#but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still make my stomach turn in grief and anger for him

[toddtakefive]

I thrash around like those inflatable tube men every time I remember that Neil literally just wanted to act, no matter if he had his parents permission or not. Possibly the most harmless way a teenage boy could rebel, and it was successfully twisted into a tale of obsession, and deception, and malicious defiance. So successfully, in fact, that I see some people who watched the movie call it that. It was just acting.

[dancingtotuyo]

11. up from the dust, inconceivable love

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Ellie learns the truth. Your family gains a member.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy related things, angst, hurt & comfort and no comfort?, self worth issues, canon violence, anger, child birth, spoilers for TLOU 2 (we’re entering the timeline that starts to burrow things for part 2 of the game)

Notes: huge thank you to my constants, my rocks @ramblers-lets-get-ramblinand @janaispunk for beta reading and letting me yell and scream and break their hearts.

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader! The final part is out now!

Words: 5352

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“What do you think of Peace?” You ask, propped up in bed, hand over your swollen stomach. You’ve gained more weight this time, probably because you’re not in the throes of grief. 

“I mean, I’m a fan. I hope everyone is.” Joel says, trimming his facial hair with the bathroom door wide open. 

You bite your lip, admiring the expanse of his bare back. If getting out of bed wasn’t an event, you would be behind him right now, kissing his shoulders. 

“No, as a name for a girl,” you say. Joel turns around looking at you like he’s contemplating checking you into a psychiatric ward if those still existed. “A middle name, not a first name.” 

Joel sets his trimmers down, leaning in the doorway shirtless. “And what would her first name be?” 

“Willow.”

Joel furrows his brow stepping into your bedroom, your shared bedroom. “Darlin, I know we live in a commune, but we’re not hippies.”

“You bring me wildflowers and we walk barefoot through the fields. I wouldn’t be so sure.” You can’t help but laugh. Joel cracks a smile. “Do you have suggestions then?”

“Thought about naming Sarah- Katherine.”

You make a face. You know one too many Kates and Katies even in Jackson.

“It’s not a bad name,” Joel chuckles. 

“Neither is Willow.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re a hippie?”

“Would you leave if I said yes?”

Joel shrugs “I don’t know, but I knocked you up so I guess I have to stay.” He crawls into the bed. His head is level with your stomach as he watches for movement. 

You roll your eyes. “How romantic.”

He grins up at you and then his eyes are back on your belly. He rests a hand at the top, staring, waiting in wonderment. Neither of you can believe this is all real. Your baby moves around all the time, kicking your bladder and lungs, signifying life. A life you did not think would make it. 

You thread your fingers through Joel’s soft brown hair. The outline of a foot appears and then disappears. Joel’s eyes sparkle and he kisses the same spot. He’s soft and gentle. In these moments, all your anxieties are carried away like leaves on an autumn breeze. This is your peace. 

“What other names did you have picked out for Carter?”

You bite your lip. “We didn’t have any other boys' names.”

“And if he’d been a girl?” He’s still enthralled with your stomach as if there’s been an enchantment cast over it. 

“Sarah.”

His head snaps up. 

“Tommy and I talked about her a lot when I was pregnant. She was on my mind… being a part of Sarah’s life made me realize I wanted a family… even in this world where I had no right to do so.”

You keep playing with his hair. His eyes go glassy making you wonder what memory is playing behind his eyes. You stay like that until Joel is ready to talk. Eventually, he sits up, clearing his throat. His lips touch yours. 

“What about Willa?”

You tilt your head to the side. You don’t really see how it’s any different than Willow, but you’re not going to bring that up. “I like it.” 

“And Miles for a boy.” His smile returns. He doesn’t tell you that he’s positive you’re having a girl.

“Miles is an old man's name!”

“Good, then he’ll grow to be an old man.”

You take in a sharp breath. It’s just an offhand comment, but it carries so much weight. It’s a stark reminder of the heaviness of the world, and the twinge of guilt you feel bringing another child into it. 

Joel takes your hand, kissing your palm. You see it in his eyes too. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’tve-”

“It’s okay.” Your fingers comb through his hair. He leans into your touch. His grays are more noticeable than they were a year ago, but the brown still outnumbers them. 

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” he asks.

“I don’t know… I- I haven’t really let myself think about it until today.” It's true. The fact of the matter is you’re within a month of your due date. You and Joel are so close to welcoming this baby into the world and are wildly unprepared. 

“We’re getting close… We need a crib.” 

“The one I used for Carter is in the attic.”

“I can bring it down in the morning.”

“I need to get some baby clothes. I traded all of Carter’s.” 

“Looks like we have a bunch of work to do, Mama,” Joel smiles, kissing your forehead. He still hasn't told you about the swaddles and onesies tucked in the back of his drawer, but it seems you’re finally ready for them.

You cock your head to the side, contemplating the nickname. There’s a mix of emotions with it. You’re already a mother. Joel is a father, but this is a life you’re bringing in together. It’s uncharted territory for both of you. Sarah’s mom was out the door before she was six months old. Neither of you have done this part with a partner before. 

A sharp knock on the front door pulls your mind from its wandering. Joel’s brow furrows, rolling out of the bed. People don’t knock on your door often. They usually barrel right in, unless it’s bad. Your stomach drops. 

Joel is out of the bedroom, shrugging on a shirt. Dina’s voice calls through your home. “Hello?” She sounds worried, desperate. 

You swing your legs over the side of the bed. It takes more time to stand these days. If you try too quickly, your head rushes making you feel dizzy. 

“Dina? What’s wrong?” Joel’s at the bottom of the stairs now, but his voice carries. You have to stop at the top of the stairs to catch your breath. 

“Ellie is gone.”

You freeze, grabbing the railing for stability. “What?”

Joel turns around, worry etched in his face. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. She mentioned something about the Fireflies and a hospital, but she wouldn’t talk to me.” You make out the flicker of hurt in Dina’s face. Those two tell each other everything, or most things. You’re not sure Ellie has told her about her immunity. You all keep that one pretty close to your chests. 

“Shit,” Joel mumbles. He glances between you at his back and the front door in front of him. You see the push and pull. He needs to go after her. He needs to be here for you. 

His eyes settle on you. Your hand settles on top of your swollen belly. He’s looking for permission. You want to give it, but what if he’s needed here before he gets back. 

“She’s been off lately. I don’t know why. She won’t talk to me.” Dina seems to sense the silent conversation going on. “I can go after her, but-“

“No, I need to go.” Joel swings back toward the teenager, both hands placed on his hips. You try to bite back the panic rising inside you. He’ll be fine. They’ll both be fine. “Do you know when she left?”

“Probably sometime before the sun came up. Shimmer isn’t in the stable.” 

Joel lets out a ragged sigh, hands running over his face. You try to keep the tears away, your hormones making it difficult. 

“Will you let Maria know I’m going after her? I need to pack.” 

Dina nods, her eyes flickering up to you before she’s gone in a flash of dark curls. Joel turns around, hand resting on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. You swallow and walk back into the bedroom. 

It’s silent at first, nothing but the sounds of draws opening and closing and the soft slaps of his leather saddle bags. You sit in silence at the edge of your bed, chewing on your lip as you watch him. Ellie needs him. It echoes on repeat in your brain. 

“I can probably catch her. We’ll be back in two weeks if I don’t.”

You stare down at your ever growing belly. You could easily be pregnant when he returns, but what if you’re not? You’re fairly certain you’ll have this baby sooner rather than later, but Ellie needs him too.

“Why does she want to go back to Salt Lake?”

Joel freezes for a second, like he’s contemplating his answer. It sets an uneasy feeling in your bones. “I don’t know. Maybe she thinks some of the Fireflies are still there? That this whole cure business is still an option?”

You nod, thoughts drifting to her face when you looked at her blood a couple months ago. She looked desperate. You hadn’t seen her like that before. It was almost unnerving, like the need to be needed by humanity had returned tenfold. It made you wonder if you’d been there for her enough these past few months.

“I have to go after her.”

There’s a desperation you don’t quite recognize in Joel’s eyes, sending a thread of dread through your body. Is he leaving something out? Not telling you something? You nod, biting your lip. “I know.”

He lays his hand on your bump, fingers stretching out over it. “We’ve got time.”

You nod. “Hurry back, and be safe, okay?”

Joel kisses your forehead. “Always.”

He rides out thirty minutes later. 

You try to stay busy while they’re gone, cleaning the clinic and the house thrice over as the nesting and anxiety sets in. You ask Tommy to get the crib out of the attic as you prep the corner of your bedroom for the baby, wiping it free from the dust and cobwebs. 

Maria hosts a small get together for you pulling together some semblance of a baby shower, something you hadn’t had with Carter. It's nice, but you feel like they skirt around the questions nagging in their brains. Where did Ellie and Joel go? Will they be back in time? You don’t have answers. You have the same fucking question. Will they be back? 

The braxton hicks kick up, so much so you think you’re in labor ten days after Joel rides out. The fear that courses through your body is so paralyzing that you just lay in bed. Your body tenses with the memory’s of Carter’s labor. It’s not the physical pain of it, but the emotional rollercoaster you went through, alone. You’re not supposed to do this alone this time.  

Then, the contractions stop with no explanation and you fall into a restless sleep. You miss Joel, his warmth and comfort. His unspoken love that fills the room. You’re becoming more comfortable with the idea of it. 

You miss Ellie too, worried about what she’s going through. Providing it’s still vacant, Salt Lake won’t hold any answer for her. What lengths will she go to? How many miles will she travel in search of answers you believe don’t exist? How will she handle reality? 

You see the differences in Carter too. In his mind, Ellie and Joel have always been here. Two weeks without them feels like a lifetime to him, and to you. 

On day twelve, your front door flies open as you come down the stairs. Ellie bursts through looking frantic and frazzled. Her short cropped hair sticks up in certain places. Dirt smudges her forehead. You’re too relieved to see her to worry about her appearance. If anything, it’s expected after two weeks of travel, but your relief is short lived. 

“Did you know?” She yells. The door stays wide open behind her, rage flaming in her eyes. 

“What?” 

“Did you know?”

“Know what?” You step toward her, reaching out, but she backs away like a wild animal.

“He killed them! All of them!” 

“Killed who? Ellie, take a deep breath.”

“Joel! He killed the fireflies! They had a cure!”

Your breath catches. It’s not that Joel has killed people. You know about the years he spent as a raider. You know the cost of surviving in this world, but this isn’t the story you have been told about Salt Lake. When you asked him why she would go back, he lied. He knew. Knew the story hadn’t lined up in Ellie’s mind. 

“So he lied to you too!”

“Ellie!” Joel is stern as his frame fills your doorway. 

She spins around, the week of silence she spent next to him on the road back, wrath bubbling over and focused on him. “Tell her! Tell her, Joel!” She steps toward him. “Tell her what you did!” She shoves against his shoulders. 

“Ellie…” He repeats her name, softer this time. 

“Don’t do that!” She turns back to you, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They were going to make a cure from me, and you stopped them! You slaughtered them!”

“They were going to kill you!”

Your eyes widen, and it makes sense. Why Joel hasn’t talked about it. Why he needed to go after her. Why Ellie feels so useless. She’d been promised the cure. He’d taken that from her with a facade of an excuse.

“You should have let them!” Ellie screams until she pushes past him, rushing out of your house. 

Joel lets out a sigh, defeat evident across his features. You can’t even enjoy their homecoming, their safety, your head spinning too much. 

Joel shuts the door behind him, stepping closer like he’s expecting an embrace, but you step back, a mother’s anger building in your bones. He looks surprised. “Sweetheart…”

“You lied to her.”

“I protected her.” Joel’s eyes narrow. He’s tired and irritable. Neither of you expected a fight to ensue the moment he got home. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“You’ve watched her struggle with this for years!” 

“They were going to kill her!”

“Have you listened to anything she’s said?” 

You almost don’t recognize the Joel in front of you. He looks like a shell of the assured, warm man you know. You wonder if this is the version of Joel Tommy used to speak of. The one Joel has told you about during those late night chats when you spilled the depths of yourselves to each other, or you thought you had. The one who floated through his days, barely living. 

“I couldn’t lose her!” 

“Except you did!”

Joel straightens, shoulders setting in denial. “She’s alive! That’s what matters.”

“You’re missing the point!”

“You’re saying I should have let them go ahead with it! Let them cut open her head for a cure you don’t believe is possible!” 

Fire blazes in Joel's eyes. You see it. There’s no rationalizing with him about this. In his eyes, there were no choices to be made. He did the only thing. It doesn’t matter what else he has to sacrifice, she’s alive and that’s all that matters. “That’s not-”

He scoffs, cutting you off. You see the pain and hurt ripple through his body, causing him to step back from you. “Sure sounds like it.”

“Joel!”

“Don’t.” He yanks the front door open. “I can’t be here right now.” 

He disappears across the threshold in the blink of an eye leaving you with a mountain to process and a growing tension across your stomach.

Joel knows he’s in the wrong. He knows he shouldn’t have lied to Ellie, held the truth from you. He’s a grown man, of course he knows what’s right and wrong, but that admittance doesn’t do anything to calm him. He needs to get out. Out of the house. Out of the walls into the open. It doesn’t matter that he just came from two weeks out there. 

He sneaks over the wall with more ease than he should be able. Instantly, he feels the tightening in his chest begin to ease. He paces the outside of the wall like a caged animal, the series of events reeling through his mind. He doesn’t realize how much he’s been pushing it back since they left Salt Lake. Her words, her pleas, over and over. She’d given him every opportunity to tell her the truth and he kept the lie going. 

There was no cure. The words he’d utter to her after they found that couple, one dead the other infected while out on patrol. 

He’d almost told her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t risk it.  

His pacing becomes more frantic as he remembers the fear he felt at the thought of losing Ellie, the fear that pushed him into wiping away every firefly that crossed his path. The same fear that put lies in his mouth before he had time to think, that kept him from telling her the truth. He knew this would happen one day, but hadn’t been enough. He’d kept it from everyone, including you. 

Tell me, she had pleaded with him, begged him and he still felt the pull to replace his lie with another. 

She’d had to poke and prod to get the words from his mouth. Had to threaten to leave before she got the truth. That hurt almost as much as the fallout. Everyone thought he was a better man than he actually was. Ellie, you, himself, but when it came down to it. He failed that test. Good men don’t make someone threaten to leave to get the truth. 

I’ll go back, but we’re done.

Joel wears a path in the fresh grass beneath his feet, letting the spring chill take over when the sun sets, leaving him in darkness. Ellie had kept her word. He’d never heard her stay quiet for so long. The loss had begun to settle in with her riding next to him. 

Joel’s muscles ache from two weeks out on the road. He misses you and Carter. He hasn’t even touched you yet. Will you let him? 

Getting over the wall from the outside proves more difficult than it had the first time. Which is a good thing, but had Joel feeling every one of his 59 years. Embarrassment creeps over his cheeks with each step toward your home. The one he shares with you, but he feels like a guest as he climbs the steps. He doesn’t catch a glimpse of you or Carter or anyone else through the windows. 

The house is silent when he enters, no signs of life except for the faint buzzing of light bulbs. His brow furrows. You wouldn’t have left the lights on if you weren’t home. Then a faint sound comes from upstairs, movement at the very least. He follows it, placing his hand on the closed bedroom door before cracking it open. 

Soft groans come from behind the cracked bathroom door followed by a whispered curse. Maria's voice follows. Joel’s throat drops into his stomach. His boots echo off the wood floor as he crosses the room. “Sweetheart?” he calls, staying on his side of the door. “Is everything alright?”

“Joel? Get in here,” you groan out. 

It sends some reassurance through him to hear you so clearly before he swings the door open. His eyes go wide at the sight of you in the tub, sweat staining your skin as Maria kneels next to you. “Shit, are you?”

“Make yourself useful and hold my hand.” 

He nods, kneeling beside you. Maria stands, grabbing a few instruments from the bathroom sink, she gives Joel a look that lets him know you’re near the end of labor. Your baby will be here in minutes. It sends a rush through him. “I’m sorry, Darlin.”

You grab onto his hand tightly. It’s wet from the bathwater sloshing around you as you fight to get comfortable. It’s a useless pursuit, but it doesn’t keep you from trying. “Can we do the apologizing later? I’m kinda busy at the moment.” 

“Yes,” Joel takes a deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears. He squares his shoulders next to you, giving an air of assurance you know he doesn’t have. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

“I think you missed most of it.”

“Not that you’ve had much to miss,” Maria says, stern. She pissed at him, which is more than fair given everything. You’d had some time to explain what happened. “We tried to find you. Her labor progressed pretty quick.”

“Speaking of which-” You let out a gasp, face twisting in pain. “I think the baby is crowning.”

“She must be in a hurry,” Joel says. 

“She?” 

“Just a hunch.” Joel smiles, kissing your head.

For the next few minutes, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Your fight never happened because there’s only one thing on your minds, bringing your baby into the world. The world goes silent again, but not in a bad way. A way that makes you feel at peace, Joel’s warm hand in yours. It doesn’t take long until she announces her arrival with a fiery scream once Maria pulls her out of the water. 

You hold her close, tears of relief gathering in your eyes. Joel leans in, his forehead pressed to your temple, arms wrapping around you and your daughter as she pulls air into her lungs. 

“You did great, Sweetheart.” He whispers into your hair as he kisses your cheek, cupping your daughter’s head. “She’s beautiful.”

Your eyes flicker between him and your newborn. It’s the moment you’ve been envisioning for months, the one you thought you’d get with Gabe when Carter was born. A little piece of you mends. Your child soothes against your skin. 

After you’re both cleaned up, Joel helps you into bed, then settles beside you. She sleeps in your arms, tiny fist clenched around one of Joel’s fingers still curled up in your softest bath towel. You brush her cheek softly. 

“I believe we decided on Willa Peace?”

“Did we?” You tilt your head to the side, a grin verging on your lips. “I thought we weren’t hippies.”

Joel shrugs, tracing your shoulders. “I had a lot of time to think about it the past couple of weeks.”

“Joel…”

Dirt still traces over his face. He hasn’t had time to clean off since he got back. You catch the faint smell of sweat on his clothes and skin. “I know.”

“I would have done the same thing to save her. You know what I think about cures.” You keep your gaze on your child. It only reminds you what you brought her into. “You lied to her over and over when she needed the truth.”

“I was trying to protect her.”

“I wish you would’ve told me.”

“I know.”

“This only works if we’re open with each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” You bite your lip. “I’m going to need some time with this one.”

Joel nods, arm wrapping around you. “I know.”

You lean into him, enjoying the quietness that surrounds the three of you.

“Willa Peace Miller,” You smile. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah.” Joel hums beside you. “Can’t believe she’s actually here.” 

“And we’re both okay.”

He nods, and neither of you can tear your eyes away from the precious little being in your arms. You hang on every rise and fall of her chest, everything micro movements, the soft flutter of her eyes that never quite open. It all feels so fragile, so sacred. 

You remember similar moments with Carter. When the grief and the world got too loud, you would lay on the floor or bed with him on your chest asleep. The weight of his small body was a tether that kept you from flying away. 

Even in this moment, as your heart inexplicitly expands, you feel that thread of fear winding itself through your body. Another person to love and protect. Another person to keep from the jaws of the world. Another person you can’t bear to lose. 

“You know,” you say, pulling Joel’s attention. “If you were ever gonna pull those baby clothes and blankets out of your drawer, now would be the time.”

His brow furrows and then eases with realization. “How long have you known they were there?”

You let out a soft chuckle. “I washed them the next time you went out on patrol. I wasn’t going to leave those filthy things in your drawer.”

“You were going through my things, I see.”

“Next time don’t try to hide something in your drawer from the person who washes your clothes.” 

Joel laughs, easing out of the bed to fetch the items from the drawer. “Got it, I’ll be sneakier next time.”

“Can you get the onesie with the yellow flowers?” You bite back a smile. He doesn’t know how you often pulled the drawer open and just gazed upon the items. It helped you visualize it all even when the fear threatened to take over. Another child, and here she was. You’d been most drawn to the little yellow flowers. 

Joel laughs, grabbing the onsie and the swaddle with little yellow flowers to match. You’re gentle with her as you work the small article of clothing over her tiny body. It’s a bit baggy, but you can’t complain. It just means she can wear it for longer. She sleeps through all the jostling as if she’s fully absorbed her middle name. 

She’s settled back into your arms when a soft tap echoes on your door. “Mommy?” Carter’s voice comes through muffled. 

“You can come in.”

The door flies open as your son bursts through the door, grin spread wide on his face. Ellie stands behind him, looking like the space might envelope her.

 “Aunt Maria said I have a baby sister.” 

“You want to meet her?” you ask. 

Carter nods eagerly, dashing toward your bed. Joel catches him before he can jump onto the bed beside you and potentially on you. 

“Daddy!” Carter’s eyes go wide. He hasn’t seen Joel in almost two weeks. 

Joel laughs, arms tightening around the boy. “Hey, bud.”

Your eyes meet Ellie’s. Her eyes are red, bags deep underneath. You motion her next to you. She hesitates before sliding onto the bed beside you. She’s timid, keeping to the edge, eyes flicking over you and Willa. 

“You can get closer.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I never got to hug you earlier.” 

She looks down, eyes scanning over your comforter like she’s reliving her homecoming. Once she’s close enough, your arm slips around her shoulders, tugging her close. She nuzzles into your side like a child seeking comfort. “You’re alright?” she asks.

“Yeah… we both are.” You say, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“But I’m still sorry you’re going through this.”

Ellie seems to sink into your further, eyes pinned to Willa. She doesn’t answer you. She doesn’t look at Joel as he sinks next to you with Carter, but you feel her tense when he does. 

“What’s her name?” Ellie asks. 

“Willa,” you reply. 

“Baby Willa.” Carter grins proudly. 

And the five of you sit there together in silence. You try to push it out of your head that it’s the last time you all might be together for a while. Even now, you feel the underlying anger rolling through Ellie’s body. This is a wound that’s been festering. It’s going to take time to heal. 

Eventually, Ellie slips from your side without a word to leave. She’s barely out the door when Joel goes after her. 

“Ellie,” Joel says, catching her on the front porch.

Her head whips around, expression set in stone. “I’m here for them, not you.” She keeps her voice low to not be overheard by nosy neighbors. “They’re my family. Do you understand?” 

Joel’s apology catches in his throat. He’s been apologizing the whole way back from Salt Lake. He knows there’s nothing he can say to rush this process. He made a decision, and these are his consequences. “Yeah… I got it.”

“Good.” 

She doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else.  

The bed is empty next to you, the sheets cool to the touch. Your eyes blink open. Cool moonlight shines through the window. You glance at the bathroom door. No light shines through the crease. Joel’s name is on your lips, interrupted by his voice. 

“Do you like the butterflies?” 

You turn to your side. Joel sits next to the crib, talking to Willa. She’s awake, moonlight reflecting off her big eyes. She’s content and still. 

“Your big sister liked butterflies. When they come out in the summertime, I feel her around me.”

She stares at Joel, mesmerized by his voice. Your eyes float upward to the mobile Joel made. He hadn’t explained it to you, but you already knew. Sarah had pinned them all throughout their Austin home. You keep one stuck to the window above the kitchen sink. There’s one tucked in his nightstand drawer. 

“I think she sent you to me.” He lets it sit there, contemplating the weight and depth of what he said. “I think she sent you to me, your momma, Ellie, I suppose she’s your big sister too, Carter. All of you.

“Her name was Sarah. She would have loved you.” He chuckles. “She used to ask me for a baby brother or sister. I didn’t know your momma yet… Well, I guess I did, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.”

You stifle a laugh unsuccessfully. Joel’s eyes lock on yours. He smiles, shooting you a wink. He looks younger under the moonlight, more at ease. The creases in his skin are less apparent. 

“Your momma, she’s quite a bit younger than me.” The smile stays pinned to his face. “It’s not so creepy now- least that’s what she tells me- but it would’ve been then, and I was a decent fella back before the world went to shit. Besides, between you and me.” He leans closer to Willa’s ear, but his eyes are still on you. “Your momma had a pretty big crush on me back then.”

You groan, heat flushing your cheeks. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is. You chuck his pillow at him. Joel catches it, laughing. It’s the kind that sits deep in one’s chest and bubbles up with the purest kind of joy. You can’t help but smile. 

He slowly stands, grunting as he does. You hear the familiar pop of his joints. He leans into the crib. You notice Willa’s eyes have fallen shut. “I love you, my little wildflower.” He kisses her cheek before falling back into bed next to you. 

His arm wraps around your waist. Pulling you close, he steals a kiss on your forehead. “I’m getting too old to sit on the floor like that.”

“You’re getting too old to have a newborn, yet here we are.” Your fingers run through his hair. 

“Still can’t believe she’s here… you’re both healthy.”

“Neither can I.” You glance back at the crib. She’s just a few days old and already, you can’t imagine life without her. 

Tears well at the corner of your eyes. Your heart has grown so much. You thought you couldn’t open it to more people, yet here you are. The you of 4 years ago would be too terrified of losing this life to give it a chance, the price of pain too high. Yet here you are, embracing it, taking that risk, because this is living, and the love and belonging far outweigh the potential for pain even as it grows with every passing day. You fell into the trap,and it’s a crowded one, but it’s a happy one. 

Joel kisses your cheek. “You should get some sleep before she wakes up hungry.” 

“Mmm,” you hum as his hands move soothingly over your back. “Someone not named Willa woke me up.”

Joel chuckles. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”

But even now you feel your eyelids getting heavier. 

“Did you mean what you said?”

“About?”

You let your eyes fall shut as Joel massages out a knot in your back. You lean into it. “About Sarah sending us to you.”

“I did.” He kisses your forehead. 

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

[thanotaphobia]

torn (like windblown sand)

i'm having feelings about frubbo and q!tubbo like ohhhh my god. his heart is so heavy the weight he bears so great WAHHH

crossposted to ao3

⋆

He’s dripping on the floor.

His clothes are soaked, he’s drenched to the bone, the kind of chill that doesn’t go away even when you stand in the light of the sun and pray for something– anything, even if you have no idea what it is you’re praying for.

His hair is still plastered to his forehead, dread and loss and anger mixing like the world’s worst school dance in his stomach, stamping the soles of shining loafers and high heels and sweaty, uncomfortable emotion turning his stomach over on itself. The floor of Sunny’s train is wet, water gathering in little puddles on the wooden slats and draining slightly away from him, along the dips and cracks of the walls. He didn’t mean to track it in, but he didn’t bother to dry it off either. With his hair covering most of his eyes and the rain still making his cheeks shiny and wet, he at least has plausible deniability for the tears. 

They’ve been a steady constant stream since he arrived at the small funeral setup a half hour earlier. They hadn’t stopped, not even when he’d choked a eulogy out in front of two faceless Federation workers. He’d pushed past the shame of it, because, well– who would they tell? He’s also pretty sure they’d have been crying too, if they had any eyes or tear ducts. Their words had been soft but mournful, their demeanors well-mannered and gentle toward him. Tubbo had appreciated it.

Across from him, Sunny is snoring. She’s still got her tutu on, but her leather jacket is hung over another chair across the room and her sunglasses are folded neatly on the side table by her bed. Tubbo can only see half her face as she sleeps, spread like a starfish over the bed, limbs hanging off the edges and blanket twisted around her like she’s a burrito. She looks peaceful. 

Tubbo puts his head into his hands, grinding his palms into his eyes until he sees stars.

He has a daughter now. And the grief hits even harder then, because he knows he’s lost something like her before, someone like her, someone like Fred. The feelings are indescribably familiar. The tears leaking down his cheeks slot there like they’re just following pre-carved canyons in his face, the warm anger in his stomach eating away pits into the muscle lining it with ease. He knows these feelings, and it scares him.

There is a white-washed wall in his brain, and Tubbo’s a little frightened of what he would find if he went searching for the missing paint. What story would be revealed? Does he want to feel this way again? He lifts his face from his hands in order to look at Sunny again and a wave of emotion washes over him, sending his thoughts spiraling.

Anger. Despair. Frustration. That is the heaviest hitter– why does no one take him seriously? Fred did. Even those workers today did. It’s strange how out of everyone, the Federation seems to be the most sympathetic. They understood his pain, or at least, they went along with it. They didn’t make fun of him or treat it like a game; they grieved with him, patted him on the shoulder and gave him flowers and words of condolences.

He pulls the daffodil out of his Inventory, twirling the stem around in his finger. He watches the petals dance and sway, and he shivers with sudden cold. The flower goes back, and he’s left staring at his empty hands. 

“I can show them,” Tubbo murmurs to himself, keeping his voice low so as not to wake his daughter. She’s a heavy sleeper– he still doesn’t want to risk it and have her see him like this. “I can make them pay.”

It’s a tempting thought, revenge. An apple hanging on a low-lying branch, glistening with morning dew. The crunch would be so satisfying between his teeth.

But there’s nowhere to direct that frustration and revenge towards. He doesn’t know who killed Fred, all he knows is that it happened and it was brutal. He aches to rip into someone himself and get payback, but how can he do that if the payback is only to empty air?

An investigation is in order. He’ll have to do it himself, since no one else will want to help. They probably won’t even care if he mentions it, so he won’t– he’ll keep this one to himself, and start putting out feelers for what happened. A few suspects come to mind first, people he doesn’t exactly get along with on this island anyway, and he grimaces. He snaps back into reality when Sunny moves, shifting in her bed and rolling over with a loud snore. Tubbo lifts a hand and wipes away the tears that have been steadily streaming down his face, now drying up in the heat of his determination. Sunny’s going to wake up soon. The sun is rising, breaking over the horizon and shining through the windows, painting the damp floor with streaks of honey and tangerine.

Carefully, he brings out the daffodil again. It sits in his hand with petals soft and preserved by whatever Inventory magic keeps it alive, and he twirls it again in his fingers. Tubbo reaches up and tucks it behind his ear, neatly between his goggles and hair, still within reach of his Inventory so it stays fresh and alive. He’ll have to change quickly before Sunny wakes up, get rid of his wet clothes, maybe mop up the floor of her train car so she doesn’t complain or question him when she gets up– fondly, he thinks of her pouting face, and smiles. Just a bit.

“Keep an eye on her, Fred,” he says, moving to stand up from the chair, his limbs heavy and sluggish. He’s exhausted. His nails are cracked and his eyes have bags, but he’s got revenge to enact and a daughter to look out for. No more time to grieve. He should’ve left all that behind at Fred’s funeral anyway– it’s bad for him to drag it around with him, especially into Sunny’s space. So he heads for the door, glancing up at the ceiling briefly before he steps out to change into dry clothes. “Keep an eye on her while I’m gone.”

[wrencatte]

-gasp- Can it be??? Am I finally actively working on the sequel for when my cage is by the window (I can see the sun)???? Recovery (fics) are always hard to write. At least for me. But I'm going to do my best!! Here's a little sneak peek at the beginning! A little bit of Bruce & Robin!Jason

Jason’s been sneaking around the Manor as of late. Bruce noticed. He will always notice. But...it’s not the kind of sneaking the kid’s been doing since he decided to be the best Robin he could be. That kind is practice. Seeing if he can sneak up on the old man and take him by surprise for the first time ever – and failing, because Bruce will never not be hyperaware of his children’s presence, Batman or no Batman. This kind of sneaking. Well, it’s the kind of sneaking he used to do when he first came to the Manor, all skin, and bones and with a fearful sort of stubbornness that made him jack the tires of the Batmobile just to make sure he would  have enough to eat over the winter.

Unfortunately, Bruce knows exactly why this sneaking has popped back up. And he hates himself a little for being unable to just…put to words what he means.

So, the next time they pass each other in the kitchen, Bruce taps his shoulder in lieu of grabbing his arm. Jason actually stops, shoulders scrunching to his ears, sweatshirt all baggy and loose. He can hear the crinkle of plastic from the pocket and his heart clenches just a little. Food hoarding isn’t an easy habit to break, not after years of food insecurity, but he’d thought….he’d thought Jason had felt a safer than that, he thought it’d lessened. To have to reemerge so loudly now.

Bruce swallows. He messed up – but he also didn’t. Jason needed to be benched from Robin. He needs to – Bruce needs to find a therapist for him.

And isn’t that funny, that he’s thinking that now?

But there’s a difference, he’s pretty sure, between him becoming Batman and Dick taking on Robin compared to the grief turned anger turned recklessness that Jason is going through right now. People process grief in different ways, and he was an idiot for thinking two boys (three, because he’d also just been a boy) were the same.

He’s quiet for too long. Jason’s spine curls and he hunches in on himself, already two steps closer to the exit. Bruce takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, and says –

“Hey, you know I love you, right?”

Jason freezes. Doesn’t turn around. Just freezes like a baby deer caught in the headlights of a semi. Bruce reaches for him before he hesitates then pulls back. It feels weird, not gathering him into a hug. He’s never been overly affectionate, at least physically, but he’s learned well through Dick’s love for hugs and arms over shoulders. He feels like he’s implemented it well with Jason too, learning when hugs are okay, when to swap them out for hair ruffles or pats on the shoulder. Knows Jason never really asks for the hugs he so desperately craves, so he’s learned to spot the signs.

The signs now scream don’t touch me. Bruce wants to hug him. Reassure him.

But he listens and obeys the signs.

“If you ever need to talk, I’m here,” Bruce says lightly. If he pushes, Jason will close off even more. He’s handled this all wrong.

Did he fall…or was he pushed? he’d asked, not because of some sort of – condemnation or accusation. Not because he believed Jason to have done it. It was purely to know how to handle the emotional fall out. If he were pushed. If he’d fallen and Jason tried to catch him. If he’d fallen, then Jason refused to try and catch him. They all have different responses.

And Bruce failed in every one of them.

But maybe he still has time to fix this. Maybe –

“Yeah, sure,” Jason says. He refuses to meet Bruce’s eyes, his voice is rough and raspy, gritty in the way it gets when he’s been crying and sneaking smokes. “You got it, boss man.”

He tucks his hands a little further into his pocket, package crinkling, and hurries out the kitchen, dodging Alfred just in time.

Bruce watches him go, stomach sinking, some foreboding feeling filling the empty space up in its place. Alfred gives him a commiserating look, a hand on his shoulder.

“He’ll come around,” he says.

“I hope so,” Bruce murmurs. “I’ll check on him in a few hours.”

(In a few hours, all Bruce will find is an open window – the security system expertly bypassed – two books missing from his evergreen pile on the bedside table, and a note on the bed in his wobbly, careful handwriting.

In a few days, all Bruce will find is his son’s body, broken and already cooling.)

[decaysate]

from @prognostik​​​’s tenn,    to fumi.    (    ♡,    accepting.    )    “    i wish i could change that,    but i can’t.    ”

it was stupid idea.    coming to the meet    &.    greet was a stupid,    selfish idea.

she wouldn’t have gotten in line──    no,    she would have stayed back after the performance,    watched idolish7 greet their fans from a distance,    kept out of sight    &.    out of mind.    she’s caught the eye of yamato,    even nagi,    already──    she doesn’t need their center to know she’s here,    too.    fumi had watched the stream of fans push forward,    excited    &.    giggling    &.    bursting with joy,    &.    feels    ...    grief.    a bit of guilt.    a quiet sort of sadness,    at the confirmation of what he already knew.    those wonderful summer months were always doomed to end this way,    he thinks,    as he turns on his heel to leave.    but it still hurts,    so badly.

(    really──    the only reason he even came,    even thought about subjecting himself to it──    was because shunki had pushed a bundle of papers into his hand,    gaze soft    &.    sympathetic.    “    you don’t have to go,    ”    he had said,    “    but──    i think you should still have the chance to see him.    ”    shunki’s hands had gripped his,    tightly,    in an echo of his frustration,    his sorrow.    his brows had furrowed,    like they always do when he’s trying to be strong.    “    it isn’t fair what happened,    but he made you so happy,    even for a short while.    that’s gotta mean something,    right?    ”    )

his footsteps had echoed softly,    past the bustling crowd of chattering fans,    past the crowded halls,    until the stream had whittled out,    until he was back outside again.    it had been raining──    softly,    an echo of the quiet of her mind.    she had mulled about the entrance for a few minutes,    gazing at nothing    &.    nowhere,    before the shadow of an umbrella had passed over her head    &.    she had turned to look face to face with kujo tenn.    he had stared at her,    expression contemplative,    before saying,    “    there’s a nice café nearby for us to talk.    ”

fumi sits in the booth of that café now,    secluded    &.    charming.    if her heart was in less pieces──    if she had been here for family,    instead of for the crumpled tickets in her pocket──    she might have even liked it here.    might have even contemplated tenn’s tastes.    it’s still raining,    she thinks idly,    gaze now on the mug of barley tea she had ordered.    tenn sits across from him,    silent    &.    calm    &.    gaze on his own steaming mug,    before she breaks the silence.

“    what did you want to talk about?    ”    fumi asks.    it’s a pointless question really;    he can guess the answer easily enough.    (    the only other conversation they had was about riku,    &.    that night──    )    his eyes go up to tenn,    wary    &.    hurting.    the hands in his lap tremble,    ever so slightly,    &.    he balls them into fists to get them to stop.    “    i wasn’t talking to your brother,    if that’s what you were worried about.    i didn’t──    he doesn’t even know i’m here,    or in tokyo,    at all.    ”    they hadn’t spoken much──    in the two or so months that have passed,    their texts had all but fizzled out.    scattered messages,    here    &.    there,    but──    the hurt,    the hurting,    had been evident.    her head bows,    the tears in her eyes threatening to spill.    “    i’m sorry for──    for showing up.    it was a stupid decision,    i know it was.    i won’t make the mistake again.    ”    i won’t show my face around riku ever again.

when tenn remains silent,    his heart sinks──    mortification,    shame,    anger──    &.    a nauseating feeling settles in his stomach.    he looks back to his mug,    now,    blinking furiously to keep his tears at bay.    when tenn does speak,    it’s like a bucket of cold water,    stilling the churning emotions in his heart    &.    forcing him to pay attention.    “    i know how you feel,    ”    he says,    his eyes on his mug    &.    expression soft.    when she looks up,    ready to argue,    he cuts her off with a raise of his hand.    “    i really do,    hayasaka-san.    i’m not sure if riku ever told you,    but    ...    ”    his finger traces over the rim of his mug,    the pain in his words gentle.    “    i left riku to become an idol.    to help pay for his treatments.    ”    his hands stills,    before it drops to the table.    “    i know it hurts him still.    i know it hurts me,    too.    i love my brother very much,    even if it seems otherwise.    ”    tenn looks up at her,    his gaze blazing,    as he continues.    “    but even though it hurts him──    hurts us──    i’m willing to shoulder it.    because it’s for the best.    ”

“    ...    i understand.    ”    fumi can’t bear the weight of his look.    he holds it for a second longer,    two,    before he averts his gaze to the café windows.    “    it’s    ...    i don’t know everything about your relationship with riku──    i don’t know if i ever can,    really──    but i know you care for him.    that you’re just looking out for him.    ”    he had been so excited,    he thinks,    when he had first offered to introduce him to tenn.    his eyes were sparkling,    eager to have him meet his family──    now look at them.    now look at them.    “    i already knew before we met that it wouldn’t last.    i was just    ...    selfish.    shun──    my friend,    he gave me the tickets,    &.    i didn’t want to waste his money,    so i    ...    that’s why i came.    plus,    i    ...    ”    she closes her eyes,    thinks of the last time she saw riku──    sees the sad,    muted look on his face,    his reassuring smile──    &.    opens them again.    “    i wanted to be sure he was okay.    i wanted to be sure he was happy.    ”

“    i’m not angry at you for that,    ”    tenn replies.    “    i know you care for him──    i know you love him,    too.    it──    it wasn’t easy,    to tell you two what i did.    you both lit up the room with your love.    to have to end that    ...    ”    she laughs softly,    shaking her head again.    her vision blurs with tears as she shakes her head. 

“    i didn’t break up with riku-chan just because you said so,    ”    fumi says.    “    i told you,    didn’t i?    i already knew it wouldn’t have lasted──    he puts his fans first,    above all else.    i would have always come second,    &.,    well    ...    some of those songs he sings for them are really romantic,    you know?    i thought i could handle it,    the way idols are required to love everyone    &.    not just the one──    but being with riku made me want to be jealous.    to be selfish.    that would have stifled him,    so i    ...    had to let him go.    before i let my emotions go too far,    before he got caught in a scandal because of me.    ”    he laughs again,    but it’s shaky this time.    “    plus,    i mean──    i would have been busy,    at the time,    with the miyagi prefectural tournament.    i’m busy now,    with studying for entrance exams    ...    i don’t know if we would have worked out.    ”

when she looks up,    tenn is considering her with something like──    quiet respect,    awe,    in his gaze.    like he didn’t expect her to have thought that far.    like he thought she hadn’t considered everything he had told them a hundred times,    a million times before.    like he didn’t expect her to care so much for riku.    the thought is ugly.    the thought makes her feel a sliver of satisfaction.    “    i know it was selfish to try anyways,    even though i knew it wouldn’t last,    ”    she finishes,    “    but he made me really happy.    i wanted to try,    at least for him.    ”

“    ...    if we weren’t idols,    ”    tenn begins,    his words slow as he thinks,    “    if the circumstances weren’t so precarious──    ”    if riku’s career wasn’t on the line,    if fumi’s privacy wasn’t at risk,    if their happiness with each other couldn’t be so easily destroyed,    if if if──    his smile is tight,    gentle.    he vaguely recalls a similar conversation,    with momo instead,    &.    her heart aches in a similar way.    “    i think i would have liked to have gotten to know you as my brother’s girlfriend,    hayasaka-san.    you’re a very kind    &.    thoughtful person,    i can tell that much.    ”

“    i    ...    thank you,    kujo-san.    ” 

“    really──    you are.    you    &.    riku are a perfect match.    ”    again,    that sentiment.    right people,    at the wrong time.    a perfect match,    under the wrong circumstances.    “    but the idol industry is brutal,    &.──    no matter how happy it would make him,    this would have destroy idolish7.    i wish i could change that,    but i can’t.    ”    it’s his turn to bow his head,    something painful flitting across his face.    fumi regards him with something like pity.    (    the idol industry is just so ugly,    isn’t it?    )    “    i apologize for treating you so harshly that night.    &    i apologize for any of the strife i might have caused with my words.    ”

“    i──    i’m not going to pretend that it didn’t hurt.    but    ...    it’s fine.    you don’t have to apologize for that.    ”    i’m not going to pretend that it didn’t hurt,    so you shouldn’t pretend to regret it.    tenn can apologize,    can pretend to ask for forgiveness──    but they both know it’s not really sincere.    not when they both think he’s right,    not when he’s thinking of riku’s future.    fumi doesn’t mind.    it hurts,    but fumi doesn’t mind.    how can she fault him for putting riku first?    (    she’s done the same,    hasn’t she?    )    “    i think you need to apologize to riku,    really.    ”    he smiles warmly,    heart heavy in his chest when tenn looks up in guilt    &.    surprise.    “    riku-chan was really excited for us to meet,    you know?    he    ...    he wanted us to get along.    i think it hurt him a lot,    to see you react so negatively.    ”    tenn flinches,    mouth set in a frown as he averts his eyes.    fumi waits a moment,    looking at him,    before she continues cautiously.

“    you can’t avoid him forever.    he’s your brother,    after all.    ”    fumi’s hands cup her mug,    now──    it’s lukewarm,    now,    but warm enough.    her smile turns into something sad.    “    even if he was mad,    i don’t think he’d be mad at you for long.    he loves you a lot,    too──    so don’t leave him to be the only one reaching out,    kujo-san.    ”

he’s silent,    for a while.    fumi takes a sip of her tea while she waits,    allowing him his space to think──    because she knows,    even in the aftermath of the dinner,    even in the aftermath of their separation    ...    riku hadn’t really been angry.    maybe a bit,    maybe initially──    but if she knows her riku-chan,    he’s probably just    ...    sad.    hurting.    (    she can’t be there to comfort him,    not when she’s the reason for a big chunk of it.    but tenn is different.    tenn should be there,    along with idolish7,    to help him get back on his feet. 

&.    thinking of riku on that stage today,    she thinks they’ve already started to do just that.    )

“    you’re a very perceptive person,    too,    hayasaka-san.    ”    tenn leans back in his seat with a laugh bordering on a huff,    his smile fond.    “    i’ll    ...    see him tonight,    i think.    tonight,    or later in the week.    we haven’t talked properly since    ...    ”

“    as long as you both properly sit down    &.    talk about it,    it won’t matter.    ”    he puts his mug back down on the table──    it’s still half full,    but he doesn’t think he can stomach the rest.    too lightheaded    &.    too full of emotions,    he surmises.    “    without pushing him away,    without letting him hide his feelings    ...    if you talk it out,    it’ll all turn out fine.    ”    tenn purses his lips,    &.    fumi wonders if he’s thinking of how hypocritical she sounds.    fumi wonders when she’ll listen to her own advice──    but,    well,    they’re in different positions,    aren’t they?    it wouldn’t work out for her the way it would for tenn. 

“    i will,    ”    he promises quietly.    &.    she knows he will,    because he loves riku very much,    &.    riku needs him──    because riku needs a hand,    &.    she can’t be there to offer it.    fumi smiles at him one last time,    before he gathers his things,    shrugging on his jacket with a note of finality. 

“    then i’ll be going,    kujo-san.    the shinkansen my friend got me tickets for should start accepting passengers soon.    ”    he stays seated,    but he gives her a nod,    expression much less guarded now than it had been the last time they parted. 

“    thank you for speaking with me,    hayasaka-san.    i’ll    ...    i might stay for a bit,    think of what to do.    have a safe trip back to miyagi.    ”    tenn pauses,    long enough that she does,    too,    at the outside of the booth.    he smiles softly at her,    a touch sad.    “    &    ...    know that you’ve done nothing wrong.    you did what you thought was right.    ”    you’re not wrong to feel how you feel,    momo had said.    it isn’t fair what happened,    but he made you happy,    shunki had said.    fumi blinks back a fresh wave of tears before bowing his head,    laughter trembling    &.    full of warmth. 

“    thank you,    kujo-san,    ”    she says again.    “    i won’t forget it.    ”

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

a glimpse of maybe

summary: spencer never really got over maeve - no one can truly forget their first love... that doesn’t stop his best friend, y/n, from trying. 

word count: 1,464                                                                                        reading time aprox: 6 mins

warnings: themes of unrequited love, angst (my specialty)

a/n: first fic back! This can be read by anybody - no specificity in features, gender, etc. Please let me know if I’ve made any errors regarding this. 

masterlist

Jealousy is described as a white hot anger that burns behind your eyelids, paralyzes every muscle, and turns you as green as a swamp. Well, whoever said that must have been a complete idiot… or a lucky fool who has never experienced the depth of longing for someone you can’t have. 

Instead, coldness surrounds you and bites at your veins with ferocity. What they don’t tell you about is the constant emptiness that fills you whenever he looks behind your eyes to try and get a glimpse of her - if there even is one. 

Spencer disguised his grief well; longing stares that I believed were for me, but in truth, were the remnants of her. When he started to reach for my hands and suggested we hang out more, I should’ve known then. Maybe it’s partly my fault - maybe I fell in love with the idea of a blissful tragedy that was bound to happen. 

-

“Spencer, may I remind you that I’m the one with the PhD in Chemistry here. Don’t try to tell me about my own dissertation…” Spencer takes his bottom lip under his teeth with a sly smile, a subtle tell that he was about to protest. “...and just because I technically haven’t received physical proof of my degree, doesn’t mean I’m any less knowledgeable than you, Mr. 187 IQ.” 

He shrugged his shoulders and immediately raised his hands in defense. “I never said that,” he argued while I stared at him pointedly. “I’ll just take my three PhDs elsewhere–” 

“Here we go again with your smart-ass attitude,” I scoffed playfully, burying the smile behind my unimpressed visage as he took pleasure in making me laugh - a ghost of a satisfied and happy glint in his irises. I haven’t seen him so… normal until now. 

A butterfly stretches its wings inside my stomach as Spencer begins to regain a youthful color to his skin. A comfortable silence washes over us as our laughter dies down into nothing but warm glances shared between us. A much too familiar bubble swells in my chest and engulfs the space in my lungs, preventing air from reaching it. 

One. Two. Three new freckles strayed from the top of his eyebrows to the tip of his slightly tanned nose. The amount of times I’ve told this persistent man to put on some sunscreen is incredulous - I can already see the breaking of DNA from the abundance of UV exposure. 

At least he’s getting more sun - he’s going out more. That’s good. Yes… it’s good. You know what’s not good though? Skin cancer. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Spencer broke me out of my trance, throwing an old crumpled up post-it note at my face. 

He really needs to start cleaning up this place. His living room had turned into Oxford’s long lost library archive or a Barnes and Nobles’ recycling dump. Spencer hasn’t really fixed up the place since… 

I make a mental note to help Spencer spruce up the place once he’s ready - and to get him some SPF 1000 while I’m at it. What are best friends for? 

“I was actually just thinking about how much you must be begging for skin cancer,” I teased, taking the crumpled up note and setting it on the side table to cast to the garbage, later on. “But of course, maybe that’s something your three PhDs can defend you from too.” 

“Who’s the smart-ass now, Y/N?” 

“You’re right… we can’t have two smart-asses now, can we?” I sighed, relaxing further into the loveseat I sat in, tracing the stitching that lined the leather material. “Is that offer of you taking your business elsewhere still up?” 

Tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, he leaned forward with a cheshire smile and a look that was out-of-character for him. “Is that what you really want, Y/N? Cause half of my business practically includes you in it,” he admits. 

I suppressed the blush that was threatening to bloom on my cheeks. Averting my attention from his prying gaze. “I get it, Spencer. I’m the most interesting part of your life,” I half-heartedly joked; a part of me longing for it to be true. 

His lips quirked at my quick response, that bright glow in his eyes making another appearance.

Maybe this time, it can be true. 

“You look good like that, Spencer,” I commented with underlying hesitance. 

“Like what?” 

“...happy. Like you're happy.” 

‘I love seeing you happy… happy with me’ was what I really wanted to tell him. 

“I am happy,” his eyes subtly trail down from my eyes, to my nose, and finally, to my lips. “I feel nothing else whenever I’m with you.” 

My lips parted slightly in desperate need for air. In that moment, the mess of the room was gone, the sunscreen forgotten, and the mental barrier lifted. Heat swirled in my stomach and crept up my throat. The butterflies raced inside me with grace, leaving me lightheaded in the moment. 

“You’re only saying that because I’m the only one sane enough to keep hanging around you.” I attempt to brush off his suggestive tone, fearful of mistaking it for genuine interest. I tucked my hair behind my ears, grounding myself back to bleak reality. 

“You know for someone who’s almost has their PhD–” 

“–does have.” I interrupt. 

“...who DOES HAVE their PhD, you’d think you’d figure out to stay away from a guy who can only handle one person in their vicinity. What if I was a psychopath?” 

“I never said you weren’t,” I cut in. 

“Smart-ass.”

“Such a smart-ass,” we retorted simultaneously. 

We broke out into a gleeful fit of laughter, amused at our telepathic nature. The bubble in my lungs only continued to grow, only this time I wasn’t suffocating. I guess living for the hope of it all was enough to feel this way. It was then I decided that maybe the wanting was enough. 

I wish you were my smart-ass. Mine.

“You’ve always known what to say, Y/N,” he teased with a doting tone. 

I didn’t bother to hold back the loving grin that graced my lips and the admiration that poured out of me because in that moment it felt like he was mine to lose - and only mine to love. 

“I love when you smile like that - your dimple shows up just at the surface of your right cheek. That’s how I know I’ve really made you happy.” He presses into his own cheek, leaving a temporary impression of his finger. Something deeper settles into his eyes as his smile cracks subtly. “...Maeve had the same indent on her left cheek - one of her prettiest quirks.” 

And just like that, reality sets in. 

He may have been mine from the start… but I never really was his, was I? 

All at once, that warm bubble shriveled into nothing but a cold and sharp cacophony of hope that had been stricken down. My esophagus constricted around the razor-sharp words threatening to slip by my lips - a stinging sensation imprinting itself on the walls of my chest. 

I lost all focus, swimming around desperately in the concaves of my mind for some sort of solace. My mental attempts bore fruitless to the sharks, that were his words, endlessly tailing me. The emptiness and despair threw my body into an indescribable numbness - a contrast from the searing wetness that hid behind my eyelids. 

…silence.

All my impulses, insecurities, and irrationality formed into one, throwing away all sense of decorum and decency. I bit my tongue, immersing myself in the taste of iron to distract myself from the unpleasant thoughts. 

Why would you say that, Spencer? 

I wanted to scream, claw, and fight. I wanted to feel anything - anything else but this. 

Why is it never me?

But I also wanted to bring Maeve back. I wanted Spencer to truly be happy again. Not just for a moment of happiness… of love. 

Am I too hard to want (like the way I want you)?

Sometimes I wish I can turn you back into a stranger, Spencer. Only then I wouldn’t be yours just to hurt. But you were right though… I never want you elsewhere. I want you here, a blissful wound that I will willingly carry any day just to get a glimpse of ‘maybe.’ 

But I didn’t dare to say those words, not to him - never to him. My tears retreated back into their sockets as I embraced the numbness that came with reality. I flicked the post-it back into the expanding mess in the room, where it knows its place. 

“...of course, Spencer. I feel nothing else when I’m with you.” 

-

taglist: @rexorangecouny @howdycharlie @honeymilk-4 @linthebinbag @andreasworlsboring101 @ssareidbby @kyleetheeditor @fanofalltheficsx​ @jimilogy @lulwaxim @jhillio @m3ssytrash @haylaansmi @meowiemari @ashwarren32 @codyf3rnsupremecy @goldentournesol​

[whumpinggrounds]

Proof of Life

CW: male whumpee, male whumper, hero whumper, sidekick whumpee, death, grief, guilt, depression, angst

He tells them he’s sick. August lies in bed and won’t get up and turns his face to the wall. He says his head hurts, his stomach hurts, and he really is dizzy every time he stands. He puts no particular effort into making any of this believable, but his monotone in itself is apparently concerning enough.

All the symptoms are more or less true, anyhow. It’s just grief and guilt, not a chest infection. Whoop-de-fuckin-do.

Valerie comes in to see him, apologizing that her magic hands can only heal injuries, not illness. August tells her its fine, in a dead, colorless voice that makes her back away. When she leaves, August knows she’s going to get Beck, to tell their leader that something is truly wrong with the youngest member of their team. August can’t bring himself to care, especially when all Beck does is come in to stare at him with a creased brow.

Donovan’s visit is, at least, exciting. He threatens August with expulsion from the team, saying that if he’s “sick” longer than three days, Don will convince Beck to drop him. August snorts. He doesn’t bother to reply. When Don takes a threatening step towards his bed, August just lies there, staring at him.

“What’s wrong with you?” Don demands, looking disgusted. “What’s actually wrong with you?”

August turns his face into the pillow, not wanting to face Donovan’s wrath. The words are muffled when they come, but he knows Don still hears them. “You killed an innocent person.”

“Innocent?”

Don clearly has more to say, but August cuts him off. “Yes, innocent. And…it’s my fault as well as yours.”

“You don’t have the balls to kill anyone.”

“You know what I mean.”

Don throws a couple more insults at his sidekick, but apparently, depressed August is no fun. When he doesn’t respond to Donovan’s jabs, the hero stalks out the door, no doubt still sneering at August’s weakness. August still doesn’t care. All of this feels very far away. Nothing reaches him through the thick, muffling, cold layer of unreality, not even the guilt and sorrow and helpless rage he can feel waiting on the other side of that wall. Lying in bed all day feeling sorry for himself isn’t helping either, but when August tries to move, his limbs feel like they weigh as much as buildings. He stares at the ceiling and feels numb.

After hours of this, night comes and August can’t sleep. He’s still staring at the ceiling, still tangled in sweaty sheets. He just wants to feel something, whether it’s anger or self-hatred or misery. This cotton cloud of disbelief is suffocating him. And it’s real. Under the denial, August knows that. This is real, and he needs to feel that.

He pictures the supervillain’s mask. Their teasing tone. The way they called him kid, sounding just like an older sibling, like Dahlia when she’s exasperated. The gentle way they asked him questions; the way they tried to get him to see…what? That what he was doing was pointless? That he was throwing his life into the service of a monster?

Yeah. Well. August must have a little monster in him, too.

Still feeling nothing, still numb as he’d be under anesthesia, August finds himself swinging open his closet door. There, in the back corner, next to rows of new shoes waiting to be used up, is a single worn-out pair. Usually, August throws them out as soon as he burns through the soles. If something significant happened while he was wearing them, he’ll save the laces. This pair, though, has nothing special about them. They’re the shoes he was wearing when he was kidnapped, but that’s not something he truly wants to remember.

The thing he wants is tucked under the sole. A phone number, scrawled in a big block numbers.

That almost breaks him. The numerals, written in thick, clear strokes, like there’s a possibility August might misunderstand, might think the seven is a one and dial the wrong number. They cared about him. They cared about August.

Now, maybe because of that, they’re dead.

August sits cross-legged on the floor of his closet, staring at the note. Shirts and jackets brush his forehead, but he doesn’t care. He stares, in the dim light from his window, at the creased piece of paper, and then he pulls out his phone. He’s not sure what he’ll get, not even sure what he wants. Maybe the villain has an answering machine. Maybe hearing their voice will make it real.

The phone rings in August’s hand, loud in the dead silence of the room. One ring. Two. Three.

And then someone picks up. “How did you get this number?”

Speechless, August stares at his phone for a long minute.

“Hey. Who are you, and how did you get this number?”

The voice is mean, almost a snarl. August swallows hard. “S-sorry. A…a friend of mine…gave it to me, it must be, um, wrong, or…or reassigned, or something, I’m…sorry.”

The shock of hearing a voice is wearing off, and the reality is setting in. The faint hope of somehow hearing the villain’s voice on the line – extinguished. This is some random stranger he’s woken in the middle of the night – a random angry stranger – and August moves to hang up, grief finally waking up within him.

Then the voice on the line stops him cold.

“Oh my god. Kid? Is that you?”

@whatwasmyprevioususername, @princess-poopsicle, @snowshower, @whumpywritings, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, and @junoswhumpdrawer

@whumptober, @whumptober-archive

[bibbykins]

Insufferable

A/N: The long-awaited flashback is here! It's short, but it is here! I hope this can really show the turning point in Jungkook's and MC's relationship and I would love to hear everyone's thoughts. As usual, tips are not required but greatly appreciate. Hope you all enjoy and have a wonderful day/night!

Note: This is a part (specifically a flashback) of The Household's Bunny series, so I recommend reading at least the Prologue before this one

Word count: 3.6k

Pairing: Soft Yandere! Jungkook x Chubby! Reader

Summary: Roommates are bound to have arguments, especially when one of them is as temperamental as Jungkook, but you didn't expect the first argument to get so unbelievably personal.

Warnings: abandonment issues, mommy issues, allusions to past abuse, family issues, crying, yelling, vomiting, panic attack, exhaustion, some soft yandere thoughts, some possessiveness, jungkook is mean and the MC gets a little mean too

There was something so constricting about memories of a shitty childhood. There were times when looking in the mirror felt like searching for the child in you so you could give her the hug she desperately needed. There were times when waking up felt like a check to make sure you were no longer in the home you had to grow up in far too quickly. However, the comfort of being in a different home only came so far when you didn't have anyone beside you or even emotionally available enough to talk to.

You stayed in bed for hours before it felt like a good idea to move, almost waiting for the mirage of change to fade before it brought you back to the gym with your mom or your uncle's apartment littered with whiskey bottles and leaky tear ducts.

Sometimes putting your best foot forward each day felt so hard with all-consuming loneliness clinging to your heels.

You had started your day going through your memory box. Hindsight said that was a poor idea. The box was a sure way to get you into a bad mood. You liked to think you breezed past all the stages of grief, but just because you accepted reality didn't make it hurt any less. The box was a strong reminder of that much as it sat with a melancholic aura. The creme color faded and the thorned vines connected to roses only added to the malicious undertones of its existence to your mental health. It was full of childhood photos, your birth certificate, school achievements, and the last known address your mom had.

Ah, your mom. What a way to bring clouds to your sunny day. You don’t know why you put yourself through the turmoil of the memory box. Maybe you were hoping it would be easier by now. You were always wrong. Looking through childhood photos and finding no love in the eyes of your mother when she looked at you and watching the love in your uncle’s eyes fade with your mother’s presence. You got to the fated birthday card, thumb rubbing over the defunct address longingly. You held the envelope in your hand, inspecting the birthday card she sent you. Three words in the repetitive note written on the inside caught your eye, and not the ones you so desperately wanted from her.

Feeling a familiar pressure behind your eyes, you tossed the card aside and stood. It was time to eat, go on a walk, do anything other than this. You found your way to the kitchen and came across a silent and solemn Jungkook. His jaw was clenched, but it felt like it always was around you.

Your relationship with Jungkook so far was not very complicated, in the way it was nonexistent. He either didn’t care about talking to you or he actively didn’t want to, you really couldn’t tell. This didn’t stop you from trying, though. Like an idiot.

“I’m making food, did you want any?” You asked from your place seated on the couch, and the silence that was his response for deafening, “Okaaaay.” You sang awkwardly, “I just know that you usually don’t eat throughout the day and-”

“And what do you know?!” He snapped, blinded by his pure and unbridled, but most important unprovoked, rage of you. Your eyes widened and your body jumped. Holy shit, you had never heard him yell like this, “You don’t know anything about me, or in general, so just stop trying so fucking hard!” He was harsh in his tone and it lit your whole nervous system on fire. What the hell did you do to him?

You shook your head, not sure why he was yelling about, but it made your throat feel like it was going to close, “Look, I was just trying to be polite, but you don’t need to talk about me like you understand-”

“Understand?! What’s there to understand?” He challenged, eyes wide like he was expecting you to say something but he continued, “You’re some spoiled girl living here rent-free because your precious dad doesn’t want to take care of you.”

Your heart caught in your throat as it shattered. He was right, your dad didn't want to take care of you, but not in the way he thought. Why was he doing this? Has he genuinely felt this way all along? Was he just holding in his anger until you poked the bear a little too hard? “You don’t need to yell at me.” You stated firmly and it seemed to only make things worse.

“And you don’t need to fucking be here in the first place!” He spoke, temper long lost and you could hear his voice mix in with Jungyoon’s, all he needed was a bottle of whisky and a set of calloused hands, “You didn’t need to fucking live here-”

“You don’t know anything about me.” You spat out. Now, you were losing your temper. You could take a beating, but for only so long, especially as an adult, "And it's not like you're paying rent either, so what do you know about me or my living arrangements?" You hissed and you watched his eyes flare, making you nearly regret your provocation.

“No, but I know how you look naked-”

“Fuck you.” You spit the word out at him, something you haven’t done to another person for a while “Don’t weaponize my work or play a game that you absolutely will lose.” You warned, “I know all about you, and I can use that, because you’ve been a star since you were 15, and that sucks, that makes you mad, doesn’t it?” Your temper effectively lost as you ripped into the rage-filled man before you, “Yet you don’t know anything about me, and that must piss you the fuck off, huh?” You stood from the couch, tears building in your eyes before you could stop it.

“I know enough, spoiled rich girl.” He seethed and you laughed humorlessly at this worldwide pop star calling you spoiled and rich.

“Not only are you wrong, but you’re also a poor listener.” You shot back, “I’ve told you all before Jungyoon isn’t my fucking dad, he’s my uncle.” His mouth opened but you cut him off before he could start, “He can’t stand the sight of me so he travels for work.” Your tears are undoubtedly falling, but you can’t stop, “And you’re talking to me like this because what? You had a scandal or something?” You gave him his chance to talk and boy, he took it.

“Mona told me you know your mom.” His voice was like venom, “So, why the fuck are you here? You have your blood relatives.” He exaggerated the word like it meant anything to you, “Why are you here, disrupting our lives, acting like an innocent orphan girl around actual fucking orphans-”

“I never said I was or acted like an orphan!” You exclaimed incredulously before scoffing, “That’s why you’re mad? Because you never knew your mom and I did? Because I know who my blood family is?” You could laugh at how ridiculous that was, “I know them, so what? Where does that get me?” You looked at him expectantly but he didn’t talk, “I knew my mom, and guess what? She just didn’t fucking want me.” He was silent, but you still couldn’t stop, “I’m sure if your mom could’ve got to know you, she would’ve kept you, because you’re not insufferable to be around, you’re just a fucking asshole.” You wiped at your cheeks furiously, “But me? I had 15 years to prove myself and it still wasn’t enough. I still wasn’t enough. Jungyoon never wanted me either, he got stuck with me and had to cope.” Your voice began to break and you had to take a breath, “I was the insufferable one, so-” You stopped, finally as you regained your sense of reality and watched Jungkook who had an unreadable expression and the realization of the word vomit you spilled out to him hit you like a train as you exhaled quickly, rage in your voice quickly replaced with soft melancholy “I am the insufferable one here, so there.” You shrugged, face a wet mess, “Hope that brings you peace.” Your stomach was churning as you turned on your heel, unable to hold in your sobs. You couldn’t bear the awkwardness of waiting for the elevator so you opted to take the stairs.

You sobbed louder as the door slammed shut behind you, but you didn’t want to linger so you bolted down the stairs, the bile in your stomach signaling that you needed to find the nearest trashcan and quickly. You made it to the ground floor and spilled your guts into the small trashcan. Yelling always made you unbelievably ill, whether it was getting yelled at or yelling, the sickness it made you feel overflowed. The yelling only reminded you of-

You vomited again at the mere thought. You cried harder when you finally finished, breathing becoming staggered as you began to panic.

Fuck, they’re gonna kick you out, and then you’ll be alone again. You lost your temper, people don’t like other people who lose their temper. Why couldn’t you just mind your own fucking business and leave him be? You’re stupid. Why do you think you’ve been alone all your life? It’s because people don’t want to be near you. You’re-

“Insufferable.” You mumbled, numb, even if for only a moment.

Sure, Jungkook provoked you, but you knew better. You didn't go to therapist after therapist throughout your adolescence for nothing. You felt as if you set yourself back eons after that outburst. He didn't need to know all that about you, ever. He probably didn't even care to know, and you said it anyway, like you were gunning for gold in the trauma Olympics. You didn't want to minimize his struggles, you just wanted him to shut up and stop yelling at you. You let your eyes flutter closed as you cried. How can you complain about being alone when you're like this?

You don’t know how long you stayed there, sitting next to a trash can full of your vomit as you wallowed in your self-hatred. The all-consuming loneliness the boisterous house subdued returning with full force. Jungkook was right. You didn’t need to be here. You were only disrupting their routine.

You blew out a sigh as you staggered to the elevator, fully set on going up to your room and crying yourself to sleep after you clean up. You brought the trashcan with you, not having the heart to just leave your puke down there. You thanked your lucky stars when Jungkook was no longer on the second floor as you went to the kitchen and rinsed your mouth before going to take out the trash and take out your burnt oven pizza. Finally, you were headed back up to your floor. You watched the numbers tick by with tired eyes. You glared at the empty trashcan, electing to take it with you instead of making the trip back down to put it back. Surely, they wouldn’t need it for a few hours.

The elevator dinged as you grabbed the black plastic bin and then you were met with Jungkook. Relief flashed across his face before irritation settled on it, “Where the fuck were you?!” He asked hurriedly as you trudged past him, too exhausted to fight. You were running on autopilot the whole way up here, and you couldn’t bear another spat.

“I was on the first floor.” Your voice was low, trying to communicate you were done arguing as you lifted the bin as proof. You then set it down and went to your bathroom and began brushing your teeth.

He scoffed, “You were on the first floor for 30 minutes?” He asked as if he caught you in a lie but you nodded as you rinsed your mouth.

You were down there for thirty minutes? No wonder you felt so tired.

“Yep.” You popped the last letter before correcting yourself, “Well, I spent like 10 minutes cleaning up that bin, so not exactly.”

“Why?” He asked as if you were being ridiculous, as if he wasn’t the one on your floor demanding answers.

“I vomited.” You spoke simply and before he could ask, “Yelling makes me puke.” You were so blase about it he sighed in frustration.

You walked to your room and froze when you saw your memory box strewn about, and it was like a dam broke all over again. You looked at the photos, at the eager little girl looking for love in places she would never find it.

Old habits die hard.

Before you could even stop yourself, you sunk to your knees in garbled sobs and broken cries, “Hey, hey, wait.” Jungkook’s shaky voice did nothing to bring you back to reality as you cried. His hands placed themselves on your shoulder, making you flinch violently, much to his horror.

Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know why you were crying, but he knew it was his fault, at least in part. Even if at this moment it wasn’t, his outburst surely didn’t help. Fuck, he’s so dumb. Fuck, he shouldn’t have talked to Mona just moments before seeing you.

The envy of even seeing your own mother’s face ate up at him and he took it out on you. Not to mention that he made you vomit from the yelling. He suddenly felt more like an arrogant asshole than he did before as his hands now hovered over your form and he took a moment to look at your room.

Scattered on the floor were childhood photos and ribbons from competitions. Things Mona kept in her own house, having a whole wall filled with every one of their achievements. Even Jin had a photo album of their things. And you, you kept all these for yourself. You were the only one who cared enough to save these things and he wondered how much you threw away to maintain space in the small empty box. Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this.

You sighed shakily, “You can just go.” You cried, “You don’t have to be here.” You don’t know what he could possibly gain from watching you cry.

“I know.” His voice was calm, even, “Can I help you up?” He asked and you wanted to look up at him in confusion but you didn't want him to see your tears.

You both had just ripped into each other, and here he was, wanting to help you. Why would he do that? Why would he stay when he doesn't have to? Why would he want to help you up after a fight?

Too tired to even think about questioning him and no longer angry at him, you simply scoffed, “Can you?” You sighed, not having the energy to stroke his ego and stand up without his help.

You never let people bear your dead weight, not wanting the awkwardness if they couldn’t carry you, but right now, you just wanted to lay down.

He snorted lightly, happy to hear anything other than a sob for you, “Don’t worry about me, you just cry and mind your business.” He spoke lightly, and the comment made you fight a smile. Then, he lifted you with so much ease, you figured he was trying to show off as he placed you on the bed. He looked at you after he sat on the floor before his eyes caught onto the gold foil of a 16th birthday card. You were wiping at your face as he read the card against his better judgment.

I know you must be confused, and I can’t help that. I wish I could pretend to be a mom, but I can’t. I can’t be your mom, and I never should have tried. It would be best if we forgot each other. I just can’t keep pretending, and I know you can see it, even if you don’t want to.

I’m so tired.

-Mom

Now, he felt even more like an asshole. He also felt a little bit angry that your mother could just leave you behind without so much as saying sorry. She wrote like she was a teenager and you were her mother. She obviously didn't put much thought into the seemingly last message to her daughter and it made his heartbreak for you, “That was the last I heard of her.” You snapped him from his thoughts and he looked at your puffy face, “She had left months earlier, and then I got that, but she moved before I could try to see her one more time.” There was a distant ache in your words as you looked at Jungkook sitting amongst your memories.

“Is she… still alive?” He asked, not sure why he felt the need to know.

“Not sure, but it doesn’t make much of a difference, I guess.” You blew out a sigh, before looking at your papers and folded posterboards, “I was cleaning out my memory box, and I’m not sure why I do it when I know it just upsets me.” You could still feel tears leaking from your eyes as Jungkook picked up a photo of you on your 14th birthday, posed between Jungyoon and your mom. You had a bright smile on your face and they looked at the camera with a tight expression, “You can really see how much they didn’t want to be there, but that's the happiest they look in all of the photos.”

He wanted to say you were wrong, but he could see it. He could see the happy little girl trying to make up for the unhappy adults around her. He knew he should’ve asked Mona why Jungyoon didn’t try to call or visit or why she was so eager to take you in if you knew your family. He should’ve just known better. Yeah, he understood how it felt to be alone growing up, they all did, but by the time they were all 17 they had a home that wanted them. You were going to graduate from college soon and you still felt unwanted.

No thanks to him.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted and you looked at him with wide eyes, “For being an asshole, I’m sorry- and for making you cry. I just…” He shrugged, “You’re right. I was jealous you knew your mom and I already was suspicious of you and I- I’m dumb, and I’m sorry.” He looked at you, eyes a bit glossy and you wondered when was the last time someone apologized for making you cry.

“It’s okay.” You smiled weakly, “You are dumb, but that’s okay.” You chuckled when he frowned, but eventually, he also broke into a short laugh, “I think… we’ve felt a lot of the same things in different ways, so I can’t blame you.” He wondered how you could be so forgiving, and he was scared of how many times that has gotten you hurt, “I like living here and I like all of you, so I hope I can get you all to like me too, even if just a little.”

“Don’t accept less than you deserve.” He spoke firmly before he started picking up your memory box, putting things neatly back in.

“Wh-”

He waved his hands nonchalantly, “You, sleep, I’ll clean this up and order some food.” He didn’t look at you as he said this, mostly to hide his blush, "If...If you want, I can give this to Jin. He has a whole place he keeps our stuff like this… he's really sentimental." He stumbled, still refusing to look at you.

However, he jumped when he heard you hiccup a cry. Ready to apologize, Jungkook was just about to turn to look at you until he heard you speak, "That… That sounds very sweet of you to do." You wiped a sentimental tear away as the blushing boy remained frozen.

"It's Jin's hobby, not mine." He deflected before waving his hand at you, "Sleep, I said." He frantically demanded.

You could see his ears getting red and you smiled, “Yes, sir.” You mocked in your work voice and made him freeze for a moment as you erupted into giggles while he whined, “Okay, okay, I’ll sleep.”

Eventually, you surrendered to your exhaustion as he delicately put away your papers and photos. He hummed lightly, smiling as he came across your debate team awards. No wonder he lost the fight before it even started. He turned around after lifting the box and sighed almost dreamily as he watched your sleeping face. You were beautiful, delicate, and puffy from the tears. He had the urge to keep apologizing for being such an asshole, but after looking through your achievements and your photos, he resolved to just keep proving it.

He wouldn’t let you get hurt again. Not by him or anyone, especially your mother, even Jungyoon was on thin ice.

His blood boiled at the thought of your mother for a reason he couldn’t understand. His hand extended shakily as he pulled the covers up to your shoulder and you hummed contently, making his heart melt a bit at the little smile you had. He wouldn’t fuck up with you again, not like this. He would be nice, at least a little, and first and foremost, he would order food you liked.

He froze.

Fuck, what food do you like?

He relaxed. Well, he could just ask the guys.

Fuck, they’re gonna ask questions.

Fuck, they’re gonna kill him when they found out he made you cry.

He looked back at your sleeping form, not having the heart to wake you up. He sighed, looks like he’ll just have to bite the bullet. He dreaded each moment as he quickly made an untitled group chat with the guys since you were added to their original one. He could only hope Taehyung wouldn’t change the group chat name to something stupid.

Tip Jar

[harfanfare]

When your Prince Charming arrives || First Years x Reader

What if someone from RSA seemed to be your dreamed lover?

Ace Trappola

It isn’t easy to make Ace seriously worried, about something that wasn’t caused by his friends, wanting to get revenge on his poor—as they defined them—jokes.

From the first sight he knew, that a boy, who “accidentally” bumped into you, was a danger. Some kind of.

He seemed just… too perfect: tall, muscular, with beautiful hair and natural charm, charisma. His clothes complemented the colour of dark as cosmos eyes, and his manners were impeccable. Ace started doubting that even Vil Schoenheit himself could point out anything to him, but he wouldn’t bet on his arm.

With each trait, something was pushing Ace away from the boy more and more.

If he hasn't paid much attention to him, then you definitely did. By the time the day was over, you managed to tell him ten times how he helped you get up—"You fell because of him," Ace replied while rolling his eyes—and characterized the boy verbally, so that no teacher would complain about not enough words on your opinion essay.

“Agh, enough-!” Ace got upset when, even while playing cards, you didn't talk about anyone else but that handsome hero who helped you get up faster than Ace did. He got up from the floor. “Marvel at him in his face! He will certainly want to hear all these compliments in person.”

He stormed out of the room before you could stop him.

His arms were shaking once he got out of the dorm, to the Rose Maze. He emanated with anger and grief; he swore to himself, that he will kick this guy from RSA the time he sees him. Though he wasn't sure... would you be mad at him...?

“Wait, Ace!” you had to run as fast as you could to catch up with the boy and bump hard into him. You hugged his waist tight, worried that he would run away as soon as you loosened your grip. “Sorry. I really didn't mean to upset you.”

Ace turned around to see your eyes. The corners of his mouth quivered before twitched into a weak smile.

"It's alright," he said, but his voice slowly cracking. “The better one wins, right?”

"Of course," you tightened your embrace so that your cheek was pressed tightly against Ace's body. “I won't be with any guy who can't destroy a chandelier with friends.”

The boy took a deep breath before finally wrapping his arms around you.

The warmth he felt from you and the one inside him caused a strange feeling in his stomach and chest. He didn't know exactly what he felt, but he didn't mind at all.

“Out of my advantages, you chose this particular one?” He said, his face showing a mischievous, a bit mocking, but still friendly smile. "I guess it was at the top of such a long list as ‘Advantages of Ace’"

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎

Deuce Spade

Deuce didn’t know what feeling was responsible for twisting his stomach, once he saw you and a boy from RSA, introducing him to some NRC classes.

Does his dark, rebellious side finally want to see the light of day?

Not as much as he wanted to hit that boy, he’d rather preferred to take you somewhere far away from him. From everybody.

“Someone's jealous!” Ace laughed when Deuce told him about his worries.

“Again, why did I come to you with this...?” The dark-haired man sighed, placing his hand on his hair and tightening it tightly. "You really think I'm, uh, jealous?"

“And not?” Ace tucked his hair back, laced the fingers of his hands together, and blinked several times. “Oh! My hero!” He said in a squeaky voice. “I will have to give up my lovely Deuce for you because you helped me up. A~aah!”

Deuce snorted and slapped Ace on the forehead. He fell onto the bed. The redhead burst out laughing as he looked at the nervous, sulking Deuce.

“Go Deuce,” he said, sitting down on the bed, still with an amused sparkles in his eyes. “Fight!”

Without waiting for any further words of encouragement, Deuce ran out of the room, towards the school. He went through all important, busier spots in the school before he found you in the cafeteria.

Of course, with that RSA guy.

He felt his body tighten like a tight string as you spotted him between the heads of the other students and waved at him.

"This is Deuce, my boyfriend," you introduced the boy to your dinner companion, and the dark-haired man looked away. So what if you guys were dating for months? The title "boyfriend" always made his heart run wild. “And this is [Boy's Name], a student from RSA.”

"Nice to meet you." Deuce reached out his hand and squeezed the boy's hand. He did it with such force that you could almost hear the crunch of bones and a soft gasp as the student jerked his hand away. “Now, I'm so sorry, but I have to take [Name] with me.”

He felt a twinge of guilt as you walked away, and the RSA boy was massaging his hand. However, now-not-yours prince charming will definitely go to the nurse, and on the way, he will surely run into one of the most beautiful students in NRC. It’s always like that in fairy tales.

You have to fight for your true love, right? They both have to find and keep the love of their lives.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

Epel Felmier

Just give him a chance, and he'll definitely try to kick that fop in the knee so hard he won't get up again.

"Fight fire with fire," Vil advised him during their usual dinner at Pomefiore. Even though Epel had said nothing about his worries, Vil could still sense a depressive aura from him that was definitely ‘not beautiful’.

The Pomefiore leader was also not very happy with the arrival of some students from the RSA. But until they were more beautiful than he was—not that anyone like that existed—their presence did not irritate them that much.

Of course, you didn't forget about Epel—you felt so drawn to your new acquaintance's aura that you sometimes lost track of time, but you make sure not to skip your meetings.

He felt like a pawn in a game of chess, not a player. He was attractively dressed, and now standing next to that RSA boy who had attracted your attention all too often. He took you with him a lot, that one day he almost offered to take you with him to the RSA. It would only require some paperwork, wouldn't it?

“[Name]” Epel turned to you, his voice trembling with anxiety and anger. He took a deep breath but didn't feel any cooling down. “The final decision will always be yours. But I want to say something about it here.” He pointed at the visitor and glared at him.

He felt a sudden need to straighten his hair and his clothes as silence fell around him. All the witnesses waited for his next move, and even though no one was saying anything, he felt like he was the new hot topic of gossips.

He went over to you and locked you in a hug as if he didn't want to watch all those onlookers.

"I know you may not believe me, but I really am not sure if he can bring you the happiness you expect," he blushed here. “I-I mean… I don't know if I can offer you a life only filled with happiness you want, but… I will try… So, uh, please don't go with him…!”

“Huh? There's no way I'm going with him,” you said, tearing away from him. "I'm addicted to apples and a certain apple boy, and I won't survive without this combination."

Epel breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his cheeks flush with shame, and memories of words that even sounded too serious for him.

Even though he felt terrible in this elegant garment, he couldn't think of it as his feelings exploded in his body.

Ah, yes. He couldn't want to love anyone else that much.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

Jack Howl

Jack never wanted to stop at anything other than "true love".

When you two started dating, he saw no other way than planning his future with you... But this RSA guy was never included in your plans.

"He's joining us," you told your new friend, pointing at Jack. He had his arms crossed and he was at least a head taller than the boy, so the boy had to raise his chin to see Jack's ears. “He offered to help us with cleaning.”

"Ah, yes," [Boy's Name] cleared his throat, trying to remain indifferent. He felt overwhelmed by Jack's presence and Jack made no effort to make it easier for him. Because what was he supposed to do? Squat down so that he doesn't feel trapped like surrounded by tall rocks? "We'll definitely need someone strong."

Everything went very agile and neat.

Even if you and the RSA student previously thought it would take a long, long time, in half an hour you managed to do more than you were allotted to. Maybe it's because your loved one didn't allow too long conversations between you and [Boy's Name]?

It would certainly have been hours if the two of you were left for each other. Ideally, a lot of time to make another appointment, exchange phone numbers, cancel your joint vacation plans with Jack and change your school, right?

“Thank you for your hard work” you put the broom in the storage box. Cleaning with magic was definitely simpler and easier, but as long as you can clean, magic can feel a little sloppy while comparing the cleanliness of rooms.

"Thank you for your hard work," [Boy's Name] replied, dusting his hands of the fluff. "Maybe... you'd like to go together, just the two of us," he stressed the last words, "to the cafe?”

"I'm sorry," you smiled apologetically. You looked at Jack who was just coming back and started walking towards him with a smile on your face. “You may not see it, but this one needs a daily dose of hugs because later he will be very sad.”

Jack silently denied as he turned his head to the side out of intimidation as you hugged him tightly.

… For moments like this, the existence of people like [Boy's Name] is needed.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

Sebek Zigvolt

“We need your assistance, [Name]” just after taking the left corridor, Sebek appeared in front of you and a student from RSA. The green-haired man had a stoic expression and his hands were behind his back, what made him seem much more composed than he thought himself. There was so much going on in his head that it would be easier to talk about what he wasn't thinking about. “It's urgent.”

Without further ado, he grabbed your wrist, knocking the RSA student's hand off your shoulder. He gave him a frightening look before he turned on his heels and you and you walked far, far away from this place.

"Hey, Sebek," you broke the silence that had been with you since you stepped out into the uncrowded corridor. “Something happened?”

“What do you mean?” He replied in a gruff voice and picked up the pace.

"For example," you panted, trying to keep up with him, "you're almost crushing my hand."

As if on cue, Sebek immediately let you go, doing it as quickly as if he had touched hot coal. With a surprised look, he glanced at your wrist, which turned slightly red from his tight grip.

"Ah, uh, forgive me," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "I still feel sick to see that human from the Royal Sword Academy."

“You mean [Boy’s Name]?” you asked, and Sebek made a face at his name. For him, this boy will always be "human" in the worst tone and sense of the word. "Some have described him as ‘so sweet that he is so bland’”

“It suits him.”

“You don't like him too? Too cute by Diasomnia standards?” you guessed jokingly. “Or were you jealous, hehe?”

“T-that's not the point!” He growled, feeling his face flush red. You looked at him in shock, now sure, you guessed it, and Sebek felt even more exposed by it. "It's just that this human looked at you so... so strange! I didn’t not like this.”

"There is a way," you said, smiling frivolously at him. “You can invite me to tea and vice versa, and then we will not see him anymore.”

[paralleledmediaexperience]

right before my birthday back in May someone made a post about Jack needing more love and hugs, and I had this idea in the tags and then went and wrote about a thousand words of this and then. forgot it existed!! anyway I’ve mostly polished it up now. enjoy Jack telling one of his dads he loves him and then not only being hugged but also hearing it back!! it’s what our boy deserves!!!!!

Now with part two!!!!!

-

Jack hadn’t meant to fix everything, in his defense. Yes, they’d defeated god with his powers, which had unintentionally released Amara, who had agreed to take her brother’s powers from Jack and then let the world mostly be as long as she got the chance to see him every once in a while. She’d returned the universe to normal, with a few additions for their happiness, as Amara had said. Dean had choked out Cas’ name, and Amara had frowned before replying that it might take a bit more time. 

They had gone back to the bunker and then the bunker had been thoroughly overrun the whole next week by- it seemed- everyone the Winchesters knew, including a few faces who were apparently as back from the dead by Amara’s hand as Mary was last time she owed a Winchester a favor. Through it all- old friends and odd allies and more- Jack knows Dean isn’t doing well. Isn’t sleeping well. There’s only been one night- well, Jack hadn’t seen Dean drinking but he’d heard Sam’s arguing and Dean’s short, choppy answers, and it was familiar enough.

He’d googled “what to do when my dad misses someone and we can’t talk to them yet,” and wikihow had good suggestions- he’d read through the sections for both short-term separations, and managing the death of a loved one. He hadn’t really been able to figure out which would be more helpful. It had turned out to be the death of a loved one, which… shouldn’t be surprising, no matter that Cas would be back. Soon. 

He couldn’t make Dean do any of the things on the list, but it had suggested that the person would like to feel loved during their time of grieving.

And when he’d searched “how to make someone feel loved,” the first article had said the easiest way was simply to tell them. So when Dean hands him a plate of pancakes with the bacon cooked just how Jack likes it, Jack thinks it’s such a small thing to make his heart feel so big and warm. And he smiles and says, “Thanks Dean. I love you.”

Unfortunately, Jack hasn’t actually grabbed the plate when he says this, and Dean’s hands drop it. The sound of the plate shattering on the tile is only half as upsetting as the wounded look in Dean’s eyes as he looks back at Jack. And Jack isn’t sure why it went so wrong but he looks away immediately, the shame of causing that hurt somehow and the slow horror of realizing he’d ruined the breakfast that Dean had made him turning his stomach into knots. He steps back almost unconsciously before remembering the plate had just broken, and in just his socks, a piece of ceramic jabs into his heel and slices him open, and he actually can’t help the small cry of surprise and pain that slips out.

“Jeez, kid,” Dean breathes out, and Jack gets pushed into the nearest chair. “Get that out of your foot while I clean this up.”

The warm feeling in his chest was gone, pressed into something cold and tight in Jack’s throat. He’d just- the article had said it makes people happy to hear they are loved in times of grief. 

He watches, silent as Dean turns off the stove and sweeps up the wasted food and plate pieces, soundly dumping it in the trash before digging under the sink for a second and coming out with a clean dishrag and a box of bandaids. It’s only when he sees Dean stop and take a quiet, private shuddering breath to forcibly relax his tensed shoulders that he lowers his gaze again. He picks the sharp sliver of plate out of his skin through the sock before peeling it off to examine the cut it left. Very shallow, but it still stretches two inches along on the inside of his heel, the blood sluggishly dripping out. 

It’s not bad, but very inconvenient, so he almost heals it before remembering that Amara had said not to use his powers after she took Chuck’s powers. Not until she returned and okayed it, at least. He sighs, pinching it together with his fingers, half heartedly wishing it had been more awkward and antagonistic between his aunt and his dads, so he could have maybe convinced Dean that they shouldn’t listen to what Amara told him to do. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.

He hears Dean turn the water on to damp the cloth, but he can’t make himself look back up again. His gaze goes back down to the floor as Dean starts to turn back toward him, focusing on the small smear of red on the floor, where Dean had dragged the broom through the spots of blood he’d left.

He raises his hands as Dean approaches, ready to be handed the stuff to bandage himself up, but Dean just beats them away as he sits down next to Jack, hunching in as he grabs the injured foot. Jack still feels unbearably small in the silence between them, both him and Dean leaning in and feeling small and unwilling to speak as he wipes away the blood and then dries the skin around it. Jack grabs two of the bandaids and opens them, and Dean wraps them around the cut before patting it and drawing away, and Jack doesn’t know what else to do.

“Sorry,” He says softly, because he isn’t sure what he did wrong but it hurt Dean. And he wasn’t even angry, Jack could tell, cause his shoulders hadn’t tensed the way they did when Dean was trying not to lash out- they’d tensed the way they did when Dean was trying not to fall apart. Jack’s felt like he had to know the difference for a while now.

“Jack,” Dean says, and it’s so sharp that Jack jerks up to look at him. Had he read that wrong? Was Dean angry? But when he meets Dean’s eyes it’s still that hurting, the one that Jack could remember all the way from back when he was a newborn, or something close to it. “No, you don’t-” Dean lifted a hand to his face and dragged it down with a rough breath, and Jack wasn’t expecting him to look back at him but he did, eyes burning into Jack’s. “You don’t have to be sorry. That was on me- I dropped the plate.”

Jack tries not to squirm, because it’s not about the plate, is it? The food had been thrown away and the plate had hurt him, but he’d said he loved Dean and that had made him drop it. “I’m sorry that I-”

“Jack,” Dean cuts across again, and this time his brows are drawing together the way they do when he’s angry. But he looks away from Jack again, and he can tell somehow that it’s not anger at him. Dean doesn’t even want Jack to be looking at this anger. “You say whatever you want, okay? I’m not upset that you said it.”

It isn't that he thinks Dean doesn’t mean the words, but Jack’s also not sure Dean believes them either. “I am, though,” he says, petulant, crossing his arms and letting his foot fall back down to the ground, ignoring the bite of pain from treating the cut so roughly. “If it hurt you, I shouldn’t have-”

Dean cuts him off again. “No. Jack, that’s-” He struggles for a second, but Jack just wants to understand. Unbidden, he holds his breath and Dean draws his in, trying to find the words.

“You get to love me if you want to,” Dean grinds out, and Jack realizes there are tears gathering along his lower lashes. “And you get to tell me if you want to. This hurt ain’t about you.”

That does clear it up, somehow, and Jack nods and looks back down at his hands, realizing there’s still blood on his fingers, too. Dean turns away enough that they can almost pretend he’s not rubbing the tears out of his eyes. “I won’t say it if you don’t want me to either, though,” he says, and he grabs the cloth from the table where Dean had left it, finding a clean spot on the damp corner and using it.

“That ain’t how it works, kid.” He doesn’t elaborate. He just grabs the box of bandaids and closes it before gathering up the paper wrapping. It gets thrown out, and the box stowed back under the sink, and then Jack is just staring at Dean.

“How does it work?” 

They both stop. Jack didn’t expect to actually let the question out, but it’s off of his lips before he can seal them. 

Dean is frozen, staring at him.

“Not like that,” Dean says eventually, weariness dripping from each word. “Jack, do you… do you want us to say…”

He doesn’t say it, the kitchen fan blowing white noise into the quiet air between them. Jack knows that he could ask and Dean would say it right now. Dean always gives the people he loves what they want, what they need, and this would just be the next thing he could offer. Something he could give.

“I don’t need you to.” Jack says, honestly. “I know. I just wanted you to hear it, because I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to say it to you.”

Dean squints at him. “You... “ His eyes are wet again. Without warning, Dean grabs him and pulls him up, into a hug, and Jack grabs back as tight as he can, feeling lost. But it’s good, it’s good just like every time Dean hugs him. He squeezes his eyes shut tight as if he can’t feel the tears welling up in his own eyes, hot and stinging. “I love you too, Jack. I don’t get- you and-” Dean sputters off, still holding him. “If you want to hear it, you let me know. I’ll get better at it.”

“Maybe every once in a while,” Jack says, trying not to let his voice sound like he’s crying. It does anyway.

“Alright then,” Dean says, and he squeezes him one more time before letting go, turning away abruptly and bustling back to the stove. Jack wipes his eyes on his sleeve, his whole chest feeling empty and full all at once. The rag had fallen out of his hands sometime in their conversation, and he leans down to grab it, pausing to wipe up the blood on the floor. Dean comes back a minute later and pulls it out of his hand before passing him another plate. “Here, since the last one humpty-dumpty’d.”

They don’t continue the conversation. Jack eats his breakfast as Dean fixes himself another cup of coffee, and they sit quietly, waiting for Cas to come home.

[nugnthopkns]

felt the lightning under my skin

word count: 13.7k

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

recommended listening: under the spell | springtime carnivore

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I wouldn’t. Come here.”

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

“Look! An owl!”

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I made the roster for worlds.”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s my girl.”

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning,” he repeats. 

“That’s what that was?”

“Leave me alone.”

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

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

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

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

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

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

☼☼☼☼

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

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

Julie says to Carrie "At least my mom didn't choose to leave me." Sorry that it's more than a 5 word prompt. It's been in my head that maybe the fallout between the girls wasn't all one sided. People lash out when grief is involved.

Thanks for the prompt! I took a little liberty with it, hope it still brings you joy :) HEAVY TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS ONE: IMPLIED/REFERENCED SUICIDE ATTEMPT AND SOME INTERNALIZED MISOGYNY/DEROGATORY TERMS. Details under the cut, please take care of yourselves.

Send me prompts!

This also takes place in my Parenting verse, but also in my All Too Well verse, after the scene in check the pulse and come back swearing it's the same where Ray and Rose find out Trevor stole his songs. He went home, called his parents for the first time in twenty years, and asked them to take Carrie, because he was going to try to kill himself. He obviously did not succeed, but this fic is very much the aftermath of that, so please be aware.

--

Carrie comes back to L.A. on a Monday.

The weeks she spent living with her grandparents— the elusive Shaws— in New York were all sort of a blur. She couldn’t leave the house or even turn on the TV without getting bombarded with questions and news about her dad’s… she doesn’t even want to think it.

He’s alive, that’s all she knows for sure. Stable, according to his assistant Katie, who’s staying at Carrie’s house until her dad gets home from the hospital. But she doesn’t think a few weeks living it up in the psych ward and then meeting her at home for Friday night dinner was exactly his plan when he sent her away.

At school, Carrie keeps her head held high (and blinks back stubborn tears) as kids shout questions at her and teachers give her pitying looks. She pays as little attention in class as she can get away with— which isn’t much— and focuses on just getting through the day.

She avoids Julie. And Flynn, by extension, but Flynn was only ever Carrie’s friend because they were both Julie’s, there’s no way she won’t take Julie’s side in this.

Side in what, Carrie doesn’t even really know. All she knows is that when Carrie asked her dad why she had to stay with some old people she’d never met, why she couldn’t just stay with Mami and Papi— Mr. Molina— and Julie and Carlos…

Her dad looked at her— eyes big and bloodshot and manic like his meds make them get— and said, “Rose doesn’t want us seeing them anymore. Your grandparents will be good to you.”

So she avoids Julie, obeying her father’s wishes for probably the first time in her entire almost-eleven years of life.

Unfortunately, Julie knows her too well. Carrie’s barely taken one bite of her lunch when the door to the bathroom stall she’s been hiding in bursts open, startling her into dropping her tofu and cheese sandwich onto the gross bathroom floor.

“Ugh! Julie!” she splutters, even though she wasn’t even hungry anyway. “What is wrong with you, are you crazy?!”

“What’s wrong with me?” Julie shouts back. Her face is flushed, her eyes and hair wild. It’s not often that she gets angry, but Carrie knows her well enough to see the threat of tears in her eyes. “Carrie, what the heck! Two weeks ago, you were helping me decorate my new room, and then you just disappeared, and your dad was in the hospital, and I didn’t know where you were because no one will talk to me!”

Her voice breaks, and an inexplicable anger starts to boil in Carrie’s stomach. “Stop crying, you’re such a baby!” she snaps. “And since apparently, you can’t take a hint, I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”

Julie looks abruptly stricken. “What? Carrie, you can’t— I get you’re upset, okay? I— I’m sorry I was mean, I didn’t want— I just didn’t know what was happening, and my parents seemed so sad, and— but it’s okay, you can talk to me, you— you’re my sister!”

“Oh, come on, I’m not your anything,” Carrie scoffs, pushing past Julie to fix her hair in the mirror. She can feel something hot and ugly bubbling up her throat, but if she tries to hold it in, she’ll cry, so instead, she lets it all pour out. “Why would I even pretend to be your family anyway? It’s your mother’s fault my dad tried to kill himself.”

In the mirror, Julie’s face goes ashen. “What?”

Carrie flips her hair over her shoulder. “I don’t know what she said to him, but apparently she wants nothing to do with us now.”

Julie shakes her head. All the anger appears to have flooded out of her, leaving her small and drained-looking. Her hands are trembling at her sides. “Carrie, what? That’s not… possible.”

Carrie turns to face her again, jaw tight. “You know what? Maybe we are sisters. After all, everyone thinks your mom cheated on your dad with my dad. She probably did! She’s always been a slut.”

Julie’s mouth drops open. Her eyes well with tears. She hisses, mean in a way Carrie’s never seen her be before— a way that tells Carrie once and for all that this isn’t going to be a fight they get over, “At least my mom wanted me.”

Carrie’s stomach fills with ice. She can feel a smile plastered to her face of its own will, immovable and frozen. But she keeps her voice steady, and her eyes dry, as she says, “You’re right. No, Julie, really, you’re totally right. My mom didn’t want me, and neither does your mom, or my dad, or anyone! So why bother swimming against the current, huh? Join the club. And leave me alone!”

She stomps out of the bathroom, slams the door behind her, and only when she’s far away does she let herself cry.

[that-blue-vault-dweller]

We've had so much happy sappy things lately. How about some angst? Companions react to sole getting super pissed at them and just leaving forever?

Oh, no..... I knew this was going to come soon enough... All good things must come to an end, after all 😔💙💛

All jokes aside, this literally broke my heart to write, but I very much enjoyed your suggestion for the new perspective it gave and the opportunity to write some good, old-fashioned angst 🥰 I didn't provide an explanation for what they said or what they did to make F!Sole mad, which I hope is okay! (I couldn't picture my F!Sole leaving any of them for any reason but I'm sure everyone's Sole varies in that respect)

Warnings: Light mentions of suicide, heavy mentions of drug and alcohol use.

Cait - Falls back into chems and will likely drug and drink herself to the grave. She can't believe that she went and screwed everything up again. She let down and upset the one person she vowed to never do that to, and now she's alone. Again. She's managed to run off the one person in her whole lifetime that actually cared about her and all she knows is that life is not even really worth living sober if she has to endure pain like this.

Piper - Cries herself to sleep for many nights after and sometimes finds herself crying during the day while she's typing an article or doing small mundane things, her guilt and sadness consuming her. (If F!Sole let her interview her back when she first came to Diamond City) Piper keeps a copy of the View from the Vault articles beside her bed and numbly reads them sometimes before going to sleep just to remind her of the only best friend she had ever had in her life. The only person that had stuck by her and tried to look out for her since her dad. Eventually she stops crying, but it takes a long time for her to rebound and her smile to come back. It never is as bright as it used to be when F!Sole was there, though.

Curie - Breaks her heart and completely destroys her. She cries for days, weeks, forever. All she knows is that there is a huge hole in her heart and she thinks of F!Sole every day. Her humanity is a constant reminder of the great person that she had lost and she will forever blame and kick herself for being so horrible that F!Sole would leave her. Curie will always care about F!Sole even if F!Sole doesn't care about her and Curie will forever miss her.

MacCready - Ends up heading back to go be with Duncan permanently. F!Sole was the only thing keeping him in the Commonwealth but now that he screwed that up, there is no reason left to stay. He was originally going to have his son brought to him as soon as possible, but he decides that they're better off away from where all of the sad memories are lingering. When he returns to his son, he is very happy, but he soon falls into a basic routine, trying to get through his grief of losing a true friend because of his own stupidity. He will eventually come out of the depression, but he will always carry the intense guilt of driving her away for good.

Deacon - Despite the fact that he just continues on with that constant mask of looking like he's just as calm and happy as anyone else, he is hurting deeply on the inside. It is easy to tell because of how he seems even more distant than usual and he very rarely ever comes back to the Railroad HQ. Guilt turns him into someone even more detached than he used to be before she left. However, he sometimes goes undercover just to watch her at a safe enough distance to keep her from recognizing him. After all, he has not changed his face since she left, preferring to keep some souvenir from his time with her. Unfortunately, his face is all he has left of those days.

Codsworth - Is broken-hearted and is at the epitome of guilt because he cannot believe he has made her so mad that she will have nothing more to do with him. He has absolutely no one left to serve and there is no one left who cares about him at all. He ends up falling into a state of denial, somehow glitching and convincing himself that she, sir, and young Shaun are simply away and will come back eventually. He sadly remains in this deluded state for the remainder of his days.

Hancock - Somehow does even more chems than before, knowing it cannot kill him but needing the rush to distract him from the complete and utter pain after sending away one of the few people that actually stood by him through thick and thin. He goes back to being the full-time mayor of Goodneighbor, but when he falls so deeply into the chems, the citizens begin thinking that it would be best to overthrow him. When he figures this out, he knows he has to stop doing the chems quite so much. He cuts back just enough to be coherent and make speeches to inspire people, but anyone can see that he is by no means doing as well as he used to before F!Sole left. At some point he is completely numb and he takes the chems to just feel something besides this deadness inside.

Danse - Is devastated. She is all he had left after being kicked out of the Brotherhood. He can't believe that he drove away the person that convinced him to see his own worth despite his true identity. He finds himself in deep, inescapable depression, and he eventually loses sight of why he should even keep going on at all. After all, he is just an instrument of evil that breaks friendship, families, and all good things. Why would the world need something like that?

Preston - Despite the fact that he does not believe he can do it, he forces himself to take up the mantel of General. He tries to lead and maintain a brave face even though he feels like he is falling apart. He knows the Minutemen are depending on him, and he feels so helpless. Eventually, he hands leadership over to Ronnie Shaw, returning to a second-in-command position as he throws himself into duties and work to try not to think about the loss of one of the few people that actually saw his vision and tried to help him achieve his dream. However, he can't quite forget the fact that it's all his fault that it ended up like this.

Valentine - Honestly cannot believe it and is in pure shock and devastation for several days before the grief and depression finally sets in. He throws himself into his work and becomes even more self-endangering, caring very little about himself and what happens to him. He knows he still has Ellie and the agency, but it just kind of seems to fade in importance as he thinks of F!Sole and how he drove her away. If he doesn't manage to get himself killed during this period, Ellie has a stern talk with him, and he actually does start being a little more careful. Not quite the level of careful he was when he had both F!Sole and Ellie on his back about it, but he tries for Ellie's sake if not his own.

X6-88 - Is quite angry at himself for angering and isolating such a vital and valuable asset of the Institute, but there is something else inside of him that pricks and pokes at his mind and gut. It is something he cannot identify and something he has never experienced before. It frequently brings her face to the forefront of his mind, homing in on just how angry that she looked and how she looked like she would rather be looking upon a pile of Brahmin dung than to be staring into his face. It bothers him for some reason, and when he returns to the Institute and expresses his thoughts, it is the last thing on his mind before they wipe his memory of her and reset him entirely.

Dogmeat - Tries to follow her even though she does not want him to. When she screams and throws things at him, he lowers his ears and tucks his tail, confused at what in the world he did wrong. He just wants her to love him again like she used to. He could be a better boy. He could stop pooping in Cait's shoes and stop chewing holes in things. Eventually, after weeks of following her and being rejected, he finally leaves her alone, heading back to Red Rocket Truck Stop where he decides to wait for her in hopes she will one day come back and give him all the pets or at least one pet. He ends up living his days waiting for her and pacing the place, waking up every morning with hopes that the sunrise will bring her back to him until he doesn't see the sunrise again.

Strong - Stays mad at her forever. However, he sometimes does wish that he had tiny human to help him with some things like fighting or cooking, but he quickly remembers that he's mad at her and tells himself that super mutants don't need puny humans. But there is something strange in his stomach when he thinks of her, but he usually smashes something to try to make himself feel better. The feeling never goes away quickly, though.

[mrslilyrogers]

All I have to do is Dream Part 2

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Telepath! Reader (X-men reader)

Summary: It’s been five years since the snap. You and Steve are stuck at an impasse. You want a family, he doesn’t. He says he’s moved on but has he really? With your doubts growing, you consider risking his trust and use your powers on him to get your answers once and for all.

Author’s note: I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before but reader here has studied at the Xavier Institute so she’s basically part of the X-men. You don’t have to read the comics or watch their movies, it is just part of her background. This is based on Endgame and would follow its progression. If you want to be tagged, please send an ask!! Thank you all for reading!!! 

Part 1 

Steve’s jaw twitched, his throat muscles working, eyes never leaving the photo on his phone. He pursed his lips and let out a huge exhale, running a hand on his face. What the hell had you done?

Nat didn’t question when he came back to the compound late last night nor when he didn’t show up the morning after, only learning from F.R.I.D.A.Y, he was up earlier than his usual and left. He came back a few hours ago, sweaty and gruff, immediately rushing to lock himself up at the gym. Wallowing there until now. 

She had known Steve long enough to know he was blowing off steam. She knew better than to pry, letting him keep to himself until he was ready to talk, and Steve was glad for it. Glad he still had one friend who cared. 

What the hell had you done? 

—————————-

You jolted from the bed, Steve’s eyes drilling holes in your direction from where he sat stiffly beside you, his mouth pressed into a thin disapproving line. If only looks could kill. You had never seen him so angry in your life. His breath coming in rapid pants, his fists clenched tight at his sides, the muscles around his neck and arms bulging. You felt naked under his gaze, bared to the soul with nowhere to hide. Ironic when just a few moments ago, you had breached into his mind, violating his privacy to the utmost. 

“Y/N,” he said, deathly low and lethal, a warning. 

“Steve, I’m sorry I didn’t know--” you scrambled to your feet, panic rising up to your throat, cheeks wet with tears. 

“Bullshit!” He roared, not letting you finish, shooting up to his feet like the soldier he was. His tightly coiled temper finally unleashed. “You went inside my head! Don’t you fucking give me any excuses!”

In his anger, he threw the analog clock from his bedside table to the floor, breaking it into tiny pieces instantly, the sound of it cracking and your crying the only things filling the air. You didn’t recognize the sobs coming from you, not even knowing if it was from what you’ve just discovered or the way he looked at you now. As if he didn’t know you, as if he could never trust you again. 

“I’m sorry,” was all you said. And you were. In every sense of the word. Sorry for yourself, sorry for what you’ve learned, sorry for what you’ve done. 

“How could you do this to me?” Steve asked, disbelieving. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just… I overheard you at grief counseling--”

“You what?” He hissed, eyes incredulous and accusing. “Are you fucking spying on me now?” he pointed his finger at you, circling the bed to stand in front of you, his steps quick and long. He looked like he did on missions. One purpose, ready to attack. It was a miracle he kept his fists at his sides instead of shaking you. 

“NO! No, I was waiting outside and I heard what you said, and it’s made me think…” 

“No, you didn’t think! I told you time and time again, I love you. What more do you fucking need?” His voice grew even louder, exasperation and impatience seeping out of him as if he had been putting up with you for so long.

What more do you need? What more do you need?

“The truth, Steve! I just wanted to know the truth!” You answered back, voice rising in return. The whole time you thought you were only being paranoid, insecure, blaming it on yourself when you weren’t wrong all along. He still wanted her. Yearned for her. 

“And are you happy now? You happy that you’ve forced it out of me?” Steve’s tone turned mocking, his eyes hard and jaw tensed. No denial, no guilt. He baited you and if he had enough presence of mind, he wouldn’t have said that, wouldn’t have deliberately gone out of his way to cut you deep. But right at this moment, all he saw was red. He wanted to hurt you, to punch, to scream. His hands shook, in the need to destroy something, to fight someone. Fists bringing out what he couldn’t put forth into words. He knew he had to leave. 

You flinched from his words as if you’ve been physically slapped. Eyes full of hurt, you were speechless, immobilized to the spot, no other choice but to take it all in and watch him as he bristled past you, heading to the direction of your shared closet, grabbing his duffel bag and stuffing it with whatever he could get his hands on. 

“Wait, where are you going?” your voice was small, hands shaking while you clutched the end of your shirt. 

“I can’t even look at you right now,” 

“So is this it? Is that all you have to say?” You pleaded, a part of you still hoping he’d deny everything you saw. That it was just all it ever was, a dream. A fantasy from another life. That it didn’t mean anything. That he’d pick you, the one who was here, someone he could actually build a future with. Over a dead woman, a woman who belonged to another decade, another lifetime. 

“Since you’re so good at getting into people’s minds, why don’t you tell me?” He taunted, turning his back to you, roughly shoving his toiletries in his bag.

“That’s not fair, Steve!” 

“Fair? You want to talk about being fair when you broke my trust! You promised, Y/N. Does that only mean something when it’s convenient to you?” He turned around this time, nostrils flaring, finger pointing offensively at you again. You were so close to him now, could practically feel the heat radiating off his body. And you were scared. You were scared to lose him. Because you knew whatever happened tonight couldn’t be reversed. The things he said, the things you did, there was no going around it anymore. 

“Do you want me to say I don’t love Peggy anymore, is that it? Is that what you wanna hear? Because I can’t. I still love her!” His voice boomed around you, shaking you to your core. Fresh, hot tears trailed down your cheeks. You were helpless. Broken. 

As soon as the words left him, he knew he’d regret it. At the way you looked, so small and vulnerable, hugging your arms to your chest, his eyes softened,  “Y/N…” he moved towards you, hands out to comfort you but you backed away. 

Shaking your head vehemently, you took another step back. You didn’t want his touch, didn’t want him near you. 

“No, no. Don’t.” you stayed a hand up to stop him. “It’s alright. You’re right,” 

“Y/N, that’s not--” 

“I think you should leave.” you pointed to the bag already in his hand. Your resolve, sure and strong. 

“Y/N, I didn’t--” he tried again, shaking his head. How could he take those words back? Did he not mean them too? God help him but he loved them both. 

“Steve, please stop. Just stop. Don’t make this any harder than it already is,” you pleaded, not knowing what else he wanted from you. You gave him an out; clear and easy. Wasn’t that enough? Did he have to hurt you even more?

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” He let out on a sigh, shaking his head. “But sweetheart, please don’t look at me like that,” You looked like a terrified deer, ready to run at the first sign of danger and he couldn’t bear that it was directed at him. He could handle your tenacity, your fire, anything else but the defeated look on your face. It made his heart ache.

He tried again, speaking gently, “Y/N, if you want me to leave for the night, I will. I think you might be right, we need some space after this, clear our heads,” 

This time, he went near you and you let him, you let his hands hold your arms like he’s done in past arguments. You let him look you straight in the eye like he’s done so many times before. You let him say his piece, already knowing where it was headed like the back of your hand. You operated like this. Clockwork. When one pushed, the other shoved. 

One last time. 

“But promise me you’ll be here in the morning to talk. You went inside my head, Y/N, but I wanna work through this. I love you,” he said it like he meant it, his heart on his sleeve but you weren’t so sure you believed him anymore. 

“You know I love you, right?” He asked just like the last time. Clockwork. 

No. I don’t. 

You nodded your head. 

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

He tossed and turned that night, the look of hurt on your face scarred in his memory. He knew he shouldn’t have left, knew he should’ve fought to stay.

It was true that he was furious but any animosity he felt immediately simmered after the mention of Peggy. He was way out of line. He wanted to apologize, to pull you into his arms and kiss away the bitter words he spoke but he was still so shaken about what you had done, what you had seen, and so he figured he should let it rest first, giving you both time and space to calm down. Everything looked better in the morning, right? 

But your face came unbidden in his mind, he could still remember the exact moment you closed yourself off to him, your eyes hauntingly empty and hollow, shoulders hunched, arms instinctively wrapped to yourself. So small and vulnerable. 

He should’ve stayed, dammit! 

He let out a grunt as he stared up at the ceiling. He still couldn’t believe you used your abilities on him, couldn’t believe you’d go so far when you’d never ever shied away from asking him anything. Heck, you’d basically proposed to him with all your nagging of starting a family.

Why did you have to see that?

He hissed and shook his head, guilt gnawing in his stomach. Your power was able to force out his deepest dreams and desires. But was that the whole truth? If he hadn’t woken up and you’d stuck a little longer then you would’ve known just how scared and confused he was. What you saw was the Steve who still clung to the past, the part of him that wanted to go back, yearned to go back because it was safer, it was where he truly belonged. 

But then again, he wasn’t that same man anymore, was he? Not fully anyway. In more ways than one, he had moved on. For the past couple of years, he did, in fact, envision a future with you. He was going to propose until the snap happened and then, everything changed. He saw his friends, his family, gone to dust. He could still hear Bucky’s echoing words, calling out to him. All those lost souls vanished as if they never existed while he stood, helpless and useless. Why spare him again? Why did he have to go through it all again? Didn’t he have enough pain and loss in one lifetime? 

And so he started thinking of the past. The good ol’ days, if you could even really call it that. It started out as a tiny flicker of curiosity. You both had just found a new apartment in New York, it wasn’t all that hard with the sudden vacancies. You were standing in the middle of the room, hands on your hips while he sat at the edge of the bed his head bowed, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Steve, we need to start thinking of the future. I know it’s hard but they’re not coming back and we can’t keep doing what we’re doing. We can get away from all this, you know, start a new life. Don’t you want that too?”

He swallowed a lump in his throat. He wanted to fight, to try again and again until he got everyone back. He was grieving, angry, and above all, guilty. Why couldn’t he do what he was made for in the first place? How did he let all of this happen? And why, for god’s sake, why did he have to survive while the others vanished?

But you were right. Of course, you were right. The ever practical and optimistic you. He looked at you with tired eyes, not wanting to argue, and nodded his head. He still had you, that was a win. For every shitty thing that happened since, at least you were alive and he wouldn’t trade that for the world but some jaded, cynical part of him questioned how long that would last. The universe clearly had a bone to pick with him and it was only a matter of time before you were taken from him too and that scared the living shit out of him.  

And so he had started to wonder what if?

What if he never had to wake up from the ice? What if he never had to crash the plane in the first place? What if he was where he was really supposed to be? 

All those questions drifted down into one person, the one that got away. Peggy.  She was his link to the past, everything that was sweet and wonderful. The dance he missed, the future he wanted when everything settled down into peace after the war. Peace. As ironic as that sounded, she reminded him of peace. The little dream he had in the back of his head whenever he infiltrated a nazi base camp. Every mission, every fight, he would think one more of this and the war would be over, one more and I get back to her. Peace. 

He craved for that peace so much, he didn’t even realize what he had been doing. He lived in that dream, longing for the time he could never get back. All the while you were hurting, so desperately trying to cling on to him while he slipped into himself. You needed him but he continued to chase the life he lost, for all his talk of moving on. He didn’t even realize how his fear of losing you has led him down to the very verge of it and now, he was anxious and afraid. So so afraid. You wouldn’t leave him, would you? God, he’d do anything, drop everything, to follow you.

That realization just made his head spin, was he really willing to let everything go just like that? Of course, he was. There was no question about it. Nothing else mattered if it meant losing you. It was a damned shame he only realized that now. 

We can work through this, he thought to himself. He couldn’t let you go, wouldn’t let you go. It didn’t even matter what you had done anymore, not right now, not when all he wanted was for you to know everything, that above all, he was choosing you. He loves you. 

I’ll make this work. We’ll make this work. 

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

He stared at his friend’s face, her red hair already outgrowing the blonde curls that framed her frowning face. She couldn’t believe it. Hell, even he didn’t believe it. How could you? 

--

Before the sun had even risen, he was already up, tying his shoelaces with his jittery hands. He had never been so nervous in his life. Not even when he had to crash his own plane, with that came a sense of doom and certainty but this? This was torture. This was hell. 

What was he going to say? How was he going to explain himself? What could he do to make you stay?

What you had done the night before, invading his most private thoughts, had been pushed to the side. In his heart, he had already forgiven you, understood why you had to do what you did. He knew you, the kind of person you were and you would never have done it had you not thought it was necessary. And with everything that he’s done and what you heard, could he really judge you for it? 

He rushed into the apartment, his heart already heavy. He couldn’t find it in himself to wait until you woke up and instead gave a tentative, “Y/N?” as he poked his head into the bedroom door, the sight of it knocking the air right out of him. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

The neatly made up bed greeted him, curtains drawn back to illuminate the empty room. His heart dropped to his stomach, “No, no, no, no, no,” 

“Y/N?” he shouted into the room, somehow hoping he was mistaken, that you were still here, that you’d show up. 

Did you really leave him? Could you really have done that?

He ran to the bathroom, calling out to you, but it was the same as he had left it. Except all of your stuff was gone. Your toiletries by the sink, all the little hair ties you kept lying around. Gone. 

How could you do this to him? How could you leave without saying goodbye? 

All the clothes he had always folded for you after you tossed them in the closet weren’t there anymore. Any trace of you was now gone. He let out a curse, his cold hand fumbling for his phone in his pocket. No messages, no calls.

“Come on, pick up,” He prayed into the phone. Please, please, please. When the monotonous operator answered, he let out a shout,

“Fuck!” 

Throwing his phone unto the bed, he realized even the clock he had thrown in his temper had been cleaned away, a letter laid down on where it was supposed to be. 

He picked it up quickly, his breathing rapid at the two simple words scrawled in your distinct handwriting. 

I’m sorry. 

Crumbling the paper in his fist, he shakily put it to his pale lips. Breathe...

What were you thinking? You couldn’t have even left a number to contact you? How was he supposed to find you now? He felt himself grow weak in the knees. He knew the type of training you had with the X-men, if you didn’t want to found, you wouldn’t. 

Had he lost you forever? 

Hands shaking at the thought, he ran. Ran to get away from his emotions. Lost, angry and hurt. What the hell had you done? 

What the hell had you done?

--

Natasha let out an exhale, bringing him out of his reverie. The look of hurt still evident on her face, she couldn’t believe you’d just leave without saying goodbye.

“If there’s one thing I know is that she loves you. You need to fix this, Steve,” 

Before he could even reply, the front gate’s access flashed before her. Mindlessly swiping it, they both turned to the monitor, their minds still preoccupied on where you could be. The man standing outside, waving his arms about looked eerily familiar but that couldn’t be...

Scott Lang?

Oh god, what now?

[idontknowmyownmind]

Another one for Mammon lol

I'm stuck in Mammon phase right now

Mammon and Cerberus

• Okay, so Cerberus is always... hostile and try to attack whoever dares to come close, especially demons who are a lower rank.

• High rank power demons are able to tame them by showing dominance.

• No one ever sees them willingly sub to someone.

• Cerberus is also sensitive to what others are feeling.

• So far no one ever comes to them for them.

• Now, we know how Mammon has great self-control and puts up with all the shit given to him.

• His copping machine is to hide away in Cerberus' cage.

• At first, they snarled and were hostile toward him.

• But as the time passed, it subdued.

• The reason they didn't immediately attack him the first time he was there is because they sense his emotion, which is different from the others before.

• The anger that followed along with sadness and grief, and the feeling of not good enough.

• They just sat there in silence until at some point Mammon started talking his problem out.

• He talks freely and lets all his emotions out because he knows Cerberus won't judge him like the others will.

• Cerberus sometimes snarled or growled in what he said as if they understood.

• The first time Mammon braved himself to be more closer, Cerberus eyed him cautiously but didn't move.

• When he knows it's safe, he starts petting them slowly.

• After a minute passed, Cerberus relaxed and Mammon swore he heard the beast purred.

• Now, they're somewhat comfortable with each other

• If they allow it, Mammon will rest himself on their stomach when they curl up protectively around him.

Adding scenes

• There are conflicts with some witches.

• The brothers, Diavolo and Barbatos are somehow involved.

• Kind of war happened and some of them were injured.

• In anger, Diavolo summoned Cerberus.

• One of the stupid witches try to attack Mammon.

• And to everyone's surprise, Cerberus protects him and growls angrily and protectively at the witch.

• When it subsides, everyone nurses their wounds.

• Cerberus walks to Mammon and Lucifer is ready to command him to stop and stay away from his brother.

• He held himself when he saw Mammon raise his hand and one by one of the Cerberus' heads dipped down to be petted.

• They curled up around him and growled at anyone who tried to come closer.

• When Lucifer came closer, they growled and he commanded them to stay.

• It affected them but they still stubbornly tried to shield Mammon away.

• It's not until Mammon calms them that they are safe to come closer to him.

Reincarnation AU

• Mammon died and reincarnated as human thousand years later

• At those time, the brothers changed

• They are more distant and cold toward each other, family and not

• They can't be in one room without an argument broke

• That's why, as much as he can, Diavolo won't let them be in one room or give them task together

• He know it's not helping and just worsening, but everything he had tried were futile

• There is one task in human realm that need all the brothers

• As much as they loathe each other, they tried their best to be in their best behaviours

• The first one who found human Mammon was Beel when he look around for place to eat

• They accidentally bumped at each other

• At first, Beel didn't care who he bumped into. But when he heard familiar grunt he look at the person and eyes to eyes with someone who look exactly like Mammon

• His appearances are still the same, the differences are his eyes are not as beautiful as before but still the most brilliant and unique blue Beel ever seen. His attitudes also still same but more tamed, well maybe a little bad for some humans but by demons standard it's nothing

• "M-mammon?"

• Beel in the average of crying

• (His name is not Mammon, but still something similar with it)

• "W-wow big guy, I don't know this Mammon guy, I'm not him and I assumed he lost, hopefully you find him soon. Well, if you excuse me"

• Doesn't know what posses him, he pat the big guy head before leaving

• When Mammon turn around to leave, he bumped into Belphie who immediately search for his twin when he sense something wrong from him

• No one prepare Belphie for looking face to face with his long dead brother

• The twin stare at him and it creeping him a little so he mumble something before dash away

• They tried to call him but he already nowhere to be see

• They are complicated if they need to tell the other or not because he may be just a stranger, but the resemblances are uncanny

• They decide to wait for a bit while searching more info about Mammon

• The more information they got, the more they are sure that that person is their brother

• So in their last day in human realm, the twin tell the others

• No one believes them at first and a big argument starts. Everyone off to anywhere by themselves

• Asmo walks on the empty street with conflicted feelings, but the biggest feeling he feels right now is anger and longing. How dare the twin pull something like that and how he longing for his second eldest brother

• He doesn't know since when he stop walking and sit on the sidewalk and crying

• Someone approach him but he doesn't care

• "Hey... you okay?" Asked a nervous voice, a familiar nervous voice

• He look up and see someone who look like Mammon

• He is shock and rethink what the twin said, when realization hit him he cry harder which make the stranger panic

• "H-hey, it's okay. I don't know what happened bit everything will gonna be fine"

• Like before, in instinct Mammon sat beside him and hugged him. Asmo hug back tightly and pour all his tears on his chest

• Despite his belwirded action, he keep hugging Asmo, caressing his back and patting his head gently while whispering sweet words

• In his whispering, he slip up and called the stranger Asmo which make him panic and tried to explain he doesn't mean to called him that, they do not even know each other

• Asmo said it is fine and said that it is his name. Mammon is shocked because is there any possibility you accidently call a stranger by their name when it's the first time you meet them?

• Asmo asked if he could stay with him for a while. In truth is he want to be with Mammon longer, he is gonna apologize to the twin later for doubting them

• Okay, Mammon knows the danger of strangers and he knows he should be careful with Asmo even though he looks harmless. But his gut feeling telling him that it's okay and there is this weird pull he feels toward Asmo, same like the one toward the two strangers he met last week

• Mammon allowed him and warned him that his home is rowdy because he shelter kids who had nowhere to go

• When Asmo arrived at the place and watched the kids surrounding Mammon, he can see the pure adoration and love they give to his brother

• He also realized that this human Mammon is a perfect balance of his virtue as an angel and sin as a demon in the past

• The next day, he walk Asmo to where he and his brothers will leave the country

• In the night he stayed, they talk with each others the whole night like someone who know each other for a very long time

• Their walk is silent, but it's comfortable and Asmo just want to be in his brother presence

• When they arrived, the others were already waiting. No one look at their direction so no one know but it change when Mammon say something to Asmo

• The others look at their direction and frozen in place

• Mammon fidgeting and asked Asmo what the hell is wrong with his brothers because they creep him out

• He laugh at him, a genuine one after thousand of years and said it's nothing and they just being weird

• His smile disappear and his eyes watering, he hug Mammon and say that he doesn't want to leave

• Mammon said something and patted his head before pull away

• He grin at Asmo who smile back more happily and look at the others before giving a small smile and walk away

• Mammon doesn't understand the urge to walk to them and hug them one by one

You know, I've been thinking about this.

Physically Satan is the youngest, well he is literally the youngest. So, I just keep thinking that he is the… most innocent brother. I mean, even Beel and Belphie have more experience of life than him.

One thing that keeps bugging my mind is, is Luke younger or older than Satan? He is already there when the brothers are still an angel… so? Someone please enlighten me.

[smallraindrops-blog]

Made To Break

Part two.

4k

Warning: noncon/dubcon sex, yandere, talk of death. No beta. Read at your own risk.

Note: never wrote something like this before. Hope it was worth wait. Let me know if you like it! Enjoy!

Time dragged on, especially without your phone. You watched the clock, not able to pay attention to anything else.

The house felt different without the god inside. Your gut had been right the first night, he had been here the whole time.

You still regretted returning Hypnos his cloak, it was the only thing keeping you warm in the drafty house. 

You debated trying to escape but you held off. Where would you even go? There was no one else who could help. Even if Hypnos was keeping you trapped, he could be the key to getting your dad back.

Also you're pretty sure Hypnos would follow you to the end of the world and then some. 

Maybe if you just play along for now, you could show him the truth later when the spell doesn't work on you and he would be forced to admit you weren't the one he was looking for. 

"Just one more day." You told yourself. 

That's what Hypnos told you, "And when time gets close to twilight, make sure you are by his side." He said, locking his cloak in place.

You agreed, "Is there anything else I could do?"

Hypnos grinned, and tapped his lip, "How about a kiss good-bye?"

You rolled your eyes at him even though you were charmed by his cheekiness and shook your head. You knew that if you responded to his flirting, it would make the letdown worse.

"Oh well, can't blame a guy for trying." Hypnos said before he vanished before your eyes. 

You had a sinking feeling of realizing that you wouldn't have been able to outrun him.

💮

It was in the middle of night during another round of tossing and turning when you realized something wasn't right. 

There was a humming under your skin, like little jolts of energies that never stop moving. 

Maybe you couldn't fall asleep due to stress or maybe you got used to Hypnos being around. He was the god of sleep, he must have played some role in helping you rest. 

You crawled out of your bed and went to the window and stared out to the backyard. Little red poppies stood out from the blanket of snow, gently swaying in the wind. 

Magic was real and Hypnos was as well, he felt human when you touched him. His grief when he talked about his lover sounded real. And he seemed hellbent making sure not to lose you.

Is it really that impossible that you were someone in a past life, a deity even? It sounded like something out of the fantasy books you read as a child.

You pressed your forehead against the cold glass, an welcomed sensation. You didn't want to admit it. Not to yourself at all. 

But something in you has changed or is changing you just don't know what yet. 

You just hope you don't lose yourself in the process.

💮

You were in line for coffee when the thought came. It was some honey glazed  pastry you just happened to notice and thought  'Hypnos would love that especially with his sweet tooth.' 

You froze, how in the world would you know that? You don't even know if the god could or want to eat. 

You rubbed your eyes, it was the lack of sleep you told yourself.

You got to the hospital at the end of dusk, a coffee and a breakfast sandwich in hand. You took a big bite, trying to finish it before getting to the elevator.

It was early but you wanted to be here, even if Hypnos couldn't help, you wanted to at least be with your dad for what time he had left. 

You slipped the coffee, grateful for the warmth. After getting in the elevator, you tabbed your foot nervously. Even the last bite of the sandwich couldn't calm your stomach. 

You almost didn't see them when you stepped out, had you not glanced to the left you would have never seen them at all.

"Mrs. Johnson?" You asked, even in your anger at your ex, you still liked their mom. She mothered everyone and she always made sure to have your favorite cookies when you visited. She turned to face you, her blonde pixie hair was unkempt. Her red and puffy eyes widened in surprise. You tossed the coffee in the trash can as you made your way over. 

"Oh my god, Y/N?" Mrs.Johnson sniffed, "Are you here to visit?" Even her voice sounded rough.

Your heart dropped, "For my dad, I don't know if they told you but he is in a coma right now." 

"Oh honey. I'm so sorry, I didn't know." She hugged you tightly, her rose perfume was a comfortable smell in the hospital. She took your hands, her tears still flowing. You tried not to roll your eyes, of course your ex wouldn't even care enough to tell their mom, the sweetest person ever.

"Why are you here?" You asked worried for the poor woman.

"Something happened to (Ex/N), they were out partying and I don't know. Their roommate thinks they hit their head and haven't woken up since. It's the oddest thing, they couldn't even find where the brain bleed was. Or any marks." She shook her head, "it doesn't feel real."

You gasped, not able to make sense of her words. "Like they just went to sleep?" You asked, feeling like you've been dropped in ice. 

She nodded, not saying anything.

"How long ago?"

"Two days or so, late during the night." She replied, she didn't notice the dread on your face. Did Hypnos use your phone? You had a feeling he was the one who took it but there was so much going on you had forgotten about it.

"Can I see them?" You asked, you need to see with your own eyes. Surely, this had to be a coincidence.

"Of course, hon." 

💮

You had fully planned on never seeing your ex again. You kept meaning to block them but You weren't ready yet because you didn't want to admit you wasted your time.

You stared down at them, at the tubes, at the heart rate monitor. And You knew (Ex/N) was paying the price for your inability to block them. 

You didn't love them, not in a way a person should love another you think. But you cared for them and wanted them to be happy. It wasn't until the cheating started, that it got bad.

Mrs. Johnson sat down in the chair and held their child's hand. Her face showed her heartbreak and every time there was twitch, there would be a hopeful look in her eyes only for it to die when nothing happened.

It was just like your father's coma.

You closed your eyes, anger boiling inside your chest. At yourself more so than Hypnos.

How could you been so stupid?

💮

You stared outside the window. It was the first clear day in weeks and the blue skies with the fat, lazy clouds seemed so more vivid than you remember. 

Your father's heart monitor beeped steady and true. You couldn't look at him, guilt and anger was warring in your chest.

You had brought in the story Hypnos weaved for you. You didn't know how much was truth or lies. You think it was a healthy mix of both and it made it so much harder to know what really happened. 

You covered your face with your hands, trying to make sure the tears didn't come out. 

How could You get out of this? You saw some of Hypnos' powers, and you knew that it was the tip of the iceberg. 

You couldn't stop thinking about the book, the warnings that you didn't see. This was a god that had once put the world to sleep, and you couldn't see a reason why he wouldn't again if he didn't get what he wanted.

it felt more cruel that he was playing games with your life, with all their lives. It would have been kinder to just kidnap you and leave everyone else out of it. 

You looked up at the clock, just a few more hours left to go. 

You really wished you brought your bat. 

💮

Twilight was beautiful, even with the city skyline. You paced around the room, waiting for a change or for him to show up. 

You almost didn't notice, too deep in your anger.  

Your father's hand twitched, and you paused, not wanting to get your hopes up. Then his head turned to the side and you rushed to him.

"Dad! Oh my god, dad." You touched his arm gently, not wanting to spook him. His eyes opened up groggily, his head turned to you. He didn't react to seeing you but you weren't worried. 

"I will be right back, I'm getting a nurse." You rushed out, giddy with relief. 

💮

He doesn't remember you.

Your own father doesn't remember you. 

You collapsed in the chair, the doctor tried to calm you down but you couldn't hear anything over the buzzing in your ears.

You knew. You just knew this was Hypnos' doing. Your hands tighten into shaky fists on your knees. 

How fucking dare he do this. You gave him a chance and this is what he does.

Without a word, you stormed out the room.

💮

 

You don't remember getting in the car or the drive home. You knew Hypnos would be waiting for you.

He wasn't going to stop, you could feel in your bones. He would do to you in every single life you live and he won't care the cost it will take.

You slammed the car door shut, not brothing to hide your presence. You stood in the cold, uncaring how bitting the wind felt against your skin. Snow was still on the ground and little red poppies peeked through, bright against the snow. 

Your breath came out in white puffs as you stared at your home. For all you knew this would be the last time you ever see it. 

You took a deep breath, gathering what strength you had left. 

It was time to face the music. To face him.

💮

You stopped in the entryway, not wanting to get closer than you had too. You could see even in the dark that the books were gone as well as the horrible eye and words. The one thing that lit the room was a single candle on the side table.

You looked at the other walls and saw pictures of you had been taken down. Fear tightened your throat and you stepped into the living room. Your eyes darted around but there was no sign of Hypnos. 

You stepped into the living room and after a moment, you walked to your bedroom.

You whimpered when you opened the door. Everything was gone. The bed, the desk, all of it. 

You took a step backward and another without looking away from your room. 

Your heart stopped when you bumped into a warm chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly and his cheek pressed to your head.

"It's time to come home, Y/N." Hypnos said, tightening his hold to the point you couldn't breathe. Or scream as you watched the world you once knew vanished.

💮

You kicked and twisted in Hypnos' arms. "Let me go." You gasped, "I can't get air, please." 

He loosened his hold but you were too busy gulping for air to care. You pushed away from and he allowed you to, unconcerned about you escaping. 

You tried to steady yourself only to stumble, Hypnos grabbed your elbow. 

"I'm sorry I forgot it takes some getting used to." Hypnos said. "You should have seen my brother the first few times. He used to get sick all the time."

"Don't touch me." You snapped, jerking away.  You've been here before, the sound of water rushed to your ears. You turned to face him, to tear him a new one but when you saw him, you were shocked into silence.

Hypnos smiled, and pointed at his head. Two white wings had appeared out from his head and in the middle of his forehead, a single red and gold eye stared back. "So tell me Y/N, what is more surprising; the wings or the eye?"

You shook your head, "What the hell, Hypnos?" Your voice cracked. "Is this what you normally look like?" At least before he looked closer to humans, just a little odd looking. This was something else.

"Hhm, not when we first met but after the... you know, I just have these sometimes." Hypnos shrugged, his golden eyes on you. 

"How could you?" You asked and Hypnos tilted his head at the question. 

You took a step forward even though all you wanted to do was run. "I know what you did to my dad, to (Ex/N). Was it all a ruse? A game to you?"

Hypnos scowled, "I really don't appreciate hearing that name." 

You stamped your foot, "Unbelievable! Is that all you have to say?" 

"Oh no, the person who hurt someone I love is now having to suffer the consequences. How sad for them." Hypnos rolled his eyes at you. You have never wanted to choke someone more.

"His mother is suffering, just like how my dad is!" You yelled, hating how helpless you felt.

You walked closer, you knew he could grab you again but you needed him to listen. But Hypnos spoke before you.

"Your father isn't in pain, if anything I fixed it. He doesn't remember you or his wife. He will live out the rest of his days without you but you know humans are so quick to replace family." 

Hypnos sighed, "I really did try to help him for your sake, Y/N. I felt sorry for him since he and I were both familiar with this kind of pain. But he already messed up once, I couldn't trust him not to try something else." 

You were silent for minutes before you spoke. "You said you would never hurt me."

"And I haven't." Hypnos replied, he almost moved closer, wanting to comfort you.

"Liar." You spat out the word. "You have done nothing but hurt me since you showed up." 

You glared at him,"You may have not touched me but you had caused so much hurt to everyone around me."

"And what makes you think I should even care about those humans?" Hypnos hissed, he grabbed your arm but you willingly went along with his tug. Words were your weapons now. You glared up at him, mere inches between you and him.

"Because I do. That should be more than enough for you." You licked your lips, "This isn't the first time we had this fight." 

His gaze sharpen, golden and hard like a predator. "No it isn't." Hypnos agreed. 

You could tell he wanted to ask more questions, to know exactly what you started to remember. Good. 

"I had held my part, Hypnos. I agreed to come, to do whatever you needed from me." You said, "in a twisted way, yeah I guess you did help my dad even if it hurt me. And you warned me."  You closed your eyes for a moment before meeting his again.

Hypnos stayed silent, his eyes watching you.

"But none of the other stuff had to happen. Mrs.Johnson was good to me, she was the closest thing I had to a mom." You whispered. 

You didn't know how but something in the humming inside of you knew Hypnos would bend to you. His biggest weakness had always been you.

You laid a hand on his chest, "Listen to me, I'm willing to stay. I want to stay." You thought it would sound like lying but it didn't. Your heart twisted because you weren't lying and you knew it. 

Was it really that easy to walk away from your human life? 

"But I can't have you hurting people just for the sake of revenge. That is not who I am and that used to be you too." You murmured.

"Things changed Y/N." Hypnos murmured back. Just like before, he covered your hand gently. 

A faint memory rises from the depths of your soul. Of Hypnos admiring your hands, always touching or holding them. You took a breath, not yet you thought to this other side of yourself, not yet.

"Then change again, Hypnos. For me." You pleaded. 

"It's not that easy." But his tone was softer, you just had to push a little more. 

"You once put the whole world asleep because you loved me. You became softer, kinder because you loved me. This is nothing to you." You keep your tone soft, not willing to break the quiet.

His eyes, all three of them, closed in defeat. "Okay...Okay Y/N. Just answer me this, do you love them?" 

"No." You said bluntly. "They were a friend once but even though you were a jerk, I felt more with you than I ever did with them."

Hypnos nodded, the third eye opened again while his golden ones stayed close. "Good." He held a palm up, and a small dark, almost black mist formed, you could faintly see your ex and Mrs. Johnson. 

The mist swirls quickly, and it changes into a soft white cloud. "It's done. They will wake up, and they will live." The cloud faded away and Hypnos dropped his hand. 

His golden eyes opened and looked at you. 

"Thank you."  You told him. You cupped his cheek and he pressed into your hand with a sigh, his eyes closing again. "Darkness' sake, I've missed you." Hypnos said. 

You leaned into him and hugged him. After a moment, he hugged back, resting his chin on your head. Neither one of you said anything for a while, just holding on each other.

"What do you remember, Y/N?" Hypnos asked, and you shrugged. "Honestly, just small bits here and there. I remembered you like honey."

Hypnos hummed, "I do. Is that all?" 

You yawned, "No, sorry, it's mostly just me going by instinct or this feeling of deja Vu." You pressed into his chest. "I'm really sorry."

Hypnos rubbed your back slowly and you felt your body relax against his. This was so much nicer than anything you ever felt before.

"Come, let me show you where we can get some rest." Hypnos spoke, something was off about his tone.  But you followed along anyway, too tired to even think.

💮

"You said anything, right?" Hypnos asked as you wandered around the cave. There wasn't much of anything. You see baskets of pomegranates, onions and other stuff in one room as Hypnos gilded you past it, his hand on your lower back. 

Books were stacked on a desk but weren't what caught your attention. There was a bed, big and piled high with blankets and pillows. It looks like what exactly a god of sleep would want. 

"Oh wow, this is the biggest bed I've ever seen." You walked toward it, "What side do you sleep on?"

You walked around the bed, keeping one eye on the god. "The middle but you can pick whatever side you want." 

"O-oh." You stopped at the realization that of course this would be the only bed. There would be no reason for him to have a guest bed.

"You didn't respond to my question, Y/N. You agreed to do whatever I needed you to do, correct?" Hypnos said calmly as he held something in his hand. A small glass bottle. 

You walked toward him, your heart racing at the almost predatory look he gave you. 

"I. I did, yes, to get my memories back." You stopped just out of his reach. "Will that thing help?" You pointed down at the bottle

"In a way." He said and you stared at him. 

"What are you not telling me, Hypnos?" You stood your ground. "I thought we were getting past this."

"You're right. It's going to hurt, just a bit. But it will help restore you." Hypnos held it up between his fingers, inside the liquid looked like water. 

"Why do I feel like you're downplaying it?" You muttered. You took the bottle and popped open the cork. 

You sniffed but it smells sweet, almost too sweet. 

"Make sure you get every last drop, Y/N." Hypnos said, his golden eyes watching your every move.

You knew he wasn't being honest about something but you will have to deal with it later. 

"Well, bottom up." You swallow every last drop. It didn't taste bad or anything at all, not even like water. 

You felt his hands on you could do anything else. He pushed toward the bed and that when it hit you. A wave of dizziness made the room spend and he laid you down.

"Oh, I don't like this." You moaned. You didn't notice until it was too late, that he had pulled off your shirt. His hands felt too warm against your skin and you tried to push him off. 

"I know, my love." Hypnos comforted, "I wouldn't do it if I didn't need to." 

"Why?" You slurred, "I thought we were…" but you couldn't continue.  The heat and the dizziness was too much for you.

"We are. We really are. But If I don't do this now, I won't get a chance until you are older and I can't risk you dying on me."

"I wouldn't have said no." You closed your eyes.

Hypnos pressed a kiss against your forehead tenderly "Yes, you would have, my love. You would want us to have more time. This way I can make sure we will have nothing but time."

His hand slided down your pants and past your underwear. He kissed you on your mouth, and pressed down against you. 

You couldn't stop the gasps you made against his mouth as he rubbed you with his fingers. The pleasure you felt was far more intense than what you were used to.

"You even respond the same as you used to." Hypnos told you. "Blood and darkness, I could watch your face all day like this." 

You hide your face in a nearby pillow out of spite and embarrassment. "Shut up." You moaned, hips arching against his touch.

Hypnos yanked the pillow away and tossed it out of your reach. He grabbed your chin to kiss you again. You met his kiss with as much force as you could. 

"I hate you." You tried to pull away but he just pulled you back into another one. You could the heat building inside you along with the humming, the always moving energy built inside of you 

And Hypnos himself consumed you,all of you and you wanted him to. Fates help you but you did. You wanted him to make you whole. 

You moaned against his lips, tears running down your face as you arched and peaked. 

You collapsed against the bed, Hypnos pressed kisses against your neck and collarbone. 

You closed your eyes, shaking with the heat. "Hypnos, what did you give me?" You sobbed. The heat nor energy still haven't died down yet. 

"Just gimme a moment, Y/N." Hypnos pulled away from the bed, and you sobbed again. 

He came back and shushed you. His hand pulled down your pants, yanking your shoes along off them. You flushed at your nudity. 

Hypnos loomed over you and he pulled you into a kiss. You buried your hands in his white curls as the kiss deepened. His knees nudged your legs apart as he broke the kiss. 

"If I have to be nude, so do you." You tugged at his cloak. Hypnos laughed, "No, later."

His fingers worked you open and you found yourself spreading your legs more.

"You're so good, so so gorgeous. Y/N, do you know how good you look like this?" Hypnos priaised. And you somehow just flushed even more. 

His fingers left you and he crawled toward you. "Kiss me." He demanded and you obeyed, the kiss you gave him was sweet and slow. He hummed against your lips and you felt him pushed inside you. 

Your head tilt back to the bed with a gasp. You shook as the moment seem to stretch out, a endless moment of being taken.

You never felt so full and damnit, you hated how good he felt against you. The soft clothes gave you goosebumps as the brush against your bare skin. You sobbed as he moved inside you leisurely, like he had all the time in world. 

"Hypnos, please." You begged. Your fingers curled against his tunic, trying to ground yourself against the feelings.

He shushed you, "I've been waiting for you for so long." 

"I'm sorry, Hypnos." You whimpered as pleasure built back inside of you. 

"Don't be." Hypnos groaned, his hips started moving quicker. "Losing you killed me, Y/N. I never thought I would have this again."

You were lost for words and just pulled him into another kiss, hoping that it will say everything for you. 

During the kiss, his hips snapped against you quickly, fingers digging into your thighs.  

"I love you Y/N. Fuu- I love you." Hypnos murmured against you. In a whisper, "I love you, Hypnos." 

He moaned and you feel the hot wetness inside you. You trembled as you followed him. 

You stared upward and the humming had become overwhelming. This was it, you thought weakly. 

You don't remember closing your eyes.

💮

Later you wake up, Hypnos sleeping next to you and holding you tightly. He looked so much younger like this. 

You could remember everything. The people, your role as an deity, Hypnos, of loving him and he loving you in return and... and your death.

You grimaced as you rubbed your chest, you could feel the sharp burning pain. Of magic that kept from dying like a normal deity.

But now you were reborn in a way.

There was strength in you too now. A sureness you didn't have an human. You blinked at Hypnos' sleeping face. The third eye was gone but you wasn't sure what it meant exactly. You both were going to have relearn one another. 

You reached up and touched one of the wings. It twitched at your touch, and you smiled, amused. 

"I missed your smile." Hypnos said, his voice rough with sleep."I think it worked, Y/N." His golden eyes studied your face. You stared back. 

Then you reached up and flicked him on the nose. "You should've been honest from the start." You said.

"Ow! And I was, it's not like it was my fault humans won't listen." Hypnos scowled at you.

"Not that. About restoring me. I understand why you wouldn't be but you need to more honest with me from now on. Especially since I know it cost you some of your powers." You said as you pulled Hypnos closer. Tears had filled up in both of yours and Hypnos' eyes.

"Thank you. For bring me back. I felt something was missing in me since I was born but you found it. You found me." You  kissed him, chaste and sweet. 

Hypnos sobbed and held on to you tightly, his face in your neck. "It worked. It really worked." 

You kissed his head, your tears matching his. The both of you weeped with joy, with sadness and relief of having each other again.

"I'm so sorry. It was my fault. I should had gotten there sooner." Hypnos said roughly. 

"It was no one fault, we didn't know." You brush his curls to smooth him. "I don't blame you."

He nodded against your neck and you held him. 

After a few minutes, he pulled away to look at you. His hands cupped your face. You cover his hands with your own, smiling.

"I still haven't told you everything." He said softly. 

"That can wait." You murmured. "We got all the time in the world." 

"We finally do, huh?" Hypnos said, and you meet him a long, slow kiss.

It was good to be home.