue with him, because you’re of the opinion that everyone should love the beach, but you’re cut off by Brenda calling you to return to the ice. “This conversation isn’t over Beezer,” you say sternly, poking him in the chest to prove your point. He rolls his eyes. 

“I’ve gotta be at Wells Fargo in an hour for a team meeting, so I can’t watch this session,” he tells you. You’re a little deflated but understand he can’t play hookie from his job to watch you do yours. Brenda is banging a skate guard on the boards to get your attention, so you wave goodbye and jog over to her. “Y/N,” Joel yells loud enough that you’ll hear him over the chatter on the ice, “Keep your core tight!”

Your coaching team is perplexed at the comment because it’s second nature to you at this point, but you think it’s sweet. Some of the other girls poke fun at your ‘boyfriend’ and it makes you irritable. Brenda tells them off and suggests they get back to work which makes you feel better. You keep Joel’s advice in the back of your mind for the rest of your practice, and land every jump almost flawlessly. 

The day before you board your flight you have a terrible practice. Brenda chalks it up to nerves, but you that’s not it. You feel good about the competition and are confident it will go well. Something is off – you just can’t put a finger on it. Frustration eventually boils over and practice is called early. Everyone stays out of your way, letting you cool off, and you huff out a goodbye after promising to meet Brenda at the airport in the morning. Before you’re even out the door you’ve got your phone pressed to your ear, waiting for Joel to pick up. The Flyers got to start their break a day early due to a scheduling conflict and you hope he doesn’t fly home tonight. 

“What’s up?” Joel says casually. Judging by the background noise he’s playing video games, no doubt some dumb first-person shooter game he seems to play constantly. The sound of his voice is enough to send you into tears and you can’t get out a reply. His tone changes instantly and the noise stops – the game paused and forgotten about. “Hey,” he soothes, “What’s wrong?”

“Practice was bad,” you choke out, “Like really bad. Joel, I don’t think I can do this.” Now across the parking lot and at your car, you throw your bag in the trunk and crumble into the driver’s seat. 

“Of course you can. Want me to bring dinner over and we can do whatever?” You agree, not wanting to be alone, and hang up only after insisting you’re okay to drive the twenty minutes to your apartment. 

Joel must have drove well above the speed limit because he pulls into the parking lot at the same time as you. His engine is turned off jarringly fast, and he’s popping your trunk to grab your bag before your gears have settled in park. Though you put up some rather weak protests about carrying your own stuff, Joel ignores them. When you insist on holding something he tosses you the bag of food he brought with him. Opening it up, you realize Joel had stopped at your favourite sushi restaurant even though he doesn’t like the food. A smile creeps onto your face, possibly the first one all day, and you lean into Joel slightly when he wraps an arm around your shoulder. 

The two of you eat in silence, but it’s far from awkward. Joel’s waiting for you to open up, knows you will eventually, and you’re trying to find the words. However, they’re yet to appear, so you let Joel lead you to the couch and put on an episode of some crime show he’s currently watching. 

“Thanks for coming over,” you say as the credits roll on the second episode. 

Joel sends a smile your way, which you do your best to reciprocate. “Don’t worry about it. This is what friends do.” 

Slowly, you open up about practice, venting about how you skated sloppily and couldn’t nail any element no matter how simple it was. You tell him about how tense your muscles are and how scared you are that your fifteen minutes of fame are over, that you’ll never get another chance to represent America on the world stage. Joel listens attentively, letting you speak for as long as you need. At some point you start crying again and he tucks you into his side. Your tears soak through his sweatshirt but he could care less. When you’ve laid all your emotions out on the table he speaks gently, dispelling your doubts and letting you know that you can do it and he believes in you. Joel’s words make it easier to believe in yourself. 

The two of you spend the night on the couch, and you’re disheartened when your alarm goes off. You can’t stay in the little bubble Joel created for the two of you – the world and its responsibilities taking precedence over your fantasy. He drives you to the airport, rationalizing it by telling you it’ll be safer to keep your car at home. Realistically there isn’t a difference, but you thank him anyways. Parking is just one last thing you have to worry about. When you reach the airport entrance, Joel pulls into the idling lane and steps out of the car. You follow him, dragging your feet a bit because though you’re excited for nationals you don’t want to leave Joel. This will be the longest time the two of you have been apart since becoming friends.

“Make sure you don’t forget about me when you win and get all famous,” Joel jokes, handing you your suitcase. 

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Like you’d let that happen.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Come here.”

He takes you in his arms. You’ve hugged Joel a couple of times before, but they didn’t feel as serious as this. This time he’s holding you for a purpose and you’re gripping the back of his jacket tightly because you want him to let go. It’s longer than people who are just friends are meant to hug for, so you begrudgingly pull away. Besides, Brenda and some of your teammates are waiting. 

“Have a good time at home,” you mumble. 

Joel wraps a single arm around you for one more squeeze. “You have a good time,” he says seriously. “Remember to enjoy the moment. I’ll be watching on T.V.” 

With your goodbyes said you wander into the airport. Joel says parked in his spot until he sees you embrace Brenda before driving off. The boarding process is painless, and once on the plane you take your seat beside a junior and put your headphones on. Downloaded to your Spotify is one of Joel’s hip-hop playlists, and though it’s the farthest thing from the music you enjoy you listen to it the whole flight.

☼☼☼☼

Utah’s nice, but you can’t help feeling like something’s missing – Joel’s missing. You’ve become so accustomed to him watching you train, clapping like an idiot every time you land a jump, that the silence is unnerving. Everyone notices the shift in your performance, and eventually Brenda crumbles and uses your phone to facetime him while you practice. It’s a decent enough substitute – Joel watches your pixelated figure zip around the ice and though he doesn’t always make comments, just know he’s with you in some capacity is enough to let your mind focus on the task at hand. You do the best you can at pushing away the butterflies that appear every time you think about how he’s giving up his freedom to make sure you succeed. 

When you aren’t training or doing press you’re talking to Joel. You call him constantly, narrating what you see on walks around town to settle your nerves and eating at the same time to make it feel like you’re together. The only person to support you in Salt Lake City is Brenda, so talking to Joel frequently makes you feel far less alone. You wish he could be here with you, but understand he needs time to recharge and can’t just follow you around the country no matter how much you’d like him to. 

“What time do you skate tomorrow?” Joel asks, mouth full of the pizza he’s enjoying. The features behind are different, so you assume he’s settled into his childhood home. 

“Um, I think 11:35? I’m not entirely sure,” you respond. Due to the way the event is seeded you’re skating second last, which both settles your nerves and makes you more anxious. There isn’t the pressure of closing out the event, but there’s hope that you’ll score high enough to win the short program and skate last in the free skate. 

Joel hums pensively. “I’ll check the website.” Conversation shifts away from skating, which you’re grateful for. It’s the last thing you currently want to think about. You listen with interest as Joel recounts stories of the pond hockey matches he’s played since getting home. The two of you are on the phone until nearly ten, when you have to say goodnight and head to bed. Tomorrow marks the start of the biggest week of your year. 

You follow your pre-competition routine to the letter. At other events this season you’ve been more relaxed, but your professional skating career depends on your performance at nationals so you aren’t taking chances. Five-thirty comes faster than you thought it would, but you’re out of bed and eating your first breakfast quickly. A quick two mile run follows, and then you’re having a shower and grabbing a second breakfast to eat at the rink. You meet Brenda in the hotel lobby before ubering to the rink. A solid practice follows, and you manage to keep your imposter syndrome on a leash in the presence of the other skaters. 

“It’s Joel,” Brenda says as she tosses you your phone. 

“Hey,” you say, squeezing the device between your ear and shoulder. “I don’t have much time to talk. My warm up call is soon.”

Joel laughs and you find yourself cracking a smile at the sound. “I know. Just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling.”

“Honestly? I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous for a competition.”

His response is cut off by a loud noise. “Where are you?” you ask. 

“Just at home,” he says quickly. “My sister has some friends over and they’re being loud.”

The line is compelling enough that you don’t question how hastily it was delivered. Joel stays on the phone until you have to go, keeping your mind off the jittery feeling in your stomach. The TV cameras catch you talking but you give them a cheery wave and continue telling Joel about how good the soap at your hotel smells. You hang up when they call your flight to take to the ice for warmup and give your phone back to Brenda for safe keeping. 

☼☼☼☼

Joel tries hard not to feel too out of place while he takes his seat. For someone who practically lives in arenas he feels like it’s his first time within fifty yards of one. Everyone around him is dressed nicely, and he’s acutely aware of the fact there is a neon orange pom-pom attached to the top of his hat. 

As much as he feels like a baby deer trying to stand, Joel’s beyond excited to be here. It’s been a while since he’s gone somewhere that wasn’t hockey related and getting to support you while he does it is the best scenario ever. There are some potential looks of recognition from those around him, but thankfully no one approaches. 

Skaters begin to take the ice and he scans vigilantly for you. You’re doing the best you can to stay warm, jacket zipped all the way up and gloves on your hands. Joel notices you seem to be the loosest of the girls below him but isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. You skate a few quick laps before warming up some jumps. Everything goes well, though he can tell you under-rotated a few of them and didn’t attempt the one quad in your program. The warm up is over as quickly as it began and you’re herded off the ice. Joel sinks a little further in his seat as gets ready to watch your competitors. 

☼☼☼☼

There’s just over five minutes until you take to the ice. You keep your body moving, walking up and down the corridor, and blast your pre-competition playlist so loud you’ll probably have hearing damage when you’re older. Only one other girl in the hall with you but it feels too small. Brenda comes to grab you and the pair of you walk to the side of the boards. You don’t watch who’s currently skating, choosing instead to focus on adjusting your feet slightly in your skates. 

“Go out there and put on a show,” Brenda says. “Fuck the judges.”

You laugh at her remark. “Okay Bren, when I lose points for flipping them off I’m blaming you.”

“Fine by me. I have a bone to pick with Mark Johnson anyways.”

The scores for the previous girl are being announced, so you peel your jacket from your frame and do a couple more laps. Right before your name is announced you press your forehead to Brenda’s. It’s a ritual you started back when you were barely as tall as the boards and you’ve done it every single competition since. You feel grounded looking in her eyes, and you break with a fist bump. It’s go time. 

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire. You didn’t come to play, and leave everything on the ice. The skate isn’t completely clean, you stumbled on the landing of a triple axel, but you’re happy with it. Despite your fears, both the triple lutz and quad salchow go smoothly. Audience engagement was at an all time high and you finished to deafening applause. Brenda wraps you in a tight hug when you step off the ice before leading you over to the kiss and cry. You chat idly with her and your choreographer, trying to catch your breath, while you wait for your score. 

The announcer’s booming voice crackles over the PA as he reads the judges’ decision. “The scores for Y/N Y/L/N please.” You don’t pay attention to the individual numbers, just the final total. “For a total score of 74.83.”

It’s lower than you had hoped for. Not by much, just two or three points, but it could mean all the difference in tomorrow’s skate. Brenda pats your leg sympathetically and whispers in your, “It’s alright. You skated well.”

You head back to the dressing room to watch the final skater on the small T.V in the corner while you get undressed. She’s phenomenal, and you end the day falling to third place. Joel’s hip-hop playlist blasts through your headphones as you do your cool down routine. The average tempo is upbeat and helps to take your mind off the fact you’re not where you want to be. Just as you’re about to exit the room and find Brenda to talk strategy there’s a knock on the door. 

“Yeah?” you say dejectedly, the word coming out as more of a sigh than you had intended. 

The door is cracked open, and the head of your best friend peaks out from around it. “Hey there rockstar,” Joel says softly, stepping further into the room. Once you comprehend that he’s really here you’re sprinting in his direction, jumping into his embrace. Joel’s laugh reverberates in his chest, and you feel it as you settle further into him. 

“Why are you here?” you whisper. Though you’re elated Joel is here, you’re confused as to why he would want to spend his break in Utah. 

He lets you down gently and shrugs. “I had to see if you’d land the quad.” Joel’s smile matches yours as you shake your head. 

“You’re fucking insane,” you quip, but there’s no malice in your voice.

Before you can pester Joel into answering all your questions you’re whisked away to a press conference. Talking to the media is something you don’t particularly enjoy, and it’s even more difficult to stay present when you know you could be spending time with your best friend. Most of the questions are directed towards the girls who placed higher than you which you’re thankful for. It’s easier for you to zone out, and you root through your mind of places around the city to take Joel. 

“Y/N, how tough will it be for you to better your scores in tomorrow’s free skate?”

The question is one that you expected, luckily, and you’re able to recite the response you worked out with Brenda without really engaging with the reporter. “I mean I obviously didn’t aim to be in third place heading into tomorrow,” you joke, “But I’m fairly happy with where I ended up. The other girls had fantastic skates and deserve to be above me. My plan for tomorrow is to leave everything on the ice, skate cleanly, and be proud of myself regardless of what happens.”

Pens scribble furiously by those that don’t have recording devices to get your words down on paper. There’s some chatter, questions for the other girls, before a young reporter fresh out of journalism school is allowed to speak. He identifies himself as Theo Rateliff before jumping in. “Y/N,” he says, “How excited are you to get back to training on home ice when you get back to Jersey?”

“Um, I didn’t know the renovations were finished,” you stammer. “As far as I know, I’ll be at Flyers SkateZone until the end of the season.”

Theo shakes his head. “My partner was informed this morning that the rink will be good to go by the time you get back.”

You turn to the side to look at Brenda, who just shrugs. “Well, to be quite honest I’ll miss being in Voorhees. I had fun skating there and feel like the rink prepared me well for this competition.”

“Obviously not well enough,” Theo retorts, not missing a beat. “Your odds of winning dropped by seventy-seven percent.”

“Thank you for the reminder Theo,” you snap. “Are we done here?”

The press-coordinator shakes their head in confirmation, and you rip the microphone off your jacket before stomping off. People clear a path for you, not wanting to get caught in your storm. You run right to Joel who lets you direct him out of the arena and into the uber he called while you were wrapping up. 

It’s a silent ride, Joel knowing you aren’t in the mood for light conversation. He lets you take a ridiculously long shower and orders take out that arrives just as you step out of the bathroom. 

“Where are you staying?” you ask as you detangle your hair. 

“Nowhere yet,” Joel says, “I got in early this morning and went straight to the rink.”

You think carefully about your next words before you speak. Your competition routines can be excessive and annoying, and you don’t want to inconvenience him. “You could just stay here. The room is massive and there’s more than enough space for both of us in the bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, voice taking a soft lilt. “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Joel smiles wider than you’ve ever seen him do before. The two of you sit comfortably in bed, eating the burritos Joel got and going down a conspiracy theory youtube wormhole. He asks how you feel about him coming to watch your evening training session you have to leave for in twenty minutes. You tell him you’d be angry if he didn’t stand beside your coach and clap every time you landed a jump. 

It’s chilly but the sun is shining bright so you decide to bundle up and walk to the rink. Joel pokes fun at you beanie and you swat him in the chest, shutting him up for the time being after his giggles subside. The view is gorgeous, mountains framing the setting sun. You squeeze Joel’s bicep to get his attention and relish the feeling of his muscle in your grip. 

“Look! An owl!”

Sure enough, a barn owl is flying over top of you, in the middle of downtown Salt Lake City. “That’s my good luck charm. Means I’ll skate well tomorrow.”

Joel pokes your cheek lightly. “I thought I was your good luck charm,” he gasps. 

You roll your eyes. “I guess you can be my secondary one.” Joel doesn’t seem to mind the fact your arms are still wrapped around his, so you stay that way until for the rest of the journey. 

☼☼☼☼

The night goes according to plan. You skate well in practice and feel comfortable for tomorrow’s event. Joel executes his role perfectly, cheering when you do things well and squirting water at you to make you squeal in laughter when things get a little too serious. Once back at the hotel you collapse into bed almost immediately. You’re so exhausted you can’t even be bothered to climb under the covers, and wait until Joel pulls them back for himself to crawl in. There’s no awkwardness at sharing a bed with Joel, and you sigh contently as he pulls you into his side. Sleep comes easily then for the both of you. 

You wake before both your alarm and Joel. It takes you a second to get your bearing and realize you’re pinned against his body, though you don’t mind. There’s worse places to be stuck. You lay curled into Joel for as long as you can, but eventually you have to shake him awake. 

“Beezer,” you whisper, ruffling his hair, “You’ve gotta let me out.”

He groans something unintelligible but instead of heeding your words pulls you closer. “Joel come on,” you try again, “I’ve really gotta get up. Need to shower before I get to the rink.”

Joel listens this time, but only lets you go after squeezing you tight for a second. You go about your routine with him still passed out in bed and giggle at the way his hair curls around his ears when you pass by. As you’re leaving to get to your practice ice slot Joel wakes up, lumbering into the bathroom. He reappears a minute or two later to say goodbye. 

“Will I see you after practice?” he asks, voice still gruff with sleep. 

“Probably not,” you reply, leaning down to tie your shoes. “I won’t be coming back here until after everything is done.”

Joel nods and wraps you in a warm hug. “You’re going to do great,” he says as he pulls away. “I’ll be there, cheering so fucking loud.”

“I expect you to throw a teddy bear on the ice after I finish.”

The walk to the arena is lonely without Joel, but you push the thought out of your mind. You need to stay focused on putting on the skate of your life in a few hours and not on how lately you’ve been having more-than-friendly thoughts about your best friend. Brenda is there when you arrive, making conversation about what you did last night with Joel before explaining how you’re going to run your practice.

Your hour of semi-private ice passes in the blink of an eye. The other girls in your flight are just as tense as you, popping jumps and doing a lot of stroking to loosen up. A lot is riding on today’s event and you’d be lying if you weren’t feeling the pressure. When you get back to the dressing room and check your phone, you notice there’s a text from Joel. 

Don’t want to disrupt your pre-comp routine, but I thought I’d share a playlist. It’s songs that remind me of you. 

Included is a link to a spotify playlist entitled ‘my golden girl’. You open it with a smile, noticing that it starts with some of your favourite songs even though they aren’t the kind of thing Joel regularly listens to before turning into things you’ve never heard before. 

Thanks <3, you respond, going to listen to it during my off-ice. 

That’s exactly what you do. It filters through your headphones for hours as you stretch, do a quick interview for those watching on television, and get dressed. Though it’s a break from your typical routine, it’s welcome. Knowing Joel thought about you enough to make you a playlist and send it to you helps calm your nerves. 

“Hey kiddo,” Brenda says as she walks to where you’ve taken up root on the floor. Your left hamstring is tight, and you’re trying desperately to fix it before you have to go on the ice. “Go out there and absolutely kill it. This is your best program, and I haven’t seen anyone skate better than what you can do today.”

“Gee thanks for the confidence booster Bren,” you chuckle before hoisting yourself onto the bench to tie your skates. 

She doesn’t laugh. “I mean it Y/N. You can still win this thing.”

You’re left alone to finish getting ready and then join the other girls in the tunnel. No one talks, which you’re grateful for. When you were younger and coming up through the ranks the other competitors liked to gossip while they waited and it was your least favourite part of an entire competition. A camera man waits at the end of the walkway, filming your arrival to the ice pad, and you wave cheerily as you pass by. It can never hurt to endear yourself to those watching at home – maybe they’ll be nicer to you on the internet. 

Joel is standing at the edge of the boards during your warmup, watching and cheering intently. In a moment of insane confidence you blow him a kiss as you skate past, and giggle hysterically when he catches it and holds it close to his chest. You’re called off the ice then and spend the time really getting into the zone. 

It’s considered bad luck to watch the performances before your own, so you face the wall as you do jog lightly to keep your body temperature up and the adrenaline flowing. Much sooner than you’d like it’s your turn to take your guards and jacket off. Brenda holds your skating hands as she whispers last minute words of encouragement, and you stumble through the traditional handshake before presenting yourself to the crowd. 

Once the music starts your brain checks out and instinct takes over. You learned when you were younger that your best skates happened when you just allowed yourself to feel, and you desperately need the skate of a lifetime. Going into the first jumping pass you can feel yourself tense up so you think about Joel’s smile while you guys sat by the lake last night. It works to loosen you up, and you spend the rest of the program thinking of your favourite moments with Joel. As you strike your final pose the music fades out and the roars of applause cascade in. You know you had a flawless performance, beaming as you fist pump the air in the same manner you chirp Joel for doing while he celebrates goals. 

You bow to the crowd in all directions, waving and laughing as flowers and teddy bears fall onto the ice in front of you. An orange blob of fur catches your eye, and you skate to pick it up before one of the volunteers could put it in the bag that will join your garment bag in the dressing room. You know Joel is the one who threw the Gritty toy – no one else really knows of your affiliations with the team. As you sit in the kiss and cry awaiting your results, you examine the stuffed animal. Instead of the regular Gritty jersey Joel replaced it with his own, the number flashing vividly at you and pulling a smile from your nervous features. 

Brenda keeps her hand clasped tightly in yours as the PA system crackles to life. “And the scores for Y/N Y/L/N are,” the announcer begins, and your knee begins bouncing rapidly. “The free skate score is 155.79, for a total score of 230.62.”

You jump up in amazement. Despite your slow start to the competition you managed to get a season’s best. You’re also five points ahead of the second place skater, guaranteeing you a place on the podium and depending on the final results, a spot at worlds. A volunteer ushers you out of the kiss and cry and you skip all the way down the tunnel. To get out some of the adrenaline you jog the corridor a few times before returning to Brenda. 

“Come on,” she laughs, “Joel’s waiting at the edge of the public area. We can watch the final skate together.”

At the mention of Joel you’re jogging again, wanting to see him as fast as possible. “Beezer!” you shriek as you approach, launching into the elaborate handshake the two of you have perfected at this point. 

“Hey golden girl,” he chuckles, returning your actions with just as much enthusiasm. “You looked fucking great out there. I see you got my gift.”

The Gritty doll is still in your hands but there’s no shame. Instead, you tuck it under your arm and rest your head against Joel’s shoulder to watch the final skater. The girl after you had fallen a number of times, dropping her total significantly and landing her in fifth place. Victory is so close you can almost taste it.

 It’s the longest six minutes of your life. Watching her skate increases your anxiety – she’s good, has almost as great a skate as you, but she under-rotated a jump and rushed through her program so there was extra music at the end. The clock above your head rings throughout the silent corridor as everyone awaits the scores with baited breath. In under a minute you’ll know whether you’re returning to New Jersey with a gold or silver medal in your suitcase. 

You don’t hear anything as they announce her score – just see the numbers flash of the small T.V screen and calculate that it’s not enough for her to beat you. After years of blood, sweat, and an immeasurable amount of tears you’ve crossed another goal off your list. Those around you are jumping and screaming, Brenda letting a few tears escape. All you can think about is Joel, who’s celebrating like he just scored the game winning goal in the Stanley Cup finals, and how much you love him. 

Without thinking, you smash your lips against Joel’s. It’s adrenaline filled and mostly teeth until he wraps one hand around your waist and the places the other along your jaw. Then it becomes purposeful, both of you moving in tandem and never wanting it to stop. When Joel pulls away and rests his forehead against yours you can’t stop smiling. The kiss might have happened in the heat of the moment, but you know it’s the culmination of feelings building inside of you for months. 

“You’re a national champion,” Joel says, pulling you flush against his chest in the biggest hug you’ve ever received. 

“I’m your national champion,” you whisper. 

He pulls back and grins, kissing you again. “You’re my national champion. My golden girl.”

The rest of your stay in Salt Lake City is a blur. You’re swept up in the numerous press events, galas, and enjoying your blossoming relationship with Joel. When you finally got back to the hotel after what seemed like hours of people complimenting your comeback, the two of you sat down and talked about the kiss and what you wanted to happen next. It was scary, being so vulnerable, but it needed to happen – you’re both adults and communication is important. So, you’re returning home with a gold medal and boyfriend, two things you’re ecstatic about. 

☼☼☼☼

“J, it’s not straight,” you giggle. Joel’s trying, and failing miserably, to hang the shadow box with your nationals medal in it above your couch. It’s been almost a month since you returned home but you’ve been so busy that decorating the apartment you barely spend time in has been at the bottom of your to-do list. 

He grunts out a response. “Fuck. Do I have to go left or right?”

“Left.” The picture shifts in the opposite direction. “The other left Joel!”

A few minutes later the decoration is sitting perfectly in place. Your child of a boyfriend insists on getting rewarded for his achievement, so the two of you bundle up and get dinner. It’s nothing fancy – just sandwiches from the deli down the street from your apartment, but spending time with him is nice. Joel’s been on a string of short road trips and you’ve been training anxiously, waiting for the organization to announce who they’re sending to the world championship. 

“How’s practice been lately?” Joel asks, mouth full with a bite of his BLT. “I miss being able to watch you skate whenever I want.”

After returning from Utah you were shuttled immediately into the freshly renovated rink of your skating club. It’s a little farther into Jersey and certainly not as convenient for him to get to, especially now that the NHL season is picking up and the Flyers are clinging desperately to the final playoff spot. “It’s been interesting,” you shrug, “I’m skating well, and physically I feel great. There’s a mental block or something though because everything feels a little bit off.”

The smile that graces Joel’s face can only be described as shit-eating. “Duh, I’m not there.”

“Fuck off.” Though you try to make the words come out in a serious tone, there’s no malice in them. 

Conversation flips to some ridiculous story Travis told at practice that morning, and you giggle as Joel recounts it with failing arms. You tell a few stories of your own, that leave him in stitches, and as you walk home hand in hand he asks you again to come to a game. With your schedule a little more flexible as you wait for a decision about the upcoming competition stint it will be much easier to see Joel play. You say yes with a shy smile and don’t miss the way the boy beside you blushes under the streetlights. 

Joel stays over, and the next two nights after that. It’s nice, falling into a relationship with your best friend, because there’s no awkwardness. You know what kind of cereal to keep in your pantry and he knows you don’t eat meat on Mondays. Everything is easy. There are a fews in the road, as can be expected with any budding relationship, but for the most part your lives fit seamlessly together.  

After some meticulous planning, you found a home game on the Flyers schedule that will coincide with yours. It’s a Friday night near the end of February, and it’s actually the last day US Figure Skating can announce their assignments for worlds. You figure watching your boyfriend is the perfect way to distract yourself from the decision, whether or not you make the team. Joel’s ecstatic about your attendance, wanting you to be immersed in as many aspects of his life as possible. The entire day he’s bouncing around your apartment, beyond ready for puck drop. 

“It’s literally three in the afternoon,” you grumble as Joel corrals you into the hall to put your shoes on. “You never leave this early! Why do we have to do it today?” In an attempt to save gas and lower your carbon footprint you’re carpooling with Joel.

“Because being in this house is making you more anxious,” he points out. “I’ve caught you staring into the distance one too many times today. Besides, this way you can meet up with some of the other girls and relax before the game.” 

Joel’s right, as he so often is. Your agent hasn’t called to let you know if you made the team or not, nor has US Figure Skating made an announcement on social media. So you’ve spent the entire day pacing back and forth around your living room and fretting that perhaps the best performance of your season wasn’t good enough. He twirls his car keys around his index finger in an attempt to speed you along and you roll your eyes at his impatience. 

After ensuring your home is safely secured you hit the road. The drive into Philadelphia is easy, with little traffic, and you spend it laughing at Joel’s ridiculous freestyle raps. It doesn’t surprise you that the staff lot at the Wells Fargo Centre is sparsely populated – most of the guys don’t show up until around five, Joel included. However, a group of women are standing near the entrance. While this isn’t the first time you’ve met significant others of your boyfriend’s teammates, it’s the first time Joel won’t be around. 

“It’ll be alright,” he whispers as the car settles into park. You offer a small smile that mustn't have been convincing because Joel lifts the hand that’s intertwined with his to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the knuckles. The smile becomes genuine and you tease him the entire walk to the door. 

Joel greets the other girls before setting his bag down on the concrete and wrapping you in a hug. “Have fun,” you say softly against his lips, landing a short kiss. He winks and opens the door, disappearing inside and leaving you in a fit of giggles. 

There was no reason for you to be nervous – everyone is incredibly kind. You seem to be the youngest in the group, but the other girls pay no mind and treat you as one of their own. There’s a small amount of confusion when your phone chimes with a notification, a few glances of possible distaste, but as soon you explain you’re waiting on a very important call they understand. Dinner is wonderful, filled with sincere questions about your skating career and how you got together with Joel. By the time you get back to the arena for the game it feels as though you’ve been a part of the group for years. 

You spend the game in the family and friends box, sipping a glass of wine and following Joel around the ice. Practice is early in the morning and you want to be productive, so you’re relaxed in your alcohol consumption compared to some of the others. One of the older girls, though you can’t remember what player is her significant other, recently got engaged and is celebrating with as many drinks as those around her will allow. It’s fun to experience a hockey game in this way, but you’re a little on edge. You haven’t anything about worlds assignments all day and the organization doesn’t typically leave the announcement to this late in the evening. There’s seven minutes left in the game when your phone rings. You quickly excuse yourself from the group and step into the hall. 

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” the chipper voice of your agent Megan says, “How are you?”

A nervous laughter tumbles from your lips. “I think that depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

“I imagined you’d say something along those lines,” she responds. “You’ve always been quite witty.” Before you ask her to just get to the point of the phone call, Megan speaks. “I have some good news and some bad news for you. You’re going to the World Championships, but you aren’t leading the team like we hoped.”

It’s not as bad as she made it sound. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes, and you try your best to remain professional in the hallway of the arena. “Honestly,” you sigh, “I think that’s better. There’s going to be a lot less pressure for me to bring home three Olympic spots. Thanks for letting me know Meg.” She hangs up then, no doubt having to tell another girl she didn’t make the cut. 

When you slip back through the door, you find all eyes on you. “What was that about?” 

“I made the roster for worlds.”

Earth-shattering applause erupts from everyone in the room, and no one pays attention to what happens on the ice for the remainder of the game. The congratulations continue until you’re waiting outside the dressing room for Joel to exit. He had a good game, featuring two assists and a blocked shot, and smiles lazily when he sees you leaning against the brick wall. 

“This is something I could get used to,” he chuckles, pulling you into him by the belt loops of your jeans. The two of you kiss for a moment, letting it stay chaste in fear of getting chirped by teammates.

“Well,” you sigh dramatically, drawing out the suspense of what you’re about to say, “You’re going to have to wait a bit longer for it to become a regular occurrence. My training schedule just increased exponentially.”

Joel sits on your words for a moment before it registers. “No fucking way!” he shouts, picking you up by the waist as the two you are a pairs team. “You got the spot?” 

Having Joel be so excited about the accomplishment makes it seem that much more real. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head up and down to signal he’s correct. Joel presses his lips to yours once again, this time not caring about any insults his friends could throw at him. The kiss makes you feel loved, fully and completely, and you hope you’re conveying the same amount of emotion he is. 

“That’s my girl.”

☼☼☼☼

“Oh my fucking god,” you grumble, picking yourself off the ice for what feels like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. There’s two weeks until you leave for Milan and it looks like you’ve never skated before. Jumps are being under-rotated, spins aren’t being entered properly, and your footwork sequence is abysmal. Nothing about the way you’re performing would let a newcomer know you’re a world class athlete. 

Brenda gives you a sympathetic smile. “Just try again kiddo.”

You do try again – fifteen more times to be exact. Each attempt at a triple axel getting farther and farther from what it should be. Before you get even more frustrated you abandon the element altogether, hoping to avoid a complete meltdown. No one questions it when you shift disciplines completely and move about the ice completing a simple foxtrot pattern. Ice dance has always been a great de-stresser for you, and after a few passes you feel your heart rate return to normal. At some point during your break Joel had entered the rink and is now standing beside your coach, making pleasant conversation. You smile as you skate towards them, ecstatic that the two most important parts of your life blend seamlessly. 

“Farabee!” you shout when you get close enough for him to hear you. At the sound of your voice Joel smiles, turning to pick up your water bottle and toss it in your direction. 

“I’m wounded babe,” he feigns pain as you take a drink, “I really thought that we were on at least a first name basis.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and playfully squirt water at him. “I’ll call you whatever I want. What brings you this far into Jersey?”

“Thought I’d see if you wanted to grab lunch after you were done. We’ve got a late practice today,” he explains. “Whatever you want, eh? Does that mean I say whatever I want? Because I think you’re looking particularly good in those leggings.tum” You don’t miss the suggestive tone to his voice, but choose to ignore it.

Joel watches the rest of your practice from his spot at the boards and lays himself across the dressing room bench as you complete a quick cool down routine. You have a meeting with your massage therapist in the afternoon, so you follow Joel to the restaurant he chose. It’s a small vegan place that you sometimes stop at on your way home from the rink. They have the best burrito bowls you’ve ever tasted and since you’ve gotten together Joel has become rather fond of them as well. 

The two of you sit outside on the curb. New Jersey is uncharacteristically warm for March and you want to enjoy the sunshine as much as possible. The rest of the day will be spent in dark rooms receiving physical therapy and trying to ease your tired muscles. There isn’t much conversation, but you’re more than content just to be with Joel. Life moves incredibly fast and your schedules don’t always line up nicely. It’s difficult to spend time with him, especially when you’re weeks out from a major competition, but small moments like this keep you from missing your boyfriend too much. 

“Have I asked you to take me to the airport yet? I can’t remember,” you admit as you finish the last bite of your meal. 

Joel laughs at your lapse in memory, knowing he gets the same way when high stakes games roll around. “No, but you would like me to?”

“Do you mind?” you ask, “That way I don’t have to leave my car at the airport for a week and a half. But if you can't, don't worry about it, I’ll grab an uber.”

“Babe, the uber will be like fifty bucks. I’ll take you. What time do you have to be there?”

You give him a much too detailed itinerary of your departure plans and listen to him talk about the drills they’re going to run at practice. Time passes much quicker than you would have liked, and soon you’re kissing him goodbye and watching him wave from your rearview mirror. 

It’s almost a week later when you see Joel again, showing up at a Flyers practice for the first time since training moved back to your home rink. You’ve been instructed to have a rest day, the team wanting to push you too hard before taking off. The arena attendants know you well at this point, and chat with you as you sit on a bench away from the media. You know better than you alert them of your presence – some of them no doubt wanting a comment from you about worlds. Joel has no idea you’re even there until long after practice, when he sees you leaning casually against the driver’s side door of your car, conveniently parked next to his.

“Hey all-star,” you say as casually as possible, twirling your keys around your index finger. 

He leans down to kiss you sweetly, and though you probably shouldn’t in a parking lot, you push your body closer to his in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Joel obliges you, tongue gently slipping into your mouth, staying there until you both hear the shouts of his teammates. 

“Fuck off,” he yells at Kevin, who’s hollering so loud people can probably hear him all the way back in Philadelphia. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a day off,” you smile, and I thought I’d come see if I could hitch a ride to your place.” You had originally planned to attend the game in person, but a rough day of training yesterday had you too sore to do much other than lie on the couch. 

“The chariot awaits m’lady,” he says in a terrible British accent, bowing for good measure as he opens the door. Your car will be fine in the parking lot overnight, so you slip in and enjoy the journey into the city. 

Joel’s pre-game routine changes only slightly with you in his apartment – instead of napping alone, you curl into his chest and snore softly, lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’s ever had. You tie his tie for him and riffle his hair before kissing him good luck. Being alone in Joel’s apartment isn’t as strange as you thought it would be, and you familiarize yourself with his kitchen while you make dinner. The pre-game show plays quietly in the background, and when they mention how well Joel is playing you can’t help but smile. 

It’s much more comfortable to watch the game in your boyfriend’s hoodie and pyjama pants on the couch than it would be to sit in the stiff arena seats. Time passes at a pretty leisurely pace, with nothing too exciting going on within the game, and sometime in the third period you fall asleep. The rest of the game and all the media appearances pass you by. Joel figures you must be sleeping when he doesn’t get a congratulatory text when Claude pulls off a buzzer beater to win. His suspensions are confirmed when he slips through his front door to see you drooling slightly on the throw pillow his mom bought him as a housewarming gift. 

You don’t remember climbing into bed, but you wake up with Joel’s socked feet pressed against your calves. He stirs behind you and mummers something unintelligible. 

“What was that sleepyhead?” you giggle, turning around to run a hand through his hair. It’s rather unruly at the moment and you find it adorable. 

“Good morning,” he repeats. 

“That’s what that was?”

“Leave me alone.”

The two of you lay in bed for a few more minutes before starting the day. You navigate around Joel flawlessly – like you’re there every morning. Breakfast is quick and you’re out the door before you have a chance to cherish the domesticity of it all. You have a pretty intense day of training and Joel has to be at the airport in two hours for a trip to Toronto. He drops you off in Voorhees, kissing you gently before making his way back into the city. You hate to see him go, wishing you could spend more time together before you head to worlds, but you know you’re both adults with real-world responsibilities. 

For the first time in the final push you have a practice that is up to standard. Things click into place and you feel good. Really good. Each time you skate a program it’s clean, and the elements don’t feel weak when completed individually. Maybe you’ll actually be able to pull this off. 

☼☼☼☼

Italy is beautiful, but you don’t get much time to enjoy it. A scheduling mishap has team USA leaving two days later than you were supposed to and now you’re all scrambling to find a groove. Every moment is being spent preparing for the competition – off ice training, multiple practices a day, press conferences. When you get a moment to spare you call Joel, but oftentimes he’s at practice or fulfilling other obligations. The time difference is brutal and souring your mood. You feel alone, and just wish Joel could be by your side like he was at nationals. 

As soon as you step on the ice something feels wrong. You run through a mental checklist and assure that nothing is – your skates feel they way they should and you didn’t forget any gear. It must be nerves. The competition officially starts tomorrow and you’re eager to cheer on the pairs teams America has brought. You do your best to skate it out, and by the time you’re allowed to have the ice to yourself you can almost convince yourself everything will be fine. 

The music starts and you snap into character. Your short program music is punchy and so are you – all sass and sharp angles as you navigate the opening step sequence. A lump forms in your throat as you set up the first first jumping pass, but you push it down. You’ve done a thousand triple lutz-triple toe-loop combinations and could execute it flawlessly in your sleep. 

Everything happens so fast. One second you’re rotating through the air and the next you’re sprawled across the ice. Nothing feels off until you try to pick yourself up. When you can’t move your left leg you look to see what the issue is and find your kneecap where it most certainly should not be. It’s rotated nearly one hundred and eighty degrees, now residing in the back instead of the front. 

“Help me!” you scream, mostly out of shock. There’s no pain which surprises you, but you know it definitely should hurt. Everyone around the ice surface is frozen in place, not knowing what happened or what to do, and you continue to sob helplessly. 

Someone sprints to get the onsite emergency responders and Brenda runs to you as fast as her dress shoes will allow. “Don’t look at it honey,” she soothes. “It’s just going to make things worse.”

“It should hurt,” you croak out through the tears, “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“You’ve got so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you can’t feel anything,” the EMT explains in flawless English. “Can we take your skates off?”

You nod, and the right skate comes off breezily. Brenda unlaces your left skate and the medical team works to pry the boot from your foot. A sharp pain shoots up your leg and you wail in agony. “Shh, it’s okay,” your coach coos, “The skate is going to stay on until we get to the hospital.”

The ride to the hospital feels like time is moving through sludge. The paramedics keep an eye on your blood pressure and do their best to keep you calm. Brenda is typing furiously on her phone, and you ask what she’s doing as the vehicle pulls into the ambulance bay. 

“The ISU rep told me to keep him updated,” she explains. “And I’m trying to vote on which alternate is going to take your place.”

You knew that was going to happen, you couldn’t possibly skate, but it makes you unbelievably sad. All your hard work is going to amount to nothing. No one cares about national champions who don’t place at worlds, and the injury is going to sideline you in next year’s olympic race. The emergency room has a bed ready for you, and the doctor arrives as you’re being transferred into it. 

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m Dr. Morelli. We’re going to put your patella back into place. It’s going to be incredibly painful, so we’re to sedate you. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you say as strongly as you can, though it comes out feeble and hoarse. 

A nurse inserts an IV into your arm and smiles at you. They have you count backwards from ten, and by the time you get to eight you’re asleep. There’s a brief moment of panic when you wake up as you forgot where you are. “You’re awake,” Brenda speaks softly from the bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admit. “It hurts so fucking bad.” 

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know. They’re going to come get you for x-rays in a few minutes and then we’ll go back to the hotel.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “I’ve gotta call Joel. Bren, give me your phone.”

Laughter comes from the device’s speakers, and you realize she’s one step ahead of you. 

“There’s my girl,” Joel whispers, eyes landing on yours as the phone lands in your hands. “Are you okay?”

The question makes you laugh. “You’re quite the comedian Mr. Farabee. Of course I’m not okay. My leg is currently being held together by a brace and my dreams are ruined.” You soften when you realize how upset Joel looks. “I’ll be fine J, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“There’s nothing you could have done. It was a freak accident. You can pick me up from the airport.”

He agrees in a heartbeat and tells you about his day to distract you from the pain. You’ll have to ask the nurses for some pain meds before you leave. A nurse comes to take you to the radiology department, and you hang up after reassuring him for the hundredth time that he doesn’t need to fly to Italy to bring you home himself. 

Brenda holds you as the adrenaline wears off and your legs twitches rapidly as a trauma response. She helps you navigate around the small room and makes sure you’re able to use the bathroom. Luckily none of her other skaters are competing, and she’s able to travel back to Philadelphia with you once the doctor clears you. It’s a rough flight – there’s a fair amount of turbulence and each bump makes your leg throb. You don’t get a wink of sleep and are grumpy by the time you touch down in Philly. Joel’s waiting at arrivals with a giant sign and a sweet smile. You wheel yourself over to him as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his arms. 

“Welcome home baby,” he whispers, leaning down to catch your lips in an airport appropriate kiss. The reason you’re home so early isn’t brought up which you're incredibly grateful for. Your untimely withdrawal is still a very sore spot. 

“I wasn’t gone long,” you laugh, trying to poke fun at the situation before reality gets you too down. 

“Long enough for me to miss you a tremendous amount.”

The three of you exit the airport, and Joel drops Brenda off at her house before taking you back to his place. Chuck and the rest of the management team were allowing him to miss a few games until you become more mobile and can’t exist on your own for a few hours. Joel’s bed is calling out to you, but he insists you’ll feel better after a shower and you know he’s right. Showering isn’t something you can do yourself, so Joel keeps your leg straight and elevated as you sit on the stool he bought while waiting for you to return. The grime of travelling is washed away and you feel lighter when you swing into bed, stubbornly refusing Joel’s help. 

You convince him to let you watch the broadcast of the event you were supposed to be skating in. It’s probably not the best thing for your mental health, but you want to see how everyone does. Joel sits besides you, arm wrapped around your shoulder, and listens to you explain the rationale behind every element’s score. When your replacement takes the ice you go silent. It’s too much to see her skating in your place so you bury your face into Joel’s neck. There’s no jealousy like you thought there would be, just an infinite amount of sadness that you’re not able to be there. 

“You’ll be able to get back there,” Joel reassures you when he feels a tear soak through his sweater. 

“That’s not guaranteed,” you sniffle. “I might not ever skate again, let alone compete at any level.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, leading you to quirk a brow. “I know you. You’re going to do it. It won’t be easy, but you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. People bounce back after major injuries all the time. I’ll be by your side the entire time, helping you through.”

“I love you,” you blurt out. The gravity of your words sinks in and you gasp. You haven’t said those words to each other yet, but they feel right.

“I love you too,” Joel smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. “Now pay attention to the TV, that girl you beat at Skate Canada is up next.”

☼☼☼☼

Recovery hasn’t been easy. There have been so many days where all you want to do is throw in the towel and cry, but Joel keeps you going. He insists you to your physical therapy exercises with him so you aren’t alone, and he comes to as many doctor’s appointments as he possibly can. After the Flyers get eliminated from the playoffs he doesn’t return home for the summer, choosing to stay in the Philly area with you. Having him there is a massive help, and you power through the pain. 

The Flyers are hosting a family skate before training camp, and it will be your first time on skates in nearly six months. Your doctors have cleared it as long as you take it slow and basically let Joel pull you around the rink but you don’t care. It gives you hope that one day you’ll be back to full strength. 

“Ready to do this thing?” Joel asks, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers. 

You nod enthusiastically and let him pull you from the bench to the tunnel and down to the boards. Joel steps on the ice first, keeping his hands up in case you need them for support. A few of the significant others notice what’s happening and they erupt in applause once both your feet are planted on the surface. Joel joins them, his eyes watering when he sees how happy you are to be skating again. 

“I do believe you promised me a few laps lover boy,” you wink. 

“Yes ma’am,” Joel giggles as he mock salutes. He places his hands in yours and guides you gently, careful not to go too fast or get too close to other groups. The two of you giggle and stop to kiss frequently but no one says anything. You’ve worked incredibly hard to get here and they’re perfectly content letting you have your moment. Standing at centre ice you feel complete, and you know it’s all thanks to Joel. 

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @samsteel​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ @boqvistsbabe​ @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice​ if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

[wingsdreamt]

steeleidolon​:

Trust. Trust absolute. SOLDIERs are not expected to foster bonds beyond where the Company sends them – but that operates under the fallacy that they are completely other-than, that they are not human at all. Kunsel is simultaneously aware of how rare it is (not that he trusts many so completely, of course), and so in tune with it that it feels as natural as breathing.

There is little that they do not share in the space they’ve carved for themselves. Roommates. Brothers-in-arms. Friends. Confidants. They’ve been through the shit together, survived missions they ought not to have survived, seen one another through injury, strife, recovery, failure and triumph. There are few demands, though. Each can keep the secrets they desire to keep.

Mostly. Snooping–lighthearted, teasing snooping–aside.

He hadn’t an inkling. There are some details that escape even the most observant. Some things set aside for more important endeavors.

By virtue of sheer ridiculousness, Zack pulls Kunsel away from the edge of rumination. For the better–gaining scars from those ostensibly on the same side, losing things (even if they shouldn’t be so sentimental) because of it, did not a good day make.

This has been a good day. It still is one. This is something special.

“My color– huh! Well, at least someone else is saying it,” Kunsel laughs, grins, shakes his head, and does absolutely nothing to disguise the warmth on his face. Movement helps to break his brain of the helpless (hapless) tumble-trip over implications and the urge to remark on them against any and all better judgment. He allows himself to be ushered, allows himself to be directed where Haley wants him to go.

“Um! Fine with a needle if you are, considering–”

Zack pulls something else out, and the question he was about to ask - if she’d ever pierced a SOLDIER before - fades before he can give it voice. There and then, Haley has a close-up view of Kunsel’s owlish blink, the connections in real-time from wonder to amusement to mischief and all the spectrum in between.

“Yeah, man, I have sole provenance on that particular kind and color of metal, so…”

A pause, and while he lets his soooo extend into vocal fry in apparent rumination, he watches Zack’s face, aware of Haley’s amusement and expectation in his peripheral.

“Nah, not weird. They’re really nice. Besides, I promised I’d hold your hand for it, so you’re even saving time,” he decides with full-bore dimples and a jut of his chin.

Matching studs. Nobody would really be able to tell from a distance, but it’s something between them (and their piercer), and that settles somewhere warm behind his breast.

Here they are, blushing stupid in the late evening in the middle of January. Over words they have said, over what they have left unsaid. Maybe is a temptation he has learned to live with, one that will persist through months, years, moments afield, moments at home (when did that definition change?), however long he can convince himself that what they have right now is enough. It’s more than enough. 

They can grin, they can laugh through it. 

“Heyyy…No teasing, I’m a sensitive soul.” Zack wears an absolutely glittering pout while Kunsel trails his voice off with implications of no-you-may-nots before finally, finally granting his assurances. The pout goes as quickly as it comes, replaced by the spread of a smile that cannot contain his grin. No shame at all. “Awesome! We’re gonna match! My hand is totally ready to be held.” 

With that matter settled, Haley gestures meaningfully at the vinyl-backed chair next to her. She reaches around to the lever at the back. A few pumps lowers the seat with a quiet hiss as the air trapped inside the cylinder decompresses. Most of the SOLDIERs that have passed through as clientele have been so tall, Haley has come to wonder whether Shinra has enforced some kind of height requirement. 

Once Kunsel is seated, her work begins. They spend a short amount finalizing details with a handheld mirror and pen while Zack watches on curiously. 

Tall, and they heal fast. The new piercings, cleaned, are dropped into a small tray within arm's reach. A quick tug at her wrist ensures that her gloves are pulled flush to fingertips as she starts with Kunsel's right side. Hollow point through skin, she maintains a gentle roll of the needle between gloved fingers, then, practiced, Haley reaches with her other hand for the first stud. 

Rinse and repeat, replacing needles in-between, Haley goes from point to point up each ear with their corresponding pieces of gold and their subtle wavy patterns etched onto the surface. 

"There you go." She offers Kunsel the mirror as he rises from the chair and calls Zack forward with a curl of her fingers. 

Zack is a few moments late reacting. He is entirely preoccupied, studying Kunsel's expression with rapt attention until Haley politely clears her throat and Zack, appropriately abashed, hurries up to take Kunsel's place on the chair. His feet fidget back and forth after handing off his piercings to Haley. Zack scrunches his brows together thoughtfully. "Hey, Haley."

"Mm?" She's in the middle of retrieving a fresh pair of gloves and sterilizing the next pair of needles and Zack's studs. 

"Would y'mind taking a photo of us after? I'd appreciate it a ton." Zack glances over at Kunsel with a smile. It's not as though he expects them to forget this night anytime soon, but he likes the thought of having something they can actually look back on. 

A reminder that they were here. 

"Oh, sure. Not a problem." As if double checking for herself, Haley looks between them with a nod of approval. Whether they are just friends or roommates or somewhere newly entered, they make a good pair. 

"Alright, we ready? Got his hand?" She grins too. "Good. Hold it tight."

[bluefirewrites]

not sure if u are still taking this but, celebrity/fan au for JUKEE 🤭

Okay this one's a little involved but I got you!

Rated T for mentions of sex and maybe some language

SEND ME A SHIP AND A NUMBER AND I’LL WRITE A SHORT FIC

******

Julie tugs against the rather short dress Flynn had squeezed her in, not caring for how much she looks like a glorified candy wrapper in the shimmering gold.

She feels like she's some Ferrer Roche, waiting to be devoured.

Which seems to be her intention for tonight because she's insane, and so is her bestie Flynn, because she's supposed to grab the attention of a certain someone in this club.

Her motives for tonight sound like they come straight out of a Wattpad story, but her boyfriend- or well maybe an ex boyfriend now'- forced her hand.

So a year ago, right around the time they started dating, they both disclosed their 'hall passes'. Just a list of celebrities they were both 'allowed' to cheat on their partners with. It was fun. Just to see who the other person would pick. 

It was harmless because the whole point is that these people are so famous, so far out of reach, that the odds of hooking up with them would be essentially impossible.

Nick's was the lead singer of the world famous pop group Dirty Candi. And Julie remembers drunkenly applauding the choice ("She's pretty! Wowww you like them Bubblegum Pop girls?")

They had a laugh that night and Julie doesn't really consider that hall pass conversation all that much since then-

-Until fast forward to last week when Nick disclosed to her that he ran into Carrie Wilson at an event. And then promptly disclosed to her that he invoked his 'Hall Pass' rights.

His rights?! She had exploded at him, and he claims that its no big deal. That he thought she would understand that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, a crazy set of circumstances, and that- 'Holy shit Jules, she was actually into me. Like what?'

Understandably, Julie stormed out and has been staying with Flynn for the time being. And it must have been the haze of crying and watching a lot of true crime series to cheer herself up that she and Flynn concocted this... plan.

One fueled by spite and pettiness.

Get back at Nick, make him jealous, make him feel how she did- by invoking her own 'Hall Pass' rights- 

-which so happens to be Sunset Curve frontman, Luke Patterson... 

"There he is" Flynn whispers from their corner of the club and Julie gulps.

"I don't think I can do this," Julie hisses at Flynn, when they spot him at the bar, nursing a drink with his bandmates like he usually would (they did their research). 

See, Julie’s been a fan of Luke’s for a long time. Ever since she heard ‘Now or Never’ in freshman year of high school, she’s been hooked onto their music- especially Luke and his voice and playing. 

She had their posters on her bedroom wall and had been that girl who would (when no one’s looking) press her fingers to her lips then press them against Luke’s image before going to bed. 

It was that bad. 

And Julie had probably fantasized on more than one occasion of meeting him and all the other scenarios you would picture in a typical Celeb x Reader scenario. 

And she’d like to think she grew out of it, now she’s in her mid-twenties and just casually listens to Sunset Curve, following up on their careers every now and then. 

But you can never really shake your first major celebrity crush. Hence he had been on her so called ‘Hall Pass’ list. 

(”You into rockstars, Jules?” Nick had teased her that night.)

Seeing him there, in the same place as her, is so surreal, but Flynn’s continued pinches to her arm remind her just how real this is. 

“This is ridiculous,” Julie crosses her arms, ready to bow out because what is she thinking? Why would Luke Patterson pick her up, of all people, at the bar? It’s like a supermodel runway in here, filled with girls more accomplished and famous. Her confidence is shaken a bit and she rethinks everything. 

"Nick didn't seem to have a problem when he did it," Flynn points out, “And girl, you look great. He would be blind to not want you.” 

The mention of Nick still boils her blood, which only reaffirms her plans for revenge. She’s still nervous but they both stand up from their booth and walk over to the bar. 

“You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend,” 

“No. You’re musician extraordinaire, Julie Molina! The world may not have heard about you, but they will one day. I bet that’s something you can talk to him about. Music? Lyrics?” 

Julie could use her songwriting credentials to her advantage, “I mean I guess-” 

“Quick, he’s getting up!” 

“Flynn, wait I’m not-” 

With a forceful push, Flynn sends Julie into the path of Luke Patterson, colliding into him and effectively spilling his drink all over her dress. 

“Oh my god,” Luke gapes at her, “I am so sorry-” 

Julie fans herself, shaking slightly from the fact she’s drenched and also that her freakin’ high school celebrity crush is looking at her, actually talking to her. 

But she recovers quickly, and she speaks, “It’s fine. Really. I guess I’m just... clumsy.” She shoots a glare at Flynn, who merely winks and retreats to their booth. 

Luke grimaces and takes her by the hand, leading her somewhere, napkins in his other hand, “Here, let’s get you cleaned up. Again, I’m sorry. Hate to ruin a pretty... dress.”

It’s the way he eyes her that catches Julie off guard. He’s... not talking about the dress, is he? 

Julie reels it back in tries her hand at a joke, “I wouldn’t call this a dress. I feel like fancy leftovers in this thing.” 

Luke stifles a laugh, “Okay, I mean I wasn’t gonna say anything but yeah. I guess it’s a bit tin foil-y.”

“Not your style?”

His gaze drifts over to her one last time, “Well, any way to take a meal back home is fine by me. I mean-” Luke scrunches his nose, wincing, “I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that. Shit. That was too... much. Are we-” he laughs nervously, “Are we still... talking about food?”

“Unless you just called me a meal. Then no.” 

The look in his eyes say that he’s absolutely mortified, “...yeah. I think I did. I was hoping that was a nightmare.” 

“Nope, it definitely happened,” 

“Feel free to slap me,” 

Julie giggles, somewhat delirious because she hasn’t tried to flirt with him but here Luke is, flirting with her. Or trying. And failing. Like a far cry from the suave rockstar she had pictured him to be. 

“No need. Just, can you-?” she points to the napkins he’s holding hostage. 

“Oh yeah. Here,” They stop in front of the coat check, and he hands her the napkins so she could try herself off with the best she can.

Suddenly, a weight falls onto her shoulders, she looks up and sees Luke draping a jacket over her- his presumably. 

“You looked cold,”

Julie wraps the jacket tight against her, relishing in the warmth, “Wow, thanks.”

Luke smiled and stepped back, “Just so you know, if I made you feel weird in any way, I’d like to throw out my third ‘sorry’ of the night. Nothing has to happen though. So, just say the word and I’ll leave you alone.”

Whew. Um, okay. Julie stands there, faced with this decision. 

The compliments aside (she will revisit those later), Luke’s giving her an out. Any reservations she has about moving forward with this plan, this is her chance to leave. 

She could just treasure these amazing few minutes for the rest of her life. This could be a story to tell friends at a dinner party, about the time a rockstar lent her his jacket. Would be up there with the time Jack Black passed her on the street and said “Nice hat!”. 

But-

Maybe she wants to see where this goes. 

“All this talk about food is making me hungry though...” she says and Luke lights up, “I could go for a bite to eat.” 

Luke snaps his fingers, “I know just the place.” 

*******

Half an hour later, Julie and Flynn are in a smelly alleyway with the guys from Sunset Curve, in line for a street dog cart just a couple blocks away. 

“An Oldsmobile?” Julie gawked after hearing Luke and the guys describe the delicacy, “Are you trying to poison me?”

“I swear by it,” Luke insists, taking her hand and moving them up in the line. Flynn sees this and doesn’t comment, but Julie’s starting to get used to Luke doing that, “You have to try!”  

Julie doesn't know when she got over her initial starstruck, but by now its so easy to treat Luke like a regular person.

Well, celebrities are all regular people in the end, but more so now that he and his friends, have their sleeves rolled up, smiles wide, ready to dig into what may be the most disgusting hot dog she has ever seen.

Julie takes a bite out of hers and her eyes widen. Wow. It's not terrible.

"Ayy! We got another one, boys" Reggie laughs, noting her reaction.

"Told ya" Luke needles her sides and she giggles, ticklish. Her knee jerk reaction is to playfully shove him, but in the process accidentally smeared some mustard onto his face.

Luke goes to lick it off with his tongue, making funny faces as he did which amused Julie even more.

"Here," she takes a napkin and wipes at his cheek, "Now we're even."

The whole group gets to talking over by the couches, while Flynn chats up the other boys, Julie and Luke are sequestered in their own corner, and yes, eventually the topic switches to music.

"Wait, so you know Rose and the Petal Pushers?" Luke chokes out, "Like everyone I talk to hasn't heard of them!"

"Yup. Have their record actually" Julie beams proudly, censoring out the part that its her mom's band and hence she has one of the few records ever released.

Luke is floored by that and continues to poke her brain for music and Julie finds that their spiels go on naturally, that she could probably talk with Luke for hours and hours.

Which ends up happening. Flynn had already made her escape, having texted her to come home safely, the boys had gone too, leaving them in the nearly empty lot.

When the food truck closes down for the night, they end up taking a stroll down the streets of L.A, talking and getting to know each other.

Julie learns so much about Luke, things she's never heard about from the press- like his songwriting practice, that he cries at Finding Nemo, and that he can do a cartwheel only when drunk.

And in return Julie shares with him her crazy college stories, how she misses her mom sometimes, and that she is encyclopedia of commercial jingles (a fact Luke exploits by rapidly quizzing her at random moments)

Somehow they end up near the beach, with Julie pointing out the different stars she could see, but finds that Luke isn't looking at the sky.

"Hey, Julie..." He gets her attention, "I had a really good time tonight."

"Me too"

"So... would it be alright, if I kiss you?"

Julie's mouth parts, speechless. It happened. Holy shit it happened or... is happening. She has Luke exactly where she wants him.

She could only nod and Luke takes it as the sign to lean in, but just as his lips is about to brush against hers, she freaks-

"Wait" she steps back. Luke opens his mouth, "No. No more 'sorry's from you. This one's one me. I'm sorry but... this- this" She sighs, "I have to be honest with you."

Then she tells Luke everything- Nick, The Hall Pass, her plans for tonight- basically admitting to using him.

When she's done, she expects for Luke to get angry, to leave in a huff and never want to see her again.

That's not what happens.

"This Nick guy sounds like a piece of work" he says.

Julie nods slowly, "Yeah... I guess he was. So maybe that's why I did it. But I don't think I could have gone through with it. Like I don't think we're together, me and Nick but-"

"You wouldn't want to do what he did. Because you don't want to hurt people," Luke surmises, understanding, "And by doing that, that means you're a better person than he is."

"I guess"

"No Julie, you're a good person" Luke insists, "Man, I think that makes me like you even more."

Julie laughs, "God, if my high school self could see me now..."

"You were a big fan?"

"I'm not having this conversation right now with you,"

"Okay cuz now you got me curious-"

Julie swats his shoulder but it doesn't deter the guy from snickering.

On a more serious note though-

"I think..." Julie hums, "I think this means that I got some stuff to work through. Before I could start considering... this."

"I understand"

"But thank you... Luke. For tonight"

"It's been real, Julie,"Luke smiles and pulls her in for a half hug, "And you should keep the jacket. Looks better on you anyway."

****

Julie goes back to Flynn's that night and her bestie's still awake, wanting all the deets. But there's not much to tell. Nothing happened.

She shrugs off the jacket and resigns to the couch, not caring that her makeup is still on. She's about ready to pass out.

Her phone dings.

She pulls it out and sees two notifications.

luke_patterson is now following you

luke_patterson is requesting to message you.

Curious, she accepts the request.

'here if you want to talk, Tin Foil :P'

Julie rolls her eyes and collapses onto the couch, sleeping with a smile on her face.

She doesn't know it now, but the oncoming years would be filled with more messages back and forth, meetups with their friends for more shady street food, building a solid foundation of friendship and eventually, when Luke asks again if he could kiss her, Julie would eagerly prop herself on her toes to close the gap.

Yeah, Julie's high school self would definitely be screaming...

[earliebirb]

nosedive

steve/tony, fluff, (newly) established relationship, 3250 words

Tony stares absentmindedly out the airplane window as he puts his phone up to his ear, watching people run back and forth, performing last-minute engine checks. Some of the guys look sweaty and out of breath.

From the comfort of the air-conditioned Stark Industries private jet, he feels a slight twinge of sympathy for the people having to suffer in the humid summer heat.

He loosens his tie and sinks deeply into his seat, closing his eyes with a massive yawn as he listens to the ringing tone. He hadn’t been able to sleep very well throughout his five-day stay in Tokyo, too anxious about the contract to rest properly. 

The ringing tone goes on for a few more seconds before ending with a click, replaced by an achingly familiar voice greeting him in his ear. 

“Hello?” 

Tony’s eyes spring open. Outside, an aircraft marshaller walks by, speaking rapidly into his walkie-talkie.

“I had a blueberry muffin for lunch today. One single blueberry muffin.”

“...What?”

“It didn’t even taste that good. I couldn’t finish it. Too dry.”

“Tony, that’s not good. Is that all you had for lunch? You should really eat—”

“The meeting went well, by the way. Mr. Watanabe finally signed the contract, everything went as planned. My ride to the airport, however…”

“I told you things would go smoothly, you had nothing to worry about. You’re a brilliant negotiator—”

“The traffic? Fuck. I had to keep shifting in my seat to avoid pins and needles.”

“That sounds awful, are your legs okay—”

“Did you know that Tokyo is number nineteen on the list of cities with the worst traffic congestion in the world? I know that, because I looked it up on the way to the airport. But boy, did it feel like it deserved the number one spot. I think I lost feeling in my ass.”

“I did not know that. And, uh, is your ass okay—”

“Thank God for my private jet. These plush seats are the best things I’ve ever spent my money on.”

“That’s objectively not true, and you know it—”

“Then again, I think these seats in particular were Pepper’s choice? We remodeled the airplane’s interior like… two years ago. I couldn’t be bothered to meet with the airplane seat people and I just told her to pick whichever looked best. I had much more important things to tend to, like sewing up the holes in JARVIS’s Christmas stocking.”

“I am concerned about how you sort your list of priorities—”

“Hm, that’s right. I think it was around two, three weeks before Christmas and I didn’t want JARVIS to be upset about the whole stocking thing, you know?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have—”

“Also, you’re right, the single blueberry muffin was a bad idea because now my stomach won’t shut up. So I’ve ordered some pasta for my in-flight meal. Robbie’s making it, you’ve met Robbie—”

“I’ve met Robbie, yes, he’s—”

“Larry’s replacement after he resigned. Gotta say, I was sad to see Larry go. Guy worked for me for seven years. But then there was that thing with his grandma, and he had to leave, so… But! Robbie makes a mean carbonara, maybe even better than Larry, don’t tell Larry I said that—”

“I don’t even know Larry like that, how would I—”

“Mr. Stark, we’re ready to go.” The pilot—Paul—emerges from the cockpit, staring at him in anticipation.

Tony nods and makes a few rapid gestures with his free hand that he supposes Paul is only able to interpret perfectly after years and years of working for Tony. The gestures roughly translate to something like “Copy, I hear you, just let me wrap this up and then I’ll let you know when I’m done. Capiche?”

Paul—bless him—just gives him a curt nod and retreats back into the cockpit. 

“Anyway,” Tony takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out with the exertion of his exhale, “I called because… I got a feeling, Steve.”

“A… feeling?”

“Just— A gut feeling. A feeling in your gut. Inside of me. Like a hunch?”

“Okay,” Steve says patiently, his voice low and warm, “what are you feeling?”

“I… got a bad feeling. Today. A few hours ago. The feeling came to me when I was sitting in traffic, and I just— I feel like something bad’s gonna happen today, Steve. I can feel it in the air. In my heart. In my gut. In my joints.”

“Your joints? Like… the feeling old people get when it’s about to rain?”

“Okay, maybe not in my joints. Also, are you calling me old, grandpa?”

“I did not, you told me you felt something in your—”

“Anyway, so yeah. Where was I? Oh, right. Feeling. Bad feeling. Like, like, I don’t know, something bad’s gonna happen. Like an accident. Like a plane crash.”

“God, please don’t say that. You’re scaring me, Tony.”

“And I guess, I just called because I… I feel like I need to do this before the plane crashes and I die a violent and fiery death.”

“Nothing bad’s going to happen, Tony—”

“Like, if I didn’t do this today, maybe I’d never get to do it, you know? And, uh, okay, I’ve honestly been ranting to stall for time, but the longer I keep it in the more nauseous I feel, so maybe I’m just gonna do it now so I can die in peace—”

“Do what? And stop saying that—”

“Look, I’m trying to be brave and honest here and— Wait, actually? Maybe I’m being a coward because if the plane actually does go down, I won’t have to face the consequences of my actions, so I guess I’m just going to say fuck it, and say that I love you.”

“The plane is not going to— Wait, what?”

“I, uh. Love you. I’ve known it for a while now. And, uh, I know we’ve only been dating for like, a week, but—” Tony blinks. They’ve only been dating for a week. 

“...Fuck.” Tony can feel his own pulse starting to race. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Tony?”

They’ve only been dating for a week. What is he doing? What the hell is wrong with him? Normal people don’t do this. 

“Fuck. Shit, I mean— Uh, I’m sorry. That was super weird, huh?” Tony laughs nervously. He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth and cursing his stupid brain. Of course it’s weird. He always gets too attached to people way too quickly. No wonder Pepper was his only long term relationship. She was the only person who could put up with him—everyone else just got weirded out. “Uh, see you tomorrow? Or not. Fuck, sorry, I’m just gonna hang up before this gets—”

“Tony, wait.”

“...Yeah?” Tony says, hyper-aware of how breathless he sounds. His heartbeat is ringing in his ears. Everything is going to be fine. Right? Right. The worst thing Steve could do is… break up with him.

Oh, God, that is the worst case scenario. He really should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut. 

“Tony, are you freaking out? I feel like I can hear you freaking out from all the way over here.”

“No, I’m not, of course I’m not. Who says I’m freaking out? You have no proof. I am calm, I’m calm as a clam, is that the saying? Did I get it right? Or was it happy— Anyway, I am absolutely calm, I’m the calmest I could possibly be. Any calmer and I’d be asleep. I’m—”

“Tony. Breathe.”

Tony forces himself to drag in a slow breath as he grips the arm of his seat with his free hand, focusing on the soothing hum of the airplane’s engine.

“Look, Tony, I—”

“No, listen. I’m sorry I jumped the gun, I hope I haven’t weirded you out or anything. You really, really don’t have to say it back to me. I mean it.”

“Tony—”

“No, in fact— Please don’t say anything. It’s fine. Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay?”

“But—”

“Drop it, Steve. Please?” Tony pleads. Clearly, his brain hadn’t been firing on all cylinders. That is the only reason that could explain his temporary lapse of judgment. “Look, I feel like talking about it more right now is going to send me spiraling into a panic attack.”

“...Okay. Fine.”

“Thank you. Uh, I’ll see you when I get home. If I get home. If the plane doesn’t crash. Haha.”

“Would you please stop saying that? It’s not funny.”

Tony latches onto the change in topic like a lifeline. “It is objectively true, you know. In order for me to be able to see you tomorrow, the plane has to land safely, and unfortunately, some things are just beyond my control. Like, who’s to say the plane won’t explode mid-air and—”

“The plane is going to land safely and you’re going to come back home to me in one piece. This is non-negotiable, Tony. You hear me?” Steve demands, his voice all hard authority and no-nonsense, like there will be Consequences should Tony fail to comply. 

As if he could ensure Tony’s safety with the force of his willpower alone. 

Come back home to me. 

That sounds good. Really good. Tony closes his eyes and pictures Steve’s baby blues in his mind’s eye. Warmth flowers in his chest.

“I hear you.”

“Great.”

“Awesome. I, uh, I gotta go now.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Tony hangs up and lets Paul know that he is done with his phone call. The jittery feeling left over from his call with Steve refuses to leave him, however, so he pulls up the drawing application on his phone and begins sketching something just to give his brain something else to fixate on.

He tends to lose track of time when he is hyperfocused on a project, so he isn’t exactly surprised that the next time he becomes aware of his surroundings, the plane is already well up in the air, his sketch of what looks like a flying coffee pot is almost finished, and Robbie is placing a plate of spaghetti carbonara on the table in front of him. 

“Spaghetti carbonara. With extra cheese.”

Tony’s mouth waters as he eyes the mountain of grated Pecorino Romano sitting atop the pasta. He sighs dreamily and smiles up at Robbie.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Enjoy, Boss.” Robbie grins and slips back into the kitchen.

He only realizes just how truly famished he is after taking his first bite, and proceeds to finish the rest of his meal with gusto. Afterward, he spends the majority of the remaining flight time sleeping, the result of post-carbonara food coma and his sleep-deprivation finally catching up to him. 

It’s well past two in the morning when Tony finally makes it to his floor in the Tower, which is why he is surprised to see Steve sitting on his couch, one of Tony’s fantasy novels open in hand. 

“Steve, what are you doing here?”

Steve’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice. Tony frowns. “Actually, why are you awake at all?” He is usually an early sleeper, unless—

“Nightmare?” Tony gives him a sympathetic smile. It wouldn’t be the first time. In the early days of their friendship, Tony and Steve would sit together in the living room whenever they had trouble sleeping, talking to each other until the sun came up.

Steve shakes his head, closing the book with his eyes still trained on Tony. “No, I was just… waiting for you.” Tony blinks. 

“It’s…” Tony glances at his watch. “Half past two. In the morning.”

“I know, I just…” Steve stands up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He ambles over before coming to a stop right in front of Tony. “I wanted to see you.”

Tony stares at him uncomprehendingly. “You’ll see me later anyway.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t want to go to sleep without seeing you first,” Steve says, low and earnest. His gaze wanders around Tony’s face, as if he were cataloguing each and every facial feature and trying to locate any changes he might’ve missed during his absence.

“Oh.”

Steve steps closer, arms snaking around Tony’s waist and pulling him close. His next words are whispered against Tony’s shoulder.

“I knew you’d make it home safely.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You were wrong.”

“I was… wrong.” Tony swallows. “Uh, turns out the bad feeling completely disappeared after I woke up from my nap on the plane, so I suspect that perhaps the bad feeling I got was due to my severe hunger and sleep deprivation. I mean, I’ve heard about hallucinations caused by hunger or exhaustion, but this was—” 

Steve presses a soft kiss to the column of Tony’s neck, effectively cutting off Tony’s ramblings.

“Tony,” Steve whispers against his skin.

“Yeah?” Tony squeaks.

“Please don’t call me before a flight and say that you think the plane is going to crash, ever again.”

“Right. Noted. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Steve says, pulling away slightly and loosening his hold around Tony.

Tony allows himself to relax, letting out a quiet sigh. This thing with Steve is so new and delicate that every single physical contact still sends his heart fluttering, butterflies going crazy in his stomach.

Which makes, in retrospect, his abrupt love confession—as truthful as it was—that much more insane. God, Stark. Never do that again.

Except, it turns out that Steve only pulled away to slide his hands down the back of Tony’s thighs, wrapping his hands around them, and then lifting him up without warning.

Tony yelps, and in his alarm, promptly locks his ankles around Steve’s waist. When Steve begins moving, Tony quickly wraps his arms around Steve, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“Uh, Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve says, calm and nonchalant, as he begins walking away from the elevator. 

“Um— Wait— My suitcase—”

“Leave it. It’ll still be there in the morning.”

Tony blinks, staring dumbfoundedly at his lonely suitcase, abandoned by the elevator. It becomes smaller and smaller with every step Steve takes. 

“Where are we going?”

“Your bedroom.”

“Why are you carrying me there?”

“Because I want to.”

“You know it’ll be faster if you just let me walk, right?”

“Maybe. But you won’t be in my arms.”

“Um.”

“Bear with me, will you? I missed you.”

“I, uh, missed you too.”

Steve hums, satisfied. Tony lets himself settle more comfortably in Steve’s arms.

When Steve has successfully carried him to his bedroom, Tony fully expects Steve to deposit him on the bed. 

That is not, in fact, what happens. 

Instead, Steve turns around and begins walking backwards towards the bed before sitting down on it. Tony, still seated on his lap, swallows and pulls back slightly to look at Steve. 

“Look, Steve, as much as I’ve missed you, I’m kind of tired right now. I mean, don’t get me wrong. This whole carrying thing? Great. Very romantic. Ten out of ten. But I’m just not in the mood for sex, you know? Like, I’m not even sure I would be able to get it up if—”

“We’re not going to have sex.”

Tony blinks.

“We’re not?”

“We’re not. I’m just here to tuck you in.”

“Oh.”

Steve reaches up and begins undoing his tie. After setting it aside on the bed, he begins to unbutton Tony’s shirt. He takes his time, one button at a time.

“So…” Steve begins with a deep breath as he unbuttons the final button. “Did you mean, uh, what you said to me? On the phone?”

Tony closes his eyes, feels his own cheeks heating up. “Steve—”

“I’m sorry, Tony, I know you told me to drop it. But— I feel like if you did mean what you said, I owe it to you to… set the records straight.” When Tony opens his eyes again, Steve is looking up at him, blue eyes solemn.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We have only been together for a week. Well, eight days. In fact, we’ve only been on one date. And it was interrupted. By giant lizards.” Steve chuckles incredulously. 

Tony remembers that day very well. They were in the middle of dessert at Tony’s favorite Italian place when they received the call to assemble—something about giant lizards wreaking havoc in Central Park.

The lizards had green, gunky blood that got into the nooks and crannies of the suit. It had taken forever to clean.

“But Tony…” Steve gathers the material of Tony’s unbuttoned shirt in both of his fists, pulling him closer until their noses are only inches apart.

The second their eyes meet, Steve smiles the sweet, lopsided smile that never fails to make Tony’s stomach flip.

“I need you to know that… I didn’t have to date you to know that I loved you. I figured that a long time ago.”

Tony stills, breath frozen in his lungs.

“I guess, what I’m saying is… I love you too. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Tony. Even way before—” Steve breaks eye contact, looks down as he clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is tight. “Way before we got together. I’m talking… years before.”

Tony still finds it hard to breathe. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, the word more breath than sound. He meets Tony’s dazed gaze. “So you don’t have to worry about… jumping the gun. Not with me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels a lightness growing inside of him, spreading outwards to his extremities.

“Good.” Steve smiles, warm and impossibly fond.

“...Glad we’re on the same page.” Tony’s gaze drops down to Steve’s lips.

“We are.” Steve inches closer, nose brushing Tony’s. He then tilts his head ever so slightly and takes Tony’s lower lip between his, kissing him so tenderly Tony’s heart feels like it’s about to burst with it.

Steve’s warm hands slide up Tony’s naked back under his open shirt, sending goosebumps breaking across his skin. Tony buries his hands in Steve’s hair and relishes the feeling of the soft strands caught between his fingers. They stay caught up in each other for a few moments, capturing and releasing each other’s lips until the need for breath becomes too unbearable.

They break apart eventually, accompanied by soft chuckles. Steve smiles up at him, lips slick and cherry red, courtesy of Tony. He reaches up to caress Tony’s right eyebrow with the pad of his thumb, fleeting and affectionate.

“Get some rest, okay? You must be really tired. I should probably go to bed, too.”

Tony looks down at his lap, clearing his throat. “Uh, I know that we haven’t done this before, but…”

Steve waits patiently for Tony to gather his thoughts, hands stroking up and down Tony’s sides.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Tony finds the courage to meet Steve’s eyes, holding his breath.

Steve’s blue eyes are gazing at him intently, looking at him like he’s the only person in the world worth his sole, undivided attention.

Tony swallows. “No sex. Just to sleep. If you—”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Tony feels his own lips slowly curve up into a smile, wide and unbridled. 

“Good.” Steve nods, lips twitching, his eyes never leaving Tony’s. 

Tony grins, feeling near giddy with delight. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“We are, sweetheart.” Steve looks up at him, blue eyes fond and smile radiant. “We definitely are.”