#I didn't really get to do it as a kid or skate or do anything that wasn't Careful

[yvaineseleneposts]

Not like that... right?

A/N: Sorry about the late post. Yesterday I was watching Eurovision... I don't know why either but that means I had to upload on a Sunday. Have a nice week!

Requested: no

Pairing: Jack Hughes x reader

Words: 3k

Warning(s): none

You’ve known Jack since he was just the lanky kid next door who couldn’t sit still to save his life. Summers were filled with scraped knees and melting popsicles, and winters were battles on frozen ponds where he insisted he was a better skater than you. (He was. You’d never admit it.)

Years later, not much had changed—except everything had. Now, he played for the Devils. You were working your first real job in Jersey. And even though life had grown up, Jack? He still made fart noises with his armpit when he thought no one was watching.

You were watching. All the time, lately.

You two had stayed close through the years. Texts during off-seasons turned into calls. Then weekend visits. Then him dragging you to games, even though you claimed you didn't understand hockey (you understood enough to yell when someone hit him too hard).

Now, it was late. You were sitting on his couch, both of you in hoodies and socks, a Marvel movie playing low in the background. You weren’t watching it.

Jack was halfway through telling a story about Luke forgetting his skates when his eyes flicked to you. “You okay?”

You blink. “Yeah. Just… long day.”

“You’ve had a lot of those lately.”

There’s something about the way he says it—soft, careful—that makes you look at him. His hair's tousled. His sweatshirt is too big on his lean frame, sleeves bunched at the wrists. His gaze lingers a second too long.

You shift. “Work’s been chaos.”

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

And you do. You always have. But that’s the problem. Because lately when you talk to Jack, your heart does this annoying flutter thing, like it’s trying to tell you something you’re not ready to hear.

So instead, you nod and lean your head against his shoulder. It's familiar. Safe.

Jack doesn’t say anything. Just lifts his arm so you can curl into him a little closer. His hand rests lightly against your arm, fingers tapping a rhythm against your sleeve like he’s thinking.

You let your eyes close. You pretend not to notice how long he sits there like that, silent and still, like he’s afraid to move. Like something’s changed.

You don’t talk about the night on the couch.

Not because it was awkward—Jack never let things get awkward between you—but because something about it felt fragile. Like if either of you mentioned how close you sat or how his hand eventually slipped into yours like it belonged there, it would break the spell.

So you said nothing. He didn’t either.

Instead, you fell back into the usual rhythm. Sort of. You still came over after work, but now you stayed later. You still teased him about his hair, but now he leaned into your touch when you smoothed it back. It was the same friendship, only softer around the edges. Tighter. Warmer.

You were sitting at his kitchen island one Saturday, elbows on the counter while Jack made the world's most chaotic smoothie. He was wearing a backwards cap, an oversized t-shirt that read “LUKE’S BIGGEST FAN,” and shorts that definitely belonged to someone else.

“Why do you even have spinach if you’re just going to pretend it doesn't exist?” you ask, eyeing the untouched bag.

Jack shrugs, dumping in an unhealthy amount of peanut butter. “Optics.”

You laugh. “For who? Me?”

He glances up. There’s something unreadable in his face for half a second. “Maybe.”

You roll your eyes and steal a sip from his smoothie before he can stop you.

“Hey! You don’t even like banana!”

“Exactly. You deserve consequences.”

He grins, stepping closer to try to take it back, but you pull the glass away and hop off the stool. He catches your wrist mid-dodge, just playfully, but then—

You’re close. Like really close.

His fingers stay around your wrist longer than they need to. Your eyes meet. There’s that flicker again. The one that makes your stomach turn traitor.

“I, uh—” You pull back too fast. The smoothie sloshes onto the floor. “Oh no.”

Jack just stares for a second, like he forgot what the hell a smoothie even is. Then he blinks, shakes it off, and grabs a paper towel.

“Classic you,” he says with a soft chuckle. “Chaos in human form.”

You grin, but your heart is doing somersaults. Because you saw it. That moment. You weren’t imagining it, were you?

Later, when you leave for the night, Jack stands at the door a beat longer than usual. His voice is quiet.

“Hey.”

You pause. Turn.

“I’m glad you’re here. Just… always.”

Your chest tightens.

“Me too,” you say. Then you smile, because it’s easier than asking what he really meant.

And what you’re too scared to hope.

Jack invites you to one of his games. Again.

But this time, it’s different. This time, when you arrive at the Prudential Center, your seats aren’t just good—they’re insanely good. As in: “How the hell did you pull this off?” good.

You don’t ask. He grins when you text him a selfie from the glass and tells you to “cheer extra loud or else.” You do. You always do.

You wait for him afterward, standing near the hallway that leads to the locker rooms. You scroll through your phone, trying to look busy, when someone stops beside you.

“Hey,” a voice says. “You here for Jack?”

You look up. A tall guy in a suit, probably some PR rep or staffer, smiles at you in a way that makes your stomach churn—not in the good way. He’s charming. Overly confident.

“Yeah,” you say cautiously. “I’m a friend.”

“You his girlfriend?”

You blink. “No. Just—friends.”

He grins like that’s an invitation. You’re saved—mercifully—by the sound of Jack’s laugh, familiar and bright as he rounds the corner, still in a zip-up warm-up jacket. His expression shifts the second he sees the guy.

“Hey,” he says to you, smile faltering only slightly. “Ready?”

The guy claps Jack on the shoulder, too friendly. “Didn’t know you had such pretty friends hanging around.”

Jack stiffens. You feel it.

“That’s enough,” Jack says, light but sharp.

The guy raises his hands like it’s a joke, mutters something about heading out, and disappears.

You exhale. “Well, that wasn’t gross at all.”

Jack doesn’t answer right away. Just walks beside you, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, jaw tight.

“You okay?”

He glances down. “He was out of line.”

“I’m fine, Jack. He’s just a creep.”

“Still,” Jack mutters. “I didn’t like it.”

You slow your steps. “Why?”

His mouth opens. Closes. Then: “I just didn’t, alright?”

But there’s something in the way he says it. Something hot underneath all that quiet.

You don’t push. You can’t. Not when your heart is already hammering because when he looked at you—really looked at you—right after that guy walked away?

It wasn’t nothing. And maybe he knows it, too. Because when he drops you off at your place later that night, Jack lingers in the doorway.

You look up at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Jack?”

He swallows. His eyes flick to your mouth. And linger. But he steps back.

“Night,” he says. “Text me when you’re in.”

And just like that, the door closes.

But the feeling? The question he didn’t ask?

That stays.

It starts with rain.

Like, actual biblical levels of rain. Sheets of it crashing against your window, the sky split open by lightning. You’re curled up in bed, phone in hand, texting Jack about how the storm is making your lights flicker when he calls instead.

“Are you good?” His voice is laced with concern, soft and sleepy.

“Yeah. Cozy. Creeped out. Classic horror movie vibes.”

“Want me to come get you?”

You laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” he says. “I’d rather you be here.”

You’re already slipping on your hoodie.

You show up at his apartment soaked through and slightly breathless. He opens the door with a blanket slung around his shoulders like a cape and a mug in one hand.

“Wow,” you say, smirking. “Chivalry and hot chocolate?”

He grins. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”

You are. Deeply. Disastrously.

Later, you’re both on the couch again, the storm pounding against the windows while a rerun of The Office plays on mute. Jack is beside you, blanket pulled over both your legs. His arm brushes yours. His thigh is warm against yours. Neither of you move.

“You can stay,” he says, voice quiet.

You glance over. “What?”

“Tonight. I mean. If you don’t want to drive back. You can take the bed, obviously.”

“Or we could just—” you pause, immediately regretting it, “—share it.”

Jack doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you. Really looks.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Okay.”

It’s late when you finally climb into his bed, backs turned like two people pretending they’re not pretending. You can hear his breathing. Slow. Uneven. Neither of you speak. Then, in the dark:

“Remember that summer I broke my wrist?” Jack murmurs.

You smile against the pillow. “You refused to stop playing mini sticks with Luke even though your cast smelled like death.”

“I remember you signed it,” he says. “You wrote: ‘Don’t be dumb, idiot.’”

You laugh softly. “Classic me.”

There’s a long pause.

“I think about stuff like that a lot,” Jack says. “How easy it always was. With you.”

Your heart thuds. “It still is.”

He shifts, like he might turn to face you, but doesn’t. “Sometimes I feel like something’s… different.”

You hold your breath. You want to say, Me too. But instead, you whisper, “What do you mean?”

He exhales, voice just above a whisper. “I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. Goodnight.”

But it does matter. And you both know it.

You lie there for a long time, eyes open in the dark, feeling the space between you shrink with every unspoken word.

And just before sleep claims you, you feel it—Jack’s hand, reaching quietly for yours under the blanket. You let him hold it. No one says a word.

You wake up before him.

It’s early—the light through the blinds is soft, golden, too gentle to be real. For a moment, you forget where you are. Then you remember the warm weight of a hand still clasped in yours. Jack. You’re in his bed. Facing him. You don’t dare move.

He’s asleep, mouth slightly parted, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His hair is a mess, flattened on one side, and the blanket has slipped down his shoulder. He looks impossibly peaceful. And so close.

Your hands are still tangled beneath the covers. You hadn’t let go. Neither had he. Eventually, his eyes flutter open. He blinks once. Twice. Then he sees you. For a beat, neither of you says a word.

“Morning,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

“Morning.”

Silence.

“I didn’t mean to—” he starts.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you interrupt.

Jack studies you, the way your hair’s a mess, how your cheek is creased from the pillow. You wonder what he sees. You wonder if he feels it too.

“Last night,” he says, “felt... different.”

“It was.”

More silence. Charged this time. The kind that hums between bodies that know exactly how near they are. Your fingers are still brushing.

He sits up slowly, running a hand through his hair. You follow, mirroring him, the blanket slipping down your back.

You’re both sitting now, legs crossed, knees nearly touching.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, not looking at you.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He finally turns. “If I’d kissed you last night… would that have been okay?”

Your breath catches. Your heart kicks into gear like it’s running a marathon.

You swallow. “Yeah. It would've.”

Jack’s eyes fall to your mouth. Just briefly. Then back up.

His hand finds yours again—nervous now. Tighter. He leans in, just enough that you can feel the shift in the air.

You tilt toward him. Everything slows.

You feel the warmth of his breath, the brush of his knee against yours. He’s right there. One inch. Maybe less.

Then—

His phone buzzes. Loud. Insistent. A jarring, stupid sound that shatters the moment. You both flinch.

He pulls back, swearing under his breath, reaching for it.

It’s Luke.

You turn away, heart pounding, trying not to look crushed.

Jack answers, mutters a quick “yeah, I’ll call you back,” and hangs up.

When he turns to you again, you’re already slipping out of bed, grabbing your sweatshirt off the chair.

“Sorry,” he says. “That wasn’t—”

“It’s okay,” you lie, forcing a smile. “We should probably eat something.”

Jack stands too, watching you like you might disappear.

He doesn’t say what you’re both thinking. Neither do you. But the almost hangs in the air like smoke. And it’s not going away.

It happens three days later.

You’ve been dodging each other ever since the almost kiss. Not on purpose—just in the way people do when everything’s changed and no one’s brave enough to say it out loud.

The texts are shorter. Calls end sooner. You still talk, but not like before.

So when Jack texts:

“You free?” “Come over?”

You hesitate but you go.

He opens the door, hoodie on, jaw tight, like he hasn’t slept right in days. You step inside, the silence heavy around you. Neither of you says hi. He doesn’t even ask if you want something to drink, which means this isn’t about small talk.

Jack stands there for a second. Hands in his hoodie pocket. Bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’s trying to find the right words and keeps missing.

Then, finally:

“You’ve been weird.”

You blink. “I’ve been weird?”

He stares at you, frustrated—more at himself than at you.

“Yeah. And me. I know. I just—I need to say something and if I don’t do it now, I might never—”

“Jack—”

“No. Just—let me.”

You stop. Let him breathe. His voice is low when he speaks again.

“That night? In bed? I should’ve kissed you.”

You stare at him.

“I wanted to. I still want to. I’ve been wanting to for… I don’t even know how long. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t know if it would ruin everything.”

Your chest is tight. “It wouldn’t have.”

He exhales sharply, like hearing it out loud floors him.

“Then I guess I’ve been an idiot,” he says. “Because I keep looking at you like I don’t know how to stop. And I think you know that. And I think you keep looking back.”

You take a step closer. “I do.”

He looks at you. Really looks.

“You can’t keep looking at me like that,” he says, barely above a whisper, “if you don’t want this too.”

“I do.”

It’s all he needs to hear.

Jack closes the space between you in two steps. His hand comes up to your cheek, tentative, like he still doesn’t believe this is happening. Like you might pull away. You don’t.

And when he kisses you, it’s not hesitant. It’s everything the silence has been screaming—months, years of unsaid feelings poured into one kiss that feels like coming home and setting fire to it at the same time.

When he finally pulls back, forehead resting against yours, you’re both breathless.

“That was real,” he says.

You nod.

“It always was.”

It starts where the last kiss ended—still standing in the living room, his breath hot against your lips, your pulse hammering in your throat.

Jack’s hand is still cradling your face, thumb brushing your cheek like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you in with just enough pressure to make your stomach flutter.

Your hands find his hoodie—fists curling in the soft cotton, tugging him closer.

And then he kisses you again. Deeper this time. Slower. Like he’s been dying to do it and now that he’s allowed to, he’s going to take his time.

When he finally breaks the kiss, it’s only to breathe against your mouth. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You rest your forehead against his. “I might.”

Jack chuckles softly, but there’s nothing funny in the way his hands slide down your sides, settling at your hips.

“Say it again,” he murmurs.

You blink, dazed. “What?”

“That you wanted this too.”

You press your lips to his again, lingering. “I want this, Jack.”

He exhales like it’s the first full breath he’s taken in months.

The air between you changes. Thickens. He walks you backward slowly, deliberately, until the backs of your legs hit the couch.

You fall into it together—messy, clumsy in the best way. He’s on top of you, weight warm, his mouth finding your neck, then your jaw, then your collarbone.

Your hands slip under the hem of his hoodie. He freezes for just a second—just long enough to whisper against your skin, “You sure?”

You answer by pulling it over his head.

Jack grins, breathless, and then he’s kissing you again, hands everywhere but still somehow gentle. Worshipful. Like he’s afraid to go too far but can't stop himself from trying.

He kisses your shoulder. Your wrist. Your sternum. Everywhere but where your body is aching for him, teasing like it’s a game he already knows he’s won.

“Jack—” you gasp, fingers digging into his back.

He looks up, eyes dark, voice wrecked. “Don’t look at me like that unless you want me to lose it.”

You smirk. “Maybe I want you to.”

That’s the last straw. The rest of the night unfolds in quiet moans and laughter between kisses, long pauses where you just stare at each other like, How did we wait this long?

He touches you like he’s not in a rush. Like he wants to make sure every moment is something you'll remember when you're tangled up in his sheets, heart still racing, breath still catching.

And when it's over—when you're tucked under the same blanket, legs tangled, his arm looped around your waist—he presses a kiss to your temple and whispers:

“This wasn’t just something that had to happen.”

You look up at him.

“It’s something I want again. And again.”

And the way he says it makes you believe that maybe this—you and Jack—was always going to end up here.

Right where you belong.

[evilchildeyeeter]

every time i have a pe lesson i lose a tiny bit of my will to live

heads up i kinda started venting in the tags so if you dont want to put up with that just scroll <333

[muli-wam]

JESUS, WHATS A GIRL TO DO?

THIS BOY DOESN'T EVEN KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN "THEIR", "THERE", AND "THEY ARE"

contents: smut, fluff, cursing, suggestive, college/modern AU (I will add to this as the series continues)

TAGLIST: CLOSED

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Track Runner!Ryomen Sukuna

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

Jujutsu Tech High's #1 track star falls in love with...his coaches daughter? Let's see if sukuna's "forbidden" romance can get him kicked from the team faster than getting that full ride scholarship.

Skaterboy!Ino Takuma

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Ino sees a cute girl at the skate park and decides to shoot his shot. Asking for your number turned to setting up weekly skate board practices with him because, god, you suck.

Tennis Player!Kento Nanami

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

Nanami, the quiet and reserved college kid who had a terrible haircut and a small group of friends (who he didn't necessarily like), seemed to be crushing on some girl he always sees at his local coffee shop, you. Turns out you go to his school, and you also have an interest in tennis, in which Nanami offers to teach you.

Hockey Player!Choso Kamo

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

Choso never saw it coming...literally. one second, the rink was clear and the next? Hockey gear scattered, ice burning against his cheek, and you—the pretty figure skater, right there, tangled up in the aftermath. He doesnt know how this happened, still half stunned when he blinks up at you. Gosh, you were so beautiful, was he dreaming?

Soccer Player!Satoru Gojo

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After Satoru's soccer team manager retired, he got replaced with you. And Satoru thinks your really, really pretty. Through his unfailing charm and good looks, Satoru plans to make you fall for him harder than he already fell for you.

Swimmer!Suguru Geto

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You met Suguru when you almost drowned on the 5ft end of the pool. Embarrassing, I know. You swore back and forth to him that you could swim, to which he only halfway believed. But, you were cute and he enjoyed teasing you—much to your dismay—so suguru decided he wanted to keep you around. Though he never planned on falling in love with you.

Boxer!Toji Fushiguro

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

Toji Fushiguro, the most feared and respected boxer in the nation, absolutely, positively, did not do love. Or relationships. or anything for that matter. Until he met you, that is. The cute little ball of attitude (from his perspective) who had no clue who the, Toji Fushiguro was. How dare you. I mean, it's not your fault you don't watch boxing, but how dare you not worship at his feet. Turns out Toji was the one who ended up worshiping you...

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Comment if you would like to be added to the taglist!

[ekybrini]

slipping through my fingers| JACK HUGHES

— ⟡ summary | in which y/n and Jake childhood best friends who've always had something there for each other. But once jack gets drafted everything changed for both of them.

— ⟡ warnings | none (that I know of)

— ⟡ word count | 17.8k (GUYS IM SORRY)

— ⟡ gabs note | hiii!!! im so excited to finally start writing again! I apologizer if this seems rushed. also this is EXTREMELY INACCURATE!!! please don't think this is literal, I don't know how some of these things work. also i apologize if this is cringe bc I CANNOT write romance for the life of me. I'm currently on spring break so I'll be trying to take advantage of being able to write a few things! if anyone wants to request or suggest anything don't hesitate to go into my inbox . i'll try to get to it and write it as soon as I can :) after spring break I may be a little inactive as i'm trying to lock in, in some of my classes before the semesters is over (ap econ and living earth are actually kicking my ass)

⟡ slipping through your fingers | jack hughes (jacks pov)

Part two

You've known Jack since you were kids. Backyard games of street hockey, summer nights spent on the lake, and watching him skate around with his brothers. you were always there. best friends through and through. 

The first time you met Jack, you were about 10 years old. You had just moved into the neighborhood and the first thing you noticed was the street hockey that was happening right outside of your house. The kids from the neighborhood were scattered in every direction, sticks raised, yelling at each other. The one who caught your attention right away was the kid with the wild hair, darting around the group with such speed that it was almost impossible to keep up. He made it look effortless. He, of course, was jack. 

You were lonely at first, standing awkwardly by the curb or watching the game through your bedroom window . Jack, always the curious one, had spotted you one day as you were sitting on the curb and skated over with a big grin.

"You gonna watch all day, or do you wanna join us?" he’d asked, not missing a beat, despite being out of breath. his eyes were full of that contagious energy.

You'd hesitated, feeling unsure. “I don’t know. I’m not really good at this... I’ve never really played before.”

"Come on! I’ll teach you," Jack insisted. "It’s easy, you just gotta push the puck this way, and then..." He demonstrated, sending the puck flying past you. "See? Just like that!"

It wasn’t perfect, but you tried. And Jack, always encouraging, cheered you on even as you missed the puck completely a few times. "Don’t worry. You’ll get it. It’s all about having fun."

From that moment on, you and Jack were inseparable. Summer after summer, it was the same routine. Jack, with his scruffy hair and infectious smile, would be the one to drag you out onto the street, even if you were just coming off a bad day at school or feeling a little down.

One of your favorite memories came when you were both about 12 years old. It was a hot, sticky summer afternoon. Jack, as usual, had the game already set up, calling the shots while the other neighborhood kids were pretending to be superstars in a game that felt far more like a chaotic free for all than a real match.

"You in or what?" Jack shouted, holding out a stick. “This game’s going nowhere without you.”

You rolled your eyes, already seeing the sweat dripping from his forehead, his shirt clinging to his back. "You know, I was just thinking about going inside and having a popsicle."

"Are you really gonna let me down like this?" Jack raised an eyebrow, grinning from ear to ear. “you promised you'd play after school." 

"Fine," you said with a laugh, grabbing the stick. "But this time, I’m definitely winning."

You didn't win, at least not that day, but you had so much fun trying. Jack was so fast, his little tricks and turns keeping you on your toes, but every time he made a move, you were there to give it your best shot. You kept pushing him, running after the puck until the sun dipped below the horizon, and both of you were covered in dirt and sweat, laughing until your stomachs hurt.

That night, you sat side by side on the dock by the lake, feet dangling in the cool water as you two ate ice cream bars. The night was quiet except for the distant croak of frogs. 

“You were so close to getting me,” Jack said between breaths, a playful edge to his voice. He tilted his head back to look at the sky. “You’ll get me next time. Just wait.”

You chuckled, watching him with a teasing smile. "Yeah, sure, Jack. Maybe when I’m 18 and you’ve forgotten how to skate."

Jack laughed loudly, nudging you with his elbow. “Not a chance. I’ll always be better. But hey, I can teach you some moves if you want.”

“Oh, I bet you would,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Teach me how to win, too?”

"Obviously," he said with a grin, though there was a genuine warmth in his eyes. “I’ll make you into a skating legend if that's what you want.”

You didn't know it then, but those summers spent with Jack would become some of the best memories of your life. Even when the seasons changed and the street hockey games moved indoors. Jack’s determination never left. You spent every Saturday watching him at the rink, your nose pressed against the cold glass as he glided across the ice, his stick flashing, eyes full of focus. He was good. Too good, in fact. And with every game, the crowd cheered louder with his dreams growing bigger.

⟡

By the time you and Jack hit your early teens, things start to feel different. It’s not obvious at first just a lingering glance here, a nervous laugh there. Jack’s still Jack competitive, loud, always pulling you into whatever chaos he’s creating. But sometimes, when his hand brushes against yours, or when he looks at you a second too long after you’ve made a joke, it feels like something is shifting beneath the surface. You notice it, even if you don’t understand it yet.

The way he seems to notice you more, how he’s always trying to catch your eye in a group conversation, how his voice drops just a little when he says your name. It’s subtle, and you try to ignore it. He’s your best friend, right? Nothing has changed between you two. You’re still the same, pulling pranks on each other, laughing at dumb things, challenging each other to stupid games on long summer afternoons.

But the moments keep building like when he reaches across the table to grab something and his fingers graze the back of your hand, leaving a warmth that lingers far longer than it should. Or when you catch him staring at you when you’re talking, and his expression shifts just a fraction of something unreadable there for a brief second before he masks it with a grin.

And then there are those times when the air feels too quiet. Like when you’re lying next to each other on the grass, watching the stars, and the silence stretches between you two in a way it never has before. It’s not comfortable anymore, this space. It’s heavy.

You’re 14 when you notice it for real. You’re both sitting on the dock, summer sun dipping low behind the trees, casting everything in a golden haze. Jack’s freshly showered from practice, hair still damp, the scent of soap and fresh air clinging to him. You’re half listening to him ramble on about a play he’s been trying to perfect, his words weaving in and out of the soft, distant hum of the lake’s waves against the dock.

But something in the air is different. It feels thicker. The kind of tension you get when you can’t tell whether the storm is coming, or if it’s already here and you’re just waiting for it to break. You can feel the weight of the evening sun on your skin, but your heart feels heavy, like it’s pounding against your ribs, a rhythm you’re trying to ignore.

“You’re not even listening,” he accuses, nudging you with his knee, and you startle, realizing you haven’t heard a word he’s said for the last few minutes.

“I’m listening,” you argue, even though you weren’t.

Jack raises an eyebrow, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “No, you’re not. You’ve been all quiet. What's up with you?”

You scoff, trying to brush it off. “Me? You’re the one who’s weird,” you tease, attempting to lighten the mood, but your words feel hollow, even to you.

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he studies you, his expression more serious than usual. His gaze shifts from your face to your hands, and then back to your eyes like he’s trying to figure something out that you aren’t even aware of.

“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugs, leaning back on his elbows, staring out across the lake with a far-off look in his eyes. “Or maybe it’s just us.”

The words hang in the air heavy with meaning you don’t fully understand. You freeze trying to process what he’s said. It isn’t just the words, it's the way he said them. The tone in his voice is softer than usual almost uncertain. There’s something fragile in his eyes, like he’s letting a piece of himself slip past you hoping you’ll catch it, but not quite trusting you to. You don’t know how to respond.

You try to shake off the discomfort. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jack glances at you, his lips quivering at the edges, but there’s a heaviness in his gaze now. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “Just growing up.” He pauses, his voice quieter now almost too soft for the space between you two. He looks at you then, really looks at you his eyes searching for something in yours like he’s asking a question that doesn’t have an easy answer. Something you’re not ready to answer not sure you even can.

You want to say something to reach out and close that space but you can’t find the words. Everything that’s been building between you two feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something unspoken. And the closer Jack gets to this new world he’s creating for himself this future that’s already starting to pull him away from you the more it feels like you’re both standing on the precipice of it.

You don’t have an answer, so you reach over and grab his hand. It’s instinctual, a reflex more than anything else. His fingers slide easily between yours, like they’ve always belonged there. It’s familiar, comforting even. But there’s something different in the way he holds your hand this time. He doesn’t let go immediately like he always does. He holds on for just a moment longer, and in that brief pause, the weight of it hits you.

His gaze drops to your joined hands, and you see a flicker in his eyes something unreadable, maybe even a little vulnerable before he looks back up at you. The quiet between you two stretches longer than it should, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the summer air, or because of the uncertainty that’s silently wrapping itself around both of you.

“I think we’ll figure it out,” you say softly, trying to anchor this moment, even though the ground beneath you feels like it’s shifting.

Jack’s smile is small, unsure. It’s not his usual confident grin, but it’s there. Barely, but it’s there. He doesn’t let go of your hand. Not yet. 

You don’t know what “figuring it out” means, or if you even can figure it out. All you know is that in this moment, with the sun setting behind the trees and the sound of water lapping against the dock beneath you, everything feels poised on the edge of something you don’t understand.

But you’re scared that the moment you try to reach for it, Jack might pull away.

⟡

It’s late, the fire has burned down to a few glowing embers, and the crickets are the only sound beside the occasional splash of water against the dock. You’re sitting with Jack, your legs hanging over the side, toes brushing the cool surface of the lake. The night is quiet, almost too quiet, and for the first time in a long time, there’s a distance between you that wasn’t there before.

Jack’s usually carefree, his humor quick, his energy contagious. But tonight, he’s different. He’s quieter, eyes lost somewhere beyond the horizon. You’ve known him long enough to know when something’s off.

"Jack, you okay?" you ask, not pushing, just asking.

"Do you ever feel like things are changing?" His voice is low, almost hesitant, and you turn to look at him, your heart skipping a beat.

You nod slowly, sensing that this conversation is heading somewhere you’ve both been avoiding for too long. "Yeah, I’ve been feeling it." You pause, meeting his eyes, and for the first time, you really see him. His face, the way his eyes linger on you, the way his lips part like he’s about to say something more. It’s all so familiar, and yet, everything feels new. "It’s been hard to ignore."

Jack exhales sharply, as if he’s been holding his breath. He leans back, letting his head rest against the wood of the dock, looking up at the stars above. "I’ve been trying to figure it out. For a while now. What’s going on between us."

You swallow, the weight of his words settling in your chest. Your voice is barely a whisper when you respond. "What do you mean?"

Jack doesn’t look at you right away, but you see his jaw tense, like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he glances over at you, his gaze intense. "I think I’ve been avoiding it. The way things have felt. I’ve always known you meant a lot to me. But it’s more than that now. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it."

Your heart races. This isn’t just a fleeting moment, this is him, telling you exactly what you’ve been feeling. Your stomach flips as the words finally hit you.

"I’ve been feeling it too," you admit, your voice steady but your pulse thundering in your ears. "It’s different now, Jack. And I can’t pretend it’s not."

There’s a long silence between you two as the words settle in the space around you. You both know it’s out there now the truth that neither of you could avoid forever. The air feels thick, charged with everything you’ve been holding back.

Jack’s gaze softens as he turns fully toward you. He reaches out, his hand brushing against yours. "I’ve tried not to think about it, but it’s impossible," he admits, his thumb tracing along the back of your hand. "I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of you as just my best friend. And now I don’t know how to go back."

You feel your breath catch in your throat. This is it. The thing you’ve both been dancing around for so long, the thing neither of you knew how to say. But now, here it is, raw and real.

"I don’t want to go back," you say, your voice soft but certain. "I’ve felt the same way, Jack. For a while now."

"You know, I keep thinking back to when we were kids," he says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. "Back when things were simpler. We used to hang out, play hockey, talk about everything and nothing. I always thought that was enough."

You smile, remembering those simpler times. "It was enough. It still is."

Jack laughs under his breath, but there’s something different in it. "Yeah. But now... I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about how things feel between us lately. And I don’t know how to handle it."

Your heart picks up a little pace, and you look at him, feeling a shift in the air between you two. It’s subtle, but it's there. His eyes are locked on you now, and the usual teasing glint is gone.

"I think I’ve known for a while," you admit, voice barely above a whisper. "That things have changed. That maybe… we’ve changed."

Jack’s gaze softens, and for a second, everything feels like it’s falling into place, like the puzzle pieces are finally lining up. "I’ve been thinking about it too," he says, his voice low. "And I don’t know if I’m ready for this to be weird between us. I don’t want it to be weird."

Your stomach flips at the vulnerability in his voice. "I don’t think it has to be. It doesn’t have to be weird, Jack."

He looks at you for a long moment, and you can tell he’s weighing his next words carefully. He reaches over, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and that simple touch feels like the universe’s nudge, reminding you that things have always been easy with him. There’s no pretending with Jack. There’s never been any pretending.

"I guess we’ve always been able to figure things out," Jack says, his voice steady now. "And maybe this is just… one of those times."

You nod, your chest tight as you try to put into words what you’ve been feeling for so long. But nothing really needs to be said. This moment, this quiet understanding between you two, is enough.

Jack leans in just a little, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, but not enough to cross the final line. His gaze flickers between your eyes, lingering on your lips before returning to your eyes again, as if he’s waiting for something. The space between you both seems impossibly small, charged with everything that’s unsaid.

You can’t deny it anymore the way your heart races in your chest, the way your breath feels shallow, as if you’ve been holding it in all this time. This moment, this change between you, feels like it could either break everything or put it all back together.

His hand hovers just inches from yours, like he’s unsure whether to close the distance, like he’s waiting for you to decide. The air is thick with the weight of it. You’ve both danced around this for so long, carefully, quietly, but now it feels like everything is teetering on the edge. One move, one step, and it’ll change everything.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” Jack’s voice is almost a whisper, his usual teasing gone. There’s something softer in the way he says it, like he’s genuinely asking, genuinely uncertain for the first time.

You laugh quietly, but it doesn’t feel like the teasing kind of laugh you’re used to. It’s shaky, full of nerves. “No... Just a little confused, I guess. Not sure if this is all too much.”

Jack shifts closer, and his hand brushes against yours, the lightest touch that sends a jolt through you. It’s a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. He doesn’t look away now, and neither do you. His breath is slow, steady, and in the stillness, you hear his heart beating in time with yours.

“I’m not sure either,” he admits, his voice low. “But I think I’ve known for a while… I don’t think we can keep pretending things are the same. I can’t. And I’m not sure what will happen next, but I know I don’t want to screw it up.”

You swallow, your own uncertainty mirrored in his eyes. Everything that’s been left unsaid finally hangs in the air between you two, heavy and undeniable. The fear of what could change, of what could be lost, and the quiet hope that maybe just maybe it could work.

"Jack…” You start to say something, anything, but the words stick in your throat. You want to say that you’ve been feeling it too, that you’re terrified of losing this, of messing it all up. But the weight of it all is too much. So instead, you just shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the uncertainty in your chest. “I don’t know what happens next either.”

You hold his gaze for a beat longer, everything inside you pulling toward him, wanting to close the space between you both. And with that final breath, that quiet understanding, you realize it doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be figured out right now.

You lean in the rest of the way, tilting your head slightly, and then Jack’s lips meet yours.

It’s nothing like you expected. It’s soft, hesitant at first, like you both are testing the waters. But it’s real. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re finally on the same page. It’s not about the future or the fear of change it’s just about right now, and the way everything feels when it’s just the two of you.

When you pull away, there’s a breathless pause, but it’s not awkward. It’s not forced. It’s just you, and him, and everything that’s been building between you finally making sense.

Jack’s forehead rests gently against yours. His eyes are still closed, and there’s a quiet smile playing on his lips. “I think I could get used to this,” he says, voice low, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

You let out a soft laugh, the tension between you both easing, and for the first time, it feels like you don’t need to say anything more. You both know. It’s not perfect, it’s not figured out yet but it’s real, and maybe that’s enough for now.

⟡

It’s almost midnight when your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You’re half asleep, barely registering the sound until it buzzes again. You squint at the screen, the glow too harsh in the dark room. It’s a text from Jack. “are you up?” 

You rub your eyes and sit up the sleepiness fading as you type back. “yeah, what’s up? Are you okay?its midnight.” The dots appear and disappear. Then nothing. You frown, already knowing where this is going. “ want me to come over?” This time, the dots stay. “You don’t have too, just want to talk to you.”

You slip out of bed, grabbing a sweatshirt and slipping on your shoes without even thinking about it. Your house is quiet as you head out the back door and cut across the yard. Jack’s house is familiar, the kind of place you could walk to blindfolded. The back door is unlocked like it always is.

You find him on the couch, the TV on low, playing some old hockey highlights. His head is tipped back against the cushion but his eyes are open dark circles shadowing his face. He looks up when he hears you, his expression softening in a way that makes your heart ache a little.

“You didn’t have to come,” Jack says, sitting up.

“You knew I would,” you reply, kicking off your shoes and sitting down beside him. Your knee bumps against his. He’s in sweats and an old usa hockey hoodie, and his hair’s still damp from a shower. He looks tired.

Jack doesn’t say anything for a long time. His eyes stay on the screen, but you can tell he’s not really watching. The hum of the commentary blends into the background. You wait, not pushing you’ve always known how to give him space when he needs it.

“I can’t sleep,” he says finally, voice low. His knee bounces restlessly. “I keep thinking about the combine.”

You lean back against the couch, watching the screen as a highlight reel of some playoff game flickers by. “What about it?”

Jack sighs. “Everything. The tests. The interviews. The scouts. If I screw up, it’s going to be everywhere.” His hand runs through his hair, leaving it messy. “I mean, I’ve trained for this my whole life, right? But now that it’s actually here I don’t know.”

“You’re not going to screw up,” you say softly.

Jack lets out a hollow laugh. “Yeah? What if I do?”

You nudge his leg with your foot. “You won’t. But even if you did it wouldn’t change anything. Not with me.”

Jack’s eyes flick toward you, guarded but searching. He’s quiet for a beat. Then, so quietly you almost don’t catch it, “It’d change everything else.”

You shift toward him, turning so your knee presses more firmly against his. “Jack, you’ve worked your ass off for this. One bad day at the combine isn’t going to erase years of training and games and scouts already knowing you’re good enough.”

Jack’s jaw tightens, his eyes falling to his hands. His thumb rubs absently along the inside of his palm. “Yeah, but what if I’m not enough?”

You don’t hesitate. You reach over, lacing your fingers through his. His hand is warm, his skin rough from years of hockey sticks and gloves. He tenses for half a second, then relaxes into the touch.

“You’re enough,” you say, quiet but steady. “You’ve always been enough, Jack. Even if you didn’t have hockey.”

Jack’s eyes lift to meet yours, wide and a little raw. His thumb grazes the side of your hand, slow and deliberate.

“You really believe that?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Jack’s mouth curves into the smallest smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s something. His gaze drops back to the screen, though his hand stays in yours, his thumb running over your knuckles.

For a while, neither of you speak. The silence isn’t uncomfortable it’s the kind of quiet that feels like home. Jack’s breathing evens out, his knee resting against yours. The highlights on the screen blur together.

“Stay?” Jack asks after a long moment. His voice is quiet, almost hesitant.

You squeeze his hand. “Yeah.”

Jack shifts, leaning back against the couch. You lean into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder. His hand stays tangled with yours, his thumb brushing back and forth along your knuckles in a steady rhythm. Slowly, the tension in his body eases.

“Thanks,” Jack murmurs. His head tips toward yours, his breath warm against your hair.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you say, eyes drifting shut. “Just remember this. When it gets hard, when the pressure’s too much, remember you don’t have to do it alone.”

Jack’s hand tightens around yours, his breath catching for half a second. Then he relaxes.

“I’ll remember,” he promises, voice low and sure.

You smile, your heart steady now as you let the sound of his breathing and the flicker of the TV lull you toward sleep. You know there’s still a long road ahead, the combine, the draft, Jack’s rookie year  but for now, this is enough.

It’s late afternoon when you find Jack on the ice, alone.

The rink is almost empty and quite the kind of quiet that makes the sound of skates cutting into the ice seem louder. Jack’s in a plain grey hoodie, a puck sliding back and forth between his stick blade as he moves through the neutral zone. His head is down, shoulders tense, and even from the stands, you can tell he’s overthinking it. His movements are sharp, almost mechanical like he’s trying too hard to be perfect.

You sit down on the bleachers, the cold from the rink seeping through your jeans. Jack’s been like this all week quiet, short answers, disappearing for extra hours at the rink. You didn’t have to ask why. The NHL Combine is in two weeks. The pressure’s been building, and Jack’s not the type to admit when it’s too much.

A sharp slap of the puck against the glass pulls you from your thoughts. Jack’s skating toward the blue line, his stick dragging behind him as he breathes heavily, a little unsteady. He circles back toward center ice, but his stride falters slightly just enough for you to notice.

“You’re overthinking it,” you call out, standing.

Jack glances up, his expression closed off but his eyes soften when he sees you. He coasts toward the boards, resting his forearms against the top. His breath comes out in sharp clouds of condensation.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says but there’s no bite to his words.

You shrug. “Figured you’d need moral support.”

Jack huffs a soft laugh but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His gaze drops to the ice. “Not really playing like someone who deserves it.”

You step closer, your hands resting on the edge of the boards. “Jack, you’re allowed to have a bad practice.”

Jack shakes his head. “Not now. Not this close.” His hands flex around his stick. “I can’t screw this up.”

“You won’t.”

Jack’s eyes flick toward you. There’s something guarded in his expression the same look he gets when he’s trying not to show how much it’s getting to him. His eyes are dark under the shadows of his helmet.

“You don’t know that,” he says quietly.

You swallow, searching for the right words. “Yeah, I do.”

Jack exhales sharply, his gaze drifting to the ice. He’s quiet for a long time before he speaks again, his voice low. “What if I’m not good enough?”

Your chest tightens at the vulnerability in his voice. He’s always been confident, cocky, even but this is different. This is the fear he doesn’t let other people see.

You rest your hand over his where it grips the top of the boards. His fingers twitch beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away. “Jack” Your voice softens. “You’ve been working for this since you were a kid. One bad practice isn’t going to change the fact that you belong there.”

Jack’s mouth pulls into a thin line. His eyes stay locked on the ice.

“You know that, right?” you press.

Jack’s jaw tenses. He exhales through his nose and finally meets your eyes. “Yeah. I know.” But his voice is tight, like he’s still trying to convince himself.

You squeeze his hand lightly. “Come on. Take the helmet off. Let’s reset.”

Jack hesitates for a second before unbuckling his chin strap. His hair falls into messy waves as he pulls the helmet off, and you smile despite yourself.

“There’s the Jack I know,” you say softly.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner, the smallest hint of a smile breaking through the tension in his face. He sets the helmet down on the boards and rests his forehead against the glass, his eyes closed for a long moment. His breath fogs up the glass in front of him.

“Why are you so calm about this?” Jack murmurs.

You smile, even though he can’t see it. “Because I know you. And I know you’re going to be fine.”

Jack’s eyes open. He tilts his head toward you, his cheek pressed against the glass. His gaze lingers on you longer than it probably should. His expression softens, his mouth curving into something more familiar less guarded.

“You always know what to say,” Jack says quietly.

You shrug. “It’s part of the job description.”

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. He leans back from the glass, turning toward you. “And what job is that?”

“girlfriend” you say lightly, even though the words feel heavier than they should.

Jack’s gaze drops to your mouth for half a second before he catches himself. shaking his head slightly. “You’ve been overpaid.”

You laugh. “I don’t know. Pretty sure I’ve earned it.”

Jack’s hand slides from the boards, brushing against yours as he steps back onto the ice. The contact is brief a split second  but it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

He skates backward, his eyes never leaving yours. “Stay?”

You smile. “Always.”

Jack nods, his jaw unclenching slightly. His shoulders relax as he turns and skates toward the far side of the ice. He moves differently now, smoother, looser. It’s not perfect, but it’s him.

⟡

Jack’s in Buffalo for the Combine. He’d been gone for almost a week now, thrown into a blur of interviews, medical tests, and physical evaluations. You’d been following the coverage clips of him flashing across social media, a quick shot of him stepping into the arena or walking down a hallway with other top prospects. He looked calm on the surface, but you knew better.  The absence of him is starting to feel like a hollow ache beneath your ribs. You’ve talked to him every day, quick texts in the morning, rushed calls at night  but it’s not the same as having him there next to you. He’s exhausted you can tell even through the phone but he’s not the type to admit when it’s too much.

You’re half asleep when your phone buzzes on the nightstand. It takes you a second to realize what’s happening, the glow from the screen sharp against the dark. You blink, rubbing your eyes as you reach for it for the sixth time this week knowing it was a text from Jack “are you awake?”

You sit up, sleep slipping away as you type back. “yeah. What's wrong? it’s late.” The typing bubbles appear, then disappear. Then nothing. You frown, already feeling the tightness in your chest. “want me to call?” A pause. “I just need to hear your voice.” Jack replied. 

You hit the call button without even looking at his message. Jack answers on the second ring. “Hey,” you say softly. “Hey,” Jack’s voice is rough, low. He sounds tired.

“Did you just finish?”

“Yeah.” He exhales sharply. “Got back to my room like five minutes ago.”

“What happened?”

Jack lets out a humorless laugh. “Where do I start?” His voice is tight, and you picture the way he probably looks right now sprawled out on the hotel bed, arm draped over his eyes. “The bike test was brutal. My legs were shaking so bad I thought I was going to fall off.”

You wince. “That bad?”

“They crank up the resistance until you physically can’t pedal anymore,” Jack says. “I could barely stand afterward.” Your chest tightens. “Jack” he cuts you off. “And the VO2 max test?” Jack groans. “I thought I was gonna puke. I was seeing spots by the end.” You frown. “Did anyone else struggle that much?”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be better than that.” His voice sharpens. “I can’t afford to screw this up.”

“You didn’t,” you say quickly. “You weren’t there,” Jack says, his tone edged with something close to frustration. But then his breath catches, and his voice softens. “Sorry. I didn’t mean”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt gently. “What else happened?” Jack sighs. “Wingate test. They make you sprint all out on the bike for 30 seconds. My legs were already toast, so I tanked it.”

“Jack” you say once again, getting cut off “And the long jump?” He laughs under his breath, but there’s no humor in it. “I swear I’ve never jumped that short in my life.”

“Did Quinn do better?” you ask carefully. “Of course he did,” Jack mutters. “The scouts loved him.” Your heart aches at the sharpness in his tone. You know how much Jack admires Quinn, but that admiration is tangled up with the constant pressure to keep up.

“And then,” Jack’s voice lowers, frustration leaking through, “they threw me into interviews while I could barely breathe. One scout asked if I thought I deserved to go first overall.” Your mouth tightens. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Another one asked if I think I’m better than Quinn.” You sit up straighter. “What the hell?” Jack mutters “I didn’t even know what to say,” His voice is low and tight. “I think I screwed it up.”

“You didn’t,” you say firmly. Jack doesn’t respond right away. You hear the rustling of sheets, the muffled sound of the TV in the background probably an old hockey game. “I don’t know,” Jack murmurs. “I need to be better.”

“Jack.” Your voice softens. “You’ve done enough. You’ve been working for this since you were a kid. You’re too hard on yourself” Jack’s quiet for a moment. Then, so soft you almost miss it “What if it’s not enough?” Your chest tightens. This is the fear he doesn’t let other people see.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Close your eyes.” Jack’s quiet for a second. “What?” 

“Just trust me.” 

A long breath. “Okay.”

“You’re on the ice,” you say. “Just you. The rink’s empty.” Jack’s breath steadies. “You’ve got the puck,” you continue. “Skating down center ice. No pressure, no scouts, no cameras. Just you.”Jack hums quietly, like he can almost see it.“You make the shot,” you say. “Bar down. Clean.” Jack exhales. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “And you don’t even need to look, because you already know it’s in.”There’s a long stretch of quiet on the other end of the line. Then, so soft you almost miss it “I wish you were here.”

“I know,” you whisper, throat tightening. “Me too.” Jack sighs, and you hear the rustling of sheets as he shifts. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’re not going to find out,” you say, trying to sound light, but it comes out more fragile than you mean it to. Jack’s quiet for a long time. You think he might have fallen asleep until you hear him murmur, “You’re the only thing keeping me sane right now.” You press the phone closer to your ear, even though it won’t bring him any closer. “You’ve got this,” you whisper. “You’re going to be fine.”

Jack breathes out, low and even. “Stay on the phone with me?”

“Yeah,” you say, curling into your pillow. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jack’s quiet for a while after that, but you don’t hang up. You stay there, listening to the sound of his breathing as it evens out, until the line finally goes quiet and you know he’s asleep. You don’t hang up. Not yet.

⟡

Jack’s been quiet all morning. His usual easy smile is nowhere to be found, replaced by a tight line of tension in his jaw. He’s been bouncing his knee relentlessly, his leg jittering under the table during breakfast at the hotel. He barely touched his food, pushing scrambled eggs around his plate until Quinn took it away and told him to stop torturing it. Now, he’s sitting next to you on the edge of the bed, his head tipped back against the wall, his fingers tapping absently against his knee. The hotel room is bright from the mid-morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains, but it feels too quiet  too still  like the entire day is holding its breath.

Jack’s name has been everywhere since the Combine. Every hockey account, every sports network, every mock draft all saying the same thing. First overall. Franchise player. Generational talent. He should be used to it by now, but it feels different this time. Closer. Like the weight of it all is pressing down on his chest. And you feel it too, even from miles away. You saw it during the Combine  the way he tensed when people mentioned the draft, how he downplayed his scores and his interviews even when you knew he’d crushed them. Jack’s always been good at brushing things off, but this feels different. Bigger. Like it’s not just about hockey anymore. It’s about living up to something.

The draft isn’t until later tonight, but the weight of it is already pressing down. Jack’s been working toward this moment his whole life, the moment his name is called, the moment his future in the NHL becomes real and now that it’s finally here, it’s like he can’t figure out how to breathe through it.

You shift closer until your knee bumps his. “You’re thinking too hard.”

Jack’s eyes slide toward you, dark under the shadows of his lashes. He huffs out a breath. “How am I supposed to not think about it?” His voice is quiet, frayed at the edges.

You reach for his hand, your fingers slipping between his. He’s warm always is, but his hand is stiff, tense. “I don’t know. Maybe stop overthinking it.”

Jack lets out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing along your knuckles. His gaze drifts toward the window, but you can tell he’s not really seeing it. His mind is already at Rogers Arena, already running through every possible outcome. He’s been carrying the weight of this for months the expectations, the pressure, the comparisons to Quinn, to his dad and you know it’s only gotten heavier.

“Jack.” You squeeze his hand. He doesn’t look at you right away, but when he does, his eyes are wide, a little raw around the edges. You offer him a small smile. “You’ve got this.”

Jack’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And what if I don’t?”

“You will.” You don’t hesitate, don’t even think about it. You just know. Jack’s been skating since before he could walk. He’s trained for this put in the work, put in the hours. He’s ready. Even if he can’t see it right now.

Jack’s gaze stays on you, his brow furrowing slightly. His hand tightens around yours. “I’m scared,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shift closer until your shoulder presses against his. “That’s normal.”

Jack’s eyes darken. “What if I’m not good enough?”

“You are.”

Jack swallows hard, his jaw working. He looks away, his throat bobbing as he tries to steady his breathing. You can feel the tension radiating off of him, the way his chest rises and falls too quickly. His thumb rubs absently against the back of your hand.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” you say softly. “Even if you don’t go first. Even if it doesn’t go the way you expect  you’ll still have hockey. You’ll still have me.”

Jack’s breath stutters. He turns his head slightly, his cheek brushing against your hair. “You mean that?”

You lift your head and meet his gaze. “Of course I do.”

Jack’s hand slides from your hand to your knee, his fingers curling around it like he’s grounding himself there. His eyes search yours, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of the room shifts. The nerves are still there, the pressure, the uncertainty but some of the tension in his face softens. His eyes flick toward your mouth, then back to your eyes. He exhales slowly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you say, just as softly.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Promise?”

You smile, your hand lifting to his jaw. “Promise.”

Jack lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes for a moment, his hand tightening on your knee. The quiet settles around you both, not the heavy kind, not the tense kind  just quiet.

“Jack?” Quinn’s voice breaks the silence, followed by a knock at the door. “We’ve gotta go soon.”

Jack sighs. He lifts his head, his eyes lingering on you for a second longer before he pulls away. “Yeah, okay.”

Jack stands, adjusting his shirt and brushing his hands down his pants. His gaze flicks toward you, hesitant. “You’re coming with us, right?”

You stand too, straightening his collar. “Obviously.”

Jack’s mouth curves into something close to a real smile, small but genuine. He takes your hand again, linking your fingers as he leads you toward the door.

The car ride to Rogers Arena is quiet. Jack sits next to you in the backseat, his knee bouncing, his fingers tapping against his thigh. He’s wearing a fitted suit, his hair styled but still a little messy at the top. You can tell he’s trying not to overthink it, but the tension in his jaw gives him away.

Quinn and Luke sit in the back of the car, phone in their hand, scrolling through Twitter. The whole car feels charged, the anticipation building the closer you get to the arena. When you pull up, Jack hesitates for half a second before stepping out. His hand brushes against yours as you follow him out of the car.

Inside, the energy is palpable. The arena is packed with media, fans, scouts, the low hum of conversations mixing with the occasional burst of camera flashes. Jack tugs at the cuff of his jacket, his mouth pulling into a thin line. His eyes flick toward you.

You slip your hand into his, squeezing gently. “Deep breath,” you say.

Jack’s jaw relaxes slightly. He squeezes your hand back. His eyes linger on you for a beat before he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Quinn steps up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got this”

Jack’s mouth twitches. He looks toward the draft stage, toward the rows of seats, the cameras, the scouts and then back at you. His hand tightens around yours.

“You’re with me, right?” Jack asks quietly.

You smile. “Always.”

Jack breathes out. And this time, when he looks toward the stage, the tension in his jaw fades just a little.

Jack’s heart is hammering. It’s too loud in here the buzz of conversation, the hum of the arena speakers, the occasional burst of laughter from a family. His suit jacket feels too tight across his shoulders, his tie choking him a little more with each second that passes. His name has been circling the draft floor for months, repeated on every broadcast and in every article first overall, franchise player, generational talent  but none of it feels real right now. It feels heavy. Like the weight of the entire league is resting on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs.

He shifts in his seat, his hand resting against his thigh, and feels your fingers slip between his. His head turns toward you automatically. You’re sitting beside him, close enough that your knee is pressed against his. Your hand is steady, your thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s gripping you until you adjust your hand slightly, your grip soft but certain.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, low enough that only he can hear. Jack breathes out shakily. “Am I?” You smile soft, sure. “Yeah. You are.”

Jack’s gaze drops to the floor, his thumb smoothing over the inside of your wrist. He can feel the pulse there, steady beneath his touch. His heart’s not steady. It’s racing. He doesn’t know if it’ll settle until this is over until he hears his name.

Quinn is watching him. He’s sitting straight in his chair, hands resting on his thighs, but his eyes are soft when they meet Jack’s. “You’ve got this,” Quinn says quietly. Jack’s mouth twitches. He starts to nod, but then Luke leans across from Quinn. 

“Yeah,” Luke adds, his grin lopsided, a little nervous but bright. “And if you don’t, you can always blame it on Quinn.”

Quinn rolls his eyes. 

Jack huffs a soft laugh, but it fades quickly. His gaze shifts toward the stage, where the Devils’ management team is already gathering. The nerves coil tighter in his chest. His hand tightens around yours.

“You’re with me, right?” Jack asks quietly. 

You don’t even hesitate. “Always.”

Jack’s eyes soften, some of the tension fading from his expression. He breathes out and shifts closer, his knee pressing into yours beneath the table. He doesn’t have time to say anything else before the commissioner steps up to the microphone.

Jack’s stomach drops. The noise in the arena swells as the camera swings toward the Devils’ table. The commissioner is still talking, but Jack barely hears it over the blood rushing in his ears. His legs feel locked beneath the table. His chest is tight.

“And with the first overall pick, the New Jersey Devils are proud to select from the US National Team Development Program… Jack Hughes.”

Your hand squeezes his.

Jack exhales. He stands on shaky legs as Quinn claps him on the back, Luke grinning wide as he jumps up to hug him. “Dude!” Luke laughs, his arms tight around Jack’s waist. Quinn pulls them both in, his head knocking against Jack’s shoulder. Jack’s laugh comes out a little breathless.

“Go get your jersey,” Quinn says, his voice thick with pride.

Jack’s hand is still locked with yours as he turns toward you. His expression is soft, his eyes dark and bright all at once. “You’re coming with me after this, right?”

You smile. “Try and stop me.”

Jack hesitates for half a second, then leans in. He kisses you quickly  just a press of his lips against your cheek  but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. His thumb brushes over your knuckles once more before he finally lets go and steps away.

Jack walks toward the stage, his heart still pounding but his legs moving steady beneath him. He can feel Quinn and Luke’s eyes on him, your smile burned into the back of his mind. He shakes hands with the commissioner, pulls on the Devils jersey, and lifts the hat onto his head. Cameras flash. The noise swells. His chest is tight again  but this time, it’s not nerves. It’s something else. Something warmer.

He looks back toward the floor, toward the row of seats where Quinn, Luke, and you are sitting. You’re still watching him. Your hand rests against your heart. Quinn’s arms are crossed, smiling like he knew this would happen all along. Luke is grinning wide, already pointing toward the Devils logo on Jack’s chest.

Jack breathes out. And this time, he smiles.

After the photos and the handshakes, Jack ushered toward the media pit. Questions are thrown at him from every angle about expectations, about his future with the Devils, about being a franchise player. He answers them as best as he can, his gaze flicking toward the crowd every so often, searching for you. When it’s over, the team staff directs him toward the tunnel, and he barely makes it a few steps before he hears someone yell his name.

“Jack!”

He turns just in time to see you barreling toward him, arms outstretched. Jack’s barely able to brace himself before you crash into his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms come up automatically, locking around your waist. You’re laughing and crying at the same time, your face buried in his shoulder. Jack breathes out, his chin resting on top of your head.

“You did it,” you whisper.

Jack’s arms tighten around you. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You could’ve,” you mumble, pulling back enough to look at him. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

Jack’s gaze drops to your mouth. His hands settle at your waist, his thumbs brushing lightly over the hem of your sweater. His chest is still pounding, but this feels steadier somehow. Grounding.

“Hey,” Quinn’s voice cuts in. Jack glances up to see Quinn and Luke standing nearby, Luke practically vibrating with excitement. Quinn’s got that proud but pretending to be casual look on his face.

Luke steps forward first, grinning. “Dude! First overall!” He throws his arms around Jack’s waist, nearly knocking him over. Jack laughs, ruffling Luke’s hair.

“Couldn’t have done it without you either,” Jack says.

Luke pulls back, his smile wide. Quinn rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn’t fade. “Congrats, Jack.” He steps in, pulling Jack into a one armed hug and clapping him on the back. “Knew you had it in you.”

Jack’s throat feels tight. He pulls back and looks between Quinn, Luke, and you. His family. His people. His hand finds yours again, his fingers threading through yours like it’s instinct. Your gaze softens, and Jack feels his heartbeat finally settle.

“Come on,” Quinn says, nodding toward the tunnel. “Let’s go celebrate.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Let’s go.”

⟡

It’s been a whirlwind since the draft. Jack signed his contract with the Devils two weeks ago, and now he’s leaving to New Jersey for rookie camp. Jack’s flight to New Jersey is early. Too early. You’re still wrapped in blankets on the couch when he stands in the doorway, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His Devils hat is pulled low over his eyes, casting a shadow across his face. His mouth pulls into a thin line as he looks at you, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

“I should get going,” Jack says quietly.

You push yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you cross the room toward him. “Are you sure you have everything?”

Jack nods, but his gaze stays on the floor. His hand tightens around the strap of his bag. “Yeah.”

You hesitate for half a second before stepping closer. Your arms wrap around his waist, and Jack exhales sharply as he melts into you. His chin rests on top of your head, and his heartbeat thrums against your cheek.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you murmur.

Jack’s hand slides up your back. “It’s not like we’ve never done long distance before.”

“Yeah, but” You trail off, the words sticking in your throat. It feels different this time. You pull back, your hands lingering on the hem of his hoodie. “Just don’t forget about me when you’re a big NHL star.”

Jack’s mouth twitches. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

Jack’s eyes soften. He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “I do.”

You smile, even though your chest feels tight. Jack kisses you softly with a lingering brush of lips  and then pulls back too soon. His hand stays on your waist for an extra second before he steps away, his expression shifting into something steadier, more composed.

“Call me when you land?” you ask.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. “Always.”

You walk him to the door, watching as he disappears down the driveway and into the early morning light. Your chest feels hollow by the time his car pulls away. The silence that follows is heavier than you expect.

You try to keep busy over the next week  spending time with friends, picking up extra shifts but it’s hard to ignore how quiet it feels without Jack around. He calls every night, though, and you fall into a familiar rhythm. Jack fills you in on the details of rookie camp, the fitness tests, the long practices, and the media. He tells you about the other guys, how Nico seems nice, how Bratt’s already chirping at him like they’ve known each other for years. He tells you how much faster the game feels, how much stronger the guys are. You can hear it in his voice, the strain beneath his usual confidence.

“Hard day?” you ask one night, curled up in bed with your phone pressed to your ear.

Jack sighs. “Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Jack’s quiet for a long moment. “I just don't know. I feel like I’m playing catch up. Like everyone’s two steps ahead.”

“You’ve barely been there for a few days, Jack.”

“I know,” Jack says. “But it’s not supposed to feel this hard.”

“You put too much pressure on yourself.” Jack huffs a soft laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. “It’s kinda hard not to.” You’re quiet for a beat. Then, “You’re not gonna figure it out overnight.”

“I know.”

“But you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Jack doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, quietly, “I hope you’re right.” You close your eyes. “I always am.” Jack’s breath crackles over the line. “Can I call you tomorrow?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

Jack’s quiet for another moment. “I love you and I miss you .”

Your heart clenches. “I miss and love you too.”

Jack sighs softly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

You keep the phone pressed to your ear until the line goes quiet.

Jack calls you after his full day of rookie camp, his voice low and tired through the phone. He sounds exhausted, more than you expected. You’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, your knees pulled to your chest, the phone pressed to your ear. 

“Hey,” Jack says, his voice scratchy. “Hey,” you say softly. “How was it?” Jack exhales a sharp breath. “Brutal.”  

“What happened?”  

“Fitness testing.” Jack huffs a soft, humorless laugh. “Like the Combine but worse.”  You sit up a little straighter. “Worse?”  

“Longer. Harder.” Jack’s voice dips lower. “I thought I was ready for it, but I don’t know.” He sounds frustrated, and that’s what gets you. Jack rarely admits when something’s hard. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” you say quietly.  “I don’t know,” Jack says again. “It’s not just the testing. The practices everyone’s so fast. So strong. I’m trying to keep up, but it feels like I’m a step behind.”  

You can almost picture him  sprawled across his bed, running a hand through his hair the way he does when he’s stressed. Your chest tightens. “You’ve been there for what five days?”  

“ a week.”  

“A week” you repeat. “Jack, you need to give yourself some time.”  

“I don’t have time,” Jack says. His voice sharpens, the frustration cracking through. “This is the NHL. Everyone’s watching.” 

You know that’s true you’ve seen the articles, the highlight reels on social media. It’s a lot for anyone especially for Jack, who’s always carried the weight of expectation like it’s part of his DNA.  

“Hey,” you say softly. “You don’t have to figure everything out right away. This isn’t going to be easy it’s not supposed to be. But you wouldn’t be there if you couldn’t handle it.”  

Jack’s quiet for a long moment. Then, barely above a whisper: “I don’t know if I can.” You close your eyes, your heart tightening. “Jack.” 

“I’m serious,” Jack says. His voice cracks a little at the edges. “What if I’m not as good as everyone thinks I am?”  

“You are,” you say immediately. “Jack, you’ve been working toward this your whole life. You belong there.”  

“Do I?” 

“Yes,” you say. “And if you can’t believe that yet let me believe it for you.”  Jack doesn’t answer right away. His breath crackles over the line. “What would I do without you?”  You smile faintly, even though your chest aches. “You’d figure it out.”  

“Maybe,” Jack says. “But I’m glad I don’t have to.”  

Jack starts texting you more after that. Sometimes it’s a quick message in the morning on the ice or a random photo of his new locker with his nameplate above it. Sometimes it’s a rant about drills, or a chirp about one of the guys. Jesper seems to be his favorite target. 

Bratt tripped me in practice today. little rat  

What'd you do? you text back.  

chirped him about his hair  

You can’t help but smile. But there are harder messages too.  

Bag skate this morning. Thought I was going to pass out.  

Coach isn’t happy with me.  

Everyone’s so much stronger. 

You know Jack doesn’t say these things to anyone else. With the media, with his teammates he’s steady. Confident. But with you he lets the cracks show. And when he calls you late at night, his voice low and rough, you know that’s when he’s feeling it the most.  

One night, it’s past midnight when your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You’re half asleep, barely registering the sound until it buzzes again. You squint at the screen. Jack.  

“Hey,” you answer, your voice thick with sleep.  “Did I wake you?” Jack asks. “No,” you lie. “What’s wrong?”  

Jack sighs, and you can hear the tension in it. “Nothing.”  You wait. Jack’s quiet for so long you think maybe he’s about to hang up. Then he says, “I just needed to hear your voice.”  

You sit up, rubbing at your eyes. “Rough day?”  

Jack’s breath catches. “Yeah.” 

“What happened?”  

Jack’s quiet for another long moment. “Coach ripped into me.”  

You frown. “Why?”  

“Made a bad play during the scrimmage,” Jack says. “Got caught flat footed on the backcheck. Then I missed the net on a breakaway.” 

“That doesn’t sound like you.”  

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Jack says. His voice drops lower, almost shaky. “I’m trying. It’s just everything’s so much faster than I expected. I feel like I’m drowning.”  

“You’re not,” you say quietly. “You’re adjusting.”  

Jack’s breath hitches. “What if I don’t?”  

“You will.”  

Jack doesn’t answer for a long time. You hear rustling on the other end of the line, like he’s lying down. “I miss you,” he says finally.  

Your chest tightens. “I miss you too.”  

Jack’s voice gets softer. “Will you stay on the phone with me? Just for a little while?”  

You slide down beneath the covers, resting your head against the pillow. “Of course.”  

Jack breathes out. “Thanks.”  

You don’t say anything after that. Jack’s breathing evens out eventually, and you think he’s starting to fall asleep when you hear him murmur, barely audible “Love you.”  

You don’t know if he’s even awake enough to remember saying it. But your heart thuds painfully against your ribs.  

“I love you too,” you whisper.

⟡

Jack’s first game in the NHL is at home, and the crowd is louder than he expected. He steps onto the ice at Prudential Center, the Devils logo bright under the lights. The noise is deafening, the kind of sound that hits you square in the chest  and for a second it’s hard to breathe. His legs feel shaky as he skates through warmups, the ice cutting beneath his skates with every push. The energy is electric, but it’s not enough to drown out the knot in his chest. He knows everyone’s watching him, the first overall pick, the franchise’s future. He tries not to think about it but it’s impossible to ignore the weight of it.

You’re watching from Michigan. The game’s on TV in your room, your laptop balanced on your knees. Jack looks smaller on the screen somehow swallowed up by the bright lights and the size of the arena. He’s wearing number 86, and it still feels surreal seeing it on an NHL jersey. He’s buzzing with nerves  you can tell by the way he’s gripping his stick too tightly during warmups. He’s always done that when he’s nervous.

Jack texts you after warmups while the Zamboni is still clearing the ice. “Starting on the second line. My hands are shaking.”

You smile, already typing back. “You’ve got this. Just play your game.”

Jack’s response comes quickly. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“You won’t.” You pause before adding, “But maybe don’t sit next to Nico if you do.”

A minute passes before the dots appear again. “Not funny.”

“A little funny.”

Jack doesn’t respond, but the small, shaky smile he gives the camera when it passes by his bench tells you he saw it.

The game itself is rough. Jack looks fast, quick on his feet, but the Devils’ offense struggles to keep up. He gets knocked down hard in the first period, bouncing off the boards and coming up wincing. He pushes through it, but you can tell he’s frustrated the way he shakes his head after a shift, the way he skates to the bench with his head down. The Devils lose 4-1, and Jack finishes with a minus-two rating. His line gets hemmed in the defensive zone more than once, and even though it’s just one game, the postgame interviews are already talking about whether he can handle the league’s size and speed.

He calls you after the game, his voice flat. “That sucked.”

“You knew it wasn’t going to be easy,” you say softly.

“I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Jack mutters. He sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I was minus-two. Do you know how bad that is?”

“Jack”

“Everyone’s already talking about it,” he cuts you off. His voice tightens, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “I can’t screw this up” He trails off, his breath shaky.

“You’re not screwing anything up,” you say firmly. “It’s one game.”

“It’s not just one game.” Jack exhales through his nose, and you can hear the tension in it. “This is what I’ve been working toward my whole life. And what if I’m not good enough?”

You close your eyes, pressing your forehead to your hand. “Jack. You are good enough. You belong here.”

Jack’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he says eventually. But he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

The first few weeks are more of the same. Jack gets pushed around a lot, the physicality wearing on him. He’s getting hit hard, knocked off the puck more than he’s used to. He’s fast, but the guys he’s playing against are bigger, more experienced. He’s trying, you can see it but it’s not coming together the way he wants it to.

Your phone buzzes constantly after games. Jack’s name lights up the screen with texts “Minus-three. Fucking embarrassing.” “I can’t score.” “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

You try to reassure him, but the losses are piling up. The Devils are 0-4-2 to start the season, and Jack’s still scoreless. The media’s already running with it  headlines about whether he was overhyped, if he’s too small for the league. Jack tries to brush it off, but you know it’s getting to him.

It’s late one night when he calls you, his voice quiet. “I don’t know how to fix this.” You sit up in bed, clutching the phone to your ear. “You will.” 

Jack doesn’t say anything for a while. “I just” He sighs. “I miss you.”

Your chest tightens. “I miss you too.”

Jack’s breath hitches. “I hate it here,” he says quietly.

Your eyes burn. “I know.”

“I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“You’re not doing this without me,” you whisper.

Jack’s quiet for a long time. His breathing is steady in your ear. Eventually, he says, “I just want to come home.”

You close your eyes, swallowing down the ache in your chest. “I know,” you say softly. “But you can’t.”

Jack doesn’t answer, but you know he’s still there. After a while, his breathing evens out, and you realize he’s fallen asleep on the line. You stay there for a while, the phone pressed to your ear, listening to his quiet breathing.

Jack finally scores his first goal two weeks into the season, a breakaway against Vancouver. Quinn’s on the ice when it happens, and you see the way Quinn hugs him against the glass after the puck crosses the line. Jack looks lighter for a moment, his smile big and bright, but it fades quickly after the game ends. The Devils still lost 5-2.

He calls you that night, and he sounds more tired than happy. “It doesn’t matter if we keep losing,” Jack mutters.

“Yes, it does,” you say. “Jack, you scored. That’s huge.”

Jack sighs. “Yeah.” He’s quiet for a second before adding, “Quinn said you screamed when it went in.”

You laugh. “Maybe.”

Jack’s breath softens. “I miss you.”

Your heart squeezes. “I miss you too.”

Jack’s quiet for a long time before he says, “I don’t know how long I can keep doing this.”

You don’t know how to answer that. So you don’t.

⟡

Jack’s rookie season should’ve been exciting. It should’ve been everything he’s worked for. Instead, it’s November, and the Devils are on a six-game losing streak. Jack’s gone nine games without a goal, and the media’s not holding back. Every headline is brutal. Every post game interview is worse. He’s not smiling as much anymore. He’s quiet when you call, sometimes too tired to even talk. And when you visit, it feels like he’s somewhere else entirely.

The last time you saw him in person was two weeks ago. You’d flown from Michigan to see him play in Newark the first time you’d been able to since the season started. Jack had barely looked at you when you met him outside the locker room. His face was tight, his eyes tired. He’d hugged you, but it was quick. Impersonal. And when you sat with his family during the game, you saw the tension in his shoulders, the way he carried himself on the ice like the weight of it all was pressing down too hard. He’d been the last one off the ice after the loss, his head down, his mouth pulled tight.

He called you that night late, when you were already back at the hotel and apologized. “I just I’m sorry I couldn’t see you more,” Jack had said, his voice low. He’d sounded exhausted. “I’m just tired.”

Now, it’s almost midnight again, and you’re staring at your phone, waiting for him to call. He hasn’t. You’ve texted twice with no answer. You know he’s probably at home by now, maybe asleep. Or maybe not. He’s started turning his phone off after games. Less noise, he’d said. Less pressure. But you don’t know if it’s helping.

It’s hard to know what to say when you do talk to him. When he tells you he’s doing fine, even though you can hear it in his voice that he isn’t. When he tells you, “I’ll figure it out,” even though you can see him unraveling.

The next morning, you call him before class. He answers on the third ring, his voice rough with sleep. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You okay?”

Jack sighs. You can hear the sound of him rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot.”

Jack’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah.”

You sit down on the edge of your bed, clutching the phone a little tighter. “Jack”

“I’m fine,” he says quickly. Too quickly.

“You’re not,” you say gently. “You don’t have to-”

“I said I’m fine,” Jack cuts in. His tone is sharper than you’ve ever heard it.

You go quiet. Jack exhales. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I just don't know.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly.

Jack doesn’t say anything for a while. You can hear his breathing over the line, steady but heavy. Finally, he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “You don’t have to fix it alone.”

Jack doesn’t answer. And after a while, the line goes quiet.

The next time you talk to Jack, it’s after another loss. This time to Toronto. Another night of him leaving the rink without a point. Another night of reporters asking him what’s wrong, why he isn’t producing.

“I’m trying,” Jack says, his voice tight. “I’m trying and it’s not, it's not working.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But it’s not your fault. It’s a team-”

“I don’t care if it’s a team thing,” Jack snaps. “I’m the first pick. I’m supposed to be the one fixing it.”

“Jack-”

“I have to be better.” His voice cracks. “I just I don’t know how.”

Your heart aches. You want to reach through the phone and pull him into you. Hold him until the tension melts away. But you can’t. You’re too far away. And Jack’s already starting to pull back.

“You’re not alone im with you,” you say quietly.

Jack doesn’t answer.

You hear him breathe out. Then the call ends.

The worst part is that you don’t know how to help him. Jack’s not letting you in the way he used to. And you can feel it the distance growing between you, like something fraying at the edges. You want to fix it. You want to be enough to hold him together.But Jack’s starting to slip through your fingers.

⟡

After a while, you notice that not only jack started to drift from you, but also your relationship with him. It starts with the little things.

The missed calls. The delayed replies. The way Jack’s voice sounds a little too thin over the phone, his laugh not quite reaching the places it usually does. He’s tired you can hear it even when he tries to hide it.

At first, you don’t think much of it. Jack’s schedule is brutal, and it’s not like he’s never missed a call before. But then it starts happening more often. You’ll text him after a game Proud of you, call me when you can? and it’ll sit there for hours. Sometimes until the next day. Or he’ll call you late, hours after he said he would, with a rushed apology and a tired “I’m sorry, babe. I just passed out after practice.”

You get it. You do.  He’s in the middle of his rookie season, grinding through the hardest stretch of hockey he’s ever played, and he’s under more pressure than he’ll ever admit. But that doesn’t make it sting any less when you see his name light up your phone after midnight and realize you’ve already given up hope of hearing from him that night. 

Or when you do pick up, and it’s not the Jack you’re used to hearing.

“Hey,” you say softly, curling up under the covers. “You okay?”

Jack’s voice is thin over the line. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He always says that. Just tired. Even when it sounds like more than that.

“You played well tonight,” you offer. “Had that sick pass in the second.”

Jack’s breath crackles faintly through the speaker. “Didn’t matter. We still lost.”

“It’s not on you.”

Jack hums. You can picture the way he’s probably lying there  head buried in the pillow, hand resting over his face, the line of his jaw tight. He’s always been hard on himself. But lately, it's gotten worse.

The games aren’t going well. The media’s been tearing into him —first overall pick and only four goals? The disappointment in the headlines is almost palpable. You’ve stopped reading the articles, but you know Jack hasn’t. He doesn’t talk about it, but you can tell from the way he’s quieter now. The way his texts have dwindled from paragraphs to one word answers. 

The last time you FaceTimed, Jack barely looked at you. He was lying in bed, hair damp from his post-game shower, and you could see the crease between his brows even when he wasn’t talking. You tried to make him smile made a dumb joke about how you’d start training to become the Devils' new enforcer but all you got was a faint chuckle and, “Sorry, I’m just-”

“Tired,” you’d finished for him, and Jack had sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.

It’s been like this for a while now. He’s slipping  or maybe you’re the one slipping away. You don’t know how to fix it when Jack’s over 600 miles away, and every conversation feels like trying to grasp sand in your hands the harder you try to hold on, the faster it slips through your fingers.  

You’re curled up in bed now, phone pressed to your ear as Jack’s voice filters through the speaker. 

“It was bad,” Jack says. His voice is quiet. Defeated. “I just I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

You sit up a little, pushing back the tight feeling in your chest. “Jack, it’s not you. The whole team’s struggling right now.”

“Yeah, but” He cuts himself off. You can hear the frustrated exhale on the other end. “I should be better. I was the first overall pick  I’m supposed to make a difference.”

“You are making a difference,” you say gently. “It’s your rookie year. No one expects you to carry the team.”

Jack’s silent for a beat too long. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Jack?”

“Yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds distant. “I know.”

You hesitate. “Do you, though?”

His breath hitches. “I just I don’t know. Feels like I’m trying, but nothing’s working. And people are starting to talk, you know? About how maybe I wasn’t ready, maybe I’m not”

“Jack,” you cut in. “Stop.”

He doesn’t respond.

“You’re not a mistake,” you say, because you know that’s what he’s thinking. “You deserve to be there. You worked your ass off for this.”

“I guess.”

“Not ‘I guess,’” you press. “Jack, you”

“I know,” he snaps, and the sharpness of it cuts through the space between you. You freeze, swallowing the knot in your throat. Jack exhales shakily. His voice softens. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

You force a small smile even though he can’t see it. “You’re allowed to be tired.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, but it doesn’t sound like he believes it.

Another stretch of silence presses down between you. You wait for Jack to fill it, but he doesn’t.

“You want me to stay on the phone with you?” you ask quietly.

Jack’s quiet for a second. “No its okay”

“I’ll stay” 

“Okay.”

So you stay. Jack doesn’t say much after that. You can hear the rustle of his comforter as he shifts around, settling into bed. His breathing starts to even out. You stay awake longer than you probably should, listening to the soft sound of him breathing on the other end of the line, wondering how much longer you’ll be able to reach him like this.

Because lately, even when he’s right there, yet he feels so far away.

⟡

It’s been months of missed calls, delayed texts, and half-hearted conversations. Jack’s always tired. Or busy. Or distracted. And when you do talk, it’s like he’s only halfway there like some part of him is already pulling away. You’ve tried not to read into it, tried to convince yourself it’s just the pressure of his rookie season, that things will settle once he finds his rhythm. But deep down, you know better. It’s not just hockey. It’s him. It’s you. It’s the quiet space growing between you, the way it stretches wider with every unanswered text and every empty conversation.

So you book a flight to New Jersey because you need to know if this is still something you can save or if you lost him completely

DAY ONE  

The cab ride from the airport to Jack’s apartment is quiet. Too quiet. The city outside the window passes in a blur of gray and headlights, but you don’t really see it. Your phone sits heavy in your lap, the screen dark except for the faint reflection of the passing streetlights. You tap your thumb against the side of it like you're expecting a message that you know isn’t coming. Jack texted you earlier to confirm he’d be home when you arrived, but that was three hours ago. No follow-up. No “Can’t wait to see you.” No little heart emoji like he used to send.  

It’s not that he’s ignoring you  at least, not outright. He’s busy, you’ve told yourself a hundred times over the last few weeks. Rookie season is demanding. New city, new team, new pressure. He’s adjusting. You should understand that. And you do. You swear you do. But understanding it doesn’t make the silence feel any less heavy.  

When the cab pulls up in front of Jack’s building, you hesitate for a second before stepping out. You’re not sure why  it’s not like you’ve never been here before but the weight sitting low in your stomach makes it hard to breathe. The driver sets your bag on the curb, and you force yourself to pick it up, shoulders tensing under the weight of it as you walk toward the entrance.  

Jack opens the door when you knock. He’s in a plain Devils hoodie and sweatpants, his hair damp like he just showered. He smiles, but it’s thin, barely reaching his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice is soft, like he's already tired.  

You smile, forcing brightness into your voice. “Hey.”  

Jack leans down to kiss you, but it’s brief. Quick. Like he’s already pulling away before it starts. His hand finds the small of your back and guides you into the apartment, but it drops as soon as the door closes behind you.  

The apartment looks the same cleaner than you expected, probably because Ellen came to visit last week but it feels off. Like someone came through and rearranged all the furniture just enough to make you notice. Jack’s shoes are in a neat row by the door. There’s a half empty coffee mug sitting on the counter. His phone is face down on the couch.  

Jack sits down on the couch, leaving a noticeable gap beside him. You sit too, trying to close it, but he doesn’t shift toward you.  

“So,” you start, your voice too bright, too forced, “how was practice today?”  

“Fine.”  

Your stomach twists. “Just fine?”  

Jack shrugs, eyes fixed on the muted TV. “Yeah.”  

You watch him for a second, the sharp line of his jaw and the way his hand rests against his knee. Normally, he'd have his arm around you by now. Normally, you’d be tangled together and he’d be rambling about plays and drills and how Nico wouldn’t stop chirping him today.  

But he’s quiet. Detached.  

And you’re hyper aware of the space between you.  

Jack reaches for the remote and starts flipping through channels. His brows furrowed in concentration, but he’s not really watching anything. It’s like his body is here, but the rest of him is somewhere else.  

“Hungry?” he asks after a minute.  

“Yeah, I could eat.”  

“Cool.” He stands. “I’ll order something.”  

And that’s it. He disappears into the kitchen without asking what you want. A minute later, you hear the soft murmur of his voice on the phone.   

You sit there, your heart beating loud in your ears, and wonder why it feels like you’ve already lost him.  

Jack comes back a few minutes later and drops onto the couch, his knee brushing against yours for half a second before he shifts away.  

“Food should be here in, like, twenty minutes,” he says.  

You nod. “okay”  

More silence. The TV hums in the background, the flicker of light reflecting off Jack’s face. You glance at him, hoping he’ll look over at you, but his gaze stays fixed on the screen. His hand is resting between his knees, his fingers pulling at a loose thread in the fabric of his sweatpants.  

You clear your throat. “Did you, um talk to Quinn today he was asking me about you?”  

Jack’s mouth tightens. “Yeah.”  

“And?”  

“He’s good.”  

You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. The seconds stretch out between you, long and tense and uncomfortable.  

“Jack.” You lean toward him, lowering your voice. “What’s going on?” Jack’s jaw twitches. “Nothing.”  

“It doesn’t feel like nothing.”  

Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just been a long week.”  

You search his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the faint crease in his forehead and you know he’s not lying. But you also know he’s not telling you the whole truth.   

“You know you can talk to me, right?” you say, your voice soft.  

Jack’s gaze flickers toward you, and for a second, you see it  the familiar warmth, the quiet vulnerability you’ve always known how to reach. His eyes soften, and he looks like he might actually say something.  

But then the buzzer for the front door sounds, and the moment evaporates.  

Jack stands quickly. “That’s the food.”  

You watch him cross the room, feeling the distance stretch wider with every step.  

He comes back with a brown takeout bag, setting it on the coffee table before sitting down. He opens the bag and pulls out containers of food  sushi, not your favorite  and hands you a pair of chopsticks without looking at you. 

You stare down at the food. “Did you know what I wanted?”  

Jack hesitates. “I just ordered something quick.”  

Your chest tightens. Jack always knows what you want. He knows you like avocado rolls, not spicy tuna. He knows you like extra soy sauce on the side and that you don’t like wasabi. But tonight, it’s like he didn’t even think about it.  

You pick at the sushi, appetite gone. Jack eats quietly, his eyes back on the TV. The sound of the game commentator fills the air, too loud, pressing into your skull.  

After a few minutes, Jack stands and starts cleaning up. He takes your barely touched container and tosses it in the trash without a word.  

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“Oh. Okay.”  

Jack hesitates in the doorway. His eyes flick toward you, and for a second, you think he might come back, sit down, pull you into his arms, tell you he’s just tired and that everything is fine.  

But he doesn’t. He disappears down the hall, and a minute later, you hear the sound of the shower running.  

You sit there, hands clasped in your lap, listening to the water hit the tile. Your heart feels too big and too small at the same time, pressing against the walls of your chest.   

Jack’s phone buzzes on the table, and you glance at it. A text from Nico lights up the screen:  

Good skate today. 

 You stare at the message for a long time. 

The shower runs in the background, and you sit alone on the couch, feeling the emptiness stretch out around you.

DAY TWO

Jack sleeps with his back to you.  

It’s not the first time, but it feels different tonight. Final. His side of the bed feels miles away, the sheets cool and untouched where his body should be. You lie there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his breathing. It’s shallow, restless. Every few minutes, he shifts, the mattress dipping under his weight.  

You think about reaching for him, curling up into his side like you always do. Your hand twitches under the blanket, fingers itching to brush over his back, to anchor yourself to the steady rhythm of his breathing. But something stops you. Fear, maybe or just the quiet certainty that if you reach for him, he’ll pull away.  

So you stay still, the space between you cold and unforgiving.  

You wake up sometime in the middle of the night to find him half hanging off the edge of the bed, his face turned toward the wall. His arm is curled beneath his head, his breathing uneven. You watch the rise and fall of his back, the way his shoulders tense even in sleep. He’s not resting, not really.   

You swallow hard and sit up slightly, brushing your hair away from your face. For a second, you think about touching him, coaxing him back toward you. But you don’t. You can’t.   

In the morning, Jack wakes up first. You know this because you hear him moving around the apartment while you lie there, eyes closed, hoping he’ll come back to bed. He doesn’t.  

Instead, you hear the distant sound of water running in the bathroom, the clink of glass in the kitchen. The low hum of the TV. You press your face into the pillow and try to breathe through the tightness in your chest.  

When you finally get up, Jack’s sitting at the kitchen counter with a protein shake. He’s already dressed in workout gear Devils issued shorts and a long-sleeve shirt that fits snug around his arms. His hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends. He glances up when you enter the room.  

“Morning,” you say, your voice coming out softer than you meant.  

“Hey.”  

You sit across from him, pulling your knees up and wrapping your arms around them. Jack’s gaze flickers toward you briefly, then drops back down to his protein shake. He spins the cup slowly in his hands, condensation trailing down the side.  

You try to find his eyes. “Sleep okay?”  

Jack nods, distracted. He taps his thumb against the edge of the cup. “Yeah.”  

“You sure?”  

“Mmhmm.” His gaze darts toward the window.  

You glance at the clock on the microwave. “What time’s practice?”  

“Ten.”  

“You want to grab coffee after?”  

Jack hesitates. His shoulders tighten. “I don’t know. We’ve got media stuff later.”  

“Oh.”  

You feel stupid for asking.  

Jack stands and rinses out his cup in the sink. His back is to you, but you see the tension in his shoulders. He’s holding it all in  the pressure, the frustration, the weight of everything this year has asked of him. Normally, he’d tell you about it. He’d talk through it, let you hold it with him for a little while.  

But now it feels like he’s trying to keep the distance intact.  

“You okay?” you ask quietly.  

“Yeah.”  

“Jack.”  

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. When he speaks, his voice is tight. “It’s just a lot right now.”  

You nod, even though he’s not looking at you.  

Jack’s hand curls over the edge of the counter. His knuckles turn white for half a second before he exhales and grabs his keys from the hook by the door.  

“I’ll see you later, okay?” His tone is light  too light. Like he’s trying to make this feel normal.  

You sit up straighter. “We could go out tonight. Dinner or something.”  

Jack pauses with his hand on the handle. His eyes flick toward you, guarded. “Yeah. We’ll figure something out.”  

Then he’s gone.  

The door clicks shut behind him, and the quiet of the apartment closes in around you.  

You sit there for a long time, staring at the spot where he stood. The sunlight spills in through the thin curtains, cutting pale lines across the hardwood floor. You think about the way he used to kiss you in the mornings, sleepy and warm, his hand curled over the back of your neck. You think about the way he used to tug you into his chest after a restless night, murmuring sleepy nonsense into your hair.  

And then you think about last night about the empty side of the bed and the quiet wall of his back facing you.  

Your phone buzzes on the table. You grab it quickly, your heart leaping in your chest. But it’s not Jack. It’s a text from quinn  

"Hope you’re having a good time! How’s Jack?" 

You stare at the message for a long moment before typing back:  

"Good. Everything’s good." 

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue.   

You sit there for a while longer, the phone still in your hand, before pushing yourself to your feet. You grab the half-empty protein shake Jack left on the counter and dump it down the sink. The hum of the refrigerator fills the silence.  

It’s only nine o’clock, but it feels later. Your eyes drift toward the bedroom  the sheets still rumpled from sleep and you wonder if you should crawl back into bed and wait for him to come home.  

But you know better.  

Instead, you curl up on the couch and pull the blanket over your legs. Jack’s sweatshirt is draped over the arm of the couch, and you pull it onto your lap, bunching the sleeves in your hands. It smells like his laundry detergent and something warmer, more familiar.  

you press your face into the fabric and close your eyes, trying to remember the last time he held you like he meant it.  

You think about how he used to look at you and really look at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.  

But that was months ago. Now, when Jack looks at you, it’s like he’s looking through you. Or worse like he’s already decided what happens next.  

Your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Jack.  

“Practice ran long. Gonna be late.” 

You type out a quick response  "Okay."  but don’t hit send right away.  

Instead, you sit there with the message glowing on the screen, wondering when it started feeling like this. Like you’re holding onto something that’s already slipping away.

DAY THREE

It was worse the next day. The air felt thicker, like it was weighing down every conversation. Jack seemed distracted, his gaze always drifting toward his phone or the TV. When you asked if he wanted to grab lunch, he hesitated for a second before saying, "Yeah, sure," like he was doing you a favor.

At lunch, he kept glancing around, not meeting your eyes. You watched him scroll through his phone between bites of his sandwich. You tapped your nails against the table.

"Jack."

"Hmm?" His eyes didn’t lift from his phone.

"Can you put that down?"

He sighed but set the phone face down. "Okay."

You wanted to ask if he even wanted you here. You wanted to ask why he wasn’t looking at you like he used to, why you felt like a ghost in his apartment. But you swallowed it all down and smiled when Jack forced another conversation about hockey that you could barely focus on.

That night, he sat at the edge of the bed, scrolling on his phone again while you sat behind him. You reached out, resting a hand on his back. He tensed.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"Yeah," he said quickly.

"You don’t seem like it."

"I’m fine, okay?" His tone was sharp. He stood up and walked toward the bathroom without looking back.

You stared at the empty space he left behind.

DAY FOUR

You woke up before Jack.  

He was lying on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, hair sticking up in every direction. You watched him for a moment, chest rising and falling steadily. He looked peaceful like this like the Jack you used to know. The Jack who used to roll over and pull you into his arms the second he woke up.  

You shifted closer, brushing your hand over his back. His skin was warm under your fingertips. He stirred, groaning softly into the pillow.  

"Morning," you whispered.  

Jack’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked at you sleepily, then rubbed a hand over his face. "Morning."  

You smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to his bare shoulder. He didn’t react. Just sat up and ran a hand through his hair.  

"What time is it?"  

"Almost nine."  

Jack nodded, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I should get going soon."  

"Going where?I thought you had today off"  

Jack stood, stretching. "I do, I'm just going to go workout with some of the guys."  

"Oh." You sat up, the sheets pooling around your waist. "Can I come?"  

Jack paused, looking at you over his shoulder. "I mean it’s just going to be boring."  

"I don’t care."  

Jack hesitated. "I think we’re just gonna grab lunch after. Probably end up hanging out at Nico’s."  

You bit the inside of your cheek. "So you don’t want me there?"  

Jack’s gaze darted to the floor. "It’s not that."  

"Then what is it?"  

Jack sighed. "I don’t know. Just feels like a guys' thing, you know?"  

You swallowed. "Right."  

Jack’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He grabbed it, checking the screen. A faint smile tugged at his mouth.  

"Who is it?" you asked.  

“Nico," Jack said, texting back quickly. He tossed his phone onto the bed, already moving toward the bathroom.  

You sat there for a moment, heart sinking.  

"I’ll be back later," Jack called over his shoulder.  

"Cool," you murmured. But Jack had already closed the door behind him.  

You sat there for a long time, listening to the shower running.  

When Jack got back that afternoon, you were curled up on the couch, knees pulled to your chest. He walked in, tossed his keys onto the counter, and sat down across from you. He scrolled through his phone without saying anything.  

You watched him for a moment.  

"How was it?" you asked.  

"Hmm?"  

"Your workout."  

Jack shrugged. "Good."  

"Anything else?"  

Jack didn’t look up. "Nope."  

Your jaw tightened.  

You shifted closer, resting a hand on his arm. "Jack."  

He tensed. "What?"  

You hated how sharp his voice sounded. Like you were annoying him.  

"Do you want to do something tonight?" you asked quietly.  

Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don’t know. I’m kind of tired."  

"Oh."  

Jack’s gaze flicked toward you. "What?"  

"Nothing," you said quickly, even though it wasn’t nothing.  

Jack’s phone buzzed again. He picked it up without hesitation. You sat there, heart sinking as he smiled at the screen. He didn’t even notice the way your hand fell away from his arm.  

And that’s when it hit you.  

You weren’t the person he wanted to talk to anymore.  

You weren’t the person who made him smile like that anymore.  

You took a breath, swallowing hard. "Jack."  

"Hmm?"  

You sat up straighter, heart hammering painfully against your ribs. "Do you even want me here?"  

Jack’s head jerked toward you, brows furrowing. "What kind of question is that?"  

"You’re barely looking at me." Your voice cracked. "You don’t talk to me. When you do, it feels like you’re trying to get through it so you can go back to your phone. Just say it if you don’t want me here."  

Jack’s jaw tightened. "Jesus, you’re making this a bigger deal than it is."  

"A bigger deal?" you echoed. Your voice sharpened. "Jack, I flew to new jersey to see you. I’m trying so hard to hold this together, but you’re not even meeting me halfway. If you don’t want this anymore, just"  

"I didn’t ask you to come."  

You froze.  

Jack’s eyes widened, but the words were already out there.  

Your heart hammered in your chest. "What?"  

"I didn’t ask you to come," he repeated, softer this time. His gaze fell to the floor. "You decided to."  

You blinked hard, your throat tightening painfully. "Wow."  

Jack ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "I didn’t mean it like that"  

"You did."  

Jack’s mouth opened, but no words came out.  

You stood up, shaking. "I can't, I can't do this anymore."  

Jack’s head snapped toward you. "What does that mean?"  

"It means I’m done." Your voice broke, but you kept going. "I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one fighting for this. If you’re not going to try, then why am I even here?"  

Jack’s eyes darkened. "So that’s it? You’re giving up?"  

You laughed bitterly. "You gave up first."  

Jack’s mouth twisted. "Right. So now it’s my fault?"  

"You know what?" you said, your breath shaking. "Yeah. It is."  

Jack stood up, his eyes hard now. "Fine. If you want to go, then go."  

"That’s it?" You took a step toward him, tears blurring your vision. "You’re not even going to try to stop me?"  

Jack’s eyes flashed. "What do you want me to say? That I miss you? That I love you? You already know that, but it’s not enough, is it?"  

"It’s not enough if you’re not going to show it!" you shot back. "You say you love me, but you act like I’m just here. Like I don’t matter."  

Jack’s expression darkened. "Yeah? Well, maybe you don’t."  

You sucked in a sharp breath.  

Jack’s face paled instantly. "I—"  

"No." You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. "You said it. And you know what? Maybe you’re right."  

"Don’t twist this"  

"I’m not twisting anything! I’m done!" Your voice cracked, but you held your ground. "I’m not going to sit here and beg for you to care about me. I deserve better than that."  

Jack’s jaw flexed.  

Your breath hitched. You waited for him to take it back to tell you to stay. But Jack just stood there, eyes stormy, hands clenched into fists at his sides.  

You nodded slowly. "Okay."  

You grabbed your bag from the floor. Jack didn’t say anything as you walked toward the door. Your hand trembled as you opened it.  

You hesitated. Just for a second.  

"Bye, Jack," you whispered.  

Jack didn’t reply.  

You closed the door behind you.  

The flight home feels like a blur. You don’t cry at least not yet  but the numbness sets in as soon as the plane takes off. Jack didn’t text you before you boarded. He didn’t call. He didn’t say anything after the door shut behind you.   

You stare out the window, watching the clouds blur beneath you, but your chest feels hollow. Four years. Gone in a single weekend. Your friendship since you were 10 of growing up together, of loving each other through every awkward phase and milestone  shattered in one conversation.  

You scroll through your phone without really seeing it. His contact sits at the top of your recent messages, the last one marked as read. I’m sorry. He hasn’t sent anything since.   

And honestly, you don’t expect him to.  

Your phone vibrates, and for half a second your heart leaps. But it’s just your mom, checking in. You let the message sit unopened and slide your phone facedown on the tray table.  

When you get home, everything feels wrong. Your room looks the same, but it’s too quiet. No FaceTime calls from Jack lighting up your phone. No goodnight texts. No “Miss you” or “Wish you were here.” The absence is deafening.   

You lie in bed that night, scrolling through old pictures, ones from Vancouver, from Michigan, from all those summers at the lake house. Jack’s smile frozen in time. Your hand in his. Quinn and Luke in the background, laughing at something Jack had said.   

Your chest tightens.  

You think about how easy it used to be how you could sit in silence for hours and still feel connected. How you could tell what Jack was thinking just from a look. How his hand would instinctively find yours without either of you thinking about it.   

But somewhere along the way, you both stopped reaching for each other. Mostly him. 

Your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Quinn.  

“You okay?” 

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, but you don’t know how to answer that.

“Yeah. Just tired.”  

Quinn’s reply comes quickly. “Jack didn’t mean it.”   

Your breath catches. A hollow feeling sinks deeper into your chest.   

You don’t answer.  

Because the worst part is maybe he did.

[withmyloveasyourgarden]

CINNAMON SWEET

STEVE HARRINGTON X F!READER

A cute little diner, friends that secretly conspire to give you and Steve the push you both need, and a planned breakfast that suddenly feels a lot more like a date - not that either of you are complaining. [Re-uploaded from my old blog]

Realistically, Steve should have known there was something going on when everyone, except you and him, suddenly couldn't make it to the breakfast that they'd all planned. 

But he hadn't really thought much of it when Max said she was teaching El how to skate or when Eddie and the rest of the kids said there was important Hellfire stuff that needed doing. 

Robin had picked up an extra shift at work and when Steve had shot her a briefly suspicious look, she had simply smirked and said something about how she needed to stop being broke and finally get a licence. Because it's not like he could drive her around forever and ‘I can't be third wheeling when you finally get a girl willing to put up with you Harrington.’

And maybe he would have put it together if he hadn't been so god damn nervous.

If there weren't butterflies in his stomach right up until he pulled up in front of your house and if his brain didn't stutter every time he thought of how it was just going to be you and him. 

He didn't fare any better when you stepped outside, the same startling grin on your face when your eyes found his that had stolen his heart the very first time he'd seen it.

There was a softness to how you were dressed that made him ache, all chunky-knit sweaters and pretty-coloured beanies, the scarf that Steve had given to you last year when you took the kids ice-skating and later you'd teasingly informed him he would never get back. 

He couldn't help but hope that he never would if it meant he kept getting to see you walk around in something of his. The feeling he got in his chest when you would catch his eyes on it - smile half hidden beneath the dark wool, hopelessly shy, and your own gaze tinged warm. 

It was one that lingered as you climbed into the car, a gust of cold wind entering with you that stirred at Steve's hair and blew the scent of spiced apple and vanilla from your body wash all around him, hands tightening around the steering wheel and teeth clamped because he was sure he would blurt out something stupid when he realised how the smell instantly brought him comfort. 

"Hey." You murmured from beside him, voice soft, still a little thick from sleep like you hadn't fully woken up yet and Steve was pretty sure he felt something in his chest melt at the sound. "Is it just us?" 

"Hey, sweetheart." He hummed without thinking, the pet name slipping too easily past his lips like it had always held a place on his tongue when he spoke about you, and he was too preoccupied with watching the road to be aware of the way you flushed in response. "Looks like it, apparently everyone else has plans that couldn't wait. S'that okay?" 

And it's not that he necessarily thought you would have a problem with it but he wanted to make sure anyway. Because you and Steve had never really done anything like this before, there was always other people around - the kids or Robin and Eddie, or any time you had spent alone together was either spent entertaining each other at work or in an alternative dimension, fighting for your lives. 

This, right here and now, felt different and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like you had to be there if you didn't want to be. 

But then, to the boy's delight, you turned your head to grin at him, soft and warm, eyes bright. Looking every bit like you had always belonged in the passenger seat of his car, right beside him, just like this. "That's fine Steve." You told him. "It's their loss." 

**

The drive to the diner that Steve had chosen, a little bit out of the way instead of sticking to the one in town, was simultaneously never-ending and not long enough. 

An easy conversation flowed between you both. The nerves that had fluttered in your belly at the realisation it would just be the two of you slowly fading as you listened to Steve sing along to the music under his breath, only for them to then reappear with a vengeance when his hand occasionally brushed against your knee as he shifted gears. 

Each time he would withdraw his hand, cheeks tinged a soft pink, his apology a little choked sounding as he coughed to clear his throat. 

You had to pretend that the fleeting touch didn't burn you each time, that you didn't wish you could catch his fingers with yours and pull his hand back to rest on your knee instead of telling him ‘don't worry about it.’

And by the time you were unbuckling your seatbelt, nearly tumbling out of the door in your need for fresh air, there was a heady kind of tension between you. A sweet ache that made you feel permanently too warm, too giddy each time soft, brown eyes landed on yours and he smiled that same devastating smile that had labeled you a goner from the moment you had met him.

He waited for you to join him around the front of the car before he motioned towards the place with a little ta-da, his expression adorably pleased when you gave a delighted laugh before your gaze flickered to the quaint, little building, intrigued.

It didn't look like much at first glance but there was charm in its simplicity, all the decorations that they'd lovingly put in place for the season and the upcoming holiday making it feel homely and your heart undeniably happy. 

"How did you hear about this place?" You asked curiously whilst walking to the door. 

There was barely any space between you and every now and again you accidentally bumped arms or your fingers brushed, almost catching, so close to holding, but never quite. And unlike in the car, this time there was no quickly pulling away, no muttering of an apology, instead you both allowed it to happen like you were waiting to see if the other would pull away or if they'd be the one brave enough to move closer. 

But neither of you did and Steve quickly pulled you away from thoughts of if you should when he answered,

"Joyce told me. Said she used to bring Jonathan and Will here all the time because Will was convinced they did the best cinnamon waffles and hot chocolate." He grinned softly, eyes golden in the light of the sun and his expression briefly hesitant when he drew his lip between his teeth before adding. "It uh, it made me think of you."

"I remind you of waffles and hot chocolate? Is it because I'm just so sweet?" You joked. 

He shook his head with a huffed laugh, a rogue strand of hair falling into his eyes that you ached to brush away. "I wouldn't say that, well maybe, I guess?" He contradicted himself, cheeks a little flushed as he caught your amused stare, the pretty twinkle in your eyes that grew the more the boy spoke. "You mentioned that cinnamon waffles and hot chocolate was your favourite thing to have for breakfast that time we were at Robin's and– wait - shit - did I remember wrong?" 

You were stunned - a little too much so that you couldn't answer him for a moment, simply blinking at him as Steve's face grew worried. 

He brought you back with a hushed murmur of your name and you were suddenly fighting to breathe against the golden warmth flooding through your chest. 

"No, no, no, that's right." You assured him, a steadily beaming smile creeping across your face and Steve practically lit up with relief. "I just can't believe you remembered."

He snorted a little as he reached for the door and swung it open, a strong arm catching around your waist and pulling you into him to create a clear path for the elderly couple who were on their way out. 

"I remember a lot of things about you, probably more than I should." His voice was softer than you'd ever heard it and if the boy heard or even felt the way your breath hitched then he didn't say anything. Simply smiling proud and wide as the old couple thanked you, the lady cooing about 'what a cute couple you were and such lovely manners too.'

And when you finally dared to chance a look up at him he was already watching you. The tension from the car ride returning, something electric brewing in the small space between you that apparently made the boy feel bolder.  

"I did forget something today though." He mumbled, gaze a little warmer, a little flirtier, fixed on yours as he lifted his hand to tug high at your scarf, a light touch that caused his hand to barely graze the edge of your jaw and jesus christ, you couldn't fucking breathe. "Should have told you how pretty you look the moment you stepped foot in my car." 

You hadn't even realised your hands had made their way to his chest, fingers caught gently in his jacket from when you had swayed into him. But his breath was warm on your face and his nose was bumping yours and you swore there was a question in those pretty, honey eyes as they flicked from yours to your lips and slowly back. 

"I think I could maybe forgive you for taking this long." You whispered and he grinned, sticky-sweet and lovesick. 

"Yeah?" 

It was a question that you so badly wanted to answer by tilting your chin and pressing your lips to his. You wanted nothing more than to push yourself further into him, ached to feel him wrap himself around you, arms tight and mouth warm and giving under yours. 

But just as his lips brushed yours, the faintest echo of a touch, and you heard the boy's breath hitch, there was a crash from inside.

The sound of a plate shattering and cutlery hitting hardwood loud enough that the two of you jumped and stumbled apart with wide eyes. Gazes a little shy now the bubble you'd found yourselves in had been popped, allowing the world to rush around you once again. 

For a few moments you both just stood there, you nervously chewing at your lip as Steve ran a hand through his hair, musing it further than the wind had already. But then you caught the boy's eye and the laughter that bubbled out from you both sounded quiet and breathless, but real.

Happy.

And you could hardly bite back the smile when he tilted his head towards the inside of the diner and grinned. 

"After you, sweetheart." 

[lllivia]

I could help you

Ellie Williams x f!reader

Summary: Ellie helps you out 😛

Warnings: smut, non apocalyptic scenario, cocky (slightly loser) Ellie, top!Ellie, bottom!reader, frustrated!reader, NOT proofread

It had only gone four out of the six weeks the doctor had ordered for you to have your cast on - and you were already feeling like you were about to rip it off with your bare hands (which of course was impossible). What luck was it that the one fucking time you felt like skating without a helmet, you had skidded over some tiny little pebble and in an attempt to break your fall - breaking your wrist instead.

It was so hard to do quite literally anything when your dominant hand was all bandaged up, but by far one of the worst things was the masturbation. God, it was so frustrating, it seemed like any little thing could set you off at this point after going so long without a release.

You had tried getting off of course, but it only ended up hurting you more than it giving any sort of measurable pleasure, which only built up the sexual frustration that was at this point running 24/7 through your veins.

-

"Soo what d'you wanna do now?" Ellie smirked up at you from where she sat on the floor, just having beaten you for like the 7th time in the row in street fighter - which she claimed was all because of her pure "talent"x and not because you had a useless hand that couldn't help you make any proper combos.

"I don't know - you tell me, it's not much I can do with this fucked up wrist that doesn't cause me any pain" you sighed and layed back down onto your bed, pissed that the broken bone once again came in your way of doing anything fun.

"Alright.. How about we play some truth or dare?" She chuckled, standing up to sit next to where you lay, immediately getting comfy on the familiar blankets.

"What are you, ten?" You couldn't help but laugh - you hadn't played truth or dare since like early high school. But Ellie only raised her eyebrow at you "Have any better idea ms. "I can't think of anything to do"?"

And ig she was right, there really wasn't anything. "Okay okay you got me" You smiled, never able to resist your best friends pretty face.

"I'll get you to spill all of your deepest and darkest secrets" she wiggled her eyebrows ridiculously as if you didn't already tell eachother basically anything. "So, truth or dare."

You thought for a second - she wouldn't make you do something really stupid, would she?who we're you kidding, she totally would.

"Truth I guess" you answered hesitantly, slightly nervous about what she might ask.

"Umm when was the last time you finished a book" she asked, clearly not having thought as far as to get to the questions.

"Seriously dumbass, you don't have anything better than that?" You laughed and slapped her knee, unbeknownst to you making her grin just with your closeness. "Your turn then.. Truth or dare?"

She shrugged "Dare, obviously. I'm not a wimp" her smirk showing off her white teeth as you playfully hit her again.

"Fine, you have to text the last person you ghosted and tell them you need them" It was your turn to smirk as Ellie's face dropped, both of you knowing exactly who she had to text.

"You asshole! You know it was Dina, I can't just message her now after like 4 months" Ellie grimaced, the memory of when she suddenly stopped texting the girl back now fresh in her mind.

"I didn't say I would play fair" the laugh escaping you sounded down right sinister as you watched the brunette pick up her phone and send the text before slamming it down again on your mattress.

"Your turn, and don't even think I'm gonna play nice now" she had moved closer in the excitement, your bodies almost pressing against each other - which neither of you felt like commenting on. Not wanting to ruin the chance of being so close.

Worried she was going to make you do something absolutely humiliating you couldn't help with going for what you thought was the easy way out again. But oh my were you wrong. "Truth."

"Are you fucking kidding me y/n! You're such a pussy" Ellie groaned before widening her eyes at the perfect question.

"Well it's not in the rules that I can't choose truth two times in a row" you cheesed, pure smugness dripping off your tone.

"When's.. The last time you jacked off?" She smirked proudly, enjoying the embarrassment that quickly embraced your face.

"What the actual fuck Ellie, you creep!" You gaped, once again punching her leg.

"Ow - Well, you have to say it. It's the rules!" Your best friend laughed loudly while throwing her head back. She had for sure gotten the reaction she wanted after her last dare.

You thought about it for a moment before rolling your eyes "ok fine.. I guess about like 4 weeks ago" looking away your cheeks started burning hot, there was definitely some kind of unspoken boundary that just got crossed. "But it's only because of this stupid useless hand that I can't fucking get off!"

Well shit, you had definitely said too much now.

It was Ellie's time to gape now, her mind starting to race at the simple sentence.

All she could think of doing was licking her cracked lips and blushing before thinking of something to say. "I could.. Help you? Yk.. If you want."

You almost laughed straight in her face. There was no way she was being serious right now, what the hell did she mean by helping you?

"..What?" Your almost squeeky voice sounded out, unable to stop the warmth pooling into your lower belly at the situation that was happening right in front of you.

"I could get you off" her body was fully turned towards you now, she couldn't even believe herself for being so bold. God, she hoped this wouldn't ruin the perfect relationship you already had.

"Okay" you answered breathely, you legs unknowingly starting to rub against each other slightly - something that didn't go unnoticed by Ellie.

"Okay?" Waiting to confirm what she thought she just heard, she could almost feel herself twitching in anticipation.

"Okay" you laughed breathily, what was happening right now.

Ellie didn't waste any more time, and practically jumped your bones on the spot. She didn't waste any time on formalities and crawled down your body until she reached your pajama pants.

"You're so pretty" she looked up and smirked "but you'd be prettier without these" she plucked at the band of your pants before letting it snap back into place.

"You're so fucking corny" you rolled your eyes playfully, ignoring the fact that you were basically already dripping in arousal.

"Whatever you say" her eyes never leaving you as she slid the pants down your smooth skin, however many times she had seen you change could never compare with the feeling that embraced her now while actually being the one stripping you down.

All that was left on your lower body now was your underwear, which Ellie felt the strange want to rip off with her teeth - oh how many times she had imagined you under her like this. Restraining from the action she looked up at you once again as to double check that what she was doing was alright, before finally removing your panties in a haste.

She stopped to stare for a second, taking in your beauty in case this was the one and only time she would ever do this. "You're so pretty baby, might have to break your wrist more often" You rolled your eyes playfully - even when you were basically trying to hump her face and whimpering in need.

"C'mon Ellie - just fuck me already" you breathed as she took her time viewing and kissing your thighs.

"Alright alright, no need to beg baby. I'm right here, I'll help you."

And she finally did. Her tongue gleefully licking through your already soaked folds as she held you down while you writhed. "God, you taste so good" she moaned, using two fingers to rub up and down your pussy - enjoying the slick that quickly covered her digits.

But as much as she was enjoying the look of pure need and desperation in your eyes while she slowly teased you, she couldn't hold on for long before she pushed the two already lubed up fingers into you.

You immediately squeezed around her and gasped, fuck, no warning? But the slight sting from the stretch dissipated almost immediately as she started curling her fingers into you, her tongue simultaneously tracing figure 8s on your throbbing clit.

"S-shit Ellie!" Wow, you hadn't noticed how much you needed this until it was actually happening. And the fact that it was Ellie - your literal best friend and crush, that leading you towards your forthcoming orgasm was reeling you closer and closer to the edge faster than you had ever managed to do with your own fingers.

"Huh, you like that?" Her pace never slowed before she decided it was time to add a third finger, loving the feeling of you squeezing around her.

"Yes, yes! I needed this so bad" your high pitched voice sounded out while you painted for air, aggressively using your one good hand to grab onto Ellie's hair and pushing her closer to you - not even noticing as she whimpered slightly at the feeling.

"You gonna come? I mean shit, y/n, I can literally feel the way you're suffocating my fingers" She chuckled and sped up a bit as she talked.

"Mhm - yeah I'm gonna come" it seemed like the only thing in the world that was real was Ellie as she flicked her tongue one last teasing time against you.

A pleasure better than you'd ever felt crashed down all at once, almost drowning you. The warmth of Ellie's tongue never disappeared while your orgasm lasted, the girl on top of you never letting up until you were a twitching mess against her, weakly trying to push her away while whimpering lowly.

When you finally felt as though you could speak again you looked over at her already staring form, her face having a tiny blushing smile adorned all over it as she looked at you.

"Was that good?" Even after she had made you experience the most jaw dropping experience of your life she still had the nerve to ask such a stupid question.

"Yes dumbass, that was literally the best orgasm I've ever had" you grinned and layed back, closing your eyes - if you could just stay in this moment forever you would, resting as Ellie hummed and traced tiny hearts onto your bare stomach.

Well, that was so much better than playing some stupid video game.

-

a/n: I'm writing this at 1 in the morning so excuse if it's a bit wonky - ALSO SEND REQUESTS PLS, I'M OUT OF CREATIVITY 😪🙏

MAIN MASTERLIST

[augustwinesworld]

in love with “I look in peoples windows”

if you’re willing to share do you have any headcanons about Noah 🥹 since he’s also kinda unconscious, what kind of kid is he? What type of relationship does he have with his mom? What is he obsessed with/are his interests ?

i just want to know more about these characters you’ve created!!!

𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬—𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?

series description: 

pairing: dr. michael robinavitch x  female ob/gyn attending! reader

genre: hidden pregnancy…maybe?

notes: Hiiiii, omg I am so sorry it took so long to answer this! I had a lot of shit going on last week, so I didn't write anything (and wasn't planning to tbh). Between exams, a three day opening event at the gallery, my birthday, and some other things I was very much overwhelmed. But finally, this headcannon is complete and I hope you like it<3<3

NEWS FLASH! : NEW CHAPTER WILL BE COMING OUT THIS SUNDAY, 18/05

word count: 2.1 k.

extra: moodboard | playlist | ☆:**:. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 .:**:.☆ 

Feel free to #𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 (◕‿◕✿) *:･ﾟ✧ if you have any scenarios in mind! I might not write everything but I’ll respond to everyone.

series masterlist: 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬

Noah used to be obsessed with Dinosaur King:

The cards, the DVDs, the battered Nintendo DS game with the cracked hinge. His room is still a shrine to it: plushies arranged like sentries on the bookshelf, the limited-edition holo cards in a binder under his bed. Legend has it the only thing that soothed him as a colicky baby was the sound of Jurassic Park playing in the background—Mom swears by it, even if he now covers his eyes during the T. rex scene (but peeks through his fingers).

But that was, you know, a year ago. Back when he was a kid. Now he rolls his eyes and says things like “I outgrew it,” but the second someone gets a dinosaur fact wrong—like claiming Velociraptors were the size of humans—he’ll practically combust. He’ll start with a scoff, then a “That’s not even close,” and launch into a very serious correction, complete with citations. Then he’ll go back to pretending he doesn’t care, cheeks a little pink.

He plays junior hockey, has from a very young age, but only started playing in a team three years ago. The ice is the one place where all the noise in his head seems to hush. He wears his Pittsburgh Penguins every game day, knows the team’s stats better than his times tables, and can name every position on the ice. 

Noah plays center, because of course he does—he’s the kind of kid who needs to know where everyone is, what’s coming next, and how to quietly keep things from falling apart. Center demands focus, balance, foresight; it gives his overactive brain a job and his anxious heart a place to breathe. He’s not the fastest on the ice, but he sees things—reads the play like a puzzle, always thinking three moves ahead. It’s the one place he doesn’t feel too much--it’s just enough.

The rink smells like cold rubber and somebody’s gross old socks. It’s loud, too—like whistles and stomping and parents yelling even though no one can really hear them over the buzz of the ice machines. 

Noah squints under the bright lights as he adjusts his helmet. It’s too tight. Again. “You’re gonna squish my brain,” he told Mom this morning, wrinkling his nose while she buckled the strap. She just kissed his forehead and said, “Squished brains make better decisions.” Dumb. A bit lame. But still kinda funny. He laughed.

Logan skates up and shoves him, grinning. “Race you to the bench after,” he says.

“Last time you tripped.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

They bump shoulders. No one's mad. Logan makes a gagging noise.

“Ugh, dude, you smell like syrup.”

Noah shrugs. “Had pancakes.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You’re like, sticky through your gear.”

“You’re just mad 'cause your mom made oatmeal again.”

Logan scowls. “That was private.”

They both start giggling, helmets clacking as they lean into each other, the kind of laugh that gets stuck in their throats.

Coach then shouts something about spacing and lines from the other side of the ice, but it’s kind of whatever. Noah just nods. He knows the basics: chase the puck, don’t fall, pass to Milo if he’s waving his arms around like crazy. He wipes his glove across his mouthguard and spits onto the rubber mat. Feels cool doing it. Like a real player.

The ref drops the puck.

He goes.

The ice makes that squeaky sound under his blades. His lungs burn, in a good way. He doesn’t see Mom, but he knows she’s watching. She always is. She claps louder than everyone, even yells his name sometimes—Noah hates that part—but today, when he glanced up at warm-ups, she was smiling with her hand over her mouth, talking to Logan’s dad. Mr. Harper. He’d laughed at something she said and leaned in a little. He’s standing kinda close. Like...close.. Noah doesn't know why he noticed. Or why it made his stomach feel weird. He just skates harder.

He wants her to watch. Just her.

LOOOOOVES boardgames. Especially the ones with many rules that his mom can’t understand so he has to explain with the utmost patience.

His routines. He likes knowing that every Friday night means takeout and a movie, or that Mom will play with his hair, leaving one or two braids hidden behind his hair after a bath if he’s tired. These things soothe the low hum of anxiety he doesn’t always have words for. Also, pancakes for dinner every Sunday. Chocolate chips for him and blueberries for mom. 

He shuts down emotionally under pressure. Especially if he’s scared or feels like he’s disappointed someone. So he might say, “I’m fine,” and then refuse to make eye contact for the rest of the night.

He gets jealous. Especially when it comes to his mom. If someone takes up her time—whether work, or even a friend—he might act out in subtle ways. Maybe he interrupts more. Maybe he pretends to “need” something he really doesn’t.

Milo’s sitting at the kitchen island, feet swinging, watching Noah’s mom slice apples like she’s doing magic.

“That smells so good,” he says, wide-eyed as she pulls cookies from the oven. “You should open a bakery or something.”

Noah stiffens. “She’s just making snacks,” he mutters.

His mom laughs, brushing flour from her cheek. “Milo, you’re sweet. But trust me, no one would buy cookies shaped like blobs.”

“She’s so nice,” Milo whispers to Logan, who’s already elbow-deep in the cookie plate.

Noah hears it. Hears all of it. And suddenly he’s on the verge of dying. “Mom,” he says loudly, climbing onto the stool beside her, “my throat kind of hurts.”

She turns to him, brow knitting. “Oh? Do you feel sick?”

“No,” he says, too fast. “But maybe you could make tea? Like the one with the honey and the—” He pauses, glancing at Milo.“—the kind you only make for me.”

There’s a beat. His mom looks at him for a second too long. Then she nods, brushing his bangs from his forehead. 

“Alright. Tea for the patient.”

Milo tries to ask her another question—something about the cookies—but she’s already moved to the kettle.

Noah shoots him a look. Not mean. Just... his. 

Like: mine.

Logan, clueless, stuffs another cookie into his mouth. “You’re so weird, dude.”

Noah shrugs, smug now. His mom's back was to Milo, and that’s what mattered.

He can be bossy with other kids. Especially younger ones. He thinks he’s just being “helpful,” but really he hates chaos and wants everyone to do what makes sense to him. This is when his dad’s rigidity shows up.

He’s prone to catastrophizing. He once got a B on a math quiz and whispered, “I’ll never get into a good school”—and he was only nine. A stomach ache? “What if it’s cancer.” Therapy’s been helping him name the spirals when they start, but they’re still real: fast, quiet, and hard to steer once his brain starts running.

A mildly anxious, overthinker. He overthinks, he spirals sometimes, but he's learning. He doesn’t always say it out loud, but it shows in the way he chews his sleeve or double-checks things that don’t need checking. And when he does speak up, he might say, “You should’ve called,” instead of “I missed you,” but the meaning still lands.

The house is quiet when you open the door—but not quiet enough. The TV is still on, humming low in the living room, and the lamp beside the couch casts a low glow. Your mother is passed out under a blanket, one slipper dangling off her foot.

You step further in, careful not to wake anyone. Then you hear it: the soft shuffle of bare feet on tile.

“Noah?”

He appears in the hallway, pajama pants wrinkled, hair flattened on one side. He’s holding his stuffed raptor by the neck, thumb pressed to the seam where the stitching came loose last week. His eyes are wide, but not upset. Just…watchful.

“You were gone a long time,” he says. Not accusing—just stating the facts. His voice is quiet. Even.

“I know, baby,” you say, setting your bag down by the door. “There was a delivery. Complications. I got stuck longer than I thought.”

He nods, like he’s tucking that away somewhere—filing it, the way he always does. You can see the questions lining up behind his eyes—how bad were the complications? did the baby make it? what if it happens again?—but he doesn’t ask.

He glances at the clock. “It’s really late.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” he says, chewing the edge of his sleeve. “I just thought maybe something happened.”

You cross to him and crouch down, brushing his hair gently back. He leans into your hand, just a little, like something in him finally lets go.

“I’m okay,” you say softly. “You can always call me. Even if Grandma’s here.”

He nods again. A pause.

“I checked the front door twice,” he says. No smile, just the truth of it. A quiet ritual. A way to feel safe.

You kiss his forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

And he holds your hand all the way down the hall.

He picks up on things quickly—tones, looks, when something’s off. He’s the kind of kid who’ll go quiet when a room turns tense, or who’ll suddenly say, “Are you mad at each other?” when no one’s said a word. It’s not precocious, just… tuned-in. Like someone who’s had to watch carefully, who’s learned to read the air before stepping into it.

Kind but grounded. He has his mom’s warmth and sense of care—the kind of kid who offers his snack to someone who forgot theirs, or comforts a crying classmate—but he also knows when to draw a quiet boundary. He might say, “I think we need space right now,” the same way his mom would calmly de-escalate a tense room.

Funny in a dry, observational way. Robby’s sarcasm filtered through a 9-year-old’s lens. Not mean-spirited, just blunt. He might deadpan when someone tries to fix something with duct tape, then go help anyway.

The pizza place smelled like garlic and the floor was sticky in some spots, but Noah didn’t mind. He liked this kind of busy—clinking plates, soda fountains hissing, Logan talking with his mouth full across the table. He liked it even more when his mom was here, sitting next to him, her jacket still zipped halfway up from the cold outside.

She was smiling politely. Again.

Logan’s dad had been talking for what felt like forever—mostly about the game, a little about his job (something boring, Noah couldn’t remember), and now about how impressive it was that she managed to come straight from work to the rink, and still had energy to take the boys out to eat.

“I’m just saying,” he added, leaning back in the booth like he’d landed a punchline. “If there were a Hockey Mom Hall of Fame, you’d be in it. With a statue and everything.”

Noah stared at him. Then turned slowly to his mom. She looked like she was trying not to laugh—or maybe trying not to roll her eyes. Hard to tell.

“She’s not even a hockey mom,” Noah said, voice flat. “She doesn’t even know the rules.”

His mom choked on her water. Logan giggled into his Sprite.

Logan’s dad blinked. “Well—I mean, she shows up. That’s the important part, right?”

Noah didn’t answer. He just took a bite of pizza, deadpan. Chewed. Swallowed.

Then: “Statues are weird.”

There was a pause. The kind adults make when they’re trying to figure out if a kid just insulted them. His mom reached under the table and squeezed his knee gently.

“You okay?” she murmured.

Noah shrugged. “Mhm.” He took another bite.

He wasn’t mad. Not exactly. He just didn’t like the way Logan’s dad kept looking at her, like she was extra impressive for being tired and kind and good at things. Like that was rare. Noah already knew that. He didn’t need someone else pointing it out like it was a surprise.

Across the table, Logan slurped from his straw way too loudly before adding, “Dad, are you trying to be embarrassing, or does it just happen naturally?”

His dad raised his hands in mock offense. “Hey, I’m charming. This is peak dad charisma.”

Logan snorted. “You sound like the car guy on TV. The one who yells and wears too much tanning lotion.”

Noah, still chewing, finally cracked a smile.

Logan’s dad looked over at Noah’s mom like see what I deal with? but she was just sipping her water, amused and entirely unsurprised.

Noah leaned into her side a little, just enough to feel her shoulder against his. Statues were weird. But this? This was fine.

Protective, especially of his mom. He doesn’t always understand what’s going on between her and Robby, but he feels it. If he thinks someone—especially his dad—is upsetting her, he doesn’t lash out; he just gets quiet and watchful. He notices everything, even when he doesn’t say it.

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© AUGUSTWINESWORLD : no translation, plagiarism, or cross posting.

[zozo-01]

on loving a sport that only demanded the best from you, and how you cope with taking your life back from it. (feat leon s. kennedy <3)

You could feel his eyes trained on you, trying to ignore his gaze as you help the kids off the ice and into the change rooms to get them ready for their parents.

You didn't even flinch or look his way when he stopped next to you on the ice, his back resting against the rink. Through all of that, he never took his eyes off of you.

"Is there anything you need, captain?" You finally turned your head towards Leon, trying to figure out what he needed from you.

He didn't say a word, opting to continue to just stare at you. What was going on behind those baby blue eyes, you'll never know. Quite frankly, you didn't even care. But at this point, his staring was starting to freak you out, and you're ready to bolt out of there to avoid his scrutinizing gaze.

"Well, if you're not going to say anything, I'm gonna go-"

"Your skills are still there," he finally spoke up. Your raised eyes brow and confused face must have prompted him to continue. "The way you handle the puck and skate around... You're just as good as you were when we were kids."

With the way your training was instilled in you, it was hard to let go of the way you played hockey. It was true that your instincts were still there, and if you were being honest, you could probably put on a jersey and play better then half of Leon's team. And that was probably putting it nicely.

But the thought of putting on another jersey had bile rising in your throat. You shook those desires out of your head.

"Congratulations, you're the first person to tell me that." He wasn't the first and you know he won't be the last. The moment you stepped away from the sport, all you heard around you were pleas to keep going and to save your home team, with no regards of your health or even what you wanted. It left you bitter, how the people who'd call themselves your 'fans' just treated you like a circus animal, who's only purpose was to keep them entertained. You scoffed, "I'm sorry you won't get your rematch though."

His eyes widened and his mouth was ready to defend himself.

"That's not what I meant-"

"If you're keep going to say the same shit that everyone has said to me, then you can drop it Kennedy," you snarled as you squared up to face him. "I am never setting foot on ice during a game again, and you're just going to have to deal with that." You were exhausted of everyone thinking you owed them an explanation. You didn't owe anyone shit, let alone Leon.

His eyes hardened as he squared up to you as well, not afraid of the challenge you're posing. Fine, if he was going to be stubborn, then you'd just have to beat his ass again.

"I just hate that you have all this talent," he used his gloved hand to gesture at you before continuing, "and it's going to waste when anyone would kill to have your natural skills." He tried to hurt you with his words, and it would have worked had you not heard worse over the years.

Still, it didn't stop anger lighting up your blood and the scars on your heart slowly reopen.

Before you could go off on how very wrong he was, you were cut off by one of the girls from your class. She was talented for her age and you saw a lot of you in her, back when you thought hockey was what you wanted. Part of you wished to deter her from this path and save her from the pain that awaited her. You of all people knew that wasn't your decision to make.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything..." her voice trailed off with nerves. Your heart softened as you knelt down to hear her better.

"It's ok, sweetie. Is there anything you need?" you asked as you felt your rage leave your system. You would never be like the coaches you had growing up, always treating your kids with the kindness and care you were denied.

"It's just... I just want to thank you for everything that you do and that it's really cool to have you as a teacher!" Her eyes lit up as she continued singing your praises. Your cynical side wanted to come out and tell her that you weren't as good as she said, but you kept your mouth shut. But there was one thing she said that stood out to you.

"I want to be just like you one day!"

No you don't kid, you thought remorsefully. You didn't say anything because Leon decided to speak up on your behalf.

"You're choosing a great person to look up to." Your eyes snapped up to him, not expecting him to praise you after such a heated exchange. "She's one of the best to ever do it, and you already look like you're on your way to be like her." He smiled at her, his voice confident in his words. You never knew he thought so highly of you, and your heart fluttered at his compliment.

That was the end of the conversation, as the young girl's father had come by to pick her up. She thanked you and ran off to her dad, but you stayed kneeling on the ice.

This is what you loved about the sport. Seeing young players look up to you and having older players validate you. You were so damn good at hockey it hurts you everyday that you would forever be just a juniour player when you knew you could be more- were destined for more.

The silence didn't scare him off, so you offered a little bit of your story.

"It wasn't easy," you finally spoke, standing up with your back to him. "I don't even think I made the right decision sometimes."

"There's always a spot on the team for you," Leon offered. You knew that, with Coach Branagh giving you the same offer. "You're a better player then literally the entire team, except for me of course," he boasted. He didn't see the little smile at his cockiness. He continued, "if you love the sport, there's always a way back."

"But I have to love me more. No sport is worth my life," you said with an air of finality, and you hope that if you said it enough times, your heart would stop aching every time you said it.

Leon deflated, but if he wanted to say more, then it would have to wait for another time. A cursory glance at the clock told you that his practice was about to begin and it was time you head home.

"I'll see you around, Kennedy." You didn't wait for a response, stepping off the ice and unlacing your skates, leaving him standing there on the rink. You grab your bags and head over to your car.

As you left the ice rink, you couldn't help but have a feeling that you're going to see Leon around more often. A small and dismissible part of your heart was okay with that realization.

(Leon gave himself a mission as he watched you walk away again, and that was to break the shell you created for yourself and try to bring back the girl he fell in love with all those years ago.)

(The fact that he wishes to deny is that he never stopped loving you, and he's scared he'll never get over you.)

reader: sorry i don't date hockey players leon: but... you were a hockey player... reader: my point exactly

well... hockey boy! leon apparently has my heart and i have @vaaaaaiolet to blame for that. i'm sososo excited to read your hockey boy! leon fic and i am clutching you so hard during these trying times (the nhl playoffs as a leafs fan)

[peachhcs]

samy at will’s family skate!

STOPP i saw the picture of him with the marleau family and i just think it's so adorable. he looks so cozy.

au masterlist

"so like should i pretend to not know what i'm doing so you can look like you're helping me?" samy teased a bit as she laced her skates up. the other families were heading onto the ice after their players, some of them wobbling as soon as they touched the ice while others flew on with no problem.

"maybe pretend for five minutes for the pictures," macklin chimed in from beside the girl. both of them snickered while will, who stood in front of them waiting, flushed.

"i don't know, i think it would be kind of hot seeing you know what you're doing and beat my ass," the blonde shrugged, a cocky smile on his lips. samy pushed herself off the bench, quickly squeezing her boyfriend's chin and admiring the way he blushed at her affection.

"wow, looks like i know what turns you on. i don't think i could fake it anyway with these people knowing i can skate. i'll hold your hand for the pictures though," the brunette kissed the boy's cheek before pushing past him to get on the ice.

will watched the way macklin winked at him having heard the entire exchange and the poor blonde was never going to get rid of his blush. he followed after his girlfriend, sticks in hand. she did half a lap of the rink to get her bearings before meeting will in the middle. his smile was wide with love and so was samy's.

anytime she got back on the ice it looked like she never left in the first place.

"now that we've actually got you on the ice, i wanna see you whipping this one's butt after hearing about it so many times," macklin joined the couple with his own stick.

"aw, i wouldn't wanna completely embarrass will at his own family skate," the brunette hummed, eyeing her boyfriend who just couldn't stop blushing this morning. "plus, i don't wanna run over any of the moms or anything," they glanced at the families crowding the ice now and it definitely wouldn't end well if one of them knocked into someone going too hard in a 1v1.

"how about we use that half down there? no one's down there yet," macklin motioned towards the left end of the rink where an open net sat.

"i'm all for it, but it's up to will," samy looked over at the blonde. his gaze found hers, the bright smile on her lips never failing to make will smile either. he didn't really care that she'd whip his ass because he accepted a long time ago that she'd always be better than him.

"let's do it. i'm sure some of these people will enjoy a little friendly fire," the blonde agreed. macklin and samy quickly cheered before skating towards the net.

brody, jagger, and caleb caught wind of the small match happening and immediately wanted in on the fun as they skated towards the older kids. "looks like we've got a whole team now!" macklin exclaimed, urging the younger boys over.

"oh no, i'm getting deja vu all over again," samy giggled.

they split themselves off into a 3v3. samy let will have macklin and jagger on his team while she took brody and caleb figuring having his co-dependent rookie would boost his performance and possibly beat her for once. the youngest hughes's team played defense first.

her and the marleau boys actually made a really great team. they were quick trying to block will or macklin's passes and even when will thought he was getting close to scoring, just like in soccer, the blonde took the puck back from right under his nose.

"dude," macklin said as will came around the net again after failing to score.

"i told you she's good," will mumbled while samy just chuckled.

"i can see. maybe we should switch it up," the younger brunette suggested so they did. will, macklin, and jagger took up the defense while samy, brody, and caleb got ready to score.

they began drawing a bit of a crowd. patrick and christinia watched their kids have fun while some of the other players gathered to see the youngest hughes in action. it was safe to say many of the sharks were impressed with the girl's skill and they could definitely tell she was a hughes.

samy passed the puck towards brody while she skated to the back of the net. will was hot on her tail until caleb came around and with him being so little still, he tripped will up and the girl was able to easily put the puck in. she pumped her arms in victory while looks of defeat washed over the other boys.

"wow, looks like our rookies have some serious competition," eklund cut in, going to high five the girl.

"she sure is a hughes," macklin grinned, roughing up samy's shoulders while she just chuckled.

"was that too hard on you," she asked when will came back around. the blonde flushed but shook his head.

"i think i accepted my defeat a long time ago," he admitted and pressed a quick kiss to the side of her head. his affection earned samy's own blush for the first time today on her cheeks.

"well, i want a rematch. you didn't even give us a chance," macklin determined and the others laughed.

"okay, deal. let's rematch and i'll whip your ass again," the girl skated back towards the net where the others quickly followed.

the rest of the morning was spent on the ice and samy quickly proving how much skill she possessed on the ice all thanks to her brothers and parents. at least her and will managed to get a cute photo together before they left where samy held up three fingers to show the 3 points she scored against her boyfriend while he got none.

[ukranianacearo]

Death the Kid with a reader who loves him unconditionally? I feel like ppl pair him up with tsuns and kuus a lot, but how abt someone who just absolutely adores him for all he is? Even the parts of him that others think are annoying? Think like, how Amy Rose is to Sonic in older depictions.

I will fall in love with you, over and over again

Gn!Reader

Tw: mentions of death

Genre: hurt w/ comfort I guess

Pairing: Death the Kid x Gn!Reader

Synopsis: No matter what, Kid is always loved for who he is

Author's note: I'm starting to write this in my theatre class (13/02/2025)bc I'm bored (I'm part of the supporting team in this play and we finished doing everything needed of us). Also, I LOVE the request, I love devoted characters or the ones that yearn for their lover. Even though they are more difficult to write since I'm not familiar, on a personal level, with romantic devotion. I did think of Penelope from Epic the moment I read the request😭 so this is highly influenced by her and all that. Anyway, I tried my best, there may be grammatical errors and I hope you enjoy this!

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

The night was young, and Kid was flying back to the Gallows Mansion. This wasn't a mission, so Kid let Liz and Patty stay, do their things. Yet, Kid wasn't well anyway. His body ached and he felt exhausted. His skate, Beelzebub, was his only saving in this moments.

After some time, he finally arrived to the building. His limbs were dragging him through the silent and empty halls, while he leaned against the wall for more support. He's not sure if he was more exhausted mentally or physically; this was supposed to be just a simple went out. Nothing too dangerous. But somehow. Somehow. Kid got himself injured. He can't remember well, but it's not even his priority right now. He just wants to get his injuries treated and rest. The ringing in his ears makes it impossible for him to hear that there was someone else walking towards him in the hall to his side. As he was about to turn, he bumped into this person and almost lost his balance.

- Kid! I'm sorry, I didn't see you. Are you alright? - a voice so familiar and loved went through his ears and he needed a few seconds to process who it was and then immediately try to stand up; but his injuries kept him from doing any fast moves. He hissed in pain as this person squatted next to him, a hand on Kid's back for support, and heels down for more support. - You look awful. Let's take you to your room for now.

- You... You don't have to... You don't have to do this for me, I can do it myself... - Kid said as he tried to ignore the pain and walk to his room with this person's support.

- It's alright, Kid. I don't judge, not you. - they answered calmly, still supporting Kid, but now with both of their arms. - I can't carry you to your room and neither can I just let you go there by yourself in such state. I actually care about you, you know. Like a lot. - Kid didn't answer, he couldn't say anything else, nor did he want. He is well aware that this person cherishes him a lot, it's not like they're hiding it. They never even tried to hide it. If anyone would ask them, they'll answer with honesty and without hesitation.

- I know. I cherish you a lot too. - He mumbled under his breath.

- Sorry, what?

- Nothing, just help me get to the room, please.

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

I'm so fucking sorry😭😭 this took me two months and it's so short. I did actually start it on 13/02, but only a bit, and then I continued two weeks later, yet again, didn't finish it. Today, idk what came over me, but I finally did it. Completely. I really hope you enjoyed it, at least a bit. I might have gotten a bit carried away, or didn't write it like you wanted it to be, but I hope you liked it at least a little bit. Anyway, I hope everything is fine with all of you, drink enough water, don't forget to eat your 2k~2.5k of calories and bye bye

[lilimaginebean]

five days — 五日

synopsis: In which Kaiser fell in love with his tattoo artist, or in which Kaiser has only five appointments to convince you to go on a date with him.

note: hi :)

prev | masterlist

🥀 Day 5

"Well, at least I'm still alive, right?" you said, trying to comfort Kaiser, who was sitting next to you with the saddest aura ever.

The nurse finally came in, stared at you in confusion, and approached both of you.

"Again? In the emergency room?" she asked, you could do nothing but nod, "What now?"

"Allergic reaction. So crazy, who would have thought I could be allergic to a particular dried fruit that is only grown in one village in Greece? Right?" you said, trying to sound funny, but the sore throat made it sound more painful than anything else.

"OK, come with me, again," the nurse said as she took you to another room, giving Kaiser a dirty look.

How did this happen anyway?

After the last tattoo session, you finished one of your best masterpieces. The tattoo ended up being pretty amazing, and you weren't the only one who thought so, Kaiser couldn't stop complimenting you and your tattoo. Of course, that piece of art wasn't your only happiness, as you and Kaiser finally got to go on a date.

However, before the date began, Kaiser once again asked your uncle for permission to take you out. Maybe this time it was because he was no longer a customer, or because your uncle felt empathy for Kaiser, or maybe because of the expensive watch Kaiser had bought for your uncle; but he accepted. You both fled before your uncle could change his mind.

The two of you could finally be together. No exams, no work, just the two of you. What you didn't expect was that everything would go wrong.

First of all, the really luxurious limousine that Kaiser had hired broke down. That wasn't too bad, as Kaiser had only hired it to get to the place he wanted earlier. Finally, they arrived at the first place of the date, which was a really nice picnic with some of their favourite books. It would have been great if it hadn't started raining. At least you two were able to save the books.

But it didn't stop there. He took you to the next stop, which was ice skating. Unfortunately, when you got there and were teaching Kaiser how to do it, some hyperactive kid went too fast and hit you, causing you to hit your head on the ice. So basically you were knocked out for a few seconds, and that ended with you going to the emergency room to make sure you were okay without any side effects. Luckily, it wasn't anything serious, so they let you go and kept the date.

The cherry on top? For dinner, Kaiser took you to the most expensive restaurant you've ever been to. Everything was going well until you found out that you were somehow allergic to one of the weirdest things the chef used. So you were checked twice in less than 3 hours to see if you were physiologically OK.

When your second check routine was over without a hitch, you returned to the waiting room and approached Kaiser. He was slumped in his chair, but fortunately his cap hid his frustration.

"Shall we go?" you asked him in a gentle tone.

He got up, took your hand and left. The two of you walked in silence to your apartment, you didn't know what to say to make him feel better and he was too mad to even talk. Once outside of your home, you stared at Kaiser, who had a sad expression on his face, and suddenly his stomach growled and demanded food.

"Just kill me," Kaiser admitted, feeling defeated by everything.

You chuckled.

"Come with me, I'll see what you can eat," you opened the door of the building where your apartment was and followed you inside.

Once inside your small but cosy apartment, you made him sit down in the living room and went into the kitchen. A few minutes later you returned with a plate of veggie sandwiches. You sat down next to him.

"Don't be sad, I really had fun with everything you planned," you said, comforting him.

He just picked up the sandwich, took a bite and stared at you.

"It's not that bad." Kaiser admitted, "Your lame veggie sandwich, I mean, the date went horribly. I really expected the date to end differently, not with me eating this."

You approached him.

"Hey the date hasn't ended yet, we can still turn it into something wonderful" you said confidently.

Kaiser stared at you curiously, wondering what you could do to turn this awful moment into at least a decent one. You stroked his hair, leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead, then on the cheek and finally on the lips.

"Better?" you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

He left the sandwich on the plate and gave you all his attention.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," Kaiser confessed in an enthusiastic tone, as if he were a fan who had just met his idol, "But… I bet you can do better, Liebling," he said in a cocky tone.

"Trust me, I can" you answered in the same tone

"Prove it."

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Stardew valley bachelors (and krobus and the wizard) witnessing the farmer chug multiple jars of mayonnaise. Just really slinging it back.

Okay ngl I never did this till right now and I got everybody's reactions so this is based on the responses my farmer got after doing this

Spoilers: they've all known my farmer for about 7 years so it's nothing too shocking to them,,,but it's still highly questionable lmao

.....

Shane

"Umm..."

For years, him and Pam were beer addicts...and now comes along you, the new farmer who's a very...different kind of addict.

An addict to mayonnaise, that is.

For years, people have been judging him for his habit, so it seems fair that he should be allowed to judge you 100% for having the weirdest fucking habit in the valley.

He started opening up to you (in his 2 heart event) and you're just sitting next to him, drinking mayonnaise to wash out the beer he offered you.

Only after you two get closer does he decide "well shit, they're weird..but they're also one of the few who care about me,,,"

And he eventually lets go of it altogether.

But he'll still tease you about your mayo addiction from time to time.

"What're you gonna put in the potluck this year? Gold star mayo? Or did you already eat it on the way here?"

"Oh shut up."

"Heh heh."

Sam

"Gross!"

Considering it's one of his hated gifts, this shouldn't come as a surprise to you.

But the way you've absolutely freaked him out by drinking it in front of him (and subsequently making him miss his kickflip) was hilarious.

"That's what you get for skating on other people's property." You shook your head, smirking as you bring out another jar. "You think Jodi needs some for later? Or should I just drink it in front of her, too?"

"NO! Stop. Please don't do that." Sam hisses. "One, she might uninvite you from future family dinners. And two, she'll think it's one of those weird trends and blame me for it!"

"A trend..hm? Doesn't sound like a bad idea. This town could use one more tradition." You laugh, consuming the jar and not missing the look of horror on his face.

"A-And I thought Abigail eating rocks was nuts...you two would be great friends.."

Harvey

"Umm..."

While he's well aware of the many health benefits to mayonnaise, he wonders if you know that they're best as a condiment....not a beverage you can just sling back.

"But you told me to lay off the Joja Colas, doctor," you pointed out to him. "You're telling me those are a healthier alternative to this?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all." He huffs. "It's just..erm..I've never met someone who enjoyed mayonnaise by itself..it sounds-"

"Disgusting?"

"N-No! I didn't mean it like-"

"I'm kidding, Harvey." You laugh a little, amused by his nervousness. "You know any side effects to drinking large quantities of mayo?"

"..none in particular, but that doesn't mean you should-"

"Then if I start feeling anything different, I'll let you know. Thank you." With a wink, you pull out some dinosaur mayo and drink it on your way out of the clinic...with poor Harvey wondering wtf that was.

Regular mayo was fine, but that green icky-looking mayo...had him gravely concerned over what you were doing to your body.

Elliot

"Why?!"

You thought you were being subtle, drinking a little bit of mayo while hanging out at his beachside cabin.

But nope.

You've absolutely horrified this man. Traumatized, even.

It's almost as bad as the time you left a super cucumber on his doorstep, and the next day he sent you a letter demanding to know who made you play this "cruel prank" on him.

In reality, you thought it'd be a nice gift and he'd make something poetic out of a rare sea creature you fished up.

Apparently not and that's when you quickly learned it's a hated one.

"Oh don't be so dramatic," you shake your head. "It's easier to carry than some full course meal."

"But you could have any other food....why that?" Elliot asks, now genuinely curious about what goes on in your mind to think mayo is a suitable choice in food.

You have no explanation though other than "it's most convenient for me and I like the taste".

So he leaves it alone but....maybe it's better not to drink it around him without warning (or drink it when he's buzzed and he may not remember you doing that).

Sebastian

"Umm..."

And here he was, on Ginger Island, hoping to get a brief vacation away from the valley and all its weirdness.

Yet you came along to visit and check on your beach farmhouse--bringing tons of mayo jars with you.

You got thirsty while talking to Seb in the hot sun, and instinctively began chugging the first thing you opened out of your bag.

You don't even realize what you've done until he gives you the strangest look ever.

"Have you always liked drinking mayo...like that?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Um..not since moving into the valley and learning how to make it." You shrugged, smiling sheepishly as you brought out another jar. This time a green color.

"What's that one?"

"Oh! Dinosaur mayo. It's a lot thicker and kinda tastes like a kale drink-"

"I'm sorry, there's dinosaurs in the mines?"

Alex

"Umm..."

"What?" You shoot him a defensive look, cradling the half-empty jar like it's your baby. "You've eaten every raw egg I give you, and I never judge."

"But..that's a little different, isn't it?" He chuckles nervously. "Eggs are great for protein! Drinking straight mayo is...erm....are there any benefits..?"

"It's easy to make with all the eggs in my coop, and um..it keeps my energy up so I don't pass out."

It's an awkward explanation, considering you simply drink mayonnaise for the hell of it and didn't think too much about the "health benefits".

But Alex completely agrees with you, not making any further comments on it in the future.

Although how he's eaten dozen of raw eggs without getting some kind of salmonella poisoning is beyond both him and you.

Perhaps you're both a little bit strange, but he eventually came to accept that about himself.

Wizard

"Umm..."

From the moment you met him and obtained forest magic, Rasmodius knew there was something peculiar about you.

From gleefully retrieving ectoplasm and prismatic jelly for his studies to assisting him in getting the dark talisman back from his ex-wife's home, he's come to trust you as a potential apprentice.

So to drink mayonnaise while looking through his catalogue of expensive magical architecture had him....a bit confused.

"What?" You look at the man standing by the bubbling green pot, his eyebrow raised in question. "C'mon, surely this can't be the strangest thing you've seen."

"No, whatever keeps your spirit and energy nourished is fine and all. But..mayonnaise seems most unconventional. That's all I'm saying. Now I must focus.."

And that's all he says about the matter, not really caring too much.

You're grateful he didn't overreact.

Krobus

"........"

"You're not gonna say anything?"

"About what?"

"About..y'know..me drinking mayonnaise?"

"Why would I? You gift me void mayonnaise. I eat it and use it as a moisturizer all the time!"

Finally, somebody who finds your habit relatively normal---but the only downside is that somebody isn't human.

Makes you often question if you're really human yourself.

It never bothers Krobus whenever you need to sling back a jar of mayonnaise and pull out another one when you return from the mutant bug lair or hike through Cindersap Forest to reach the sewers.

He thinks it's just a normal thing humans do, but when you mention how it's very much not normal in your "culture"..he thinks THEY are weird for not accepting your tastes.

Welp, at least he supports your weird yet harmless habit.

You did try void mayo once and nearly keeled over, so you stick to regular/duck/dino mayo from thereon.

[starrysan]

a night to remember

masterlist

(title is indeed a laufey ref)

pairing: zamboni operator!san x figure skater! fem!reader

prerequisites/warnings: cursing, reader overworking, friends to lovers, me horribly naming different ice skating tricks..

a/n: I had this draft sitting here for a good month (in that time I released killin it, and like 3 chapters of nouvelle vague.. sorry san), inspired when I saw someone cleaning with the zamboni and someone was holding onto it on the side so they were like riding the zamboni together ykyk (ty for my friend for giving this idea) also this is 100% inspired by that one scene from Yuri on ice ifkyk

[2.04k words]

1st person pov (y/n)

the clock strikes 12. all my friends were long gone at this point. double axel, toe jump, salchow. I didn't even need my music at this point I had memorized my entire number in my head. just a few more times till I can go hom- "are you almost done?" I hear a voice that shakes me from my thoughts as I pause my skating.

"what?" I ask, taking my headphones out of my ears. "I said, are you almost done? I can't go home till the ice gets cleaned." the voice belonged to the zamboni operator, san? I think his name was? "oh yeah i'll be done in a minute" I say before skating around a bit more and reluctantly getting off the ice. I sit on the bench, taking my skates off, wiping the ice off of them and covering them before putting them back in my skate bag.

"why're you still here anyway? its way past 12" san asks going over to turn the zamboni on. "competitions in a few months and my numbers still.. missing something? I don't know" I reply, now finished packing up my bag. "sorry for keeping you waiting. goodnight san." and with that, I left the rink before exiting the building to the parking lot and getting on my bus.

3rd person pov

san wondered why y/n was freaking out when it seemed like she had so much time but he paid no mind. he cleaned the ice like usual, rounding the zamboni all the way around the ice before parking it and heading home himself. this cycle repeated the next few weeks. she would stay till almost midnight but san didn't mind, he watched her do the same routine ten times over, even enjoyed watching it to. her expression turn into a pout whenever she messed up or forgot something.

y/n noticed san's glances as she skated gracefully along the ice, so much so.. that she was too distracted and she slipped on a crack in the ice and fell over. "fuck" she muttered brushing the ice off her knees. "you okay?" san shouts over the glass covering the rink, y/n giving a thumbs up in response.

after the first week, san realized y/n was going home without getting something to eat and started bringing her little snacks to eat before her multi hour long skate sessions. it started with little snacks like a granola bar or a bag of chips, but it turned into full out meals or the two would grab food before she started her practice.

they got to know each other, san finding out y/n had been ice skating ever since she was a kid. y/n finding out san worked there because his dad was the owner of the rink. the two got close.. really close. to the point where they weren't sure what the two were anymore. y/n was currently in san's apartment laying on his lap on the couch as the two watched their favorite show together.

y/n was back on the ice when monday rolled around. she skated around her body moving before she even had to think. though she seemed to be having a bit of a hard time at practice today, stumbling onto herself. the lack of sleep seeming to having caught up to her.

she was getting yelled at left and right and looked like she was about to break. her instructor had her take a break and she stepped off the ice. she has her head down only poking it up when she senses san presence in front of her. she looks up at him and before either of them say anything san pulls her into a hug to which y/n breaks down in his arms.

she sobs into his shirt for a while before muttering a quiet, "I suck" into his chest. "you don't suck" san whispers back. "I do.. I cant get it right." she sniffles. "y/n look at me" san tells her looking down to meet her gaze as she lifts her head up. "you're so good at what you do. you know that right? even when you were just first learning your routine you'd work on it night after night and wouldn't leave till you perfected it. you can do it you just haven't gotten the rest you need.. which we both know is the main reason. but you can do it so don't tell me you suck because we both know you don't" san finishes.

"okay?" he raises an eyebrow at her. "okay" she says. "thanks san" she says hugging him again. "now go on show me your.. what's it called.. your triple axel." he smiles. she giggles before heading back on the ice. her instructor could sense something changed during her break and turned on her music. she skates around letting herself take in the music she had started getting sick of and instead relaxes herself as she skates doing her routine flawlessly.

she looks at san who gives her a smile and thumbs up in approval as she skates off and packs her stuff up. "our show at your place again? ill buy dinner" she asks as san revs up the zamboni. "yeah of course" he says. "wanna go for a ride?" he offers. "how?" she asks puzzled. "hang on tight" he says as she grabs onto the handle of the zamboni as san starts it up.

"woah" y/n exclaims in surprise as the two circle the ice rink. she sees the marks from the figure 8's she drew in the ice, the lines of chalk she drew to skate in a circle. she watches the marks practically vanish as san goes over them with the zamboni. after he finished cleaning he helped her off the machine before the two head to his place to watch their show. y/n falls asleep there as she usually did.

y/n was having another late night practice session as san watched from the benches. "so do you get to skate for free here?" y/n asks as she skates around. "technically yeah but um.." san pauses. "I don't know how to skate" he admits sheepishly. "no way really?" y/n says in surprise stopping right by the little doorway leading out to the rink.

"my dad gets me skates for Christmas every other year or so but I've never gotten around to using them." he continues. "do you want to learn?" y/n asks. "I think im gonna fall and bump my head" san tries to get out of it but the next thing he knew he was going circles around the ice clinging onto y/n for dear life since she didn't let him use the wall.

"y/n we're skating way too fast" he squeaks but y/n just giggles as they go towards the middle. she lets go of him for a second and he freezes in place as she does a figure 8 on the ice. she looked so elegant and ethereal. she smiles and heads back to him. "try skating to me" she says skating backwards no more than a couple feet away from him.

san shakes his head "im gonna fall" he pouts. "you will if you keep that mindset" y/n scoffs. "I won't let you fall san skate to me" she says. he slowly moves his feet more walking than skating but y/n didn't mind as he waddled his way over to her. "you got it!" y/n exclaims as he grasps her hand again. "okay that's enough for today" san frowns and y/n nods in agreement bringing them to the entrance. "did you have fun at least?" she asks cleaning her skates. he hums in reply. "guess so"

it was officially 2 days till competition day, y/n freaking out was a understatement. "y/n you're pacing so much you might burn off the carpet" san chuckles nervously as she paced around his apartment. "sorry i'm nervous as hell" y/n admits. "y/n you're gonna do great" he smiles. "I keep fucking up my triple axel.. what if I fall on the ice in front of everyone?" she says in almost fear. "or.. what if you do so good you get a standing ovation?" san counters. "we both know that's not happening" she sighs. "you never know" he smiles.

finally.. finally, finally it was competition day. y/n changes into her costume and heads out and meets up with san. his eyes widen as he sees her costume. it was an icy white with a flowy skirt, rhinestones and glitter along the skirts edge and her sleeves. "wow you look incredible" san says his jaw practically on the floor. "thank you" she says, nervousness clear in her voice as it shook a bit as she replied. "you're going to do great y/n" san reassures her. "hope you're right"

y/n's name booms through the loudspeakers and y/n walks to the rink stepping on it carefully. the music she had been blasting in her ears for months played almost like a bittersweet reminder to all the work she had put into this piece. she skates around, salchow, upright spin, axel, double axel, lutz jump. she hears her music come to an end as she skates to the center of the rink before she lets herself take a breathe so much had happened in the span of a few months. she had gotten praised, yelled at, she met san.. oh san he changed her life for sure. there wasn't time to think about him now though. she takes a moment before clearing her head completely.

without a second thought she jumps to do her final move. the triple axel she worked her ass off perfecting. the scolding of her instructor runs through her ears but its quickly replaced by san's reassurance. within an instant she goes to do her triple axel almost bracing for impact assuming she’d fall but.. no she didn't. she landed perfectly.

before she knew it, it was over. there wasn't any reaction for a moment but suddenly she hears a cheer, she looks to the side to see san practically jumping out of his seat on the sideline. his cheers are followed by clapping from the audience. it was no standing ovation but y/n didnt need one to feel achieved.

she takes a bow practically bolting off as san was waiting for her his arms wide open. she practically jumps off the ice into his arms as they almost fall backwards but san holds them both flat on the ground. it was like the hug he gave her months ago when she sobbed in his arms but this one was different. she releases herself from the hug still in his arms. they look at each other before anyone could say a word she kisses him. without a second thought she presses her lips right onto his. he gasps in surprise at first but he recovers quickly kissing her right back. they finally pull away from the kiss as san slowly brings her down to the ground. "you did it" he exclaims excitedly. "I knew you could do it" he cheers.

the two grip each other's hands as the places are announced. from runner ups to third place, second place, and finally.. "a night to remember by y/n l/n!" the announcer says and san and y/n jump for joy. "holy shit i won" y/n says in almost disbelief. "of course you won" san smiles lifting her up in his arms again spinning her in circles.

the rink clears out and san goes to clean the ice. "victory lap?" he asks giggling as y/n nods with a big smile stepping onto the zamboni's edge. they talk as san cleans the ice going over the cracks and bumps made by all the skaters on the ice that day. he finishes cleaning helping y/n down as he parks it.

y/n walks out with her trophy in one hand and grips san's hand in the other one. they walk to san's car and he opens the door and helps her in before stepping into the drivers seat. "our show at my place?" he asks starting up the car. "I thought you'd never ask" she smiles.

tysm for reading! if you have any requests pls send them my way!!

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[listofwhyyouloveher]

I BEG, the gang with a crush in roller derby? Like crush carries skates around all the time, crush always has bruises on their legs, crush wins almost every match and goes bummed out when they don't. Just some derby stuff!!

Summary: The Outsiders x Roller Derby! Reader Warnings: none Authors Note: Is this my sign to get into roller derby PONYBOY has no clue what roller derby is. He didn't even know you did a sport until a few months into knowing you. He'd always notice the bruises and bandages on your legs and once he asked he was even more confused. You have to explain to him what roller derby is, basically step by step. He's always a little worried for you, asking you to wear kneepads and other sorts of protective gear when you go to play a match. He'll always treat you to ice cream after you win too! JOHNNY knows what roller derby is because every night a couple of girls skate past his house and when he was young he used to watch them go by. He think's its an admirable sport to get into, considering how bruised and battered you can get. He doesn't really like going to your matches because something about floor burns and seeing you get hurt just twists his stomach. Nevertheless, he'll wait outside for you, hugging you even if you didn't win. He will probably never try rollerblading with you, but maybe skateboarding if you ask nicely. SODAPOP actually used to watch rollerderby. It was always when he was surfing channels and drunk off of a couple of beers, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. He loves watching your games and get really rowdy at them. He's got so much spirit you'd think it was a superbowl game. Soda wants to try skates but he's not sure how he would fair, so he's fine just walking with you. He's definetly telling all the gang members that his girlfriend can solo all of their girlfriends because you're so incredibly strong to him. STEVE thinks rollerderby is the tuffest thing a girl can do. He's so into it and he thinks the bruises and bandages just make you look like a really cool greaser. He actually skateboards, so everytime you go out to skate he's coming with you. He thinks your games are the most entertaining things to watch and he's thinking about getting a rollerskate tattoo on his other arm. He knows your whole team by both their game name and by their real name and he fits in perfectly with them. TWO BIT thinks what you're doing is incredibly dangerous. He'll remind you every once and a while but he'll never act on it because he loves watching you skate and be happy just as much are you like skating. He wants you to teach his sister how to skate so she can get to school easier and he bought her and you a pair of matching hot pink ones after saving up enough money. He's actually a little intimidated by you because he thinks that you're actually stronger than him. DARRY hates you doing rollerderby. Not because he doesn't want you to be happy or anything, but he sees how much pain it can cause you and he gets frustrated that you're so carefree. He'll never try to pull you from the game though, and when you lose he'll list everything you did well even though it sort of hurt him to watch. He's always attending to your wounds and making sure you're not in more pain that you need to be. DALLAS thinks you're probably the tuffest chick in Tulsa. He watches you practice when he walks by and tries to stop in on some of your games. He's always there when you win, or he tries to get a recap of what happened. The rest of the gang just think he's being weird about a new sport but they're starting to get a clue that he likes you because all he talks about when he gets tipsy is how you massacred your competition in a game once. He'll NEVER pick up skating though. He thinks rollerskates are for girls, (he's fallen down when he was a kid and never got back on them).

[r0tt1ngv4mpyr]

MAXLEY HEADCANONS!

(REQUESTS OPEN)

//TW FOR SH//

MY MAX HEADCANONS:

•is hispanic

•has vitiligo on his hands and a bit on his face and wears gloves and foundation to cover it up

•has autism/adhd

•used to sh that's why he started skating is to not think about stuff as much

•is trans (ftm)

• has a skinny hourglass body by the hates it because it makes him look less masculine

•listens to more rock and metal but in general listens to mostly all genres (except slow songs, jazz, classical, country)

•has snakebites, septum, stretched gauges on his ears , and industrial piercings and a bell button piercing 😻 (also has a wolf cut)

•bi (pref male

MY BRADLEY HEADCANONS:

•is half american half italian

•he has freckles

•has ocd/anger issues

•loves black coffee with a little milk

•finds max's piercings hot

•would never get a piercing himself (scared of needles, doesn't think they look good on him, and his dad would never let him)

•has fluffy middle parted hair that was cut short but grew out to a shorter mullet

•religious trauma and daddy issues

•gay (mlm)

MY MAXLEY HEADCANONS:

•when they make out bradley puts his hands on max's waist/hips and sometimes he puts one hand on his waist/hips and grabs max's hair

•bradley was max's first time

•max will pick up random creepy ass bugs and bradley will be like "put. that. down."

•bradley is like 6,1 and towers over the 5,5 max

•max is very touch starved but isn't very used to touch (said in a headcanon earlier) and will do anything to get any affection from bradley but is really nervous when he gets it then just kinda melts

•definitely have some sort of history but max forgot and bradley didn't (maybe like childhood friends or smth)

•both unironically love the song "romance is boring" by los campesinos

•max loves horror movies and bradley hates them (they still watch them together tho)

•max says the most out of pocket shit and bradley just stares at him with his head tilted like "wtf?-"

OTHER PEOPLES HEADCANONS I LIKE (credits are included)

•bradley needs glasses bc he is nearsighted but doesn't wear them bc it takes away his cool - @thecat_inthe_cherryhat on tiktok

•bradleys mother died making his coexistence with his father uncomfortable, he does not hate his father, in fact he loves him but he does not know how to be and live with him, he does not want to admit it - @thecat_inthe_cherryhat on tiktok

•bradley's father is his weak point, he became conceited and rude as a way of defending his father's expectations - @thecat_inthe_cherryhat on tiktok

•he likes Britney Spears' music and has records but hides them from the - @thecat_inthe_cherryhat on tiktok

•Bradley is a law student, he was forced to go there because of his father but he still likes it a little - @thecat_inthe_cherryhat on tiktok

•he has a masculine image but his hygiene care makes his friends tell him that he is feminine, he uses lip balm because he doesn't like having dry lips - @thecat_inthe_cherryhat on tiktok

•When Bradley was in Middle school he used to wear baggy overalls has messy hair and wearer braces - @h4z3l_quits on tiktok

•Bradley used to be a kind and loyal kid! But when he got adopted by a rich family he started getting rude bc he was “spoiled” and he was raised to be perfect that’s why he’s competitive - @h4z3l_quits on tiktok

•max actually likes Bradley genuinely and just pretends that he likes roxanne and like tries desperately to get Bradley’s attention so he gets jelly - @chrys_linn on tiktok

•max is left handed so bradley is on his left side when he gets the chance just to see if one day they'll hold hands - @somnusgallery on tiktok

•max likes to play with Bradley's hair and Bradley gets embarrassed and ends up blushing every single time - @cassie_m328 on tiktok

•Max is ALWAYS bruised and patched up due to trying extreme shit with his skate and Bradley being the meticulous guy he is always brings stuff to patch Max up - @crowking.jpg on tiktok

•Max and Rox broke up due to them being young and immature and Max is mostly over it but he does feel he's not relationship material or isn't fully on board with one afterwards but THEN HE MEETS BRAD - @crowking.jpg on tiktok

•Max may be shorter but the moment he rizzes Brad up Brad loses his MIND like man's weak AF for Max's smooth ahh attitude - @crowking.jpg on tiktok

•Brad loosens up around Max overtime and let's go of his fragile masculinity and embraces open queerness and things he limited himself away from - @crowking.jpg on tiktok

•Brad and Max bring out the best in each other due to their competitive nature and ambition for improvement - @crowking.jpg on tiktok

[lazycats-stuff]

Hello, I was wondering if you could do a Batfam x teen reader, who does figure skating?

Sure! Figure skating is so cool. Shoutout to figure skaters!

Summary: (Y/N) loves to figure skate.

Warnings: fluff, supportive Batfamily, author is not familiar with the sport that much, but has given it a try.

(Y/N) is the only normal kid in the entire family and the family would support him in anything he does. No matter what he does, Bruce and the others supported him. (Y/N) is the only person who could make them forget the horrors of the things they have faced.

And one thing that (Y/N) did the best is figure skating. He fell in love when Bruce took him to an ice rink for Christmas. Bruce skated right behind (Y/N) and (Y/N) felt a rush of something.

Was it adrenaline? Was it excitement? Whatever it was, it has slowly turned into love.

After that day, (Y/N) begged for Bruce to find him a club to skate in. He wanted to do this and Bruce decided to comply with (Y/N)'s wishes. And the rest was history.

(Y/N) was in love and he will do it for as long as he can. He had hopes of going to Olympic Games, but for now he was happy to compete in his city and just all over USA.

Bruce was more than happy to drop everything as see him live at his competitions. The others were happy too, but school and work were sometimes impossible to miss, but competitions were mostly on the weekends so that is very nice.

And Bruce could see why (Y/N) liked, no, loved the sport. Bruce has made an ice rink in the house for everyone all year round, but (Y/N) used it the most. He trained a lot and he was happy while doing so.

Bruce sometimes watched him train. He was entranced sometimes. The way that (Y/N) would just fly through the air, just glide on ice all ethereal, almost like a ghost.

Sometimes Bruce thought that (Y/N) wasn't human.

Of course, there were downs too. Whenever (Y/N) fell, Bruce would panic a little bit, but wait for (Y/N) to show his reaction to it. If he got upset, Bruce would intervene and jump in.

If he didn't react, then Bruce would stop panicking. (Y/N) was never seriously hurt and for that Bruce was thankful. Very much so. Just now, he is entering the a very prestigious competition and he is going to be damned if he misses it.

Damned.

This is an important competition for (Y/N) and it would mean everything to (Y/N) if they could be there. (Y/N) was excited to go to this competition. He really was.

It is the competition where the best ones go and where there are people who might look for you to compete in the Olympics. Not to mention, this is the best competition to test his mental will.

That is something you need to have. A strong mindset and tough skin. (Y/N) knew that he had it because his dad is Batman and Bruce Wayne.

Bruce made sure that (Y/N) was strong mentally. That was something that (Y/N) needs in this world and that is something that he will need in order to succeed in his sport and life.

Bruce smiled at his eyes glanced at (Y/N)'s photo on his desk at work. Bruce knows that his son will be able to do this.

Today was the day. Bruce and his sons were waiting for (Y/N) to come on ice. They know that (Y/N) has practiced very hard and he didn't want them to see his routine before hand. (Y/N) said that he wanted to surprise them all.

Alrighty then.

Bruce sat up straighter as he heard his son's name being announced. The others did so too and they watched in awe as they glided on the ice, getting into the position to start, waiting for the music to start. Bruce had to admit, he felt a bit nervous.

Now is the chance.

One shot.

And right now, everything is on (Y/N)'s shoulders and if he doesn't win today, that would be okay, but (Y/N) is a competitive person. All of them are in heart and denying it would be stupid.

Bruce watched in awe as (Y/N) started. They way he just started to glide and move... Bruce's breath hitched as (Y/N) jumped before nailing the landing and Bruce clapped.

Every time (Y/N) jumped, Bruce swore that he looked like he was going to fall. (Y/N) said that he shouldn't worry. It's the best part for him and Bruce trusted him enough to say okay.

They all clapped when he nailed the landing and Bruce smiled. Oh his son is doing so well. Damian smiled too, happy to see his brother so happy and just enjoying himself.

He glided and he jumped again and Bruce's heart stopped for a second. He clapped once more as he landed the landing and they watched as he spun and Bruce's eyes slowly watered. Dick was quietly crying and Jason was close to it.

Damian was still holding on with everything in him. But after another set of turns and then he has decided to do something that a rare few have done.

A quadruple Axel.

(Y/N) often fell on that move and Bruce knew it wasn't an easy move if only one person did it. It was Ilia Malinin and (Y/N) was in awe of the skater.

And despite (Y/N) failing at the move over and over again, (Y/N) refused to give up. Bruce respected the tenacity and could only hope that (Y/N) nailed it here.

Bruce stood up screaming when (Y/N) nailed the turn. The others did too and everyone did so too. Bruce had to lean down on his knees, trying to breath. Dick was clapping so much and then hugged Jason so tightly.

After (Y/N) was done, Bruce and the others have made their way down to his locker room. Bruce and the coach knew each other for a long time and they were allowed to go to his locker room. Everyone was quick and they all hugged (Y/N) when they got to him.

" Now we wait for the results. " (Y/N) said and Bruce gave him a kiss on the head and another congratulations. Alfred came too and gave his grandson a hug.

Now it was time to wait for the results and to see (Y/N)'s placement. Bruce hoped that (Y/N) won.

He really did, but winning isn't everything in life. There is a reason why we fall. It's so we can learn to pick ourselves up.

(Y/N) got first place, with an almost perfect score. Bruce was so proud and he was going brag about this for a long time. His brothers were going to do it too and Alfred will make (Y/N)'s favorite food when they got back home.

(Y/N) tried not to cry as he stepped onto the podium and Bruce took so many pictures that he was going to print out and frame in his office with his other sons.

He may need a bigger desk at work...

Well, that is a problem for a future Bruce. For the present Bruce, they needed to get back to Gotham and cuddle the hell out of (Y/N). The hell out of him.

(Y/N) didn't mind it.

In fact, he loves his celebratory cuddles. Especially when he won and today, after doing a quadruple Axel, he wanted a lot of cuddles.